Castle Deadly, Castle Deep, page 22
He went back to my door, where Andy was about to be led away. We had bound him in some of my tights, but the police had transferred him into handcuffs. I had heard them give him his Miranda rights, a very satisfying series of words.
Derek approached the bed and went not to Connie but to me, lifting me and embracing me. “Nora, we have put you through so much.”
“You haven’t done anything,” I said calmly into his sleeve, “except to be an ever-supportive friend and employer. I am grateful for you.”
He kissed the top of my head and said, “Enough of this stress.” He looked behind himself; Andy was gone now, as were several of the police officers. “From now on, this will be the best fall the castle has ever seen.”
I exchanged a glance with Connie over his shoulder. Those words had sounded like Derek was on the verge of spending money again.
“It already is the best ever,” I said, “because I’m with all of you.”
He let me go, nodding and smiling. “I bet the piano would raise your spirits.”
He was right. We moved toward the door and began to file past Dash and his colleagues, starting to move into the hall. Dash reached out a hand and grabbed my arm, still talking to a man I did not know.
“Excuse me for a minute, Bill,” he said. He led me across the room, closer to my bathroom, for some privacy.
“You’re not really mad at me, are you?” I said.
He touched my chin, which now sported a big Band-Aid. “No, of course not. I know what happened, and I know why. I have to go through the formal interrogation, though.”
“Okay. I guess I’m pretty much like a deputy at this point.”
His eyes narrowed. “You are most certainly not a deputy, nor do I ever want you confronting a dangerous person again. I am hoping for a future with you, Nora.”
Those words had an effect more intense than the sugar in a Balfour Bar.
“Oh,” I said in a small voice.
“Yes, exactly.” He bent to kiss me, his lips soft, warm, exciting.
“Get rid of them,” I whispered, “and we can—” I gestured to my bed, and Dash laughed.
“Later, I’m afraid. I have to go back now and file this report. It will be a while.”
“Fine.” I pretended to pout. “I will settle for singing show tunes with my friends.”
“Like that’s a sacrifice,” Dash said with a smile that said he was starting to know me quite well.
20
Opening Night
ACT I HAD gone well. The stage looked amazing, with its glittering Christmas tree and its crackling “fire.” Everyone had remembered lines and cues; props were in place at the proper time. Connie simply sparkled as Nora Helmer, and Jack had recovered enough of his confidence to be a very convincing Torvald.
Dash had helped with my matchmaking conspiracy, escorting Gen to the front row, where my parents and siblings sat, as well. Dash sat beside her so that he could catalog her reactions to Paul’s appearance onstage and his performance overall.
Now, midway through Act II, Connie was confiding to me, as Kristine, that it was Krogstad who had lent her the money. I offered to help, and Connie as Nora asked, “How could you possibly help?”
I answered simply, “There was a time he would have done anything for me.”
The audience actually gasped with this subtle little detail that changed everything. I felt a surge of energy and pleasure. How invigorating it was when a line was received well, the way the playwright (and the actor) intended.
There was one near disaster when someone took a swig of water backstage and spilled some; Derek slipped in it and almost fell. Had he broken his leg or brained himself on a prop, I would have believed the production was truly cursed. But I was determined to think it was blessed, not only because the lines were flowing well, organically, but because the theater, Derek had told us excitedly, was full to capacity.
Act III began with my dialogue with Krogstad.
“Let’s talk,” I said to Paul, whose anger barely concealed his terrible hurt; his eyes glittered in the stage lights as he told me that I had broken his heart. Again, I heard the audience gasp, this time with sympathy.
When I told him that I had come back for him, that I wanted to try again, to be a mother for his children, Paul began, very spontaneously, to cry. He never broke character, but wiped at his eyes and snuffled out his next lines. I heard someone in the audience sniffling away empathetic tears. I took Paul’s hands, assured him I would never betray him again. Elspeth had done our makeup in such a way that when the lights grew less harsh, putting us in a slightly pink glow, we both looked younger, fresher, happier. When Paul left the stage and said, “I’ve never been so happy,” the audience began to clap.
Then I said it was worth the try, which also received some applause, and then Torvald and Nora were back, Nora reluctantly, Torvald practically shoving her into the room. I said that I had wanted to see Nora’s costume, which was a lovely black-and-red thing with subtle glitter around the hem and cuffs.
By the time Derek came in as the tragic and dying Dr. Rank, the audience was bursting with suspense. Was Nora going to kill herself? But first they had to watch another emotionally painful scene: Rank telling Nora, in a coded way, that he would die soon, and Nora whispering, “Sleep well, Dr. Rank.” When he left, he turned to look at Nora (Derek looking at Connie with the obvious love he felt for her) and said, “And thanks for the light.” He didn’t cry, but the audience got the sense that he might do so after the door closed behind him forever.
Then came Nora and Torvald’s final confrontation. I peered at the audience from the wings and saw enthralled faces; Gen was absolutely lost in the performances. Once in a while, she wiped away a tear.
When Nora left Torvald in the final scene and walked offstage, the slamming of a door was heard twenty seconds later. Then Torvald uttered his final, deluded line and the audience jumped to its feet in a spontaneous ovation. Derek sent Millie and Elspeth out for their applause; then he and Renata walked out, hand in hand; then came Paul and me. I watched Gen’s face, which was, I was pleased to note, staring not at her sister, but at Paul Corby, with his distinguished but shabby suit and his graying hair. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Paul glance down and notice her. He stiffened beside me, shocked. Then he looked around again, and we bowed a second time. And then Jack and Connie came out to thunderous applause.
We walked offstage, and Derek told us moments later, “They want us again!” This time we filed onstage in one line, hand in hand, and the applause continued.
“Bravo!” someone yelled.
I felt absolutely high, not just from the energy flow between actor and audience, but because my plan was working. Gen could not take her eyes off Paul, and Paul kept trying to pretend he wasn’t staring back at her, but was stealing continual micro glances nonetheless.
When we went backstage for the final time and the audience started to file out, we stood in an excited cluster, taking apart the elements of the performance.
“I want to invite you all to Jack’s Pub,” Derek said (he and Jack had arranged this in advance), “and we’ll go over all the elements that worked well tonight. But I am thrilled with how it went and proud of all of you! The best cast I could have hoped for!”
We clapped, and Connie said, “And we are proud of the director who stood in for a player at the last minute and did a remarkable job.”
We clapped again, and I noticed that Paul’s gaze had drifted to an area behind us. I turned and saw Gen, looking pretty and elegant in a red dress, standing there hesitantly in the corner.
“Dash said I was supposed to come back and say hi,” she said.
Paul lunged toward her, practically knocking down poor Millie, who was righted by Derek, who slung an arm around her. Millie looked pleased and leaned on him gratefully. The actors in my circle kept talking loudly, but I tuned my ears to the conversation behind me, trying to catch bits of their dialogue.
“I didn’t know you were coming tonight—”
“—last-minute decision—”
“—so amazing to see you there in the audience . . .”
“—I’m so glad I made it . . . spectacular performance—”
“—something to eat?”
“I actually didn’t get a chance earlier—”
“Let’s remedy that.”
Nervous laughter. I turned, and they were gone.
* * *
* * *
THE TWINS WERE disappointed to go home without visiting the castle, but my parents convinced them that the cast wanted to celebrate, and there would be time enough in the coming weeks to come back for a visit when everything had settled down.
“I saw that the man who killed your castmate was arrested,” my mother said. “Such a relief. Just think: if they hadn’t caught him, he would have performed in front of us tonight, although I couldn’t imagine anyone but that handsome Derek in the role.” She gave me a significant look. “Speaking of handsome, Paul looked quite good up there. I think your sister noticed, as well.”
“Yes.”
My mother gave a little smile. “She disappeared almost immediately. Dad says they’ve gone for dinner.”
“If she starts dating him, you can be utterly content. He’s one of the most perfect gentlemen I’ve ever met and incredibly smart and talented. He and Derek have an endless well of abilities.”
“Mmm.” Her eyes sparkled at me. “We sat with John Dashiell. Are the two of you . . . ?”
“Yes,” I said, smiling. “Very much so.”
“Oh, goodness. Both of my girls are finding love at the same time.”
“We’ll see with Gen. But my fingers are crossed.”
My family eventually said their goodbyes in the lobby and went to their B and B. My mother at least intended to watch one more performance the next day. She said the play had been “riveting.”
My father had said that he needed to start reading Ibsen if “he wrote good stuff like that.”
The twins had been monopolizing Dash, and he came back to me laughing.
“Those guys,” he said.
“Yeah, I know. Derek’s hosting everyone at Jack’s Pub. Want to go?”
“If you’re going,” he said, slipping his hand into mine.
We went outside into the dark. The building manager was already turning out the lights. The moon was a bright crescent, reclining on dark gray clouds.
“Let’s walk,” he said. “We can come back for the car.”
“Okay.” His arm slid around my shoulders, warming me, and I asked, “So—did you like the play?”
“The play was amazing. Here’s my rating. Performances: ten, especially yours and Paul’s. But everyone was good. Renata was kind of heartbreaking. Set: ten. I can’t believe you got the stage looking like that in a little community theater. I was expecting cardboard backdrops and minimal props. Overall impact on audience: ten. The place was electric. I heard murmurs about how the BC was so much better since Derek Corby had started directing.”
“Oh, that’s so good to hear. He should really get paid for what he does.”
“He probably will start getting a salary, or they’ll lose him to some bigger theater.”
“Yeah. But I don’t know if he would leave the castle.” And I hoped he would never have to.
“But you, Nora Blake.” He stopped and turned me toward him, near a rustling tree through which I could see the autumn moon. “You are a remarkable woman. A brilliant actress, a soulful musician and singer, a brave warrior, a good friend to your companions. Loyal and kind.”
“What else?” I joked.
“I mean it,” he said. “You’re one in a million.”
“I feel the same. I have a confession: I’m hung up on you.”
He cupped my face in his hands and kissed me. “Good.”
“Want to come to my sleepover tonight?” I asked lightly.
“Who’s invited?”
I pretended to count on my fingers. “Right now just you.”
“Then yes, I do. You can stop inviting people.”
“What about Dorian?” I teased.
“Sure. If I can bring Robin.”
“Touché,” I said, bowing slightly.
He took my hand again, and we walked to the pub, ready to celebrate with our friends.
21
Poetic Pursuit
A WEEK LATER, we had started a busy schedule of castle performances. Derek had double-booked on some days to honor the rain checks for people who had lost their appointments because of Ben’s murder. We had mastered the new script set in the library, which kept many of the same lines but dropped Dorian’s part and made the family smaller. This time the father’s will was said to be hidden in a tome in the library, and in fact he had told each child about a separate clue he had left there.
Elspeth had outdone herself with the library, making it look moody and mildly frightening, and bringing in a variety of lights that made some corners glow orange, some blue, some flickering white. Ultimately, we agreed that the new setting was better, as was the new script.
Paul told me, in a stolen meeting in his office, that he was pleased with the money they were taking in with the resumed castle shows. In addition he informed me, as we munched on some of Zana’s pizza burgers, that Derek’s critic friend had written a glowing review of the Blue Curtain production of A Doll’s House on his blog, and that it was quoted in the Chicago papers.
“That’s probably why we kept packing the seats,” he said.
Indeed, every show had been performed to a full house, and even the understudies received raves for their performances. Derek’s plaudits continued, even after the play’s completed its run.
Paul told me that some new videos he had put on the castle website, where he regularly posted YouTube links of one or more of the castle cast singing, had been receiving significantly increased traffic since the play. “The favorites, by far, are the one of you singing ‘Hallelujah,’ and the duet by you and Connie. The Toy Story one.” Connie and I had sung a very affectionate version of “You’ve Got a Friend in Me” for one of Derek’s promotions, and it had been on our website for months.
“Twenty-four thousand likes on YouTube,” he said, “and a bunch of shares.”
“Well, that’s good for the castle, right?”
“I hope so. People are seeing that we’re distinctive, but that we also have top talent.”
I nibbled at my sandwich, watching him under my lashes. “Was it fun having Gen here last weekend?”
His smile told me that he saw through me. “Let’s shoot straight like Krogstad and Kristine. Yes, it was amazing to see Gen. Yes, I know you arranged it. Yes, I have very strong feelings for her. Yes, I think she has them for me, too.”
I clapped, smiling.
“We’ve decided we’ll try the long-distance thing,” he said.
Gen had of course already told me this, in a breathless phone call after she was back in New York, but I had wanted to hear it verified by Paul.
“That’s awesome,” I said. “I guess my work here is done.”
“I appreciate it, Nora. I— Your sister is very special. I’m going to do all I can to make this work.”
“I couldn’t have chosen a better boyfriend for her,” I said. I finished my pizza burger and wiped my hands on a napkin. “What say we go to the piano and—”
Derek appeared in Paul’s office doorway, his face white. “Paul, I— Oh, hi, Nora.”
“What’s wrong?” I said. “You look upset.”
He walked to the chair next to mine and slumped down in it. “I surrender,” he said. “What will be, will be.”
“No luck on a grant?” Paul asked, his face grim.
“No. And I just heard from the producer. The script has changed, and the setting is now an old, abandoned prison, not a castle. So no film contract.”
We sat in silence, processing this doubly bad news. Derek looked tired and defeated. I knew he did a lot behind the scenes, battling with his gargantuan energy to keep everything running smoothly, and he concealed any problems with a smile.
Paul handed his brother a piece of chocolate, and Derek smiled, but just held the little wrapper in his hand.
My eyes lighted on the framed poem on Paul’s wall
“Listen,” I said, standing up. “Dorian and Drake thought that poem would lead to something valuable. They believed it so much that they were willing to risk their jobs and their reputations. Let’s just assume for one minute that they were right. What have you got to lose, taking some time to ponder this?”
Derek spoke in a sarcastic tone. “Phil the fantasist.”
“Let’s go with Nora here for a minute,” Paul said. “See if it makes sense.”
They both looked at me as though I had a presentation prepared. Thinking fast, I said, “First of all, why did the Pierce brothers settle on the little library? Why not the large one? I think we have to look at the first line of the poem: ‘The source of knowledge, light, and lore is just behind a certain door.’ ” I paused.
Paul rustled up his seat. “ ‘Lore’ and ‘knowledge’ suggest a room full of books, and ‘light’ could mean inspiration, which can also be found in books. So okay, the library might make sense. So why the small one? Could it be the word ‘certain’? It’s ‘behind a certain door,’ meaning a specific door, which implies a specific room.”
Derek showed his first gleam of interest. “The big library doesn’t have a door. It has an archway.”
“Yes!” I said. “An archway, not a door. So they moved up to the Small Library, which has a definite door and walls of books. They were hunting through them one by one, but they had to be careful and quiet. And even then they got caught.”
