âOh, but you did, Leroy. A very old reason.â
He swiveled in the chair toward me. âI donât know what you could be referrinâ to, Vivian.â
I said, âSheriff, once upon a time, back when Madeline de Morlaye was Hildegard Gooch, and Leroy had all his hair and the reputation of a recent high-school football hero, the two got married. Then, less than a year later, the bride skipped town with their scant savings, leaving behind a mountain of charge card debt.â
The janitor stared down at his hands.
The sheriff said, âYou care to comment on that, Leroy?â
He raised his chin, his eyes wet and glittering with pain and memory. âItâs true enough. She left me in a hell of a fix. Lost my businessâI had a trophy shop, âcause Iâd been an athlete and people still respected me back then. I wound up losinâ my house . . . had to declare bankruptcy. Worked factory jobs awhile, then lately . . . maintenance.â
Rudder nodded. âWhat sort of reunion did you two have here at the Playhouse?â
âThatâs what hurt me the most, Sheriff. The way Hildie treated me during this productionâlike I had done her wrong. And do you know, at first, she pretended not even to recognize me?â He gulped air. âAll right, so maybe I did have a reason to want to kill her. But I didnât. I didnât. You know why?â
âWhy, Leroy?â
âI still love her.â
He began to weep, and Brandy got up and showed him out. Such a good heart, my little girl. But all I felt about Leroy was a sense that he was a very, very good suspect.
Oh, think ill of me if you must! But you have to be tough to be a good detective! Hard-boiled. Merciless. And if Brandy should tell you that I got teary-eyed myself, remind her that such moisture is a side effect of my glaucoma medication.
Next in the chair was Paul. The lighting designer, his anxiety apparent, nonetheless readily agreed to questioning.
To Rudderâs inquiry of where heâd been between seven forty-five and eight-fifteen, Paul responded, âNo surprises there. I was in the lighting booth in back of the auditorium.â
Brandy discreetly shook her head.
Catching that, Rudder asked Paul, âThe entire time?â
âAh . . . no,â Paul corrected. âI guess, come to think of it, I did leave the booth for a short whileâabout a quarter to eight. Vivian asked me to make an adjustment to the stage lights after Madeline complained about them.â
Rudder said, âWould that put you in the vicinity of the prop table?â
He shrugged and grinned nervously. âWell, yes, in order to get to the stage lights scaffolding, I had to walk by itâbut so did just about everybody.â
âWhat about the maintenance room?â
âWhat about it?â
âDid you go near it this evening?â
âNo. Why would I?â He frowned, shifted in the chair. âLook, Sheriff, I had no reason to kill Madeline. None at all.â
From the couch the little mouse peeped again: âPaul, dear, perhaps itâs best you throw some light on your affair with our leading lady . . . however brief it may have been. Back in the early stages of preparing for our production?â
Paul seemed to be deciding whether to scowl or start crying. âHow is that any kind of . . . of murder motive? It ended amicably enough.â
âI hardly think so,â I replied. âAfter your wife found out about the dalliance, she filed for divorce, didnât she?â
âWeâd been having other problemsââ
âAnd you had a problem of your own, when Madeline dropped you and set her sights on Miguel. She always was a fickle pickle!â
Paul was shaking his head and there was something almost pleading in his tone and manner now. âVivian, that affair, and Jenny filing for divorce . . . that was just a speed bump. Maybe you havenât heard, but
Donald Luskin, Andrew Greta