Final Curtain Read Online Free Page B

wooden stage waiting for director Karen Richards and daytime drama diva Sharon. “Were you all as pissed at me yesterday?” she chuckled.
    “Coming over the hill this morning, the traffic was wretched,” Charlotte said, explaining the probable cause for the absentees.
    “Sharon’s here. Somewhere,” Polly said. “Her car’s in the lot, next to Karen’s.”
    “I have that space,” Emily said.
    “It was there when I arrived,” Polly said. “Something’s not right. Has anyone seen the beast, Gerold? His car was in the lot too. Perhaps he’s giving Sharon and Karen one of his excoriating lectures in his office. We don’t have time for his games. Someone call Karen’s cell and find out how long they’re going to be.”
    Tim, who along with Placenta was seated in the audience trying to stay out of the way, volunteered to place the call. “I’ve already programmed all of your numbers.” He flipped open his phone and pushed the address book key. He scrolled down to Karen’s number and pushed the Talk button. In less than a moment he simultaneously heard ringing in his earpiece and a personalized ring tone of “Popular” coming from behind the stage curtain. The instant that the ringing stopped in his own phone, so too did the hit song from Wicked coming from behind the curtain, as an automated voice message announced that Karen Richards was not available. Beep .
    With a strange feeling in the pit of his stomach, Tim flipped his phone closed.
    “The acoustics in this place are wonderful,” Polly said. “Tim, dear, push Redial.”
    When Tim redialed Karen’s number, the same music wafted from backstage and the entire cast huddled together. Tim and Placenta joined them onstage as Polly began to lead the way into the wings.
    Dark and grim, the ancient backstage area was eerie with its vaulted height and cavernous depth. There were creepy vibrations in old theaters, and the Galaxy was no exception. Ghosts were everywhere. The only illumination backstage was ambient light that filtered in from the auditorium. Polly felt a sense of trepidation as she moved into the abyss. With the exception of the echo produced by each footstep on the concrete slab floor, the backstage area was deathly quiet. Polly looked at Tim. “Call Karen’s cell again, hon.”
    Tim flipped open his phone and redialed. “Popular” ricocheted throughout the vast backstage area. En masse, the curious cast followed Polly toward the ring tone. Then, just as the music ended and the automated voice message system engaged, Emily Hutcherson tripped over a thick electrical cable and fell—facedown onto a sandbag. “Holy Mother of Christ!” she screamed.
    At the same time, Tim found the light switch panel and turned on all the overhead spots. Emily screamed even louder as she realized that her face wasn’t resting against a sandbag but rather a body.
    The body of director Karen Richards.
    Polly rushed to Emily’s side and held out her hand to help the actress back onto her feet. But Polly was more interested in taking a closer look at Karen. Immediately she noticed that blood had pooled on the floor around the back of Karen’s head. Her unseeing eyes were staring up at the fly space above the proscenium.
    As the rest of the shocked and confused cast stood almost as lifeless as Karen lying on the floor, Placenta had the wherewithal to call 911.
    Although the paramedics arrived in a matter of minutes, it was too late. Karen was a goner the instant her brain began to seep through the crack in her head. The police followed quickly behind the EMTs and dutifully began taking pictures of the death scene, and questioning the cast. When an officer asked Polly if she had seen anything unusual, she explained that it was what she didn’t see that might be more important.
    An officious-looking detective in a gray suit overheard her remark. “And who are you?” the brusque bully of a policeman asked as he walked over to Polly. He looked down his nose