The Roar of the Crowd Read online

  Micheline was looking at me expectantly, either to say something or remove myself from her lair. I remembered then what I’d been waiting to tell her. Man, I must be really tired.

  “I have a bit of a conflict tomorrow morning, but only for an hour or so, and I was wondering if we could get one of the actors to cover off for me with the kids.”

  “What sort of conflict?”

  “Steve, my boyfriend, needs to be picked up at the airport. I figure he can drop me off here on his way home, but I have to get his car out to him, and his flight lands at 9:30 a.m. There’s no way I’ll be here for ten, and if there is any delay, which there well may be, I might not get here till noon.”

  “Right. Well, we could call Tony or Louise. You know, if you were to spring about $50 for supplies, I’ll bet Louise would do a stage make-up session with them. Why don’t you call her?”

  “That’s a fantastic idea. I don’t know why we didn’t schedule that into the camp in the first place!”

  Micheline flipped the call list over to me and I found and dialled Louise’s number. She was amenable and told me she’d pop by the theatre supply shop on her way in today, and we could settle up later on the cost of the greasepaint and sponges.

  “She’s very good; she used to teach the course at the Banff Centre, you know.” Micheline nodded and looked justifiably proud of her suggestion. I hadn’t known that about Louise, but was very relieved that things would work out this way, probably even better than originally planned. I could go get Steve, the campers would have a great morning, and I could maybe even manipulate my way into sounding out Louise about possible alibis she might have for the day Eleanor was killed and stuffed under the stairs. After all, stepping into the role of Hero gave Louise one of the more obvious payoffs of anyone who stood to benefit from Eleanor’s death.

  I felt a bit guilty to be suspecting someone who was doing me such a favour, but I didn’t let it bother me overmuch. After all, these were actors we were dealing with. Any one of them could be putting on the performance of their lifetime, all the while leaving Denise out to hang for their crimes.

  The kids began to arrive, and I herded them over to the hilltop area we had claimed over the course of the camp. Some of them were asking if we could play the card game today, which was gratifying, but I’d set today out for putting the scenes together so we could determine a running time for our class presentation at the end of the week. I explained to them the slight change in procedure for the next day, and they all looked pretty excited at the thought of playing with makeup—even the boys, which goes to show how useful performers like Eddie Izzard and Gene Simmons can be for naturalizing experiences.

  Aside from that, though, the next few days would be working their scenes to get off book and sorting through costuming ideas to get continuity between the scenes. We would be changing the actors for each scene, so there had to be a unifying piece of costume to designate each character. That was one of the things we had to discuss today, because the kids would have to search out and bring their costumes by Thursday for sure. That would give me enough time to raid the Value Village on their behalf, if necessary, before the presentation the following Saturday at noon.

  The day went by quickly. I was impressed by the kids’ grasp of the language, since some of them had been openly disdainful of what they hadn’t understood a week earlier. Being caught up in the excitement of the festival and surrounded by good-looking adults who obviously loved this stuff had rubbed off, as had their exposure to the Bard himself. Whether they liked it or not, we had created twenty-three more theatregoers in what was already a very drama-supportive town. Yay, us.

  We wrapped up with each kid taking home a list of things to search out: white shirts, blue scarves, toques, tweedy vests, denim skirts. I figured that even with variation, audiences would be able to track which person in the scene was Benedick, Leonato, or Beatrice. The fact that they all had to wear masks during the dance scene made things trickier, and the kids would really have to work on how to show the audience who they were while telegraphing which characters were fooled by costume and which ones could spot all the players no matter how they were dressed.

  There was a metaphor here for Denise and me, too. People all around us were wearing disguises. Some of the people in disguise were masters at seeing through artifice. Some were missing the disguises of others while dissimulating at the same time. And still others, like me, were caught in the middle of the dancers, not sure who was performing for whom and who was hiding something.

  Kieran, who had been working with the sound guy most of the afternoon to see why the mics for Much Ado were working so well while the voices of Iago and Othello seemed garbled for people sitting to the sides of the theatre, was walking out around the same time I was and offered me a ride home. He was on his way to dinner, he said, and was going right past my place.

  The thought of trudging up the hill in the late afternoon heat, even without my bike, was enough to make me accept gratefully, even if to my mind he was an asshole for cheating on my friend. I didn’t have time to consider the slippery slope of the collaborator, though, because I realized that this was a good chance to ask Kieran some probing questions about his relationship with Eleanor without being too overt. Now if only I could figure out how to begin.

  Kieran made it easy.

  “You know, I think I met you the same day I asked Eleanor to be part of the cast. We were all at that shindig Denise and Sarah were throwing for their students. Glad to know that at least one of the decisions I made that night has turned out to be a good one.”

  I raised my eyebrows. While I was not immune to praise, Kieran seemed a bit cavalier about the death of his leading lady. He was concentrating on navigating his way out of the park, which was filling up with families heading to picnics and being vacated by Frisbee players and apartment dwellers on their days off. Even at the park speed of 10 kph, you didn’t want to be hit by a car.

  He continued. “I thought that casting Eleanor would be the answer to getting the average Joe out to the park for the shows. Once you get them there, I really think the magic will win them over, but it’s getting them there that’s the trick. Who better than a television star from a show that hit the proper demographic?”

  He had a point. “Well, Gopher Broke was broad spectrum comedy, for sure, but it was still a Canadian show. Do you think the average Albertan, the folks Premier Ralph Klein had called ‘Martha and Henry,’ would tune in to a Canadian show to begin with? After all, they could be watching CSI or Matlock reruns.”

  “Don’t you think it’s fascinating that our most intentionally grassroots premier picked those names for the people in his rural stronghold? Why do you think he figured those names sounded so right together? Do you think he might have been channelling Martha Henry, one of the great doyennes of Canadian theatre? I think it’s way too much of a coincidence.”

  “Ha! I never thought of that, but you’re right. I’ll bet it rang a bell for him and rolled off his tongue. So, subliminally, the rural voter is actually a fervent supporter of the Canadian performing arts scene? You see a lot of proof for that assumption?”

  Kieran laughed. “Sadly, not that much. But never underestimate the artistic endeavours of small-town Canadians. I’ve seen great opera librettists come from northern Alberta and mezzo-sopranos from Millet. A soundman in Fort Macleod has won several Emmys. There are towns devoted to producing annual theatrical productions that would rival a Broadway show. And getting back to your question, Gopher Broke was a justified hit show. I think it had more viewers per week than The Beachcombers ever did, and they only had two other channels to compete with in their day. No, Eleanor would have been an amazing draw.”

  He pulled up across from my apartment in a no-stopping area, forcing me to hop out quickly.

  “Still, the ghoulish draw of associating with a murder scene has done a lot for our box office, too,” he grimaced. “See you tomorrow, then!”

  “Thanks for the ride
.” I closed the door and waved him off to the beeping of impatient drivers behind us. I stood there, wondering just how callous Kieran Frayne actually was and how much of it was an act.

  Masks. Was everyone wearing one? Maybe it was time I put on a protective mask of my own.

  27.

  Steve looked great.

  He was one of the last people through the customs doors, so there was no huge crowd to watch our reunion hug. It was probably just as well, since I am not that big on public displays of affection. I don’t mind holding hands in public, but having to watch strangers explore each other’s oral cavities makes my skin crawl.

  I had missed my man, though, and it was great to feel his arm wrapped around me. He looked tired, the sort of grey behind the skin that comes from long-distance air travel. Eight-and-a-half-hour flights will do that to you. I grabbed his suitcase trolley and urged him toward the revolving door nearest us.

  “Your flight was pretty close to being on time, which is a good thing. I arranged to have someone cover my camp class this morning, just in case, so if you like, we could go somewhere for breakfast. If you don’t mind dropping me off at the park before heading home, I can ease into the morning.”

  “Sounds great. Why don’t we stop for dim sum then?”

  “Sure, we could hit the Tasty Noodle on the way into town.”

  Food was one of the greatest things about Edmonton’s vast multicultural mosaic. Not that ethnic diversification should be all for my benefit, but honestly, you could find superb cuisine from every corner of the globe here. It was so good that people actually discussed where the best dim sum chefs had been hired. There seemed to be a quiet vying for supremacy, and some crowds went from place to place in the city while others stuck to their tried and true restaurants for their elaborate spread of Chinese delicacies served in steamer stacks from trolleys down the aisles of the restaurants.

  I pulled into the parking lot that housed the restaurant and a few other big box stores, and soon we were chowing down on shrimp cakes and sticky rice. With a few cups of Chinese tea and a barbecued pork bun in him, Steve’s colour was returning to normal and he looked completely his old self.

  I pressed him to tell me about his trip, and he gave me a capsulized version of the findings. One of the things that seemed clear to him was that money invested in LRT routes all over a city that were then patrolled and maintained to a standard that made people respect them, deterred all sorts of crime and road rage.

  “The more you increase foot traffic and reliance on public transportation, the less likelihood there is for smash-and-grab crime, which really requires getaway cars and high-chase pursuit. You have people seeing other people on a daily basis, recognizing their neighbours, and rubbing up against humanity. It changes people into more compassionate communities, by default. It’s an amazing thing. And if you get people espousing the environmental cause of helping ease the stress on the planet, they all feel good about themselves as well.”

  “From your mouth to the city planners’ ears.” I smiled at him. It was nice to see him caught up in a cause. Too often Steve got tossed at cases that had a university connection, just because of his sociology degree. He was so interested in macro- and microcosm compatibility, though. This was all right up his alley. I was glad to see that his superiors had seen this potential in him, too. Even if it didn’t mean a promotion, it would make for more interesting work for him.

  “But now tell me what’s been happening here. Is Denise really the prime suspect for the death of that TV actress?”

  I filled Steve in as much as possible over dumplings and cocktail buns, and promised him my timelines and lists, which made him smile.

  “Of course you’ve made lists. When in doubt, sketch it out,” he teased. I stuck out my tongue and he laughed. “Don’t be insulted. Your lists are great. I will bet, without even looking at them, that there will be at least three important items on those lists that Iain and Jennifer should be paying attention to.”

  My face must have shown something because he cocked his head.

  “What? Have you had a set-to with Iain? Or was it Jennifer who put your back up?” His ability to read me was uncanny, and at times, like this one, uncomfortable.

  “Jennifer Gladue is not my type, you do know that, right?” Steve teased.

  “Does she know that?”

  Steve laughed. “Oh, don’t worry about that, I’m sure she does. She does come across as a bit aggressive, I realize, but I think it’s because she is very goal-oriented. If you ask me, she’s got her eye on being the first female Chief of Police for Edmonton.”

  “That’s a lofty goal, don’t you think? Don’t they mostly hire from outside the force for that sort of role?”

  “Don’t tell Jennifer that; she’ll just tell you it’s because no internal candidate has appeared strong enough.” Steve shook his head. “Don’t underestimate her. She’s intelligent and tenacious. You certainly don’t want to get in her way or make her an enemy.”

  “Well, I don’t think I’ve done that. Not yet, anyhow.”

  Steve waved a waiter over and handed him our bill to tally up, along with his credit card. “Let’s get you to work and me to a long shower and a short nap.”

  “Is that how you are supposed to deal with jet lag in this direction?”

  “The best advice I got was to set my watch to Mountain Daylight Time the minute I got on the plane and consider myself already here. So I feel as if I pulled an all-nighter. If I can hose off the travel grime and rest a bit, as if I was having a lazy Sunday, then I should be able to meet you for dinner later, make an early night of it, and be in pretty good shape for work tomorrow.”

  “I’ll believe it when I see it. Do you want me to call you when I get home, or will you set an alarm? I can make us something to eat for about six-thirty, would that be okay?”

  “Sounds perfect.” Steve got behind the wheel this time and soon had me at the parking lot in Hawrelak Park. I’d be arriving in plenty of time to help Louise with her stage makeup class.

  “I’m not going to hold you to coming over for supper if you’re too tired. Just leave me a message if you want to go back to sleep when your alarm rings.”

  “Will do.” He leaned over to kiss me, a proper kiss, not the sort you deliver in front of airport porters and strangers waiting for their grandmas. “I’ve missed you so much, Randy Craig,” he whispered in my ear. I pulled back for air, and just looking at him made me feel safer and easier of mind.

  “You have no idea how good it is to have you home,” I replied.

  28.

  The kids loved the stage makeup class, especially some of the tricks Louise had offered on creating realistic black eyes and bruises. It was a good thing she had invested in several tubs of wet wipes, or their parents would have been storming the fence for the person who had beaten up their kids. I had made it back in time for Louise to beetle down the hill to her scene rehearsal with Leonato, Beatrice, and Hero. She waved off my thanks and I promised to settle up with her later.

  After lunch, and once the kids were semi-respectable again, I gave them a half hour to do an “Italian run through” of their monologues in groups of three, a trick of rattling off dialogue as quickly as possible to get it memorized in some sort of cerebral muscle memory. The results were such that great bursts of laughter kept erupting from the various groups. It was nice to hear.

  They were occupied, so I wandered off to the perimeter of the theatre site well away from the trailer and picnic tables, closer to the paddleboat edge of the lake. I wanted to make a call to Denise, and I didn’t particularly care to be overheard by anyone here.

  “Did you tell him your theory about Oren?” Denise wanted to know. “I’ve been giving that one a lot of thought, ever since you brought it up and you know, that puts a whole list of people on notice.”

  “Like who?”

  She must have written them down because she rattled off names like she was reading them from a list. “And the la
test two MFA directors to graduate sans theatre, though theirs would have to be the long game, hoping to gain one of the smaller theatres vacated by whoever took over from Oren.”

  “Holy doodle, that’s some cold thinking.”

  “Murder is a cold business, Randy,” Denise said, “to say nothing of theatre. But I came up with a couple of more lists.”

  She was turning into me, I swear. “Sure, let’s hear them.”

  “Well, if we add in people who might have had it in for Eleanor, and leave Oren as an accident, we could include Stephen Tracey, who plays the taxidermist’s son on the show. He lives near here and might have had a hate on for her. He was getting a lot of laughs at the beginning of Gopher Broke when he was trying to run a taxi service by taping a cardboard over half the sign on his dad’s truck, and now he’s barely featured.”

  “He could have been asking to go light, so he could pursue other things.”

  “In Canada?”

  She had a point.

  “Then there is Paul Mather, the writer,” she continued. “In fact, he may have killed Oren, too, wanting to move into the sure thing of directing as opposed to television writing.”

  “Listen to yourself. The most successful Canadian television writer since Paul Haggis wants to come back to Edmonton to run a live theatre in the west end of town?”

  “Directing is something they all want to do eventually. It’s playing god.” Denise sounded strained. She also sounded like she’d been trolling IMDB for whatever faint connection to Eleanor she could find.

  “Well,” I said, trying to sound supportive, “I’m sure a list like that is going to show the police that there are more ways than one to look at this puzzle.”

  “It’s not a puzzle, Randy,” Denise said in a clipped tone. “It’s my life they’re debating.”

  “I know. Listen, I have to get back to the kids. Send me that list by email, along with your reasons, so that Steve can have a look at them. I’ll be sure he gets them and passes them on to Iain and Jennifer Gladue.”