Patrice Greenwood - Wisteria Tearoom 03 - An Aria of Omens by Patrice Greenwood Page A

nodded and closed the door. I wondered if he would actually deliver my message.
    A feminine wail sounded from somewhere behind the door, then ended abruptly.
    The restless voices of the audience were getting louder. Everyone knew something was wrong.
    The man we had seen earlier—tall, with salt-and-pepper hair—brushed past us, knocked on the stage door, and called, “Roger, it’s me.” The door opened to swallow him, then clapped shut again.
    Nat, Manny, and Claudia joined us. “Ellen?” Nat said.
    “Tony’s in there. Something awful must have happened!”
    “Maybe you should come away, dear.”
    “I’m his ride home.”
    “Ladies and gentlemen,” said a man’s voice over a loudspeaker. “We apologize for the inconvenience. It appears that a serious crime has been committed on the premises, and we must ask that you each leave your name and contact information with security as you leave the theatre. Thank you for your cooperation and your understanding.”
    My heart sank. What kind of serious crime would merit such a step? Or require Detective Aragón’s assistance?
    Why hadn’t Victor Solano taken his bow?
    The noise from the audience reached an angry crescendo. The stage door opened once again, and Vi stepped out, still in her shepherd’s costume. Her eyes were red, as though she’d been crying, though her makeup was still perfect.
    “Vi! What happened?”
    “Ellen, I need to talk to you. Come over here.”
    She led me away from the door and the crowd that was beginning to gather there, into the south patio. The rest of Mr. Ingraham’s party followed.
    Vi turned to me and drew a ragged breath. “Detective Aragón asked me to tell you that he’s investigating a crime. He’ll be here for a while—he said you should go h-home.”
    She was shaking. I laid a hand on her arm. “Vi, what’s happened? Is Mr. Solano ill?”
    Her face crumpled and she shook her head, fresh tears filling her eyes.
    “He’s dead.”
    I heard Nat gasp behind me. I gathered Vi into my arms, even though she was taller than I.
    “Vi, I’m so sorry. Oh, my dear!”
    She gave one sob, then collected herself and withdrew. “I’d better go back. Detective Aragón said none of us should leave.”
    “Can you tell me what happened?”
    “All I know is someone found him in his dressing room during the curtain call. Detective Aragón is standing guard until someone comes to help him. He won’t let anyone go in the room.”
    “Oh, my God.”
    “Thank you, Vi,” said Mr. Ingraham. “We’ll let you get back.”
    “I’ll call you tomorrow,” I said.
    She nodded, then hurried back to the stage door. The crowd gathered there let her through, and the door opened for her.
    “We’d better go, Ellen,” Mr. Ingraham said gently.
    I nodded, overwhelmed by sadness. Victor Solano was a brilliant singer, in the prime of his career. And we had all, unknowingly, heard his final performance. I would rather not have been able to make that claim.
    We joined the milling throng of audience members filing out of the theatre with awful slowness. Security guards at the front gate were frantically recording everyone’s name and phone number. We all gave ours, and were finally allowed to go up to the parking lot.
    “Ellen, would you like me to drive you home?” Manny offered when we reached the row where we all were parked.
    I shook my head. “Thank you, but I’ll be all right.” I turned to Mr. Ingraham. “Your part of the evening was wonderful. The opera was wonderful. I wish…”
    “Yes,” he said, enfolding me in a brief hug. “Be careful going home, Ellen.”
    I nodded, then hugged Nat, Manny, and Claudia. We all needed hugs, right then.
    I said good night to them all, then dumped my gear in the back seat of my car, got in, and sat just breathing deeply for a minute. When I was steady, I started the car and drove home.
    The garden smelled of roses and lilies. I let myself in the back door and just stood in the hall, glad to be