before then, you were . . . ?”
“In Philadelphia,” she replied automatically.
But I had seen the way her eyes had flickered away from mine in that instant. Her instinctive— and evasive— response told me in no uncertain terms that there was something in her recent past she did not want me to know.
“What made you come to New York?”
Another brilliant smile. “Why does any actress come to New York?” she replied with a coy smile. “For fame and fortune.” She pushed her drink aside. “I knew Mr. Iseman, actually. I looked him up when I got back into town, he vouched forme with Mr. Frohman, and I started work the next day— understudying Annie’s part as well as that of the lead.”
“But with no promise of a role of your own?” I asked, not unkindly. I realized how little I actually knew about the inner workings of the theater.
“No. But the show’s prior three understudies each landed regular roles in other productions last month. It was a way to establish myself again in New York.”
“When did you last see Annie?” I took another sip of the whiskey.
“Last night, before I went home. She was one of the last to leave.”
“Was that her habit?”
“Oh, no.” Though her laughter pealed, it had a hard edge. “That’s what I wanted to tell you. She was meeting someone after. A man.”
The words lingered between us for a moment. Then I finally said, “Which man?”
“If I knew that, I could probably solve your case for you, Detective,” she said lightly. Then she leaned in close to me, so close I saw the shades of green that colored her hazel eyes. “But he was the sort of man she told no one much about— not even me. Not his name. Not how she met him. Not even the places he took her.”
“Then how do you know about him at all?
“Because I’ve got eyes, haven’t I? She was crazy about him, always getting dressed up to meet him. Had to wear her best dress, perfectly ironed, have her hair perfectly done.”
“But you never saw him?”
“Never.” Her voice was flat. “She called him her lucky man.And she was convinced—” Molly Hansen drew in a deep breath and gave me a triumphant stare, “
completely
convinced— that he was gonna make her a star.”
Gonna make her a star.
The words resonated through my mind as we finished our conversation. The Great White Way was filled with people who wanted to be stars— and a fair number of men who were willing to create them. But only one of them had put his efforts toward murder.
As I raced back to the Garrick so as not to be late, I hoped Alistair had learned more than I had. Because, unfortunately, Molly Hansen had raised more questions for me than she had answered.
CHAPTER 9
The Garrick Theater, 67 West Thirty-fifth Street
“It’s not just that Annie’s dead— it’s that your community has been violated.” The young man looked around dramatically, pausing for effect, even though the three women in the room already hung on his every word. “Whoever killed Annie has taken something important from each of you. You’ve been robbed of the safety and security you should feel here in the theater, your second home.”
His eyes flickered toward me as I entered the room, but almost immediately he turned and leaned in toward the lady on his left: Lily Bowen.
Behind her lace handkerchief, she half stifled a sob. “Oh, Jack, I knew you’d understand. It’s simply terrible we even had to be here tonight.”
The man was thin, with chiseled features and rich blondhair perfectly coiffed in even waves. He smiled. “It’s because of my father, God bless him. He worked in the theater my entire life, so I grew up among you. The theater community was my surrogate family.”
Two blond women I recognized from the chorus line nodded wordlessly, their attention fixed on the young man.
A poignant expression crossed his brow. “I lived the theater life until my father died. I was just a boy of nine.” His hand moved to his
“In Philadelphia,” she replied automatically.
But I had seen the way her eyes had flickered away from mine in that instant. Her instinctive— and evasive— response told me in no uncertain terms that there was something in her recent past she did not want me to know.
“What made you come to New York?”
Another brilliant smile. “Why does any actress come to New York?” she replied with a coy smile. “For fame and fortune.” She pushed her drink aside. “I knew Mr. Iseman, actually. I looked him up when I got back into town, he vouched forme with Mr. Frohman, and I started work the next day— understudying Annie’s part as well as that of the lead.”
“But with no promise of a role of your own?” I asked, not unkindly. I realized how little I actually knew about the inner workings of the theater.
“No. But the show’s prior three understudies each landed regular roles in other productions last month. It was a way to establish myself again in New York.”
“When did you last see Annie?” I took another sip of the whiskey.
“Last night, before I went home. She was one of the last to leave.”
“Was that her habit?”
“Oh, no.” Though her laughter pealed, it had a hard edge. “That’s what I wanted to tell you. She was meeting someone after. A man.”
The words lingered between us for a moment. Then I finally said, “Which man?”
“If I knew that, I could probably solve your case for you, Detective,” she said lightly. Then she leaned in close to me, so close I saw the shades of green that colored her hazel eyes. “But he was the sort of man she told no one much about— not even me. Not his name. Not how she met him. Not even the places he took her.”
“Then how do you know about him at all?
“Because I’ve got eyes, haven’t I? She was crazy about him, always getting dressed up to meet him. Had to wear her best dress, perfectly ironed, have her hair perfectly done.”
“But you never saw him?”
“Never.” Her voice was flat. “She called him her lucky man.And she was convinced—” Molly Hansen drew in a deep breath and gave me a triumphant stare, “
completely
convinced— that he was gonna make her a star.”
Gonna make her a star.
The words resonated through my mind as we finished our conversation. The Great White Way was filled with people who wanted to be stars— and a fair number of men who were willing to create them. But only one of them had put his efforts toward murder.
As I raced back to the Garrick so as not to be late, I hoped Alistair had learned more than I had. Because, unfortunately, Molly Hansen had raised more questions for me than she had answered.
CHAPTER 9
The Garrick Theater, 67 West Thirty-fifth Street
“It’s not just that Annie’s dead— it’s that your community has been violated.” The young man looked around dramatically, pausing for effect, even though the three women in the room already hung on his every word. “Whoever killed Annie has taken something important from each of you. You’ve been robbed of the safety and security you should feel here in the theater, your second home.”
His eyes flickered toward me as I entered the room, but almost immediately he turned and leaned in toward the lady on his left: Lily Bowen.
Behind her lace handkerchief, she half stifled a sob. “Oh, Jack, I knew you’d understand. It’s simply terrible we even had to be here tonight.”
The man was thin, with chiseled features and rich blondhair perfectly coiffed in even waves. He smiled. “It’s because of my father, God bless him. He worked in the theater my entire life, so I grew up among you. The theater community was my surrogate family.”
Two blond women I recognized from the chorus line nodded wordlessly, their attention fixed on the young man.
A poignant expression crossed his brow. “I lived the theater life until my father died. I was just a boy of nine.” His hand moved to his
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