The Marsh Madness

She didn’t question it. “They’re upstairs and they’re organized by year. I’ll bring the box with the last couple of years’ playbills.”


Doug thundered past her on the stairs. He was carrying some electronic equipment. He stopped and said, “Some of us are busy getting the job done. I’ll be over at the condo hooking things up.”

She smiled and waved, and I thought I heard her say, “Good, I need a break from the grumbling.” But he was already out the side door with a slam.

Three minutes later she came downstairs with a banker’s box.

I called after her, “I don’t want to keep you from anything. I can certainly do this myself.”

“That’s probably a good idea,” she said, carting the box to the dining room and thumping it on the table. “Call me if you need another box or have a question. Good luck.”

Under normal circumstances I would have loved going through those playbills. But now the stakes were too high. If I didn’t find what I was looking for, I’d be in a tough spot.

A half hour later, I got my first break. I read each cast list carefully, in case Shelby was calling herself something different. I also scanned for familiar names, but no luck.

Last year’s production of something called Dirty Monkey Blues, off-off Broadway, listed Shelby Church among the actors on a cheaply reproduced playbill. I put it aside.

I continued back in time. Larraine had seen a lot of plays. Some sounded better than others.

Shelby turned up again in the cast for something called Beware the Treehouse. I chuckled. I hadn’t heard of any of these. I checked dozens more before I found Shelby’s name again. This time the production was called Morgue: The Musical.

With three playbills, I started to look at the other cast members. Sure enough, two names—Brent Derringer and Tom Kovacs—showed up on Dirty Monkey and Beware the Treehouse.

Only one name was on all three. Ward Lucasky.

Larraine came puffing down the stairs. “Any luck?”

I kept my voice even. “I think so. I’ll try to track them down now.”

Larraine said, “If they’re Equity, you should be able to find them. I can help.”

“Thanks. First, I’ll try to see if these are the people I’m looking for. I’ll search for their images online and then circulate them to some other friends of Shelby’s. I’ll get in touch if I need more help.”

I worried that Larraine might question my very odd story, but she was happy to help. “Too bad Doug took our printer over to the new place. I could have printed them out for you. You’re taking my mind off this move.”

“No problem. I can get it done. Mind if I borrow these playbills?”


*

I COULD NOT relax at all until I got back to Cherie’s. Cherie was out, apparently on a call. Maybe she did have a real job. Once I was in the house, I went to work to find what I could about Brent Derringer, Tom Kovacs and Ward Lucasky. Google Images paid off quickly.

Brent Derringer surfaced in a number of casual and promo stills. He was big and beefy. Kev leaned over my shoulder and whistled. “Yowza, Jordie. You found Thomas, the butler.”

I tried Tom Kovacs next. “Whoa,” Kev said. “That’s Chadwick, only not the real one. So these guys killed Chadwick and then killed Shelby to keep her quiet, right?”

I pulled up Ward Lucasky’s photos.

Kev glowered. “I don’t know that guy, Jordie. Go back to the others. They’re the guilty ones.”

I pointed at Ward Lucasky. “This is the guy who’s behind it.”

Kev stared at me. “What are we going to do about him?”

“We are going to fix him, but good.”

Kev nodded.

I said, “He’s the reason you’re on the run. He set you up.”

“But I don’t even know him.”

“It’s okay. I know him. Let’s get the printer going.”


*