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  “My friend said he was really pissed. And she said that Vonetta’s daughter called him an idiot.”

  “He was upset,” I said as I moved from one shelf to the next. “But Serena didn’t actually call him an idiot. She was just trying to figure out whether or not he had copies of the missing music. It was no big deal, and it was all over in a second.” Not entirely true, but I saw no reason to mention the argument between Vonetta and Laurence.

  Liberty’s eager expression turned into disappointment. “Really? That’s it?”

  “That’s it,” I said. “Sorry.”

  She might have pushed harder, but the bell over the front door jangled to signal another customer. Karen was busy with a couple of middle-aged women, so Liberty set the orders aside and scurried into the showroom.

  I pulled the first row of bottles out of the cupboard and dug through some that had been buried in the back. It seemed unlikely that I’d put the cinnamon back there, but stranger things had happened.

  “Abby? Do you have a minute?”

  Startled, I dropped a bottle and almost lost my balance on the step stool. I glanced over my shoulder and found Paisley standing at the counter, looking at me over the half wall that separates the kitchen from the showroom. Her burgundy hair gleamed an odd shade of purple in the sunlight, and her curls corkscrewed away from her head in every direction.

  I couldn’t imagine why she needed me, but I nodded and abandoned the search again. “Sure, what’s up?”

  “I know you’re busy,” she said with an apologetic smile, “and I hate to interrupt. It’s just . . . well, I’m worried about Vonetta, and I wonder if you know what’s going on with her.”

  “With Vonetta?” I shook my head. “I don’t know anything. Sorry.” Maybe I should have let that be the end of it. After all, Paisley does love to talk, and I didn’t want to encourage her to spread rumors. But it would have been rude to turn her away, and besides, Vonetta’s a friend. If there was something wrong, I should care enough to find out what it was.

  I motioned Paisley toward the seating area where we could talk without being overheard, and carried two cups of coffee to the table with me. “What are you worried about?” I asked as I put one in front of her.

  Paisley wrapped her hands around the warm cup with a grateful sigh. “You were at the theater last night,” she said after a moment. “You saw what happened.”

  I opened two sugar packets and dumped the contents into my cup. “I was there, but I’m not sure I know what you’re talking about.”

  “The missing music?” Paisley said, incredulous at my slow-witted response. “The way Serena talked to Laurence? Don’t tell me you didn’t hear that.”

  I added a touch of cream to my coffee. Okay, a dollop. I deserved at least that much. “I heard all that,” I agreed, “but I didn’t think it was a big deal. The missing music didn’t seem to bother Laurence.”

  “Oh, it bothered him all right.” Paisley waved away the offer of cream and sugar and sipped her coffee black. “His manager came in this morning demanding that Vonetta ban Serena from the theater until the production is over.”

  I almost choked on my coffee. Considering the argument I’d witnessed between Laurence and Vonetta last night, the demand came across like a declaration of war. “What did Vonetta say?”

  “She said that Serena’s part of the company, and she’ll be at the theater whenever Vonetta needs her there.” Agitated, Paisley moved a paper heart out of her way and went on. “And then she told him that Laurence is free to stay away if that’s what he wants, but he’ll be in breach of contract if he does.”

  Obviously, Paisley knew way more about what was going on than I did, but I didn’t say so. Instead I asked, “What did Manwaring say to that?”

  Paisley glanced around the shop, then leaned in close and whispered, “I don’t think you want me to repeat it here.”

  “Probably not. But emotions are running high. I’m not sure there’s anything we really need to worry about.”

  Paisley scowled at me—hard. “Well, I am worried, and I thought maybe you knew something I don’t.”

  “I’m afraid not,” I said with a thin smile.

  “But you talked to Serena, right?”

  How did Paisley know that? “I talked to her for a minute,” I admitted, “but she didn’t really say anything.”

  “How did she seem to you?”

  “I don’t know. Why?”

  “Doesn’t she seem different? I think she’s quieter than she used to be. I thought for sure you’d notice.”

  “She was always quiet,” I said, although that wasn’t exactly true. Around her mother, she’d always been quiet and reserved. Away from Vonetta, Serena had been much more gregarious. “Neither of us have seen her in twenty years. People can change.”

  Paisley frowned thoughtfully for a second, then gave her head another firm shake. “It’s not like that. She’s . . . well, she’s almost secretive. She never talks about all the years she lived away.”

  “That’s not a crime,” I pointed out. “Maybe she’s just trying to move on with her life.”

  “Maybe.” The look on Paisley’s face made it clear that she didn’t think so.

  “Is that what you’re worried about?”

  Her eyes flew to mine and she shook her head. “No, not really. I can’t put my finger on what it is, but something weird is going on around the theater. You could feel it last night, couldn’t you?”

  “There was some tension,” I admitted. “But I don’t think there’s anything to worry about. I’m sure Vonetta has everything well under control.”

  The picture of dejection, Paisley propped her chin in one hand and picked at the lacy edges of a heart with the other. “I wish I could agree with you, but I can see the front of the Playhouse from the window of the salon.”

  “Are you saying you saw something?”

  “I saw Laurence Nichols and Richie going at it about an hour ago. Arguing, I mean.”

  “Laurence and Richie?” Okay, that was odd. “They were fighting?”

  “Not throwing punches, but they were definitely arguing. And it looked like things were getting pretty heated.”

  It would be hard to find someone less confrontational than Richie, which made me place the blame squarely on Laurence’s broad shoulders. “What did he do? Freak out because Richie asked for an autograph?”

  Paisley shook her head. “I have no idea, but it seemed like something bigger than that. I mean, Richie was . . . well, for a minute I thought he might deck Laurence.”

  “You’re talking about our Richie? From the Silver River Inn?”

  “Yep.”

  “Did you hear what they were arguing about?”

  “No, I was too far away. And inside.” Paisley pushed the heart away and brushed bits of lacy edging into her hand. “But I do know that Richie has been making a pest of himself, hanging around the theater and whatnot. He’s been underfoot almost constantly since he found out Laurence was coming to town. Vonetta doesn’t need that on top of everything else she’s dealing with.”

  I doubted it was that bad. Richie had a business to run, after all, and I couldn’t imagine Dylan just taking on everything that needed to be done without a complaint. “I’m sure the novelty of having a celebrity around will wear off in a few days and Richie will calm down again,” I said.

  Paisley glanced around for someplace to throw away the garbage, gave up, and put the lacy bits on her napkin. “That’s the trouble, Abby. I’m afraid that might be too long to wait.”

  Chapter 8

  Paisley was starting to freak me out a little with her predictions of doom and gloom. “What do you mean, that might be too long to wait? What do you think will happen?”

  “I don’t know! I only know that something’s wrong, and I’m worried.”

  “You know how emotional those creative types can be.”

  “Okay, then, how do you explain this? Last night, after they thought everyone was gone, I
heard Serena and Vonetta arguing.”

  “They’re family. Families argue.”

  “Not like this they don’t,” Paisley insisted. “It was late. Everyone else was gone. I should have been gone, too, but I forgot my scarf and had to go back in to get it. They had no idea I was there.”

  I didn’t want to ask, but I couldn’t help myself. “What did you hear?”

  “I heard Vonetta telling Serena that she didn’t know if she could ever forgive her. Does that sound normal to you?”

  She had me there. “Are you sure she was talking to Serena?”

  “I’m positive,” Paisley said with a stiff bob of her head. “I’m telling you, Abby, something’s wrong.”

  Let me be perfectly clear about this: I’d hate for someone to dig into my personal life and listen in to my arguments with family members. I certainly didn’t want to disrespect Vonetta by sticking my nose in where it didn’t belong. But like I said, curiosity has always been my weakness. “What else did you hear?”

  “Serena begged Vonetta not to make trouble, but Vonetta said it was far too late for that. See what I mean? That doesn’t sound like Vonetta at all.”

  “No, it doesn’t.” I rolled my head on my neck, trying to work out the kinks that had suddenly appeared.

  “Will you do me a favor?” Paisley asked.

  “If I can.”

  “Just keep your eyes and ears open. If you hear or see anything I should know about, tell me?”

  I ignored a rush of guilt and nodded. “Okay, sure.”

  “Thank you. I knew I could count on you.” Paisley reached across the table and squeezed my hand, looking as grateful as if I’d just agreed to let her cut and style my hair.

  Which wasn’t going to happen—but then, I was pretty sure I wasn’t going to hear anything that Paisley needed to know, either. At least not until pigs flew over Paradise—and maybe not even then.

  I managed to push Vonetta and the play to the back of my mind for the rest of that day. I had work to do, customers to serve, candy to make. Orders kept stacking up, and I didn’t have the luxury of giving in to distractions.

  That’s what I kept telling myself, anyway. I took out my frustrations by lining a dozen cookie sheets with foil, then crushing six boxes of graham crackers the old-fashioned way. A food processor might be quicker, but nothing beats a rolling pin for getting the crumbs to the right consistency.

  When the crackers were ready, I set them aside and opened a package of bamboo skewers. I pulled several containers of homemade marshmallow from the storage room, and melted dark chocolate on low heat until it was silky smooth and ready for dipping.

  Maybe it’s because we live in the mountains, but S’Mores Pops are a local favorite. Every classroom with a Valentine’s Day party scheduled had a corresponding order for thirty pops. If I did nothing else between now and the fourteenth, I’d barely keep up with the demand for those.

  I was crazy for even thinking about getting involved with Vonetta’s production, but the idea still danced around at the back of my mind all morning. Trying to shake it off, I slid three pieces of marshmallow onto each skewer, drizzled chocolate until each trio was completely coated, and then sprinkled cracker crumbs over the chocolate. But no matter how hard I tried to concentrate on the recipe in front of me, the drama at the Playhouse was never far from my thoughts.

  Of course, it didn’t help that everyone in town knew that Laurence Nichols was around, or that every customer who walked through the door had some bit of gossip to share. We heard that Laurence had been seen dining at Gigi, that he’d flirted with the clerk at the post office, and we even picked up claims that he’d purchased artwork or antiques from half the businesses in town.

  Far from packing up and slinking out of town, it seemed he was going out of his way to make his mark on Paradise. Between picking up on gossip and wondering how Vonetta was feeling now about all of it, I had a hard time concentrating on the work I should have been doing.

  I was still trying to convince myself to ignore the talk when I took Max for his walk that evening. The cold front was still firmly settled in our valley, so I bundled up in layers, wrapped the scarf my mother had sent for Christmas around my nose and mouth, and headed into the glacial night air.

  Five minutes later, I opened the door of the Playhouse and stomped the frozen snow from my boots before leading Max into the lobby. According to the call-board I’d just happened to notice the other night, the production team would be meeting tonight to discuss scenery. I wasn’t even sure why I’d stopped in, but I hadn’t been able to stay away.

  Last time I was here, the building had been bustling with activity. Tonight, it felt deserted and a little creepy. I laughed at the way my imagination could fly off in all directions with very little provocation, but I also decided not to leave Max in the box office. I didn’t intend to stay long, and only a handful of people would be here. Max would be fine sticking with me.

  We started off in the rehearsal hall, but the room, like the lobby, felt completely deserted. “Vonetta?” I called softly. “Are you here?” My voice bounced off the walls, and the echo only added to my uneasiness.

  If they weren’t in the rehearsal hall, they must have been meeting in the auditorium—which I supposed made sense if they were discussing scenery. Still a little creeped out by the silence, I kept up a steady stream of chatter as Max and I followed the dark hallway that twisted past the green room, turned at the prop room, and circled around the wardrobe and shop area.

  The shops, if you could call them that, were areas of one large room separated by temporary walls. Each space was designated for work on the lighting, props, or scenery for the current show. Of course, there were always a few old things hanging around, but Vonetta kept most of the stuff she wasn’t using in a storage space on the edge of town.

  Two small rooms in the midst of the chaos were routinely turned into makeshift offices, one for the director and one for the stage manager. I suspected that Laurence outranked Colleen in this case, and that he’d claimed the second office for himself. I glanced briefly into both, but only to make sure I wasn’t missing someone.

  Framed pictures lined the desk in Alexander’s office, each one a shot of him with another person, and all posed in front of a poster from some play he’d worked on. A half-empty wine bottle and two dirty glasses sat on the desk of the other room.

  I walked a few feet further, and found myself at one of the entrances to the auditorium. If I went through this door, I’d end up in the walkway between the stage and the front row of seats, or I could walk another fifty feet and use the crew’s backstage entrance. While I tried to decide which door to use, I listened for the sound of voices, but all I heard was more of that unnatural quiet and the sound of Max’s panting.

  “Vonetta? Paisley? Anybody?” I started to move on, but a soft sound stopped me in my tracks. “Vonetta?”

  I heard it again, and this time I was almost certain it had come from inside the auditorium. Climbing the gently sloping ramp, I pushed aside the velvet curtain that hid the work areas from the audience. The theater was dark, so I had to wait a second for my eyes to adjust. A couple of emergency lights and three Exit signs were all that relieved the darkness, but they were enough to let me see someone kneeling on the stage. Heavy breathing punctuated the silence, and I crossed mental fingers that I wasn’t interrupting Laurence and some young lady in the middle of a tryst.

  “Hello?” I said as I took a couple of steps closer. “Who’s there?”

  The sharp intake of breath cut through the relative silence and the panting silenced.

  “Nice try,” I said with a laugh. “I can see you, you know.

  You’re on the stage.”

  “Oh my God.” The whispered words seemed to come out of nowhere, but I recognized the voice immediately.

  “Vonetta? Is that you?” I glanced around as if a light switch might have materialized at my side. “What are you doing in here in the dark? Are you all right?”


  “Don’t—” Her voice caught, and she broke off. When she spoke again, she sounded shaky. Frightened, even. “Abby, I think we need to call the police.”

  “The police? Why? What’s wrong?”

  “It’s Laurence,” she said quietly, and sat up, shifting slightly so I could see a figure stretched out on the stage beside her. “I think he’s dead.”

  Chapter 9

  With my heart in my throat, I secured Max’s leash to the arm of a chair in the front row and moved closer to Vonetta and the shadow on the stage. Laurence lay on his side, his body lifeless, face frozen forever in a grimace of pain. A spotlight wrapped in thick metal casing lay a few inches away, and a dark pool of blood spread out across the stage from beneath Laurence’s head.

  I took an involuntary step backward. “What happened?”

  Vonetta sat back on her heels and shook her head. “I don’t know. He was like this when I found him.”

  Still acutely aware of the sweet smell of blood, I forced myself to move closer. I thought I knew the answer, but I asked anyway. “Are you sure he’s dead?”

  “I think so. I’ve been trying to revive him, but I can’t get a response.” She reached out as if to touch him again, but drew her hand back sharply before she actually made contact. “We need to call an ambulance.”

  If he was dead, an ambulance wouldn’t help, but I didn’t know who else to call. On the off chance he was still breathing, I clenched my teeth and reached past her to feel for a pulse. Laurence’s skin was still slightly warm, but it felt waxy beneath my fingers. He might still be alive, but if so he was barely hanging on.

  “Is he alive?” Vonetta whispered.

  I shook my head. “I don’t think so.”

  Lights suddenly blazed on in the auditorium, blinding me momentarily. I blinked, trying to regain my sight as Paisley called out, “Has anyone seen Vonetta? I need to know what to do about the callbacks.”

  Shading my eyes with one hand, I tried to focus in the glare. Paisley’s voice sounded far away, and as my vision cleared, the scene in front of me took on a surrealistic feel. It occurred to me that Paisley had been right—something bad had happened. What a senseless tragedy.