Iron Cast(46)

“I’ve been backstage loads of times,” Saint said.

“Shh,” she hissed.

“It really is important,” he said. “Please, Maddy?”

She considered for a few moments, then threw open the door. She was radiant in a white silk robe, even with her gaudy stage makeup still plastered on her face.

“You might have at least brought flowers,” she said, propping her hand on her hip.

“It’s the middle of winter,” Corinne told her.

Madeline sighed dramatically and said something about the secrets within being a great and terrible burden that they must bear in silence for all their days, and then she stepped aside to let them pass.

Corinne didn’t see anything particularly burdensome in the backstage area. It was mostly creaky, splintery wood and dark drapes. There were chests full of costumes and props lining the walls, and a few half-finished sets were leaning against walls and doorways. Madeline squeezed beneath one backdrop of a starry night and led them into a room that was furnished with dressing tables and a blue velvet sofa. James was reclining on the sofa, still in costume, with his feet propped on one arm and a stack of papers resting over his face.

“Aren’t you supposed to be making notes?” Madeline asked.

He didn’t move.

“I’m contemplating my character’s intonation,” he replied, his voice muffled by the pages.

“Well, stop it. We have guests.”

He sat up, letting the script slide into his lap. He’d mopped most of the powder from his face, leaving only a smudge of red at the corner of his mouth where Madeline’s character had kissed him in tragic farewell.

“So much for the unbreakable rule,” he said, his languorous gaze moving across the company. When he saw Saint, his lips curled into a smile. “Hey there.”

“Hey there,” Madeline mimicked, and shoved his legs off the sofa so that she could sit down. “You might at least put some effort into it, James. You’re not nearly as irresistible as you think you are, you know.”

“The charm is more in the presentation than the actual words, I think,” he said, still smiling at Saint, who was by now flushed bright pink.

“Well, go on, sit down,” Madeline said to the others, waving at the dressing-table chairs and a second sofa.

“Aren’t we going to have introductions?” James asked, leaning back and stretching out his long legs. He was looking at Gabriel, who had just sat down next to Corinne on the sofa. “Has anyone ever told you that you would make a perfect Cassius?”

“I can’t say they have,” Gabriel replied.

“He just means you look likely to stab someone,” Corinne said.

James smiled serenely but did not contradict her. “I’m James Gretsky. Madeline’s husband.”

Gabriel quirked an eyebrow. “Gabriel Stone” was all he said.

“Well, now that the tedium is over,” Madeline said, “is someone going to tell us what’s so damned important you have to interrupt our extremely crucial post-performance session?”

Corinne explained the situation to them as succinctly as possible, though she neglected the fact that Johnny had left the night before and still hadn’t returned. She nudged Saint, who took the sketch out of his pocket, unfolded it, and handed it across to James. The pair hunched over it, their fair and dark heads touching.

“I don’t recognize him,” James said.

“I do,” said Madeline. “Can’t put my finger on it, though.”

“Think harder,” Corinne suggested.

Madeline shot her a glare, and James leaned over to study the picture again.

“Oh,” he said. “I see it now. Looks just like—”

“Exactly,” Madeline said.

“Care to share with the rest of us?” Corinne asked.

“Babe Ruth,” Madeline said with a smug smile.

Gabriel laughed shortly.

“Who’s that?” Corinne asked.

“Pitcher for the Red Sox,” Gabriel said. “The resemblance is uncanny, now that you mention it.”

“What are the chances he’s given up baseball in favor of crime?” James said musingly.

Corinne stood up. “I’m glad you can all laugh about it,” she said. “Meanwhile two men are dead.”

“No need to be a wet blanket,” Madeline said, fanning herself idly with the sketch. “If we knew who it was, we would tell you.”

“Sorry,” James added. “Maybe he’s new around here.”

“Good to know we sat through three hours of drivel for that gem of information,” Corinne said. “Between that and Babe Ruth maybe we can find this bastard before he shoots someone else.”

“We should go,” Gabriel said, standing up beside her. “That’s all we came for.”

“And quite a production you made of it,” Madeline said.

Corinne resented Gabriel’s attempt to end the conversation before she was finished being cross, but she had run out of cross things to say, so she stalked to the door. Saint didn’t move from his seat.

“I think I’ll stay a while longer,” he said, managing to remain within three shades of his natural color. “We still have to talk about the backdrop you need me to paint for the next production.”