A Sadie Kramer Flair Mystery 02 - A Flair For Drama Read online

  A Flair For Drama

  A Sadie Kramer Flair Mystery 01

  Deborah Garner

  Cranberry Cove Press

  A Flair For Drama

  by Deborah Garner

  Copyright © 2017 Deborah Garner

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

  First Printing – May 2017

  ISBN: 978-0-9969960-2-0

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  EXCEPT FOR BRIEF TEXT QUOTED AND APPROPRIATELY CITED IN OTHER WORKS, NO PART OF THIS BOOK MAY BE REPRODUCED IN ANY FORM, BY PHOTOCOPYING OR BY ELECTRONIC OR MECHANICAL MEANS, INCLUDING INFORMATION STORAGE OR RETRIEVAL SYSTEMS, WITHOUT PERMISSION IN WRITING FROM THE COPYRIGHT OWNER/AUTHOR.

  Printed in the U.S.A.

  For all those who love mystery, drama and chocolate –

  or any combination of the above.

  CHAPTER ONE

  Sadie Kramer stood in front of the theatre and looked up at the ornate concrete edging along the roofline, wondering what kind of drugs the architect was on when he decided gargoyles would be a nice finishing touch. The Seaside Players Theatre was relatively new, as theatres go, prime for modernity, yet some designer somewhere had decided it should resemble half medieval castle, half Disneyland ride. The building had ominous written all over it.

  “What do you make of this, Coco?” Sadie looked down at her tote bag as if she expected it to answer. It often did, with either one yip or two, depending on its occupant’s mood. She pulled a treat from the left pocket of her leopard print coat and held it just above the tote bag’s rim. One … two … three … That was all it took for the Yorkie to pop her head out of the bag. “Look at those bizarre creatures up there.” Coco’s gaze followed her arm, which, in addition to pointing upward, still held the treat. “And there are others, see? On each side of the front door. I have a good mind to pull out my lipstick and slap a little style on their silly faces.” Coco lowered her head, leaving only her eyes and a tuft of sandy brown fur in sight, undoubtedly not wanting to turn to vandalism along with her human.

  The will-call window looked as foreboding as the rest of the building, leading Sadie to second-guess her decision to attend the performance. It had seemed like a great idea at the time: a quick escape from the San Francisco fog, a leisurely drive south along the California coast and an evening of musical theatre, not to mention a chance to visit an old friend who was involved with the show. Besides, a visit to Monterey was always welcome. If she managed her time wisely, she could slip into Carmel and do some damage at the quaint shops along Ocean Avenue. Even a window-shopping trip could have benefits. She always seemed to find something unique that she could add to the extensive repertoire of fashionable items at her own boutique, Flair, in San Francisco. Now, facing a young woman at the ticket counter whose expression was no more welcoming than the building itself, Sadie wondered if skipping the production and heading straight to the shops might be a better choice.

  The young woman, whose nametag said “Penelope,” slid a glass window to the side and looked at Sadie expectantly.

  “I was invited to watch tonight’s dress rehearsal of Songs to the Sun, but I also have a ticket for tomorrow’s opening night.”

  “Name, please?” the woman looked at Sadie expectantly. Her hair was dyed a shade of red that matched both her lipstick and nail polish. Sadie’s first impression – perhaps from foundation so thick that it resembled pancake makeup – was that a cast member was manning the ticket booth temporarily while a friendlier clerk was taking a break.

  “Kramer, Sadie.”

  The woman flipped through an alphabetical card file, frowning. “Is that Cramer, with a ‘C’? I can’t find you here.”

  Sadie shook her head. “No, it’s Kramer with a ‘K.’”

  Sadie imagined the girl muttering, why didn’t you say so in the first place, as Penelope pulled an envelope out and slid it across the counter. All she actually said was, “Oh, I see. Just one ticket?”

  “Yes, that’s correct.” Sadie coughed to cover a quiet yip.

  “I see,” Penelope said again, glancing suspiciously at Sadie’s tote bag. “You know you don’t need your ticket for the dress rehearsal. You could have just picked it up tomorrow.”

  “This way I won’t have to wait in line with the others. My dearest friend is in the show, you see.” Sadie paused, certain this revelation would be impressive. “Well, a close friend.” She paused again. “A former classmate from grade school.”

  “Ah,” Penelope said, her tone devoid of any hint of interest.

  “Her name is Roxy. She’s the one who invited me to the dress rehearsal.”

  “I see,” Penelope repeated.

  “Well, she’s not exactly in the show,” Sadie admitted. “She works backstage somewhere, doing something, I’m not sure what.”

  “That’s nice,” Penelope said, her voice even flatter than before. She reached for the box office window with one arm, prepared to close it.

  “Oh, will there be refreshments in the lobby this evening?” Sadie asked. The idea of spending some time with a glass of wine and appetizers was appealing. Chocolate would be even better.

  “There will be wine and hors d’oeuvres at intermission tomorrow,” Penelope said. “If you’re looking for something now, there’s a café about a half block away: Curtain Call.”

  “A clever name,” Sadie said as Penelope slid the window shut. “And…thank you,” she added, now facing a sheet of glass.

  Tucking her ticket envelope into a side pocket on her tote bag, Sadie turned away from the theatre and walked back out to the street. “What do you think, Coco? Right or left? I suppose we could have asked.” The dog barked once. “Yes, I agree, she might have told us, but a little exercise will be good for us.”

  A short stroll in one direction yielded a dry cleaner, neighborhood market, and a pharmacy, as well as a row of newspaper boxes that had seen better days. Retracing her steps, Sadie passed the theatre and continued on, eventually arriving at a café with two petite tables set into the shade of a blue and white striped awning. It resembled one of many sidewalk cafés she and Morris, her late husband, had visited in France. This particular one might well have been plucked right out of the 6th Arrondissement and relocated along the Pacific Coast. So similar was its Parisian appearance that Sadie glanced across the street, half expecting to see a painter with an easel.

  The sandwich-board sign on the sidewalk bore a similar look. Chalky vines and flowers in shades of green and rose surrounded a tantalizing list of daily specials and coffee drinks. Deciding that a bowl of corn chowder and a glass of Cabernet would be the perfect pre-rehearsal fare, Sadie stepped into the café and found a seat at a small table alongside a tall shelf unit of imported crackers. She set her tote bag on the floor next to her, hushed a yip, and looked around. Customers occupied most tables, though a few remained empty. A row of bags along the sales counter indicated the café did a healthy to go business, as well. Sadie watched several customers arrive to pick up orders before the young girl manning the register was able to duck around the counter and approach Sadie’s table.

  “Sorry to keep you waiting.” The girl, slender, of medium height, and in her mid-twenties, pulled a notepad and pen from a bistro-style apron. A bright yellow plastic flower crowned the pen, giving the writing utensil a slightly off-balance look. A plastic nametag read “April.” “Are you ready to order?” As she waited for an answer, her head swiveled, first at th
e sound of the café door opening, and then to glance at a nearby table where two men sat hunched across from each other, deep in conversation. Just as quickly she turned back to Sadie. It was as if she had a kind of automatic radar to keep track of all activity.

  “Yes, I believe so,” Sadie said. “Your menu out front advertises corn chowder. Do you recommend it?”

  “Definitely,” April replied, already jotting down the request. “It’s a house specialty. Anything to drink with that?”

  “A glass of Cabernet would be fabulous.” Sadie’s statement was followed by an almost inaudible whine. “And a few crackers, if possible,” she added quickly.

  “Crackers come with the soup.” Another soft whine followed.

  “I’d love a few before,” Sadie said, tapping her tote bag lightly with her foot.

  “No problem,” April said. “I’ll bring some with your wine.” She stuffed her notepad and pen in an apron pocket and spun away from the table. A zigzag spurt between tables took her back to the front counter, where several customers had lined up, waiting to pay.

  “You needn’t be so demanding, Coco,” Sadie said, addressing her tote bag as simply as a person would speak to someone in the next chair. Rising voices drowned out the Yorkie’s response.

  “This was a mistake from the beginning,” barked a heavy-set man with reddish cheeks at a man half his size. Sadie hoped for his sake that the mop of hair covering half his forehead was a toupee.

  “You’re worrying too soon, Palmer. We’ve been over this a dozen times.”

  “How is it too soon, Mitchell? Ticket sales are abysmal for opening night. We should be sold out.”

  “I said from the start we should’ve done a book musical, Palmer, not an original like Songs to the Sun. But you wanted to be the one to get a new show off the ground,” Mitchell said. “When you go for glory, you’re taking a financial risk. You’re the numbers guy. This shouldn’t be news to you.”

  “Of course it’s not. As you well know, I’ve backed plenty of shows.” He lifted his beer mug and chugged the remaining half.

  “Yet you did choose to finance it, so give it a chance. Our marketing strategy is solid. You know my company’s reputation for publicity. Mitchell Morgan Media is the best there is. We’ve got radio spots and all the rest set up for this show.”

  “Give it a chance?” Palmer’s voice rose, and then lowered as he leaned closer to Mitchell. “I planned to give it a chance when Nevada Foster was going to play the lead. I never would have backed this show with Brynn Baker. She isn’t right for the part. She doesn’t have half the talent Nevada does.”

  They paused as April stopped by their table. “Another draft, Ernie?” Ernie nodded, and April took the empty mug behind the counter. She returned quickly with a full mug and left the men to continue their discussion.

  “Ernie Palmer,” Sadie whispered to her tote bag. “Big shot financial guy, Coco. I’ve read about him in the Chronicle.”

  “Sid cast Brynn,” Mitchell said matter-of-factly. “That’s his prerogative as the director.”

  Palmer harrumphed, lifted his beer to his mouth, guzzled half and set it down. “I bet he wouldn’t have if he’d known she was going to dump him right after he posted the audition results. Anyway, Sid Martin is an idiot. Nevada was perfect for the part.”

  April passed between the tables, delivering Sadie’s order before hustling back up front.

  “You’re biased, Palmer,” Mitchell said. “You just think she’s special because you discovered her in Vegas, and she’s your little up-and-coming star. If Sid had cast her, it would have made you look good. You would have been the star maker. At least she got the understudy job. You should be proud of that. Plus, if Brynn catches the flu or something, Nevada will have a chance to fill in and prove herself. Maybe she’ll get the lead in the next show.”

  “Maybe.” Palmer finished his beer and stood up, tossed some bills on the table, and walked out. Mitchell Morgan did the same, leaving Sadie to contemplate the conversation over chowder and wine.

  “What do you think, Coco?” Sadie whispered. She picked up a pepper shaker and sprinkled a generous portion into her soup crock. “Maybe there’s more to this production than meets the eye. I just love a little intrigue, don’t you?”

  Coco responded with a series of tiny sneezes. Sadie took a spoonful of soup and blew across it to make sure it was cool. Yes, she thought as she relished the first delicious sip. There’s nothing like a little intrigue to turn a weekend trip into an adventure.

  CHAPTER TWO

  As the theatre lights dimmed, Sadie settled back in a cushioned chair and kicked off her shoes. Why be uncomfortable when it wasn’t necessary? It wasn’t like anyone could see to appreciate her new red polka-dot flats anyway. What a steal those had been, eighty percent off, perched high on one of those multi-tiered racks department stores used for shoe sales. She’d also scored a pair of alligator pumps dyed a fabulous bright purple. Those would be perfect for opening night, an ideal match for the purple mohair sweater and black silk pants she planned to wear.

  A jeans-clad man wearing a headset walked out to the middle of the stage and welcomed the audience, clearly a stand-in for the person who would fill that role the following night. Sadie looked around, confirming what she’d observed coming in. Other than half a dozen rows in front and a smattering of people throughout the theatre, including in the back, the audience was light.

  Two hours and several technical malfunctions later, Sadie stood up and stretched, glad to see the lights come up. The rehearsal had been neither terrible nor great. Only one mishap on stage — a spilled jug of lemonade during a picnic scene in the first act — had caused a brief delay. The show itself, both written and directed by Sidney Martin, was entertaining enough, set around a summer vacation, with various plot threads running between fictional family members. The actors themselves were all fine, including Brynn Baker. Sadie now suspected the director had cast her more for her knockout figure than her talent. Nevada Foster, however, was outstanding in her supporting role. Ernie Palmer, pompous and biased though he seemed, was right about the casting. Nevada would have been a better choice for the lead.

  “Psst…” Sadie searched for the source of the hushed sound to find her friend Roxy leaning out of the stage door. “Great to see you! How did you like the show?”

  “Very entertaining,” Sadie said. “Especially when the lemonade spilled during the picnic scene.”

  Roxy sighed. “I don’t know how that happened, but that scene is too serious, anyway. Maybe we should add that in, though Sid would have my neck if it happened again. Anyway, come on back. Let me show you around.”

  Gathering her jacket and tote bag, Sadie shuffled sideways until she reached the end of the row, and then met Roxy at the stage door. She blinked as her eyes adjusted to dim lighting inside a narrow stairwell, and then grasped a wooden banister and followed Roxy up the stairs to the stage level.

  Sadie had known Roxy for almost sixty years, and although they didn’t see each other often, their friendship was like a well-greased pulley, and it was as if they spoke weekly.

  “My!” Sadie exclaimed. “It’s a whole different world back here. All these ropes and boxes and switches! I never thought about it before. Everything is so neat and organized from the audience’s view.”

  “Exactly,” Roxy said. “And it’s my job as stage manager to keep it that way. When things run smoothly, the way they should, the audience simply enjoys the show, rather than seeing the chao…well, the inner workings of the production.” She paused to greet a good-looking man still in costume and makeup. Sadie recognized him as one of the cast members. “That’s Alex Cassidy,” Roxy whispered. “Local heartthrob.”

  “I recognize him from the show,” Sadie said. “He has a small part in the first act.”

  “Yes,” Roxy said. “He’s Russell Garrett’s understudy, so he may get a chance to prove himself.”

  “The same goes for Nevada Foster, right? She’
s understudy for Brynn Baker.” Sadie looked sideways between two parallel curtains. Two men dressed in black were moving a table across the stage.

  “How did you know that?”

  “I overheard a conversation at Curtain Call before the rehearsal. Ernie Palmer and another man, someone in charge of marketing.”

  Roxy snorted. “Those jerks, so arrogant out there in their cushy offices; they have no idea how the theatre really operates. It’s all about money and publicity to them. And I’m talking about promoting themselves more than the show, especially Ernie. He and Sid are constantly arguing.”

  “About Brynn Baker?” Sadie asked.

  “About all sorts of things, but Brynn is definitely high on the list.” Roxy pulled Sadie aside to allow a stagehand with a cart of electrical cords to pass. “Thanks, Coop,” she said before turning back to Sadie. “Dillon Cooper, my right hand guy. Don’t know what I’d do without him.”

  “So Ernie didn’t want Brynn to get the lead?” Sadie said. Feeling restless movement in her tote bag, she began to swing it back and forth slightly. “Good shoulder exercise,” she said when Roxy stared.

  “That’s an understatement.” Roxy lowered her voice to a whisper and pulled Sadie into an empty dressing room, closing the door. Sadie felt a delicious thrill of anticipation at the prospect of learning about some scandal or other. “Ernie never would have backed the show if he didn’t think Nevada Foster would get the lead. Supposedly he had a verbal agreement with Sid to that effect. Sid broke it when he cast Brynn, instead, but the paperwork was already signed and the money guaranteed, and since casting wasn’t in writing, Ernie was stuck.”

  “And then Brynn dumped Sid.” Sadie put down her tote bag near the door.

  “Wow, you did hear a lot at Curtain Call,” Roxy said. “Yes, she dumped Sid for some mystery lover. Everyone thinks it’s Russell, but she won’t admit it, and he denies it.”

  “Leading man and leading lady,” Sadie mused. “Sort of a cliché, isn’t it? Maybe people are jumping to conclusions.”