But now, almost an hour later, the director was sorry he’d said that. Yeah, now George Kiernan was really worried about the kid. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes; he was sweating badly and could hardly keep the script in his hand from shaking as the costumer finished letting out the waistband on Bradley Cox’s pants.
At 1:40 he’d resigned himself that it was going to happen, but only at 1:50 did he actually begin to believe it. The show must go on, he said to himself over and over—but that he should have to go on in the title role of Macbeth? That was something George Kiernan would never have dreamed of in a million years. It wasn’t department policy to employ under-studies—not enough time for rehearsals, and the pool of actors was simply too small to cover even just the big roles adequately. And who wanted to get involved with parents bitching that their kid was entitled to go onstage “at least once” for all his hard work? Besides, George Kiernan couldn’t remember a student in a major role ever missing a performance while he was chair. Sure, things come up once in a while during tech week—but after a show had already opened? After it was too late to adapt and switch people around? Well, that kind of thing just didn’t happen in the Harriot University Department of Theatre and Dance.
But it had happened. And as George Kiernan caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror, he decided then and there that the department’s understudy policy would have to change.
“There’s no one at his apartment,” the stage manager said, rushing into the dressing room out of breath. “The landlord got us in. There were some clothes on the bed, but his cell phone was gone and the dead bolt locks from the outside. His car is gone, too—looks like he just took off.”
“Christ almighty,” Kiernan muttered, his mind spinning. Sure, he thought, Cox was a bit of a snake—a bit of a pussy, too—but just bailing on them after a shaky performance? That didn’t seem right.
“We called the police,” the stage manager continued. “Under the circumstances, they said there’s nothing they can do unless he’s gone for twenty-four hours. And then a family member has to—”
“All right, all right,” Kiernan said. “Tell the cast I’ll be going on for him script-in-hand—no, tell them all to meet me backstage left. I’ll break the news to them myself. Also, notify everybody on headset that I’ll be making a curtain speech before the show begins. When I’m clear, just call everything else as you normally do.”
The stage manager just stood there, frightened.
“Don’t worry,” Kiernan said, winking. “We’ll get through it.”
The stage manager nodded and was off.
Kiernan took another deep breath and asked the costumer if he could have a moment alone. She left, and the director sat down at the dressing table, thumbing absently through the script given to him by Cindy Smith. She’d already written down all of Cox’s blocking in the scenes with Lady Macbeth, and Kiernan figured he could remember the rest of it from his own promptbook, which was too thick, too heavy to carry around onstage.
He studied his face in the mirror—felt his breathing level off and his heart slow down. And when the announcement from the stage manager came over the intercom, the director calmly walked out of Bradley Cox’s dressing room and stood in the wings before his cast like a general.
Chapter 72
Cindy held Edmund Lambert’s hand as Kiernan laid out the battle plan for the matinee. With the absence of Cox, she’d grown nervous, but at the same time was beyond excited at being so close to Edmund—especially since he’d been waiting for her outside her dressing room when she arrived at the theater. They’d spoken to one another only briefly, but kissed long enough for her to know that everything was all right again.
“Now you need to focus,” he’d said, pulling away. “But I’ll be watching.”
It was going to be the best show yet, Cindy thought, and felt beyond ecstatic when she played over in her mind how Edmund had looked at her.
But now when he looked at her he seemed agitated. And he kept glancing at his BlackBerry as Kiernan gave them a pep talk about focus and teamwork.
“I thought he would have canceled the show,” Edmund said as Kiernan made his curtain speech. “Or at least the photo call.”
He actually seemed disappointed, Cindy thought.
“Not George Kiernan,” she said. “The show must go on. Just don’t get jealous in that part where Macbeth tries to kiss me, okay? Even though it’s George Kiernan, I’ll still try my hardest to resist.”
Edmund smiled thinly. Cindy kissed him and then ran to places for the opening scene—a silly scene, Cindy had always thought, in which the director had the Witches arrange all the characters like pieces on a chessboard. Edmund thought it was a silly scene, too, she learned at the cast party—just one of the many things they had in common. “A scene like that takes Macbeth’s fate out of his hands,” he’d said. “If only he’d read the messages correctly things wouldn’t have turned out so badly for him.”
For some reason talking like that with Edmund had turned her on.
His speech finished, Kiernan stepped back into the wings and took his place with the rest of the cast—directly opposite Cindy on the other side of the stage. He gave her a thumbs-up and she replied in kind. The audience was still murmuring as the music started and the lights dimmed, and Cindy felt as if the air were charged with electricity, as if she would explode from excitement at any moment. Yeah, she thought, in a sick way she was thrilled all this was happening.
“This is fucked up about Bradley,” whispered the actor playing Macduff.
“Yeah,” replied Jonathan, winner of the Perils of Inbreeding Award. “Maybe Vlad got him.”
“Or maybe Lambert finally finished the job.”
The two boys snickered, and Cindy told them to shut the hell up.
Yeah, even though it was Bradley Cox they were dissing, a comment like that was beyond uncalled for.
Chapter 73
Markham landed in Raleigh about twenty minutes early. As the plane taxied down the runway, he turned on his cell phone to find the text message from Andy Schaap already waiting for him.
Checking on names, the message read. Might be out of range 4 a while, but let me know when u land. Will call u when I get back to the RA l8r.
“Enough with this nonsense,” Markham said, and promptly dialed his partner’s number.
It rang only twice and then went straight into voice mail.
“I’m back,” Markham said. “Got your article about the lion’s head. Good work, and I’ll follow up at the taxidermy shop myself first thing tomorrow. There are some other things I want to discuss with you. Don’t know if you read the latest updates, but the set list from Rodriguez’s CD was uploaded into Sentinel last night. I think there might be a connection with one of the songs in particular—“Dark in the Day” by that eighties band High Risk. Only going with my gut, but I ’d like to bounce a couple of things off you. Let’s plan on dinner at the Dubliner around seven. Call me back ASAP.”
He hung up feeling on edge, but by the time he reached his TrailBlazer he was furious. It didn’t make sense, Markham thought, this frustration with his NCAVC coordinator. Perhaps he might feel better after a stop at the Resident Agency to see what Andy Schaap was up to.
Still, something was off. Something was wrong.
Markham could feel it.