Theodosia bent down to look at the elderly gentleman on the floor.
“Sir, are you all right? Sir, can you hear me?”
His eyes fluttered open. “I can hear you,” he moaned.
“Stay down,” she told him. “You’ve got a bad cut on your right temple and you might have a concussion.” Why was she getting a terrible sense of déjà vu? Why did this suddenly feel like a replay of Sunday night at Heart’s Desire?
“Did you call an ambulance?” Theodosia asked the theater manager.
He bobbed his head. “They’re on their way. I’m talking to the police right now.”
“Ma’am?” Theodosia reached a hand out to the crying woman. “You’re white as a sheet. Come here and sit down. An ambulance is on its way. Help will be here in a matter of minutes.” She was aware that a large crowd had gathered outside the door, that there was a high, insistent buzz, like the sound of a thousand cicadas.
The woman stumbled toward Theodosia.
Theodosia guided the distraught woman into a theater seat. “Here you go.” The woman’s legs buckled beneath her as she sat down heavily.
“Harold?” the woman sobbed.
“I’m here,” the old man croaked.
“He’s right here,” Theodosia said, reaching down to pat the man’s shoulder. “We’re just going to keep him lying flat until the ambulance arrives.”
The old woman nodded sadly. Then her fingers clawed helplessly at her neck again. “My emerald necklace.” Tears streamed down her face. “I took it out of the safe just so I could wear it tonight.” Her voice caught. “It was an heirloom.”
Well, Theodosia thought. Of course it was.
17
It really did feel like the sad aftermath at Heart’s Desire all over again. The EMTs arrived with a clanking gurney and a flutter of blankets. A half-dozen uniformed police officers came storming in. And, finally, Detective Burt Tidwell showed up as well.
Theodosia and Drayton watched the drama unfold from the security of their box seats.
“How are the police ever going to be able to question all these people?” Drayton asked.
Theodosia stared down glumly over the railing. “They’re not. Take a look.”
Drayton peered down. The audience was pushing and shoving and stumbling over themselves to escape from the theater. “Oh no,” he said. “It looks like the last gasp on the Titanic. Right before the ship sank and all the passengers rushed to the Boat Deck in a blind panic.” He shook his head. “This is definitely not good.”
“None of this is remotely good,” Theodosia said. She sat down, tapped her foot anxiously while she tried to think.
If only . . . No, that’s not going to solve anything. I need to come up with a better idea than that.
“What’s going to happen now?” Drayton asked. He’d worked himself up into a slight tizzy. “Who do you think stole that necklace?”
An idea was suddenly fizzing in Theodosia’s brain. “We need to check on something right now,” she said to Drayton. “Or, rather, check on someone.”
“What are you talking about?” Drayton asked. “Who are you talking about?”
“We need to call your friend Rinicker. To see if he’s at home.”
“Because . . . ?” Drayton hesitated, and then comprehension slowly dawned. “Ah, because you suspect Lionel might have been the one who snuck in here, whacked that poor man, and stole his wife’s necklace?”
“Her emerald necklace. And, yes, I think there might be a sliver of a possibility. If Rinicker really is a hotshot jewel thief, then he might have seen this place as easy pickings.”
“So we’re going to make an anonymous call to see if he’s home. And then hang up if he answers?”
“Yes, we have to pretend that we’re silly teenagers playing a prank.”
Drayton pursed his lips. “You make it sound so appealing.”
“Okay, let me rephrase my words. We’re concerned citizens who are investigating a homicide and two robberies. There, does that make you feel any better?”
“Not really,” Drayton sighed. “But I’m willing to play along with you. At least for the time being.”
? ? ?
Theodosia and Drayton made their way down to the main floor and squeezed out a side entrance. Once they were out on the dimly lit street, they had to thread their way through a tangled web of honking cars as the horde of angry, disillusioned operagoers attempted to flee the area.
“It’s gridlock,” Drayton said, as they skipped across Wentworth Street.
“Never mind that,” Theodosia said. “We have to concentrate on finding a phone somewhere.”
“Why don’t you just buzz Rinicker on your cell phone?”
Theodosia made a face. “Because if he’s got caller ID, then he’s going to know it’s us.”
“And that we’re checking on him,” Drayton said as they huffed along. “Good point. This sleuthing business isn’t all that easy, is it?”
“No, it’s not.”