had to be the right one.
Scrutinizing the photo, she looked for anyone who might be familiar. The core cast was in the photo, each in their costumes and in an active pose. She paid special attention to the Sugarplum Fairy and the Nutcracker, who wasn’t wearing his headpiece in the picture, and felt a little pang of grief when she looked at their smiling, happy, electric faces. She could only assume the worst had happened to them.
“I wonder who that is,” Jake said, pointing to a distinguished-looking man standing with his hand on the ballerina’s shoulder. “He’s the only one not in costume.”
“Probably the director or the producer,” Vivien said. “But he’s standing with the Sugarplum Fairy—maybe he was her husband or something. I think Iva did mention someone from town played the ballerina. Maybe that’s who she meant.”
“Well, we need to get this stuff to Joe Cap right away,” said Jake.
“Agreed,” Vivien said. “He can take it from there. See if that’s really blood on it, and let him follow through on the investigation. Oh, and I can make sure Maxine and Juanita and the rest of the Tuesday Ladies know about the headpiece and our theories when I go into town for the book signing this afternoon. It’ll be all over the county by the end of the day. Then the vandal would have no reason to try to keep a secret, because the secret’s already out.”
Jake was nodding. “That would definitely help. But more important, we’ve got to figure out if there’s anyone who’s been in and around the theater recently that might be connected to the 1994 Nutcracker production.”
“Everyone I’ve had out there at the building—contractors, visitors, volunteers—are locals, and they wouldn’t be the right age to have acted in a professional show nearly thirty years ago.”
“What about those little children?” Jake asked, looking at the poster again. He pointed to three young children in the very front dressed in period clothing. “Guessing they’d be about your age now, wouldn’t they?
“Well, I’m pretty sure a five-year-old girl didn’t murder two adults,” Vivien replied. “But I think everyone in the picture should be identified.”
“Hopefully it won’t take the police too long to do so.” He frowned, then his expression relaxed. “Now, what do you say we have some lunch—which I’ll make—and then we take a nap? Sundays are perfect napping days—especially when you didn’t get much sleep the night before.”
“I’ve got to stop in here,” said Vivien, pausing on the sidewalk in front of Hot Toddy. They’d just come from meeting with Joe Cap at the police station, and now they were walking to the bookstore. “Looks like a cute coffee shop. And I could use an iced latte. I’m awfully thirsty after that workout this afternoon,” she added, giving him a sly look. “We didn’t nap much.”
Jake grinned complacently and followed her into the pink cottage with lime-green shutters.
Inside, she was delighted to discover a huge framed movie poster from Victor/Victoria. The walls were also decorated with several photos from the same film—most of Robert Preston, but some with him and Julie Andrews, Blake Edwards, and James Garner as well. They all seemed to be signed by Preston.
“Hot Toddy—I love it,” she said, then hummed the super-catchy “Le Jazz Hot!” as she approached the counter.
“I don’t get it,” said Jake, looking around.
“Robert Preston played an ‘old queen’—as the character puts it—named Toddy in Victor/Victoria, which is a movie and musical about a woman, played by Julie Andrews, pretending to be a gay man who is pretending to be a woman, who performs in the clubs in 1930s Paris. It’s comedic and romantic and the music is wonderful. So the coffee shop is named after Toddy, who’s Victoria’s best friend and mentor. Blake Edwards directed the movie and Lesley Ann Warren plays a hilarious floozy. It’s perfect,” she said to the proprietor as he came from the back room.
“Thank you, miss,” said the barista with a broad smile on his dark face. He was well over fifty, with an Indian accent and a gold hoop in one ear. “It’s my favorite movie, obviously. I met Robert Preston three times before he died, and he signed each of those for me in person. What can I get you?”
They were just getting their orders when Bella Pohlson came in, looking unusually rushed. “Oh, Jim, thank goodness you’re still open. I’m just dying for an iced oat milk latte with stevia, and I also need an iced macchiato… Oh, hi,