Playbills Don't Pay Bills
An Alternate Universe version of "Psych". Shules exists (er…for now). Marlowe doesn't.
I own nothing. I have no money, except for a savings account that will pay for my funeral at best. Please, Powers That Be, just remember that turnips cannot be bled.
I'm having to read Hamlet, people. Hamlet. It's so depressing. I can only hope I can make it rather fun. Add Woody to the mix, and how can it not be? I'm not a Shakespeare expert, by the way. I'm getting commentary stuff from online sources. The volume I have of Shakespeare's plays is in tiny print. I could go blind trying to read that thing. I also used to not have a clue what a 'fardel' was. Until recently, I thought it was some kind of rodent.
What? What'd you think a fardel was? C'mon. Be honest!
Detective Juliet O'Hara looked around the huge auditorium and had to resist the temptation to whistle or yell something, just to see if there would be an echo. A place this size surely had great acoustics. She peered down at the stage, far below, and saw Woody and two other ME's standing there, looking down at the murdered form of one Sir Reginald Livingstone, who had been died after the final scene in Hamlet – apparently, one of the goblets that were supposed to contain poison for the scene actually did contain poison and Sir Reginald was still lying on the stage, several of the actors standing around nearby and looking fairly unhappy.
As she approached, Woody raised his head and waved cheerily at her. "Detective O'Hara! Where's Detective Lassiter?"
"He's on his way," she said, climbing up onto the stage. "He had an…emergency to deal with. Why are you out here?" She didn't mean to sound rude, but she had never seen Woody at a crime scene before.
"I'm covering for the ME today. He's got stomach flu." Woody nodded. He gestured to the dead man at his feet. "He had a slightly more serious condition, apparently. When will Detective Lassiter be here?"
Juliet knew that Woody liked Carlton far more than Carlton appeared to like Woody. Frankly her partner only seemed to like a small handful of people (she was pleased to include herself in that small, select and very honored group), tolerated some people, and generally loathed the rest of earth's inhabitants. He had even made a vague Austen reference one day, to her, during a high speed chase through a rough part of town: 'The more I see of the world, the less I am satisfied with it', which hadn't sounded extremely Lassiterish, but then again, he frequently surprised her with his wide range of interests and almost encyclopedic knowledge of literature.
The sound of the theater doors opening made her turn to see not her partner coming in – that would cause several people up front to run away and cover their ears, and Juliet to feel a little calmer – but instead, her boyfriend and his obsequious sidekick. Juliet sighed. It was going to be a long night.
"Hark! What light through yonder window breaks! It is…bad lighting, actually, and Juliet…Juliet is the sun!" Shawn yelled as he and Gus made their way down the aisle and to the steps leading up to the stage. "Hey, babe. What's up?"
"I thought I told you not to follow me to this scene."
"But how on earth are you going to solve this crime without my help?" Shawn grinned, climbing up the steps and rounding her to look down at the body of the famous and now very dead English actor.
"Why, thank you, Shawn, for pointing out what an investigational ninny I am," she said with acid sweetness. "All that training was for nothing."
Shawn barely even seemed to recognize her sarcasm. "Oh, wait, Lassie's not here? That was aimed at him, of course."
"And by way of insulting him, you insult me," she nodded. Gus cleared his throat nervously, and she went on. "So I thank you so much, Shawn, on behalf with the entire Santa Barbara police department, aka the Keystone Kops…which is why I didn't want you to come here." She turned back to the little clutch of actors standing nearby and gestured to them. "Can anybody tell me what happened this evening?"
"He was doing the final scene with Tom, and took a drink from this goblet," an actress said, stepping forward and picking up one of the two goblets on the tablet. "He went on with the scene, and must have died shortly after the final line was said, because when the audience started applauding, he didn't get up…or move, and believe me, when he hears applause, he rolls over and bows."
"Yeah, and whenever you see a good-looking, available man, you roll over and shave your legs," one of the other actors said with a snide little snicker.
"And what is your name?" Juliet asked, opening her notebook.
"Caroline Watson," the actress said, shooting a dirty look at the actor who had insulted her.
Shawn and Gus looked at each other, and Gus finally stepped forward, looking awestruck. "Weren't you on that show a few years ago…Galaxerotica?"
"Yes. I was," she said in a sharp voice, eyes narrowing.
Shawn looked delighted. "I still have that issue of…uh…that magazine. I must say, that photo of those aliens giving you a full…uh…physical…was very tastefully done!"
Caroline didn't look terribly happy about that, and finally turned back to Juliet. "Anyway, he was dead. We decided to wait 'til the audience was gone before we called the police. No use causing a panic."
Juliet raised her eyebrows. "So it was poison?"
"Obviously," Caroline shrugged.
"Is there anyone here who would want to poison him?" Juliet asked, scribbling on her notepad.
"Oh, well, there's the cast, and then there's the production crew, the director, the producer, his cat, possibly his mother…" Caroline said with a shrug. "Everybody hated the son of a bitch. We're not really happy he's dead, but if you knew him, you'd know his inevitable exit from this mortal coil would be by somebody with a bare bodkin. Or a glass of poisoned grog."
"Oh, well, that narrows it down," Juliet said. "Thank you, Miss Watson."
"It's Ms," Caroline corrected icily and turned to stalk away. Juliet looked at the rest of the cast members still standing there, and they all just shrugged. No one seemed upset about Livingstone's death, nor did anyone seem gleeful about it. Most of them, in fact, seemed fairly indifferent about it.
"We'll need to speak with the remaining cast members and crew," she told Watson. Just then, she heard the doors open and glanced across the auditorium to see her partner striding in. He paused inside the door, looking around, adjusting his eyes to the lighting. The lights from the chandeliers overhead brought out the grey in his hair, and even from several yards away she could see the startling blue of his eyes – they were an irritated blue. He spoke rather sharply to a man at the door who had the nerve to get in his way, then stalked up the aisle, looking around and climbing up the steps.
"Huh," he said, looking around the scene. "Hamlet. A hall in Elsinore." He looked down at the dead actor. "So who offed the sweet prince of Denmark? I take it it wasn't Laertes"
"We're trying to figure that out," Juliet told him.
"Hey, Lassie!" Shawn said, waving happily and bouncing over. "This ought to be fairly easy for me to solve. Just sit down and relax and we'll take care of every…"
Carlton just smiled indulgently and handed Spencer a Snickers bar. "Here you go."
"Ooh, thanks, Lassie!" Shawn said, tearing into the bar and walking away, Guster at his heels, trying to get his attention, to no avail.
"What was that?" Juliet asked, once the two young men were safely out of earshot.
"Experiment." Carlton squatted down and examined the dead body. "From now on, it's either candy or mathematics."
Woody, smiling happily at the sight of his favorite detective, came over.
"Detective! So good to see you!"
"Yes, and great to see you, too, Woody, and oh, by the way, did you notice the dead guy…who is wearing tights?" He stepped back from the body. "It has to be said – tights just don't look good on almost anybody. You have to be twenty and very firm to look good in tights."
"Yeah," Woody nodded. "The tights…they can do a lot for you when you're thin and in shape, but when you're middle-aged and kinda…saggy…no. I learned this from unfortunate personal experience, too. Let's just say that gym revoked my membership after just one day. Sometimes, I can still hear the sobbing."
"You should know that I will not be asking for a recounting of that experience, Woody," Juliet said, softening her comment with a little smile.
"I've got photos!" Woody grinned.
Carlton noticed a small amount of powder on the right side of the dead man's mouth. "Either this guy was into powdered doughnuts – thus not looking good in tights – or the goblet might still have some of the poison on its rim." He stood and went to the table, on which the two ornate goblets still sat. He picked one up and ran his finger around the rim, picking up more of the same white powder. He sniffed carefully at it and frowned. "No scent." A CSU member came over and held open a plastic bag, into which Carlton placed the cup, while the remaining powder was shaken into another, smaller, bag.
Juliet looked around the stage for any other clues. All she could see was the background painting of the hall of a castle, a cheap-looking but well-maintained tapestry depicting the violent mauling of a deer by a group of hounds, the table on which the two goblets had been placed, and a pair of thrones. An older woman came clicking onto the stage from the right wing, holding her skirt up a little, stiletto heels tapping on the stage boards. She looked down at the body of the dead actor and her eyes widened with shock. "Reggie!"
"And you are?" Juliet asked, still a little distracted by the tapestry of the unhappy deer and his assailants.
"Queen Gertrude…" Carlton started, but shook his head as if to clear it. "Ma'am? I take it you knew the victim?"
"Yes…" She said,
"In a professional or Biblical sense?" he asked, eyeing her critically and flipping open his notepad.
"Both," one of the actors, the same one who had earlier insulted Caroline Watson, said with a grin.
Carlton gave the actor an icy glare, and the man's smile faded and he nudged another actor, whispering something. The other man studied Carlton for a moment and whispered something to his companion, who nodded.
"What's your name, ma'am?" Carlton began again.
"Grace Atwood."
Carlton nodded. "Right. I saw you a few years ago in…Othello? Desdemona, right?"
"Yes." She stared at him intently. "Have I seen you somewhere?"
"Doubt it. So you and whatsisname here…" He peered down at the body of the dead actor. "Livingstone. Right. You and Livingstone were…er…close?"
"We have been, a few times," Grace said with a delicate shrug.
"Actresses," Carlton muttered, writing on his notepad. "All right. I don't guess you would know who'd poison him, would you?"
"Everybody hated him," she said. "Well…not all at the same time."
"We'll be in touch," Carlton finally said, as a pair of men from the coroner's office came up with a gurney. He and O'Hara watched as Livingstone – who had won a Tony and a BAFTA – was zipped up into a body bag and hauled away. He looked at his partner, who raised her eyebrows. "A cast of thousands, so far as witnesses and potential killers go, huh?"
"Looks like it."
"Got any ideas? See anybody acting…" He snorted. "Behaving strangely?"
"There was another actress…" She turned back to look at the cast members, who were still milling around on the stage. "Can someone go find Caroline Watson, please?" she asked the cast's resident insulter, who grinned and went in search of the actress. He and Watson returned a few moments later, and the actress – a willowy blonde with flashing green eyes and a very emphatic figure – looked at Carlton with interest.
"Miss…?"
"Ms. Watson. Caroline Watson."
"Yeah. Did you see or hear anything, ma'am? See anybody adding powder to the grog in the goblet? Skulking about in a murderous manner? Making serious threats against Livingstone? Or just anything interesting or unusual?"
"I'm afraid not, Detective." Caroline was eyeing Carlton with great interest, and Juliet felt a frisson of genuine alarm and something else she didn't want to think about, because it was inappropriate. This woman was a man-eater, definitely, and her partner was not up for that, however tough he might be in a brawl or when bringing down a perp. Emotionally, she knew, he was still fairly fragile. He had already had his heart torn out and stomped flat by his ex-wife. He didn't need drama too. "I don't believe you told me your name," she said in a slightly breathy voice. Juliet rolled her eyes.
"Carlton Lassiter," he said. "Galaxerotica, right?"
She frowned, and Juliet felt much happier, and very proud of her partner for his ability to say the inappropriate thing at just the right moment.
Caroline looked a little disgruntled. "Yes. You saw the series?"
"I…uh…glimpsed it. Sometimes I get a free month of that channel. Any grudge between yourself and Livingstone?"
"Hated the bastard, but I didn't kill him." She was still studying him, her gaze moving from his leather-clad feet to his Irish hairline, taking it all in and clearly liking what she was seeing. Juliet had to admit the woman had good taste, at least. Carlton always did look good in that suit – black pants, charcoal jacket, white shirt, midnight-blue tie – and he had apparently not had time to shave before leaving home, because he now had a bit of five o'clock shadow. Even better, he was letting his hair grow a little longer. All in all, he looked amazing. He was even starting a bit of a tan, which she had commented on one day and had gotten a vague growl in response. "Theater buff?"
"What?"
"Do you enjoy the theater, Detective?"
"Not a lot, no," he answered shortly. He flipped his notebook closed and stuffed it into his breast pocket. "Thank you, Miss Watson." He glanced over at the cast. "You'll all be available for witness statements and the like, right?" The actors nodded, murmuring vaguely. Woody clomped over, grinning happily, but stopped at the scene unfolding on the stage and looked confused.
"I'm very definitely…available, Detective," Caroline said with a gamine little smile.
Juliet wanted to tear the little tramp's hair out.
"Er…good. Right. Well...uh…I mean…um…yes. We'll call…" He was starting to look very uncomfortable now, his brow furrowing and forming two worried black lines. He took a step back.
"Perhaps you could give me your card? I know Detectives carry cards…"
He fished one out of his pocket and handed it to her, and Caroline's fingers brushed his as she took it, smiling at him as he continued to look uneasy. Juliet snatched out one of her own and handed it to the actress, who gave her a 'What the hell?' look but took it anyway.
"Thank you, Detective…s. If I think of anything, I'll call you." She only put the slightest emphasis on 'you' and made eye contact with him again, and Juliet saw the tops of her partner's ears turn red.
Woody squeezed Carlton's shoulder as Caroline turned away. "You wouldn't believe what they've got backstage! Two real human skulls, a bunch of brass crowns, several fencing swords…the works!"
"It's Hamlet, Woody," Carlton said patiently. "And how many times do I have to tell you not to touch me?"
Woody removed his hand. "Are you familiar with Hamlet? I saw it once. Didn't really get what they were talking about, and then everybody was dead. Bodkins and farting bears…"
Carlton closed his eyes, counting to ten. "Fardels bear…what would fardels bear," Carlton corrected wearily. He was starting to get a headache.
"Oh. Right. Oh…" Woody followed them down the steps and toward the exit. "What are fardels, then?"
"Uh…it means 'burden'. It's basically about how we bear the burden – the weight – of our sorrows instead of offing ourselves with a bare bodkin, which would be the sensible thing to do. But that would just send us off into that undiscover'd country, from whose bourn no traveler returns," Carlton explained, opening the door for Juliet and letting her pass through first. "Thus conscious does make cowards of us all."
"Really?" Woody asked. "I thought it was just spiders. I know they make a coward of me!"
"Dust bunnies make a coward of you, Woody," Juliet pointed out.
"Oh, geez, they sure do. Found one under my desk one day and screamed like a ten-year old girl. Hey, can I ride back with you two? And can we stop for donuts?"
"Sure, Woody," Carlton said with a sigh. "But for God's sake, can you not lick the powder off until after you buy them?"
Behind them, up on the stage, Spencer and Guster reappeared, Shawn having consumed his Snickers bar while wandering around backstage and getting in trouble with the set director for playing with the fencing swords and making the skulls perform a scene from Heathers. He looked around, finding no audience, and frowned. "Where'd everybody go?"