Mistress of Magic by Heather Graham

everyone would be wondering what had happened once it came out. I’m sure you’ve gotten a lot of the facts already. Her apartment was discovered in a complete upheaval, and her little yacht, Daphne’s Dare , was found sunk out in the lake. The police believe that a hole was purposely bored out in the bottom, then filled with some kind of makeshift caulking that would dissolve with time in the water. But I assure you, there’s been no arrest. There hasn’t even been a warning of possible charges against Max. They’ve been divorced over a year, you know.”
    “Yes,” Fran agreed, and she chuckled softly. “I’m a good friend, dear. You had best not sound quite so defensive with your next calls!”
    Reggie sighed. “You’re right. I’ll try.”
    “It’s going to get worse if they find a body,” Fran warned Reggie.
    “Much worse,” Reggie agreed glumly. “But it’s so unfair—”
    “Yes, it is unfair. I know Max Delaney. He has his temper, and he has his ways. But if he was going to kill Daphne, the man would have throttled her right out in the open, years ago! Don’t worry on my account. I’ll write a stirring article about his wonderful character and make it sound as if anyone suspecting him of foul play must be downright un-American! Biased reporting, and if you repeat a word of what I’ve said—”
    “Never! Never!” Reggie promised.
    Soon she hung up the receiver. She had several more calls to make, and as she made them, she became more and more grateful that she had called Fran first. She was careful not to sound too defensive. She thought the calls all went well.
    Then the interoffice line buzzed and she picked it up. “Yes?”
    “Reggie. It’s Max.”
    “Max, it’s going super. I just spoke with—”
    “Reggie, trust me, it’s not going so super. Ten more resignations in the last hour. Can you get to Dino-Shoe Falls right away? We’re missing a dance hall girl for the afternoon show.”
    She swore silently. She couldn’t even remember the numbers for the dance hall review.
    “Which character?” She asked.
    “Patricia.”
    “I’m on my way.”
    The one good thing, Reggie decided as she hurried to the dinner theater stage and into a dressing room, was that Max didn’t give her much time to worry about what she would be doing. She was alone in the dressing room, although there should have been an assistant there. She found Patricia’s bright red dance outfit and the garish black net hose that went with it. She tried to remember all the songs and words. It was a forty-five-minute show, most of it ad-lib, and a whole lot of it audience participation. She’d be all right.
    Out in the wings of the dinner theater stage she found the rest of the cast—Bob Winwood, Stevie Gentry and Alise Guest. The three were young, in their midtwenties, and had all started here together after graduating from a fine arts college. Max had given them their first big break. He paid them well.
    “That Lorna had no right to walk out—especially on such short notice!” Alise assured Reggie with a quick hand squeeze. “Don’t you worry, we’re not going anywhere.”
    “And we’ll make up for any mistakes you make!” Bob promised her cheerfully.
    “Thanks,” Reggie murmured dryly. Well, hell, she probably would make mistakes!
    They were being announced, so there was no more time to talk. Within seconds she and Alise were running out on stage, fluffing their boas into the faces of their audience and bursting into song and dance. Soon Bob came along on his bucking stuffed bronco-saur, the bad guy, ready to shoot up the saloon. Then Stevie, the blond, blue-eyed hero, showed up, ready to save the day.
    Patricia’s character was the flirt, the slightly dangerous lady, who fell in love with the bad guy. It was her job to race through the audience and convince them all that Bob’s character mustn’t be hanged by the masses. She had a great song, one that used the whole audience. It was fun. It was so