Katherine Page - The Body in the Cast

There was the barest suggestion of movement. Faith was not sure she'd even heard anything. Alternative number four—staying where she was and being killed—moved prominently to the top of the list. It was madness to hesitate for even a moment more when someone was stalking her, armed with whatever had killed Alden and ready to repeat the act—this time in darkness.

The lights in the parking lot decided her. Whoever it was must have seen her, but she had seen nothing—so far.

She sprinted across the hall and threw open the door. The bitter cold night air was as welcome as a day in June, and she did not stop to look over her shoulder, running as fast as she could to the front of the building and tearing up the stairs.

Inside the front entryway, she stopped, panting slightly. She was safe. She'd made it.

The mess from the collapsed table had been cleanedup and her staff was presumably downstairs preparing replacements. It still didn't make sense to alert everyone. Instead, Faith went into the corridor circling the auditorium and soundlessly opened a door. She had to get in touch with the police.

Patrolman Dale Warren was having the time of his life despite the late hour. Normally, he had trouble staying awake for the ten o'clock news, let alone "The Tonight Show." They'd needed an officer of the law on the set in order to use the town hall, and to Dale's surprise, the chief hadn't wanted the plum assignment for himself. All night, the young policeman had watched in fascination as Maxwell Reed shot take after take after take. And they were going to shoot again tomorrow night. He'd never been so close to even one movie star, and to top it all off, he'd been addressed by Cappy Camson, who'd asked him if the time on the large Roman numeral clock facing the stage was correct. The patrolman was able to answer in the affIrmative without hesitation. His own second cousin, Norman Warren, was responsible for winding it and seeing to its inner workings. He couldn't wait to tell Norm that none other than Caleb Camson had been asking about what Norm thought of as "his" clock.

It was this dream of glory that Faith abruptly dispelled, tiptoeing over to his post and grabbing him by the arm. "You've got to come with me right away!" she whispered urgently in his ear. "Do you have your gun with you?”

Dale Warren was one of Faith Fairchild's devoted partisans, yet as he looked into her agitated face, he had but one thought: The woman was nuts. Out in the corridor, when she breathlessly told him that Alden Spaulding's dead body was lying in the basement below and they had to hurry before the murderer got away, the patrolman was actually a bit afraid of her. So it took a moment to readjust his never swiftly running thoughts when they went down the stairs into the hallway, lighted once again, opened the storeroom door, and were presented with the fact.

“It's Mr. Spaulding. He's dead!”

Faith nodded. She'd known Dale since she moved to Aleford. "Yes," she said patiently, with only a slight impulse to scream, "that's what I've been telling you." She continued to spell it out for him. "The lights were off when I left. I mean, someone turned them off after I found the body, so whoever it is must have escaped when I did and is long gone. You'd better stay here while I call Charley. He'll probably call the state police, too.”

Dale straightened his uniform and swallowed hard. His Adam's apple bobbed like a Macintosh in a washtub on Halloween. What a night! The movie—and now this!

Faith had to borrow change from Dale and went back upstairs to the front of the building to the phone booth. As she dialed Maclsaac's number, she marveled at the detachment she felt. It was as if some other Faith was doing all these things and the real Faith was watching, too shocked to react. The real Faith's hair was still standing up on end with fright, and if she started to shake, she'd never stop.

Charley answered on the ninth ring.

“Charley, it's Faith. You have to get down here! I'm at the Town Hall and I'm afraid Alden Spaulding has been murdered. His body is in the basement in the new addition, near the door to the parking lot."

“f this is a joke, I'm not laughing. Do you know what time it is?"

“Charley! It's no joke. The back of his head is all bashed in and the man is dead! Dale is standing guard"

“Don't let anyone near the body. In fact, don't say anything to anyone until I get there." Chief MacIsaac spoke quickly, and from the way his voice changed volume, Faith imagined he was already struggling into his clothes while cradling the phone beneath his chin.

“Okay. And, Charley, hurry up!”

Convincing the chief had convinced her. The two Faiths slid back together and the situation smacked her full in the face. There was a corpse downstairs, still warm. She had been minutes, maybe seconds, away from witnessing the crime. Fear elbowed its way back center stage and she had to force herself to go back down the corridor, descending the rear stairs to wait for Charley.

It wasn't long before the chief appeared and took charge.

“Poor Alden," he said sadly as he surveyed the remains. "Not too many people liked him, but I didn't think even his worst enemy would have done something like this.”

But his worst enemy apparently had, Faith thought. The question now was, Who out of the many contenders qualified for this dubious distinction?

“I called John," Charley added. "He's on his way with the CPAC crew from the DA's office" The Crime Prevention and Control unit, the first sifting and recording. "Are you going to announce it upstairs?" Faith both wanted to watch the crowd's reactions and to be on the scene when Detective Lieutenant Dunne arrived. If Charley got moving, she might be able to manage it.

“Better do that now. Don't want them going home to bed.”

Faith followed Charley into the auditorium. The interruption brought a stream of angry shouts and a few obscenities from Max, Nils Svenquist, and the crew until they saw it was the police chief. The audience looked puzzled. Charley walked onto the stage and stood next to the director and Cappy Camson.

“I want everybody to stay calm and stay put. There's been an accident, a very bad accident, and Alden Spaulding is dead.”

A buzz went through the crowd and they weren't mumbling "apples and oranges." Several people half-rose in their seats. One woman yanked at her husband's coattails and he hit the back of the chair with a loud crack.

“We're waiting for the state police, then we'll figure out what we need from you. Believe me, I'm just as eager to go home as you are.”

Millicent stood up. Not for her the mere rules of mortal men.

“Chief MacIsaac, do you suspect foul play?" Charley looked resigned, "Yes, Millie, we do.”

She nodded, making clear her unspoken, "I thought as much."

“Then I think you will find your task made easier by the fact that the time is recorded when each take is shot. You will also be able to eliminate some of us as suspects." Here Millicent paused and raked her fellow citizens with a glance, making even the innocent feel guilty as charged. "When you view the rushes, it should be possible to determine who was here and who was not at any given moment." She sat down.

Despite the cinematic jargon, Charley got the idea. Millicent was right—of course. Faith was standing near the director of photography and heard him murmur toan obviously upset Alan Morris, "Once again the camera records a tragedy. I think we are shooting the wrong film, my friend.”

Once again. But what possible connection could the deaths of Sandra Wilson and Alden Spaulding have? It was apples and oranges.

She left Charley to deal with more questions and reactions, including a plea from Max that they be allowed to continue shooting, since they had to stay there anyway, and went back down to what was becoming an increasingly familiar spot. She'd check in with her staff after talking to Dunne.