Third woman, midsixties. Five foot six. One hundred ten pounds. An unhealthy state of thin, unlike the first woman who had the genetics to pull it off. Little muscle tone. Zero threat.
We went up a set of side steps onto the stage with the door and I helped Paul set it upright. The three women walked over and the model-looking one nodded as she inspected the door, looking pleased.
“This is perfect, Paul,” she said, and I recognized her voice as the owner of the emeralds that might or might not be on display. “Please give your neighbor my thanks again. I wish we had the budget to pay him something.”
“It’s no big deal,” Paul said. “He’s a contractor and this was just scraps he would have thrown away. He was happy to help.”
She looked over at me, Ida Belle, and Gertie and then back at Paul, obviously assuming we were with him and he needed to take care of introductions.
“Sorry,” he said, realizing his faux pas. “I met these ladies in the parking lot and they helped me with the door. I’ll let them explain why they’re here.”
I introduced myself, Ida Belle, and Gertie and gave them the same pitch that I’d given Paul. The younger woman kept biting her lip and her eyes started to mist up. The model frowned as I talked and nodded a lot. The older one shook her head the entire time, looking troubled. When I finished, the model sighed.
“I can’t imagine what that young man is going through,” she said. “My name is Brigette Driscoll. I run the theater and this is my assistant, Gwyn Simmons. Lil Davis is a volunteer who helps on set. We’re happy to assist any way we can, but I have to admit that I’m not sure how to.”
I studied her for a moment. She was all about being refined and reserved and it appeared that she belonged in a museum or a palace rather than on a stage. So I decided to see if I could shake her demeanor.
“Have you spoken to Detective Casey recently?” I asked.
“Not since the day after the…incident,” she said.
“Oh,” I said. “Then you haven’t heard.”
“Heard what?” she asked.
“They found Gil’s car in a bayou in Sinful,” I said. “Murder is now the primary crime. The stolen car was simply to hide the fact that killing him was intentional.”
Her eyes widened and the assistant, Gwyn, gasped. Lil went paler than she was before. Paul looked stunned.
“That can’t be,” he said. “Who would want to kill Gil?”
“That’s one of the things his son would like to know, which is why we’re here,” I said. “Obviously Gil did something to make someone angry enough to kill him. And since this acting troupe was such a big part of his life, I figured you might know some things that Sinful locals didn’t know about him.”
“You’re looking for motive,” Paul said. “How ironic.”
“What do you mean?” I asked.
Brigette cleared her throat. “He means that the play we’re currently doing is a murder mystery. Gil played the part of the detective.”
“Ah, I see,” I said. “Anyway, what I wanted to know is more about Gil’s personal life. You spent a lot of hours rehearsing and on the road. Did he ever discuss his son, his marriage, or any other issues with you?”
Brigette glanced at Gwyn, then frowned. “Not with me. I’m displeased with people who complain about their spouse or children to others, so I tend to avoid putting myself in situations where that might occur.”
“Can I ask why you avoid those situations?” I asked.
“First, I believe it’s tacky and disrespectful,” Brigette said. “Second, I think it’s unfair to present only one side of an issue concerning another person when they’re not able to give their own take. When complaining about family dynamics, people have a tendency to portray things in their own best light, not necessarily the correct light.”
I smiled. “Very true. And I imagine not being a sounding board saves you a lot of hassle, especially since you run things. What about you, Paul? You travel to perform…did you and Gil ever throw back some beers and shoot the bull?”
Paul looked a bit flustered but finally nodded. “A little. I mean, not the beer part. I don’t drink, but Gil liked to have a couple when we were done for the night. I get wound up after performances and can’t go straight to bed. I need to stir around a bit to wind down.”
“So you’d sit in the hotel bar with Gil to wind down sometimes?” I asked.
“Yes, I mean sometimes,” Paul said, then looked a bit guilty. “To be honest, I usually tried to sneak away. Gil was a nice guy but he could be overwhelming. He never really got off the stage, if that makes sense.”
“Not exactly what you’re looking for to wind down,” I said.
“No,” Paul agreed.
“So did he ever talk about his wife or his son, Liam?” I asked. “Or maybe problems he had with his business or a customer?”
“Gil told me that his son didn’t speak to him over a falling-out some years ago,” Paul said. “He said he’d made some attempts to start communication, but he didn’t hold out much hope.”
“Did he ever tell you why they had a falling-out?” I asked.
“No,” Paul said. “And I never asked.”
“Would it surprise you if I told you Gil married his son’s girlfriend?” I asked.
Paul’s eyes widened and a flush crept up his face. Gwyn looked positively ill. Lil blanched and then looked away. Brigette cringed as if she’d smelled something incredibly foul. Which wasn’t exactly incorrect.
“I, uh…I had no idea,” Paul said. “That’s horrible. We’ve all met Tiffany of course, and no one could miss the age difference, but I never knew…no wonder Gil didn’t think his son would ever speak to him again. I don’t think I would either.”
“That’s really true?” Gwyn asked, and I realized it was the first time she’d spoken. She was the woman who’d been asking if Brigette was going to use the emeralds in the play.
I gestured to Ida Belle and Gertie and they both nodded.
“We’ve known the family since before Gil was even born,” Ida Belle said. “It’s all very unfortunate, but very true.”
“Oh,” Gwyn said and stared down at the floor.
“Well, ladies,” Brigette said, “it sounds like you have your motive already.”
“Except we don’t think Liam did it,” I said. “Why wait years to get revenge? He doesn’t inherit and I doubt he’d want Tiffany back even if she made a move in that direction. He’s got a good job with a bright future. It simply doesn’t fit. And we don’t want to see him railroaded from his career by the police focusing on the wrong person.”
“So does Tiffany inherit everything?” Gwyn asked.
“According to what we’ve heard, yes,” I lied.
“And that’s why you want to know if he ever talked about his wife,” Paul said.
“Did he?” I asked.
“Some,” Paul said. “At first, he complained that she didn’t want to travel when we went out of town to do the shows. He’d told me she had that thing—you know—where you don’t want to leave the house?”