“But it is real,” said Ray. “It was carefully planned and skillfully executed. Again, was there anyone backstage who shouldn’t have been there?”
“No one that I saw. It was just the cast and the crew. Malcolm was late, that was his custom. There was the usual anticipatory buzz, the kind of energy that gets everyone prepared for the opening curtain.”
Shevlin looked at Ray, “The first scene went very well, don’t you think?”
“Yes. Where were you?”
“I usually try to go around the outside of the auditorium and sneak in a back door to watch, but with the rain starting to fall, I just stayed in the wings and listened. Then at the end of the scene, actually it was a bit before the end, I slipped out the stage door and headed for the john. I knew there would be a line, and I was ….”
“I understand.”
“Then I came right back. I was in the green room giving positive strokes and waiting for the next scene. We made this an extra long break in consideration of our…”
“Yes, that’s been explained to me. So you were in the green room the whole time after you returned to the building.”
“Yes, until I walked backstage with Grubbs. That was after the lights came back on.”
“And at that time was the whole cast in the green room?”
“To the best of my knowledge. People were spread out through the adjoining areas, the dressing rooms and makeup area. So if you’re asking who was there and who wasn’t, I can’t answer that. I remember a conversation with Tony Grattan and an overlong exchange with Florence Carlotta. It’s not a static situation with people sitting around in assigned seats.”
“Do you know anyone who would want Malcolm Wudbine dead?”
“I know scores of people who have been pissed at Malcolm over the years, myself included. But dead, that’s a different story. For example, you have Verity, his first wife, Miss Marple in the play. I guess it was a bloody divorce, theirs. That was years and years ago. In spite of that they successfully reared a son. And here in the theatre, this year, as in years past, I won’t say that they were excessively fond of one another, but they were able to get along without any overt enmity.
“What I’ve heard many times over the years, Sheriff, is people saying something like, ‘I wish Malcolm would just go away.’ Then people end up adding, ‘Of course, he should be good enough to leave a big stack of money in our care.’ Malcolm had us all hooked. He was the goose that laid the golden egg. His fortune kept this place going, not that we couldn’t have figured it out on our own if there had been no Malcolm. He just made it so easy. His money would fix any problem, and we didn’t have to dig into our own pockets. It was like having someone around who was always good enough to pay the mortgage and the taxes. That’s real addictive.”
“Did you ever have any financial dealings with Malcolm Wudbine?”
“Oh heavens, no. The first step to investing is having something to invest. I’ve never been there. The fluctuations of the market, up or down, have never affected me, not one bit.”
“Is there anything else about Wudbine or the events of last night that…?”
“I didn’t sleep last night, not much. I’ve always kidded myself into believing that I had a unique ability to see into the human heart. As a writer and actor, I’ve often run the scripts of those around me in my own head. I thought I could tell what others were thinking. I don’t want you to believe that I’m completely delusional, but now it’s clear…that…well…I don’t know where I was quite going. What I’m trying to say is that there is a killer in our midst, and I don’t have any idea who that might be. This morning in the hours before dawn I worked through the cast and crew, their appearance, language, gestures, moods, even their unique odors. I thought about every nuance. I can’t make it work. I can’t see any of them as killers. I can’t think of anyone who would have a motive, or anger, or passion to do anything like that.”
19
As Ray looked across the desk, Verity Wudbine-Merone didn’t appear quite the same as he had remembered her. Her sprightliness, so evident the evening before at the colony cocktail party was gone. She seemed weary and dispirited, her Lord and Taylor resort-wear replaced by a shapeless sweatshirt and jeans.
“Hard night,” he said.
“Very. People needed to gather. People needed to talk. And somehow, I don’t quite understand their thinking, many felt compelled to express their sympathies to me, like I was the widow. I know it’s not possible to march up to the big house on the hill and see the real Mrs. Wudbine, but….”
“I don’t understand?”
“Brenda Wudbine, my successor, has never been part of the community. Most people here don’t know her. Most have never seen her. I know Brenda from weddings, graduations, and funerals. Other than guilt by association, I bear the woman no ill. But I don’t know anyone who would be comfortable going up to Malcolm’s palace. It’s foreign territory, by invitation only. I don’t think anyone just dropped by. And from what I’ve heard, by evening Brenda is too smashed to make any sense.”
Ray noted her last response before asking, “Did you see your son?”
“I did. I slipped away at one point and went over to his cottage. Elliott and I sat on his porch and drank champagne and smoked. I haven’t had a cigarette in years. We had a good talk, then he went to be with his wife.”
“Champagne?”
“Hardly an appropriate choice, but it was cold, had alcohol, and was there in my fridge, part of what we’d staged for the afterglow party. I’ve read that the bubbles make the alcohol go to your head quickly. That’s what I wanted. I’m struggling with this. Not so much his death, but the fact that he was murdered, an affront to the sanctity of our community. Even his last act around here was offensive.”
They sat in silence for several minutes as Verity sipped from a tall paper container of coffee. “Miss Marple, the character I was playing, would tell you that I’m the natural suspect. I had the motive—albeit of ancient malice at this point—the means and the opportunity.”
“And would Miss Marple name you the killer in the final scene?”
“I think not. She would know that I don’t waste time on old grievances. Malcolm and I went our separate ways thirty-some years ago. He hurt me greatly, but I did my best to shed that as quickly as I could. I wasn’t going to be continually poisoned by his evil.”
“So tell me about your relationship with Malcolm Wudbine.”
“Where should I begin?” she asked.
“In the beginning, and only a summary, please.”
“We met in college. Malcolm was a big, handsome farm boy with broad shoulders and wonderful curly brown hair. He had a great smile and was the life of the party, every party. He had a wonderful singing voice, and could sit down at a piano and belt out romantic ballads. He was loved by everyone: women, men, and dogs. People just followed him around.
“We fell in love our junior year and as was the custom in those days, we married after graduation—without ever living together, imagine that. I taught math, and he went to graduate school, Northwestern, MBA. Eventually he was brought into the family business. My father and Uncle Sid ran a small-town bank, a place that catered to farmers and area merchants. Malcolm transformed the place. He had new ideas, was very aggressive. His primary goal was to make a lot of money. Before long he had bought up most of the other small banks in the area. While my father and uncle didn’t especially like his business methods, they were delighted with all the cash he generated. For the first time in their lives, they were suddenly wealthy, modestly so, but in the chips. I think it was about this time that Malcolm decided that if he wanted to make some real money, he had to move on. It was, perhaps not too coincidentally, about the time our marriage ended.”
“Your differences were…?”
“Other women, right from the start, actually, before the start. I heard years later that the night before our wedding he had a tryst with one of his former flames, and his groomsmen had to drag him out of bed and get him showered and sober before they brought him to church. I learned to overlook his dalliances for years, but when he told me we were moving to Chicago, that gave me an exit ramp. He was generous in the divorce, and the size of my later inheritance from my father was directly tied to Malcolm’s time at the family bank.