Mike Shayne Mystery Magazine, Vol. 46, No. 11, November 1982

By mid-afternoon things had slowed down to nary a jaywalker in sight, so I decided to head back to Seth’s. When I got there, Seth wasn’t around and no one knew where he was. I called his name a few times, and he finally emerged from the dilapidated barn behind the playhouse.

“Been thinking about tearing this old shed down, Sheriff. You know how barnwood fetches a high price with those fancy interior decorators.” He wiped his hands on his overalls. “Anything new on the murder?”

“Not really.”

“Guess you won’t know much till you hear from the State Police,” he commented, lighting up a cigar.

“Seth, just between us, I’ve always felt you get to the truth fastest not with microscopes and test tubes, but by knowing the people involved. So what can you tell me about Fields and the rest of those theatre people?”

“Truthfully, I don’t know much about any of them. Reede and Fields got in touch with me last spring about this hot property they had, Death of the Duchess. They suggested that Roger Manchester would be perfect for the lead and that he was available since his last play had bombed in New Haven. Reede knew that Roger and I had been contract players at Warner Brothers in the 50’s and figured I could persuade an old friend to take the part.”

“So you put it together.”

“Why not? Reede’s hot; Roger’s still a draw with the tourist crowd, Fields was OK, and I want the playhouse to have a reputation for putting on the best in new theatre. All in all it was a helluva opportunity. I’m lucky Reede’s agreed to take over as director so we can open tomorrow night.”

“Elaine sure got a break — working with blue-ribbon talent in her first professional show.”

“Phillip Reede seems to think she’s pretty blue-ribbon, if you know what I mean,” he winked.

My blood rushed a little faster. “I’m not sure that I do.”

“No offense. It’s just that everybody knew Reede had a heavy romance with Samantha Giles, who was to be the leading lady. Well, it seems Elaine took her place in more ways than one.”

I calmed myself down, then, after thanking Seth, drove home, all the while fighting what I knew was true — my little girl was becoming a woman.

The house seemed larger, more empty. Nine years ago I’d lost Jenny, and now it wouldn’t be long before Elaine would be leaving. I found myself wandering up the stairs to her room. In the corner was the Victorian dollhouse I’d built to ease her through the summer of her broken leg. And over her desk was a picture of us hiking together in the Smokies. As I was hanging her faded jeans on the opened closet door, I noticed a pair of mud-caked loafers. Last night had been the only time in the last two weeks it had rained. I fought back the policeman in me.

A car pulled into the driveway, then out again. The front door slammed. “Daddy, I’m home.”

“Up here. Elaine.”

The wide smile on her face disappeared the moment she saw the shoes in my hand.

“What are you doing in my room?” she said sharply. “Don’t I have any privacy?”

“Honey, I didn’t mean... I wasn’t spying... you see...” My stomach did a back flip, then I blurted out, “Where did you go late last night?”

Elaine’s face flushed. “Not that it’s any of your business, but I couldn’t sleep, so I went for a walk.”

“In the rain?”

“Yes. And now will you leave me alone?” She jerked the shoes from my hand.

Reluctantly I left. I didn’t feel much like eating, so I climbed in the cruiser and drove around for awhile. I wasn’t sure what was bothering me most — the case or my relationship with Elaine.

The phone jangled me out of a restless sleep early the next morning. Clem Riddle was fuming. The Bowser boys had cut through his property again. I had planned to speak to Elaine at breakfast, but that would have to wait.

Summer fog still hung over the blacktop as I sped down the familiar stretch of 877. Just past the playhouse, I turned into Clem’s. His hands covered with grease, the farmer climbed down from his John Deere. “Them two been racin’ up and down the road out to my cornfield all spring. It’s disturbin’ the missus and we got lotsa livestock. Can’t afford to have those goomers go and kill off a cow. They’re back there now, and sure as shootin’ they’re up to no good.”

The cornfield road was still damp, so their tire tracks were easy to follow. After a mile or so, I reached the fence Clem had built years ago when he bought the land from Seth. Two rails were removed, and sitting on the edge of the adjacent cornfield was an empty blue pickup. Tod and Rod were probably out in the field somewhere poaching deer, squirrel, or the like.