Jill Churchill - A Midsummer Night's Scream

Jane thought for a second and said, "I think I still have one of them stashed away somewhere that she hadn't quite finished when she died. I'll try to find it to show you."

"Is this the grandmother who grew the bing cherries?"

"It is. She called the flannel bags baby buntings." She was silent for a moment and repeated, "Buntings."

"Bunting," Mel said. He was no longer cheerful.

Jane said, "Don't get carried away, Mel. It's sheer coincidence."

"Maybe not. The theater had lots of those brochures showing pictures and bios of the actors all over the place. They'd probably been printed well ahead of time. It's possible Sven couldn't quite remember the name and substituted something close to it. Something hauled up in his subconscious from his childhood."

"I know you probably dislike John Bunting as

much as most of the cast does, but that doesn't matter."

"Whether I like him or not isn't the point. I have to consider this as a possibility, though."

Twenty

Mel turned up at the rehearsal that evening. It was a technical walk-through, he was told. He didn't ask what that meant. It was quite obvious. It mostly involved final lighting decisions. The actors walked through, saying their lines. Not with much feeling, apparently, and certain lights shifted with the action as they moved around the set.

One scene seemed to be causing trouble. "That dress is an unattractive color," the lighting expert from the college called down to the stage. "I've tried all my filters and nothing helps. Tazz, do you have a different dress we could use for this scene? Blue or green would be better than the violent red."

Everything came to a halt while the lighting expert, Tazz, Imry, and Joani consulted.

Mel slipped around the back, searching for John Bunting. He found him outside the stage door, smoking a cigarette.

"You a smoker?" Bunting asked, fishing in his jacket pocket.

"I used to be," Mel replied. "Go ahead with yours. I hear you lost a valuable golf club."

Bunting must have inhaled too fast and had a fit of coughing. "How did you hear that?" he finally managed to ask.

"I'm friends with Mrs. Jeffry, and your wife mentioned it at the needlepoint meeting."

"Friends, huh? She's a tasty-looking woman. Doesn't her husband mind?"

Mel wanted to punch him, but said mildly, "She's a widow. Her husband died in a car accident many years ago. What kind of golf club was this?"

"Why do you ask? Are you a golfer?"

"Yes, but not a good one," Mel said with a disarming smile.

"It was my best driver. Inherited the whole set from my father. Nice heft. Just the right length. He bought the set in Scotland in 1912."

"Would you like me to ask around to see if I can find out what became of it?" Mel offered, as if speaking offhandly.

"Why would you care?"

Mel shrugged. "I'm a detective. I have lots of connections. How do you think you lost it?"

Bunting was still a bit suspicious of this interest, but said, "All my boarding school pals and I played at our favorite course early in our visit.

Then we went to lunch. We left all our golf bags in the storage area. Apparently somebody ran into them and they all fell over. I assumed, when I first missed it, that whoever did it put mine back in the wrong bag. I've called all the men I was with to see if my driver was accidentally put into their bags, but they all checked, and it wasn't."

"I can see how that could happen, especially if it was someone who didn't know much about sets of clubs."

"Those minor employees at places like this are all foreigners these days," Bunting complained. "None of them have a brain in their heads."

Mel had to paste a fake smile on his face. "If you could describe it, I could ask around. It's probably in a secondhand store by now."

"No, thanks. I'll hunt for it myself."

"Suit yourself. Listen, I think I hear someone calling you," Mel lied.

Bunting went back inside. Mel walked away from the door and down the alley behind the theater and took out his cell phone. He called his office assistant, giving what the assistant probably thought were very odd instructions to do searches. And what to do with the evidence if it was located.

He went back into the theater, looking for Jane. He found her sitting in the front row of seats, needlepointing. She had something weird on her

head, like glasses with little flashlights at each side.

"That's cute," he said.

"It isn't cute at all," she said with a laugh. "But it lets me see what I'm doing. Why are you here tonight?"

"Just snooping around again. Have the caterers come yet?"

"They should be here any moment. Shelley just went to look for them in the alley. Good ones are getting thin on the ground. She's still hoping to find at least two that are really good, and is only pleased with one so far."

A few minutes later they saw Shelley at the edge of the stage, telling everyone that the snack supper would be ready in ten minutes.

"Are you going to be a taster along with me?" Jane asked.

"I will. I haven't had dinner. I might stick around and eat all the leftovers."

"I have plenty of good leftovers at home," Jane said, taking off her headgear and bundling up her needlepoint project. "I planned to have them with the kids when I get home. Want to join us?"

"I'll be a taster and eat again with you later. I'm really hungry."

"How's the investigation into Denny's death going?" Jane asked as they strolled toward the side steps to the stage.

"Fits and starts. No solid evidence yet."

"And you still can't get an answer from Denny's parents?"

"Nope. And I'm driving the local cops crazy, checking to see if anyone is finally at home. I hope I never have to meet them in person. They'd probably want to beat me senseless. I wouldn't blame them."

Shelley agreed to Mel tasting the snacks, and soon after eating, he and Jane left the theater in separate cars. When they arrived within moments of each other at Jane's house, her kids were already tucking into the leftovers. Mike had made a huge sandwich with a thick slice of meatloaf, mayo, and tomato. Todd had made a more modest sandwich with a thin slice of meatloaf and no tomato. He claimed that tomatoes gave him spots. Katie had picked at a tuna salad Jane had made before leaving for the theater. There was plenty of everything left for Mel.

Jane had seldom seen Mel eat so much at one time. He restrained himself from gulping it down, but ate steadily, complimenting Jane as he finished off the last of the tuna salad. "Do you have any dessert?" he asked.

"Only York peppermint patties."

"One will do."

They left the kids to clean up what was still left, and went to sit in the living room.

"I feel like one of your cats who just consumed a muskrat. But unlike them, I won't throw up on

the sofa or the patio," Mel said. "I don't remember ever being as hungry as I was tonight. I can't be sure, but I don't think I had anything to eat all day except a small bag of potato chips."

Jane turned the television on to a music station playing light classical and said, "A long day for you, then? Have you learned anything else?"

"No, but I'm close now. Those Roth people are bound to come home sometime, and I have some other searches going on."

His cell phone rang, and he stood up with an overstuffed groan and fished in his trouser pocket. "VanDyne here — yes!" He paused to listen for a while. "Good. Arriving when? Thanks for going to so much trouble to help us."

He turned off the phone and subsided on the sofa. "I ate too much. I feel as if I've turned into the Michelin Man."

"That sounded important."

"The well-traveled Roths finally came home. They're on a plane to Chicago as we speak. I'll have to meet them at their hotel at ten-thirty. Meanwhile, I need to walk this meal off."