whatever it is you want to do while you're down here, but leave the law enforcement end of things to me.'
I may be slow, but I got the picture. 'Right.'
Fraymore's and my verbal scuffle went right over Dinky Holloway's head. 'You wouldn't really arrest Tanya, would you?' Dinky asked, as though it were only a remote possibility, if that.
Listening with a cop's ear, I knew better. It wasn't just what Fraymore said, it was also how he said it. Tanya Dunseth was in deep trouble. Dinky might have regarded Tanya as a talented young actress and fine mother, as a valued cast member and fellow employee. Gordon Fraymore saw her as a suspected killer, plain and simple. In the world of homicide investigators, suspected killers become convicted ones. And that seemed the most likely outcome in this case.
Presumably, Gordon Fraymore could have sidestepped Dinky's question the same way he had avoided mine, but he didn't. Denver Holloway represented the Festival, the business entity in Ashland that, more than any other, made the detective's regular municipal paychecks possible. Having a suspected murderer onstage at the Oregon Shakespeare Festival wouldn't be good for the Festival or for Ashland.
Fraymore was smart enough to realize that if he was going to have to arrest one of the Festival's star players, if he was going to bite the hand that fed him, he had best handle everyone else from there with kid gloves-starting with Dinky Holloway.
'I might have to,' he conceded uneasily, popping Tums as if they were candy. I wondered what was causing Gordon Fraymore's severe indigestion-bad food, general overeating, or Martin Shore's murder.
'How many plays is Tanya Dunseth in?' he asked.
'Three,' Dinky answered. 'Romeo, Shrew, and The Real Thing.'
'Big roles?'
Dinky nodded. 'Important ones. Substantial ones.'
In the silence that followed, Gordon Fraymore gave his sprouting five o'clock shadow a thoughtful rub. 'It's like this, Ms. Holloway. If I were you, I'd be out there right now preparing people to take over Tanya's parts. That is confidential information. If word about it leaks out, she'll know we're onto her and take off like a shot.'
Dinky bit her lip and nodded. 'I understand,' she said.
By the time we finally left Fraymore's office, it was 8:20. Ashland is a small town. It would have been easy for us to drive to the theater district, park, and make it to our seats in the Elizabethan in plenty of time for an eight-thirty curtain. But somehow our hearts weren't up to seeing Taming of the Shrew. Alex and I opted for something to eat. We invited Dinky to join us, but she begged off.
'I've got to go somewhere and think,' she said. She started away, then came back. 'He is going to arrest her, isn't he?'
'It looks that way,' I agreed. 'You heard what he said.'
'It'll be terrible for the Festival. Nothing like this has ever happened before. Tanya's an important part of the season. She's a great Juliet, an outstanding Kate. The understudies aren't nearly as good. How long do I have?'
'I don't know. Several days maybe. Possibly as long as several weeks, but I doubt it. Fraymore is under tremendous pressure to get this case solved in a timely manner. He's going to give it everything he's got. If things don't happen fast enough to suit him, he'll make them happen.'
Dinky opened her purse and groped for a pack of cigarettes. 'Do you think Tanya actually did it?' she asked. Her hands trembled as she attempted to light her cigarette. I finally lit it for her.
'You know Tanya better than I do. You tell me.'
Dinky shook her head mournfully. 'I don't know what to think. All I know is, I never should have told anyone about the tape. I should have just kept quiet.'
'You're not the only one who knew about the tape,' I reminded her. 'Whoever sent it to you knew about it. Besides, the tape alone won't convict her. There's lots more to it than that. Fraymore's right. The tape does provide motive, but he has to look at opportunity, physical evidence, the availability of the weapon. Tanya certainly had access to that.'
'So did lots of other people,' Dinky countered, 'that is, if you believe Gordon Fraymore's damn Henckels slicer is our Henckels slicer. They're not all that uncommon, you know. And ours is a prop. Killing someone with a prop knife is about like shooting someone with a cap pistol. Impossible.'
I remembered the way the stage lights had glinted off the metal blade as Juliet had plunged it home. 'It looked lethal enough to me,' I said.
'That's the whole point,' Dinky returned. 'Looks are everything. From a distance, prop knives are supposed to look dangerous, but they're dull. Deliberately dull. We keep them that way so no one gets hurt.'
It felt pretty damn sharp when it sliced into me, I thought. And my wrist wasn't sporting make believe stitches, either. The coincidence of two identical Henckels slicers was more than any self-respecting homicide cop could accept. That went for me as well as Gordon Fraymore.
'But couldn't someone have sharpened it?' Alex asked. 'All it takes is one of those little rocks…What are they called?'
'Whetstones,' I supplied. 'You're right. With a whetstone and ten minutes, a dull knife can be as good as new. A grinding wheel would take about thirty seconds. I'm sure the scenery shop has one of those.'
'Oh,' Dinky muttered, crushing out her cigarette stub on the sidewalk. Without another word, she stalked off toward her ancient Datsun wagon.
Alex and I drove back downtown and lucked into a parking place. As we set off walking down a virtually empty main street, a trumpet blared a brief, shrill flourish, announcing curtain time at the Elizabethan. It seemed likely that the people watching Shrew that night would be seeing one of Tanya Dunseth's last public performances.
We turned away from the theaters and walked in the opposite direction. It was Sunday evening. Most of the gift shops, stores, and businesses were locked up for the night. The restaurants were still moderately busy as locals, finished for the day and the week in their own shops, ventured out for an evening meal now that most of the out-of-town visitors were otherwise engaged.
Toward the end of June, sunset doesn't arrive in southern Oregon until well after eight-thirty. In the gathering dusk, Alex and I wandered the deserted streets. Holding hands and not talking much, we window- shopped for a good half hour before stopping at an old-fashioned ice-cream parlor complete with a genuine soda fountain. There, over root-beer floats, we finally allowed ourselves to discuss what was going on.
I knew that Alex was upset. Even though she had never met Tanya Dunseth, she was convinced that Tanya was the real victim of the piece, that as someone who had suffered appalling abuse at Martin Shore's hands, Tanya had the God-given right to dish out whatever revenge she could manage. In fact, Alex held that a quick death was far too good for him. That was a surprising statement from an authentic card-carrying liberal.
'I think we should warn her,' Alex declared as she hit the bottom of her glass and noisily sucked up the dregs of her float.
'Warn her?' I repeated. 'Are you crazy?'
'Don't you think we should?'
'Absolutely not,' I said, shaking my head.
'Why?'
'Didn't you hear what Detective Fraymore said? Warning her is the last thing we should do.'
'She should have a chance to make some kind of care arrangements for Amber,' Alex declared.
I tried to be patient. 'You're not listening, Alex. This is a murder investigation. Homicide. Cops don't call up their top suspects in advance and say, ‘By the way, maybe you'd like to hire a baby-sitter before we come drag your butt off to jail.' And they don't like it if other people do, either.'
'She wouldn't really run away.'
'What makes you think she wouldn't? And if she did and Fraymore found out about it, the two of us would end up in deep caca, to quote the Laredo Kid.'
Despite the seriousness of our discussion, Alex smiled at my reference to the afternoon's play. 'At least you were paying attention to the dialogue,' she said.
For a minute, I thought she might drop the subject. No such luck. The lady had a one-track mind. 'If Tanya goes to prison-for years, let's say-what happens to Amber then?'
I shrugged. 'The state appoints a guardian, most likely a relative.'
