Part 2 (2/2)

”Deal.”

Margo flipped back to some well-worn pages near the front of her notebook. Auntie Lil tried without success to read the writing upside down in hopes of finding a clue to her source's ident.i.ty. Margo, well aware of Auntie Lil's tricks, pulled the notes closer to her chest and smiled. ”Bobby Morgan approached the board,” she told Auntie Lil sweetly. ”Hans Glick, to be specific. It was Morgan's idea to put his son in the role and he said it was because his son was at that awkward stage between child star and adolescent. He thought legitimate stage credits and a little seasoning would help his son make the transition more smoothly. Also, he was adamant about no Fatima Jones being in the show from the very beginning, but no one seems to know how he knew about her in the first place.” She looked up at Auntie Lil. ”What you have to remember about Bobby Morgan is that he had his own agenda here. He was a student himself at the Metro thirty years ago and didn't do very well. When he was plucked from the student ranks to audition for a new sitcom back in the sixties, he was one of two Metro students to get a part. The other had stage experience as well. Bobby Morgan left dancing behind to try to become a child star. For a while he succeeded. His sitcom ran for a good eight years and he was a big television star in his own right during the late sixties and early seventies. Until he turned eighteen.”

”What happened then?” Auntie Lil asked.

”Talk about an awkward age. He was. .h.i.t with everything most adolescents go through at age twelve. Height gain. Pimples. A month's worth of bad hair days at a stretch. Mood swings, all that stuff. Delayed adolescence had helped prolong his appeal for many years, but when it hit, his career was over. He wasn't cute anymore and the show had gone stale. Both his looks and the show disappeared, almost overnight. I don't know what happened to him in the years in between, but by the time he arrived back on the scene a few years ago, this time as manager to his son, there were a lot of people who felt that the father was using the son to settle some old scores.”

”So Bobby Morgan was also a child star?” Auntie Lil said. ”Like father, like son?”

Margo nodded. ”In a manner of speaking. He was nowhere near as successful as Mikey has been, but that's in part because he didn't make the move into film and he didn't have a good manager when he was Mikey's age. I understand his parents blew most of his earnings and he didn't have much left by the time his show was canceled. He's been living pretty well off his son's earnings for the last couple of years. Twenty percent of twelve million a year is not too shoddy.”

”And he sent Mikey to the Metro Ballet School to follow in his footsteps?”

Margo nodded. ”A lot of stage parents do that, at least at first. Ballet teaches a child grace and stage presence. They also learn to work like dogs and the constant rejection of auditions is good for them. Toughens them up.”

”Sounds like they're breeding pit bulls,” Auntie Lil said.

”Believe me, some of them are.”

”Where is the child's mother?” Auntie Lil asked. ”Why has no one heard of her?”

”That's an interesting story,” Margo admitted. She checked her watch and began to speak even faster. ”The mother and father divorced a few years ago, apparently over the future of their oldest son and biggest a.s.set- Mikey. It seems that Mom was not keen on nonstop exploitation of Mikey and was worried about the effect of all the attention on his younger brothers and sister. But Dad was adamant on cas.h.i.+ng in while the cas.h.i.+ng in was good. So they split. There were a few other reasons, too, I understand.”

”A few other very female reasons?” Auntie Lil guessed.

Margo rolled her eyes. ”Some women go for the ponytail-and-gold-jewelry look. Me? I like wrinkled Irish faces and scraggly beards.”

”Why did you run the story on Fatima Jones when you did?” Auntie Lil asked. ”So close to opening night?”

”I didn't know about it until then,” Margo explained. ”When my source came to me, they let me know that Ben Hampton knew about it. I knew the good Reverend would make a big deal out of it. I also knew that it would be a real coup for me if I could get my column out first, making it look like Hampton had responded to my story. It doesn't hurt to look like you have a lot of influence, even if you don't.” She smiled modestly, although she was fully aware of the very real clout she wielded. ”So now it's your turn,” she told Auntie Lil. ”What do you know that you're not telling me?”

Auntie Lil described the murder and the way the body had swung first behind the set windows and then in front. ”I am convinced that he was killed earlier in the show, perhaps strangled manually by the extra rope attached to the Christmas tree's counterbalance. The killer made a noose out of this rope, figuring that once the tree started to descend, he could cut the counterbalance free and the rapid fall of the tree would jerk Morgan's body onto the stage. It worked, but not well enough for the killer. I think he or she was waiting in the wings and, during the confusion of the Christmas-tree lights exploding, grabbed the hanging body and gave it a good shove to send it center stage.”

Margo stared at Auntie Lil. ”That's a pretty dramatic gesture,” she said. ”Not to mention extremely risky if you want to stay anonymous.”

Auntie Lil nodded. ”I know. Someone wanted this to be a very public murder.”

”What else?” Margo demanded.

Auntie Lil shrugged apologetically. She was not about to let Margo know about the tufts of cotton worked into the rope fibers. ”Just that anyone could have found their way backstage. There are at least four fire-door exits opening on to separate sides and back alleys and none of them are locked during a performance. Any one of the fifty or so protesters could have slipped inside and done it. Or anybody backstage. Or a tourist pa.s.sing by, for that matter.”

”h.e.l.l of a New York City souvenir,” Margo remarked. ”You'll give me more when you get it?”

Auntie Lil nodded. ”And you'll call me with the same?”

”Agreed.” The tiny columnist rose, her five-foot frame giving off a power that exceeded her physical limitations. ”Be careful,” she warned Auntie Lil. ”You remember what happened last time?”

Yes, Auntie Lil still remembered the sharp point of a knife twisted cruelly in her side the last time she and Margo had found themselves on the same case. ”I'll be careful,” she promised.

Auntie Lil left the coffee bar knowing a lot more about Bobby Morgan but very little about the possible ident.i.ty of Margo McGregor's source.

But what was it the columnist had said about having to run the story because she knew that Ben Hampton had been alerted as well? If someone had leaked the news to the Reverend Hampton, it didn't guarantee that the informer was black, but it did indicate that the possibility was worth pursuing. Besides, using the chalkboard at the emergency board meeting earlier that day had reminded her of someone easily overlooked. She remembered the placid face of the maintenance man and the timing of his entrance at the acrimonious vote meeting. Had he been listening at the door?

Lincoln Center was no more than a four-dollar cab ride away. She decided to ask him for herself.

Auntie Lil camped out at the service entrance to the State Theater and shanghaied the man she had discovered was named Calvin Swanson. He was in a hurry to get home after a long day. But the maintenance man did not seem surprised to see her. ”Evening,” he said, tipping his hat back on his head.

”I'm Lillian Hubbert. I'm on the Metro's board of directors. May I talk to you privately?” she asked without preamble, figuring correctly that he was a man who wasted neither words nor actions.

”About what?” he said carefully, his eyes searching Amsterdam Avenue for a bus he could take home to the Bronx.

”Look, I'll treat you to a cab ride home if you'll just agree to talk to me for a few minutes about Fatima Jones and the vote to replace her in The Nutcracker.”

”Fatima?” He sang her name like he was at a gospel meeting. ”What do I know about that girl except that she's a fine dancer?”

”Oh, come on, Calvin,” Auntie Lil insisted as she managed to block a frantic executive with her hip and flagged a pa.s.sing cab to a screeching halt with a well-practiced wave. Calvin opened the door with supreme satisfaction and a polite nod to the apoplectic businessman. Auntie Lil climbed inside first and waited for Calvin to give his address to the irate driver. Cabbies liked to stop for little old ladies in New York City; they did not like to stop for large black men. The driver, highly suspicious of his pa.s.sengers, slammed the plastic divider between the front and back seats shut in defiance, leaving Auntie Lil and Calvin to exchange a knowing glance.

”Nice change to be taking a cab,” Calvin said.

”I bet,” Auntie Lil agreed dryly.

Calvin decided he liked the old lady's att.i.tude. ”Miss Hubbert, I can't help you. I have merely watched the girl practice. What could I tell you about Fatima Jones that you don't already know? Just because we're both black doesn't mean we're related.”

”I know that.” Auntie Lil paused. ”Someone leaked the details of the board's vote to oust her to the press. I think it might have been you.” She stared at Calvin's face carefully as she spoke, hoping to read new information there.

His face remained blank and he shook his head. ”Not me. I do admit I heard what you were talking about that day.” He shrugged apologetically. ”Could hardly help it. If you don't mind my saying so, you do talk very loud.”

Auntie Lil nodded. She was famous for her booming voice.

”I may even have listened in a bit at the door afterward and I can't say I agreed with the decision,” Calvin added. ”But I wasn't surprised. And I certainly didn't call the press.”

”But surely you know something,” Auntie Lil asked. ”You work throughout the building every day. People may not notice you because you're so familiar. They might have talked while you were around.”

”They might have,” he agreed. ”But just because they don't know how to keep their mouths shut doesn't mean I don't.”

”Please, Mr. Swanson,” Auntie Lil pleaded. ”I worked hard to stop them from taking that role away from Fatima and now I'm working hard to find a killer. The two events may be related. Don't you know anything that might help?”

”Like what?” Calvin settled back for the unexpected luxury of pa.s.sing over the Harlem River by car. Even the sluggish murkiness of the river below them seemed to sparkle in the reflection of the arriving sunset.

”Have you seen anyone talking to the press?” Auntie Lil asked. ”Did you notice any board members leaving the meeting and running right for the pay phone?” She knew this last scenario was absurd, since no one would be so obvious. Of course, she had wanted to be that obvious, but Theodore had stopped her.

”By the press, you mean that columnist who broke the story?” Calvin asked. ”Or do you mean any press at all?”

”Anything!” Auntie Lil declared in desperation.

Calvin rubbed his hands on his well-worn jeans. ”I guess if I were you,” he finally said. ”I would talk to that lady who runs the rehearsals.”

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