Читать книгу Murder At the Cubbyhole - Alice Zogg - Страница 11

On Monday morning, R. A. Huber had an appointment to meet with Mr. and Mrs. Kingsley, the owners of the Cubbyhole Theater, at their playhouse. It was located down a side alley off the main drag in Old Town Pasadena. She was a few minutes early and found the place locked. From the outside, the small theater could have been mistaken for an office building were it not for the wide front portal. Photos with scenes from the current play were exhibited in glass cases on either side of the entrance. Huber was studying a picture of a young woman in the role of Vanity when the couple walked up to her. They were both well into their seventies. Huber had the distinct feeling that the pair had been arguing moments before but were trying to hide this from her.

After introductions were made, she pointed to the photo and asked, “Was this Megan Maguire?”

Mrs. Kingsley replied, “Oh no, it’s the actress who replaced her. Considering what happened, I think it would be in poor taste to show a picture of the first Vanity.”

Mr. Kingsley unlocked the entry and then pulled the heavy doors open. As Huber followed them past the ticketing counter into the lobby, he said, “Have you been to our theater before?”

“I sure have on several occasions,” Huber replied with an appreciative smile. “I enjoyed the small scale setting as it gave me an intimate rapport with the performers. You have a real treasure here.”

Flattered, he beamed at her. Then he said, “There’s an office to the left where we can talk,” and led the way past the coat check and restrooms.

To call the tiny workstation an office was a generous statement. Mr. Kingsley motioned Huber into the only comfortable chair behind the modest desk and opened up two folding chairs for him and his wife he found leaning against the wall. The only other furniture was an old-fashioned wooden file cabinet. The small space had no window, just three walls and an open arched entryway. There was no computer, printer, or fax machine in the room.

He said, “You’re not claustrophobic, are you?”

“Don’t worry, I’m not,” Huber replied. “First off, let me thank you both for granting me this interview. Since you were questioned by the police a while back, some of the material we’ll go over might be repetitive.”

Mr. Kingsley said, “We’re glad to help and the faster the culprit is caught, the better.”

“Do you folks run the theater yourselves?”

“We used to when we were younger, but decided to hire a manager some years back.” And with a meaningful side glance toward his wife he remarked, “As we’re learning now, it is not always a good idea to delegate one’s responsibilities.” Returning his attention back to Huber he continued, “This is his office.”

“Would he know about deliveries made to the backstage area?”

“You mean props and such?”

“No, I was thinking of things sent to actors; like the orchids delivered to Megan Maguire, for instance.”

“Oh, I see, how stupid of me! Our manager takes care of the business aspect of the theater, but the director might know which of the stagehands accepted the flowers.”

“Would that be Sal Silverberg?”

“Correct.”

Mrs. Kingsley chimed in, “He is a tremendous asset to the cast. We are so lucky to have him.”

Huber said, “I have Mr. Silverberg on my list of people to see.” Then she asked, “I take it you’ve owned the theater for a long time?”

“35 years, and we’re quite nostalgic about it,” said Mrs. Kingsley.

Her spouse nodded and said, “The Cubbyhole was already old when we bought it and in dire need of repairs. When it was put on the market we feared that if sold to the wrong people, the memorable playhouse would be torn down. We couldn’t let that happen and put in a generous bid.”

Huber remarked, “You were lucky to be able to do that.”

“You’ve got that right. Just around the time the theater was for sale, we’d inherited a substantial sum and planned to invest it in real estate. We were, and still are, performing arts enthusiasts and eagerly grabbed the opportunity to keep this place alive. There was even money left for repairs and remodeling.”

The sadness in Mrs. Kingsley’s voice was undeniable as she said, “Those were the good old days. In the current economy it is a daily struggle to keep our doors open.”

“Now, don’t whine, dear,” her husband put in. “From Sin to Virtue is a success. We are nearly sold out at every performance.”

“You keep the play going despite what happened to Megan?”

He replied, “We initially thought to close down the Cubbyhole for a while, but the director insisted that the show must go on and has replaced her with the understudy.” And with a bit of embarrassment he added, “The news of what happened backstage on the night of the debut performance seems to have put our little theater into the limelight. As I mentioned, we’ve had a full house ever since.”

His wife commented, “There is no harm in seizing a good business opportunity, now is there?”

Mr. Kingsley gave her an irritated look and she quickly added, “After the explosion we hired extra security personnel, though.”

“Are there other performances at the Cubbyhole besides From Sin to Virtue?”

“Oh yes,” she said. “Something’s going on almost every night; we have to be flexible, or else couldn’t survive.” She turned to her husband and asked, “Do you know this week’s schedule?”

“Let me think - - Mondays are usually dark. I believe tomorrow is improv night; Wednesdays are play rehearsals; on Thursday we’ll have a magic show; and if I’m not mistaken, there is a chamber music concert on Friday. And of course, the play is Saturday and Sunday nights.”

“How well did you know Megan?”

They glanced at one another sideways and replied in unison, “We didn’t know her.”

Huber stared at them.

Mrs. Kingsley explained, “We saw her on stage at the dress rehearsal and also on opening night, but we’d never talked to her.”

“I see. Was she a good actress?”

“Indeed she was and played an impressionable Vanity.”

“Did Megan have a dressing room all to herself, or did she share it with others?”

“She used the small dressing room which accommodates only one person.”

“How bad was the damage to it?”

Her husband took over and stated, “It was completely destroyed and so was part of the hallway. We had to get estimates and last Friday finally obtained the okay from the insurance company to go ahead with the reconstruction. Work on it will start next week.”

“So the crime scene is still untouched?”

“It’s boarded up.” He got to his feet and beckoned, “Come, I’ll show you.”

Mrs. Kingsley said, “You two go ahead; looking at the destruction gives me the willies.”

Mr. Kingsley turned the auditorium lights on and then led her down the right-hand side aisle. As they passed by rows of seats covered in red velvet fabric, Huber got a glimpse of the heavy brocade curtain drawn across the proscenium style stage, before they mounted the few steps leading backstage.

Mr. Kingsley suddenly became a tour guide and said, “We are now passing through the green room, a lounge where performers wait when they are not needed onstage. On the opposite side is the dimmer room housing the dimmer racks which provide power to the lighting rig in the theater.”

Stepping a few yards down the hallway he continued, “To your right is a storage room, and next to it the male dressing room with adjoining restroom. On the left we have the female dressing room and corresponding restroom. The door adjacent to it leads to the back entrance.”

Then they walked a few more paces down the corridor and without warning came upon an area barricaded off by plywood panels, and beyond, nothing but a big gaping hole.

He said, “As you can see, there’s nothing left of the room and this part of the hallway.”

Huber peered into the abyss for a long moment, and then said, “Why was there an additional dressing room needed in such a small theater?”

“How perceptive of you! Originally, the room used to be another storage room to hold costumes, wigs and props. A few years back, we had a famous star among the cast - - I won’t mention her name - - with a big ego, demanding to have her own private dressing room. As a courtesy to her, we converted the little storage place into a dressing room and then kept it that way. The lead ladies have had their private place backstage ever since.”

They turned away from the gloomy site and retraced their steps. As they passed the back entrance, Huber asked, “So the orchid plant was delivered through this door and brought to where there’s nothing but a ruin now?”

“I would guess so.”

There was no point in lingering backstage any longer. They returned to the auditorium, walked through it, and headed back to the small office where Mrs. Kingsley still sat on the same folding chair. She seemed a bit muddled, and Huber suspected that the lady might have dozed off and was now trying hard to focus.

“I have just one more question. Do either of you have a theory as to why the young woman was killed?”

Mr. Kingsley shook his head and replied, “I can’t imagine why anyone would do such an atrocious deed.”

His wife said, “The modern world is full of violence and criminals; no place is safe anymore.”

“Evil has always existed in our world, and always will,” Huber stated.