Show Time by Suzanne Trauth Read Free Book Online Page A

to remove her nose ring, I couldn’t help thinking about Jerome. Seeing his picture in the newspaper and hearing about his friendship with Elliot made me remember our last conversation the night of auditions, the night he was murdered. He’d seemed to be trying to tell me something about his situation, but we had been interrupted. Had it been related to the missing money, or had it been something more urgent?
    Then I saw them. Jim and Abby, heading straight for their favorite booth. Jim raised a hand and signaled to Benny to bring the usual: a couple of tall White Russians with extra ice.
    I watched Benny set the drinks on their table—most folks knew to come to the bar during happy hour for the discount, but Abby and Jim made up for it by tipping big time and Benny benefitted from their generosity. I debated whether to escape to the kitchen when they entered. That path would require me to pass dangerously close to their booth and to Abby’s grappling with her future at the Etonville Little Theatre. Maybe I could pretend to have a call on my cell and just nod as I—
    â€œHi, Dodie!” Abby had spotted me and waved her arm.
    I waved back and walked briskly to their table, definitely on my way to the kitchen.
    â€œDid you hear the news?” Jim asked and downed the rest of his drink.
    â€œWhat news?” I asked.
    Jim tucked Abby into his shoulder. “Abby here’s going to play Juliet. Isn’t that great?”
    â€œUnderstudy, Jim. I might understudy Juliet,” Abby added.
    Had Walter lost his mind?
    â€œI’m so proud of my honeybunch,” Jim said and planted a smooch on her mouth.
    â€œCongratulations, Abby. I’m happy for you.” I took my cell phone out of my pocket and waggled it in their direction. “Gotta’ make a call.”
    â€œWait ’til you see my costume,” Abby said and patted Jim’s arm.
    I smiled and dashed into the kitchen. Walter had better pray that the cute, blond Juliet didn’t break a leg, or something else, and force an understudy to take the stage.
    Watching Enrico massage raw eggs into minced zucchini, onions, and parsley for the dinner frittata reminded me that I still needed the theme food for R and J . Given my mood, I was ready to forget the love and focus on the tragic. Something blood red? I shook off the morbid thoughts and picked up my inventory clipboard.
    Henry’s frittata experiment was a resounding success. Just as dinner was winding down, Carol and Pauli walked in the door. I motioned for them to follow me to my back booth, where we could yak.
    They settled in, ordered drinks—red wine for Carol, a Coke for Pauli—and looked at me expectantly: the website. OMG. I had meant to confer with Henry today but forgot. I made an executive decision.
    â€œSo, Pauli, when do you want to get together and talk about the website?”
    Carol looked like she could have kissed me, and Pauli stopped sipping and beamed.
    â€œHow about tomorrow?” Carol nudged Pauli gently. She’d make a great agent.
    â€œFine. Come by after school, okay?”
    He nodded and gulped down the rest of his Coke. “Can I go?”
    Carol nodded. “Don’t be home too late, honey.”
    I sipped a seltzer and watched his baggy jeans exit the front door.
    Carol dropped her voice. “Big hubbub in the shop today.”
    â€œReally?” I said, and stifled a yawn. It had been a long day.
    â€œJerome.” Carol raised one eyebrow knowingly.
    I snapped to attention. “What about him?”
    â€œWell, one of the shampoo girls—”
    â€œThe one with the blue hair?”
    â€œNo the other one. Rita. She has a tattoo on her. . . .”
    â€œRight.”
    â€œShe said she heard from her cousin that Jerome had a female visitor.” Carol paused to gauge my response.
    â€œHow did she know that?”
    â€œWell, Rita’s cousin lives on