you locate Mr. Vincent?”
“No, sir. The address I had for a Leonard Vincent is a T-shirt shop near the ferry.”
Smalley looked around the table. “Anyone happen to know if Mr. Vincent owns the T-shirt shop? Dawn?”
Shrugs. Blank looks.
“Anyone here know Mr. Vincent?”
Gerard Cohen spoke up. “I knew him only slightly. My wife was ill for several years, so I didn’t get around much. The Vincents were divorced the year she died.”
“Any idea what Mr. Vincent does for a living, Mr. Cohen?”
“Afraid not. He made quite a lot of money when he sold his half of Peg’s house back to her.”
“Don’t leave yet, Tim. I need to talk to you.” Smalley stood up. “I won’t keep the rest of you. It’s been a long night. Don’t go off Island without letting us know where we can reach you.” He tugged his wallet out of his back pocket, withdrew business cards, and passed them out. “At least until we locate the boy.” He yawned, starting off a chain reaction of yawns around the table. “Tim, ask the sheriff to let us out. I’ll take Mr. Atherton back to his car.”
“I’ll give Howland a ride in the police car,” said Casey.
Dearborn Hill cleared his throat. “We still have unfinished business, Sergeant.”
“What is that, Mr. Hill?”
“Tonight is opening night for the play.”
“Good heavens, Dearborn!” said Victoria. “You don’t intend to go ahead with the play under these circumstances.”
“Ms. Storm’s death is a tragedy, one we must respect.” Dearborn’s
voice was low and mellow. “The greatest honor we can pay Ms. Storm is to treat her as the professional she hoped to become. The play must go on.”
“The play most certainly must not go on,” Victoria said. “We’ve got to find Teddy.”
“I have an understudy in mind for Teddy,” Dearborn said. “Our stage manager can step into the role of Justine.” He glanced at the woman in black. “You know her part, Nora?”
The stage manager nodded.
Victoria flushed. “That’s outrageous.”
“It’s professional theater, Mrs. Trumbull. We are guaranteed a full house tonight.”
“Because an actor is dead? How callous.” Victoria looked around the table. “Do any of you intend to go on stage tonight?”
“Count me out,” said Dawn.
Howland nodded at Roderick Hill, his understudy. “You’re welcome to the monster’s role.” He pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket and unfolded it. “Here are your fangs.” He set the false teeth on the table in front of Roderick. “And your claws.”
“I can’t handle it,” said Bruce Duncan, his elbows on the table, his forehead resting on his clasped hands.
“I was close to Peg,” said Gerard Cohen. “I’d rather not go on tonight. Sorry, Dearborn.”
“I know Henry Clerval’s lines,” said Bob Scott, a slight man with dirt-stained jeans and a shaggy beard. Scott opened and closed the play as the Arctic explorer. “Bruce and I don’t ever appear on stage at the same time.”
Dearborn studied Scott. “I hope you’ll trim your beard, as I asked you to before.”
Scott grinned. “The ladies like it rough the way it is.”
Dearborn turned away without further comment. “Thank you, my friends. Those of you who intend to go on stage tonight, be at the playhouse at three. We’ll run through the play again, double time. That will give you a few hours of rest.” He rose from his seat. “I’ll notify the radio station that the play will go
on, despite the tragic death of a key actress. Then I must round up actors to fill in for those of you unable to perform.”
Dr. McAlistair gathered up papers and put them in her attache case. “Sergeant, I have more work to do here, but I’m exhausted. Can someone book a hotel room for me?”
“I’m not sure we can find a vacancy this time of year on such short notice, but I’ll have someone check.”
“I have a spare bedroom,” Victoria said. “If you don’t mind sharing a bath.”
“If it’s not too
The Seduction of Miranda Prosper