Chapter 30

The following Monday, rehearsal started promptly, courtesy of the drill sergeant formerly known as Janine.

“All right, everyone,” Janine called out. “Bring some energy! Bring some action!”

Who would’ve ever thought mild-mannered, laid-back Janine would turn into a tyrant? The artistic director title had gone to her head faster than Asti Spumante on New Year’s Eve.

“How many more times do we have to rehearse this stupid scene?” Bernie whined.

“’Til I’m satisfied,” Janine snapped.

Usually, just out of general principle, I disagree with Bernie, but in this case I heartily concurred. We’d been rehearsing since six p.m., and even Krystal looked ready to fade. I said it before and I’ll say it again. She’s a real trouper. Not once had she used her pregnancy as an excuse to quit early, although I wouldn’t have blamed her if she had. I wondered how people would react if I told them I was pregnant and wanted to call it a night. I’m not, of course, but it would be fun to see their reactions. I bet rumors would travel through Serenity Cove Estates faster than a California wildfire.

“One more time,” Janine the slave driver instructed. “Stay in the world of the play.”

I hadn’t the foggiest idea what that meant, but I gave it my best shot. I was grateful the part of Myrna, the housekeeper, didn’t require a lot of acting ability. Having been a housewife the better part of my life seemed adequate training for the role. I could shake a feather duster and run a vacuum with the best of them.

I watched from the wings as Eric and Megan went through their scene. Megan, too, seemed typecast as an ingénue. I ask you, just how hard can it be for a perky blue-eyed blonde to play a perky blue-eyed blonde? When I thought about it, Eric had an easy role as well. He transitioned from clever rookie cop in real life to clever detective in Lance’s playwriting masterpiece. Megan, I noticed, seemed to have her lines down pat, but Eric needed a lot of help from Pam, who was acting as prompter.

“Sorry,” he apologized for the nth time, running his hand over his sandy blond military-style haircut. “I’ve been pulling extra shifts at the department in order to get time off for the rehearsals and performance.”

“Take five, everyone,” Janine said brusquely. “Afterward, we’ll run through it again top to bottom.”

Janine’s announcement met a chorus of groans. “In case you’ve forgotten, tickets go on sale tomorrow. Time’s running out.”

Having said this, she beckoned Mort Thorndike, who had replaced Gus Smith for lighting and sound, aside to go over a list of suggestions. Eric and Megan huddled together in a far corner, but from their flirty smiles and giggles, I didn’t think they were running lines. I made a mental note to ask Pam how she felt about her baby girl dating a policeman. The rest of the cast and crew dispersed in different directions, some heading toward the coffeemaker, others to the restroom. I didn’t see any sign of Bill, so I wandered off in hopes of finding him. I must admit, Sunday’s pot roast dinner had been a resounding success. I’m happy to report Jezebel and Gigolo have gotten their relationship/ friendship back on track.

“BRB,” I told Pam as I sailed out of the auditorium in hot pursuit of a certain blue-eyed devil. Pam looked puzzled, but gave me an absent wave as she made her way to her daughter’s side. BRB stands for “Be right back” in texting jargon. I probably should ease up a bit, but can’t seem to resist using it now and then. Truth is, I find it a lot more fun than either Morse code or Gregg shorthand.

I hugged my cardigan tighter around me. Marietta Perkins liked to keep the rec center’s thermostat set on shiver. Some speculated she got a kickback from the utility company. Many complained, but to no avail. When it came to dictators, she was right up there with Adolf Hitler and Idi Amin. Well, that might be a slight exaggeration, but you get my drift.

As I strolled down the hall, I peeked into the exercise rooms. Mats were rolled up and shoved against the wall in readiness for tomorrow’s aerobics classes. Yoga, stretch and tone, and Tai Chi were usually conducted in the smaller of the two rooms. Having to drive Krystal to the diner early every day had put a significant crimp in my weekly routine. I was glad the Honda was once again up and running. I’d sorely missed attending Tai Chi on a semiregular basis. I missed the glare of Marian, our instructor, when I zigged instead of zagged. I wasn’t sure I still remembered how to Repulse the Monkey. My Chi was dammed up and refused to flow. With all the worry over Claudia, I’d lost my inner calm. Where, oh where, did my dantien go? Where, oh where, did it wander?

A man toting a duffel came out of the workout room, mumbled good night to Marietta at the front desk, and shoved through the exit, letting in a blast of cold air.

Brrr! Shivering, I stuck my hands into the pockets of my cardigan for warmth and felt something hard and smooth. I reached in and pulled out an earring-a large gold hoop. For a moment I stared at it, puzzled. Then it dawned on me. I’d picked it up from the floor of the restroom the night of the shooting, slipped it into my pocket, and promptly forgotten about it. Until now, that is.

I examined the hoop more carefully. On closer inspection, it appeared to be real gold, probably valuable. No doubt someone had been frantically searching for a missing earring, and the whole time it had been snug in my sweater pocket. There were still two minutes left of my five-minute break-time enough to turn this into lost and found.

“Yes…?” An unsmiling Marietta peered at me through retro cat’s-eye glasses. Someone needed to tell her they made her look like a witch. But that person wasn’t going to be me. My bravery had its limits.

I extended my hand, palm out. “I found this earring a couple weeks ago in the ladies’ room.”

“And you’re just now turning it in?” Her pursed lips and dark scowl reminded me of Mother Superior’s expression after catching my best friend and me smoking behind the gym in tenth grade.

“Ah, sorry, I forgot. It was the night of the shooting,” I added in a feeble attempt to expiate my guilt.

“Hmph,” she muttered. “Poor excuse.”

I almost begged her not to call my mother. Parochial schools are fertile breeding grounds for guilty consciences. No offense is too big or too small to make you grovel and beg forgiveness.

She plucked the earring from my upturned palm, examined it, then nodded with satisfaction. “The owner of this earring had me turn the rec center upside down looking for it”-she gave me the evil eye-“and all the time it was in your pocket.”

“Ah, I have to get back to rehearsal. Please tell her how sorry I am.”

“Mrs. Peterson will no doubt be pleased to have her earring returned,” Marietta said, reaching for the phone. “As a matter of fact, I think I’ll call her right now.”

“Peterson? Nadine Peterson…?”

“That’s right. Do you know her?”

Before Marietta could stop me, I retrieved the earring. “Nadine lives just across the street from me. I’ll return it in person.”

“Just the same, I’ll call to let her know you have her earring.”

Sheesh! As if I’d be tempted to keep it. What did the woman think I’d do with a solitary gold hoop? I suppose one could always have another hole pierced in one’s ear. Piercings-along with tattoos-seemed to be all the rage these days.

I started to walk away but turned back. “I don’t suppose you recall when Mrs. Peterson lost her earring?”

“Of course I do,” she sniffed, obviously offended by the question. “There’s nothing wrong with my memory. I’m not subject to those ‘senior moments’ so many of you people complain about.”

She might as well have come right out and called me the despised E word-elderly. “Well…?” I prompted, doing my best to ignore the insult. “When did Nadine lose her precious earring?”