and her eyes were red as from much crying, her long oval face and delicately contoured features could have come straight out of an early fifteenth-century Flemish altarpiece, thought Sigrid, who was partial to late-Gothic art.
Like the other dancers in the troupe, Innes probably had a trim, well-conditioned body, but she had pulled on a pair of baggy gray warm-up pants while waiting her turn to be questioned and they combined with the oversized black sweatshirt to effectively disguise her form. She also wore soft leather slippers on her bare feet, yet she still shivered as she took the chair opposite the desk.
“Emmy wondered if we ought to put the heat on,” she told them tremulously, hunching within the loose folds of her sweatshirt, “but we thought we could get through the weekend without it since heating oil's so expensive.”
Her words made the three police officers aware that the office had gradually cooled over the past two hours. Without the hot stage lights and a large number of warm bodies to maintain the temperature, the theater was indeed growing uncomfortably chilly.
“We shouldn’t be much longer, ” Sigrid reassured the dancer.
In his earlier thumbnail descriptions of the company, Roman Tramegra had coupled the tall fair Ulrike Innes with short dark Nate Richmond. Joan of Arc meets Alberich, thought Sigrid, and then gave herself a mental shake. When tired, her subconscious sometimes drew stupid parallels where none existed. Even if he was an inch shorter than her own five-ten, Nate Richmond was nothing like the misshapen little dwarf in Wagner’s Ring cycle, she told herself firmly, and fixed her attention on Innes’s account of her last words with Emmy Mion.
“We had a quick run-through rehearsal at ten this morning. Nate wanted to check some of the light cues.” Ulrike’s voice softened unconsciously at his name. “Emmy had some new ideas about lighting the goblin scene and they started bouncing suggestions off each other the way they always did.”
“Did Miss Mion seem preoccupied or upset about anything?”
The dancer shook her head. “No, no more than any other performance day. Everyone gets keyed up and a little excited. A little crazy, too, I guess.”
“Crazy how?”
“Just silly things.” Innes pushed herself far back in die chair, drew her feet up to the front edge of the seat, and clasped her jackknifed knees. “Win had misplaced his pumpkin head-he’s always losing things-and Ginger accused Eric of taking hers, not that it mattered. All the heads were exactly alike. Then a couple of the kids showed up even though they know classes are always canceled on performance days. And Helen had decided Emmy’s ghost dress needed more floating tatters so she was tearing around trying to get Emmy back to her workroom for a last-minute fitting.”
“That’s Helen Delgado, your costume designer?”
“And set designer and half a dozen other titles, if you’re keeping track,” said Innes, watching Sigrid’s pen move across the notepad. “We all wear interchangeable hats.”
“Did you see Miss Mion after rehearsal?”
“She was with Nate when I went in to tell him lunch was ready in the green room. Win had made a huge salad and Ginger’d brought in a loaf of her six-grain bread. There was enough for everybody, but Emmy said Eric had gone out for Italian and they planned to eat here in the office.”
“I understand she was expecting a phone call. Did she discuss it?”
“No.”
Sigrid made a note to question the others about it, then asked Innes to continue.
“We ate, then Ginger and I went upstairs to change,” said the dancer, stretching her long legs straight out before her with her feet together. “I was putting on my pumpkin head when I noticed that Ginger hadn’t closed the door. The stairwell acts like an echo chamber. If the office door is open, too, and someone speaks loudly down here, you can hear it upstairs.”
“And what did you and Miss Judson
Like the other dancers in the troupe, Innes probably had a trim, well-conditioned body, but she had pulled on a pair of baggy gray warm-up pants while waiting her turn to be questioned and they combined with the oversized black sweatshirt to effectively disguise her form. She also wore soft leather slippers on her bare feet, yet she still shivered as she took the chair opposite the desk.
“Emmy wondered if we ought to put the heat on,” she told them tremulously, hunching within the loose folds of her sweatshirt, “but we thought we could get through the weekend without it since heating oil's so expensive.”
Her words made the three police officers aware that the office had gradually cooled over the past two hours. Without the hot stage lights and a large number of warm bodies to maintain the temperature, the theater was indeed growing uncomfortably chilly.
“We shouldn’t be much longer, ” Sigrid reassured the dancer.
In his earlier thumbnail descriptions of the company, Roman Tramegra had coupled the tall fair Ulrike Innes with short dark Nate Richmond. Joan of Arc meets Alberich, thought Sigrid, and then gave herself a mental shake. When tired, her subconscious sometimes drew stupid parallels where none existed. Even if he was an inch shorter than her own five-ten, Nate Richmond was nothing like the misshapen little dwarf in Wagner’s Ring cycle, she told herself firmly, and fixed her attention on Innes’s account of her last words with Emmy Mion.
“We had a quick run-through rehearsal at ten this morning. Nate wanted to check some of the light cues.” Ulrike’s voice softened unconsciously at his name. “Emmy had some new ideas about lighting the goblin scene and they started bouncing suggestions off each other the way they always did.”
“Did Miss Mion seem preoccupied or upset about anything?”
The dancer shook her head. “No, no more than any other performance day. Everyone gets keyed up and a little excited. A little crazy, too, I guess.”
“Crazy how?”
“Just silly things.” Innes pushed herself far back in die chair, drew her feet up to the front edge of the seat, and clasped her jackknifed knees. “Win had misplaced his pumpkin head-he’s always losing things-and Ginger accused Eric of taking hers, not that it mattered. All the heads were exactly alike. Then a couple of the kids showed up even though they know classes are always canceled on performance days. And Helen had decided Emmy’s ghost dress needed more floating tatters so she was tearing around trying to get Emmy back to her workroom for a last-minute fitting.”
“That’s Helen Delgado, your costume designer?”
“And set designer and half a dozen other titles, if you’re keeping track,” said Innes, watching Sigrid’s pen move across the notepad. “We all wear interchangeable hats.”
“Did you see Miss Mion after rehearsal?”
“She was with Nate when I went in to tell him lunch was ready in the green room. Win had made a huge salad and Ginger’d brought in a loaf of her six-grain bread. There was enough for everybody, but Emmy said Eric had gone out for Italian and they planned to eat here in the office.”
“I understand she was expecting a phone call. Did she discuss it?”
“No.”
Sigrid made a note to question the others about it, then asked Innes to continue.
“We ate, then Ginger and I went upstairs to change,” said the dancer, stretching her long legs straight out before her with her feet together. “I was putting on my pumpkin head when I noticed that Ginger hadn’t closed the door. The stairwell acts like an echo chamber. If the office door is open, too, and someone speaks loudly down here, you can hear it upstairs.”
“And what did you and Miss Judson
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