MURDER TUNED IN (Allie Griffin Mysteries Book 4) by Leslie Leigh Page A

level of her confidence. "That won’t, but the fact that he's left-handed might."

PART II: Slow Build
     

1.
                  The show was off. That much was obvious. Allie knew Del was working at the theater today, helping to clean up. Angus had taken a bereavement day for himself.
                  That morning she'd gotten a text. It was a picture Beauchenne had snapped of the piece of rope they'd found. It was a crystal clear snapshot in full color and very detailed. Her heart melted a little for the kindness that Frank Beauchenne never failed to show her.
                  She saw her friend pushing a clunky piece of scenery off to the side of the stage.
                  "Well, hello there," Del said, wiping sweat from her forehead.
                  "Sorry to interrupt. Listen, stage techs use ropes, don’t they?"
                  "Ah ha. I was wondering how long it would take before you asked that question. Yes they do. All kinds."
                  "Black ones? Or dark blue?"
                  "Both."
                  "Good, I want to see where they keep them."
                  Allie climbed up onto the stage and Del led her over to a trunk underneath what she called a pin rail, the main board that served as a mooring point for every rope that was tied to something in the house.
                  "Here you are."
                  "No lock on this thing?"
                  "Not that I know of. Maybe before we leave it's locked. But it's kept open during hours of operation. It has to be. Stagehands are a busy lot."
                  "May I, Watson?"
                  "Be my guest, Sherlock."
                  Allie bent down and lifted the trunk open. It looked as though there were an infinite number of ropes in there. Hinged onto the inside lid of the trunk was an expanding and contracting shelf with compartments covered by a Plexiglas protective cover. The compartments housed every type of clip and pin and winch imaginable, plus some Allie would never have been able to imagine. What went on behind the scenes in order to make the action onstage as flawless as could be—and still be invisible and inaudible as it happened—was always impressive to Allie, especially after hearing Del's war stories all these years. But nothing drove the point home more than seeing this tiny, specialized section of artistry. If this was what it took to rig scenery and keep the theater physically afloat, imagine what it took to run everything else. She found a new respect for the theater blossoming in her.
                  But back to the ropes , she thought.
                  "Is there anyone here who can tell me about these?"
                  "Yeah," said Del. "Ernie is here. He's an old stagehand. He's been doing it for years."
                  "Where's Ernie?"
                  "I'll get him."
                  A stout man with graying hair, wearing a heavy leather utility belt that had many pockets with just as many tools crammed inside them, walked over with Del as escort.
                  "Ernie Banks, Allie Griffin. Allie Griffin, Ernie Banks."
                  Ernie Banks towered over Allie. He had forearms like Popeye, she thought.
                  "How do you do?" For a big, scary man, he was incredibly polite. Dainty almost, in the way he bowed and took Allie's hand as if he were holding a baby bird.
                  "Very well," said Allie, "thank you. So, I have a question. Would any of these ropes keep their shape once they’ve been twisted up?"
                  "They're called kernmantle ropes, designed to take a beatin'. But they're made of nylon, so no, they aren’t as strong as other kinds of material. But it also depends on the braid. To