Final Act Dianne Yetman (popular ebook readers txt) 📖

month. Neither one of us have any experience so we’re meeting with Eleanor, no doubt you’ve met her, she worked closely with Jeffrey – set and costume design – to discuss acting coaches.”

“Not exactly research, is it?  More like prep work but I think you two will be wonderful on stage with all your powers of suggestion.”  Kate looked at her watch.  “Gotta go, meeting with Roger. Thanks for the information.  Good luck.”

Kate was at the door when she heard Susan’s powerful voice.

“Give sexy Roger our best.”

Chapter 5

The relentless, loud voices in the precinct’s cafeteria beat steadily against Kate’s ears.  She took a sip of water, leaned across the cafeteria table and shouted.

“Had enough of this noise, let’s finish our conversation at Chives.  What do you say?”

Roger pushed the cup of thick, black coffee aside.  “Good idea.  I could use a brisk walk in the fresh air, a cold draft of beer and decent food.  Let’s go.”

Once they were settled in the back corner of the Bistro, they continued the conversation where they left off.

“There was friction between Ward and Stone, I remember Withers saying something about overheard shouting matches, but what I witnessed between Andrew and Henry when I got to the theatre was scary.”

“Ward reminds me of one of those sly cartoon characters who slinks behind the scenes and rubs its hands together when discovering the down and dirties.   I wouldn’t put a spot of blackmail past him, or if cornered, something more drastic.  Any idea what the argument was about?”

“None, but I’m going to do some more digging.  Somebody in the company must know something.”

Their conversation ceased when the waiter placed the colourful fall beet, orange and apple salad in front of Kate and the hardier antipasto salad with salami, pepperoni, Asiago cheese, tomatoes, with oregano, parsley and parmesan whipped in balsamic vinegar and oil in front of Roger.  They tucked into their food, shared the basket of warm sourdough bread and finished with Costa Rica Shade Grown Organic coffee.  Both gave dessert a miss.

“Catherine’s fainting spell bothers me.  She used to be an actress so I’m not sure it was genuine.  She became agitated when I mentioned the Production team, I think she knows something.  She’s a repressed woman and you know what can happen with repressed personalities.  I’m going to pick up with her where I left off as soon as possible.  Maybe drop by this evening.”

Kate’s cell rang.  It was her brother.  Damn, she forgot to cancel.

“I heard you were seen trolling the neighbourhood in a Ford sedan?  Tell me it’s not true.”

“Can’t do that, James.”

“Unfortunate.  Mom’s in the kitchen cooking up a Mexican storm and asked me to give you a call to see if you would be joining us?”

“Give her my regrets.  I don’t know when I’ll be free, I’m on a case.  I was going to drop in earlier this morning to let her know but no one was home.”

“A case, okay, that explains the Ford.  You’ll be missed.  Take care.”

Kate and Roger strolled back to the precinct where they spent the rest of the day and the best part of the evening writing reports, doing background checks, and scheduling appointments.

***

Camira went to the kitchen and took down her favourite mug, filled the kettle and began to make tea.  Standing on the stool in the pantry, she took down the one possession she had of her mother’s – a white, china teapot, with a thin worn circle of gold on the lid and spout.  She reserved its use for special occasions only.

Surely being terrified qualifies as a special occasion, she thought, as she poured boiling water in the teapot. She glanced at her watch.  Hanya should soon be here.  She reached in the cupboard for her cousin’s favourite mug.  It was a large white one with an eagle emblazed on one side and on the other, ‘women chiefs can heal your griefs’, in bold script.  She took her own cup of brewed tea into the living room and sat in the leather recliner.

It was her favourite room, her bedroom coming in a close second.  Black leather sofa, side chairs, recliner and ottoman stood in stark contrast to the white accent pieces; the pictures on the wall were black and white prints framed with black or white painted wood.  Hanya once asked her why she chose not to add another colour to her cozy nest.

Her reply was simple.

After career in modelling followed by one in the theatre, I need the relief of starkness.”

As she reached for the TV remote, she thought of the question the tall, good looking Police Sergeant had asked her – did you notice anything different on the night before the Director’s murder?

The question conjured up the image of the dark figure getting into the cab. She had left the theatre after the performance to meet John, her modelling agent.  He was down from Toronto and they made plans to get together after the performance.  She was looking forward to being brought up to date on the modelling and entertainment world.  No one could deliver more scandalous, witty gossip better than John.

And, she wanted to share her good news with him.  She had been offered the role of Maggie the Cat in an American PBS production. They had sat together talking about their futures over a bottle of champagne until well after midnight.

The root of her terror began innocently enough, outside the restaurant, on the sidewalk.  Waving goodbye to John, and heading for her car, her eye caught a sudden movement to her right.  Turning her head, she saw a dark figure, ten feet in front of her, emerging from the alleyway leading from the theatre.  She watched the shadowy figure cross the street to a parked cab.  The stance and walk of the person seemed familiar but she couldn’t put a name