Bad Company Page 6

  Sherry slipped inside. Her hair was wild, her clothes in disarray. She looked badly shaken. "Did you see anything last night?" she asked in a breathy undertone.

  Stoner sat up and nodded. "Did you?"

  "Lights in the barn."

  "I take it it wasn't you," Gwen said.

  "No. I don't know who it was. Or what."

  "Or what?" Stoner asked as she reached for the long cotton shirt she used for a bath robe in the summer. "You think it was a 'what'?"

  Sherry looked as if she'd been caught with her hand in the cookie jar. "I mean 'who'?"

  "If you had meant 'what' ," Gwen asked, "what would the 'what' you might have meant, but didn't, be?"

  Stoner twisted the tap and let cold water into the wash basin and splashed her face. "Gwen, it's too early for that." She glanced at the pale light touching the sky, then at Sherry. "How early is it, anyway?"

  "Going on seven." She plopped herself down on Gwen's bed. “Well, more like going on six thirty."

  "I see," Gwen said, and sat beside her. "And how long has it been going on six thirty?"

  Sherry traced the nubbed pattern on the bed spread with one finger. "A couple of minutes." She looked up in a basset-like way. "I know it's a horrible hour, but I was just so... so upset.

  Gwen looked at her expectantly.

  "About last night. People prowling around."

  "Did you see them?" Stoner asked as she pulled the towel from its ceramic holder and dried her face.

  "No. Just the lights."

  "Couldn't it have been someone who left something behind after a rehearsal?"

  Sherry looked at her with gratitude and admiration, as if she'd just explained the physics of time in one clear, easily understood sentence. "I guess it could."

  "But you have other suspicions." Stoner was feeling increasingly ill-at-ease with what was happening here. She wasn't sure what it was, but it left her uncomfortable.

  "Well... maybe..."

  Stoner looked at her in a stern way. "Sherry," she said firmly, "we came here to help you."

  "I know, and I'm really terribly grateful. Did I tell you I was grateful?"

  She brushed the question away. “If I'm going to help you, you have to be completely open with me. If not, we're both wasting our time."

  "Oh, I wouldn't keep anything from you."

  "Wouldn't you?" Stoner went to her bed and sat. "Last evening you told us about some mysterious accidents. Now, I don't mean to minimize your fears, but any of those incidents could have a perfectly reasonable, non-threatening explanation."

  "It's a feeling I have," Sherry said quickly.

  Stoner held up a hand. "Please. Hear me out. Perfectly innocent explanations. Then, last night, someone went into the barn late. We don't know who it was or what they were after. I don't imagine you've had time to check for theft or damage, have you?"

  Sherry shook her head mutely and miserably.

  "Again, there could be a reasonable explanation. But it seems to have thrown you into a panic. Therefore, I have to assume..." She made her voice as gentle and understanding as she could. "I have to assume there are things you haven't told us. Things which would account for your fear."

  "Oh," Sherry said. She got up and walked to the window, then back to the bed, then to the window, as if she were trying to make up her mind about something.

  Stoner glanced over at Gwen, who nodded solemnly in agreement.

  Sherry reached a decision. "You're right. It's time to put all the cards on the table." She crammed her hand into her pocket and pulled out a wrinkled, tightly folded sheet of paper. Without speaking, she held it out to Stoner.

  It was a note. Written in blocky letters on plain notebook paper—college ruled—in an awkward hand. Possibly a child, possibly someone right-handed writing with the left to hide his or her identity.

  "Stop this production," the note said, "or somebody's going to get hurt."

  That it was correctly spelled and punctuated added to the use of the word production, not an everyday, childlike sort of word, suggested the writer wasn't just a child engaging in a prank. Stoner passed it over to Gwen.

  "Not very original," Gwen said. "Someone's seen too many old, bad movies.”

  "How and when did this come into your possession?" Stoner asked, and thought she sounded a little like an old, bad movie herself.

  "Right before I wrote to you. It was slipped under my door in the night. Why? Would it matter?"

  "It might. If it had been tacked to the wall of the barn, for instance, the threat might be assumed to be directed toward the company as a whole."

  "Nobody'd do that," Sherry said. "We don't put nails in the walls. Everyone knows that."

  "We're talking about someone who's threatened you," Gwen said. "I don't think they're going to care about nails in the barn wall."

  Stoner agreed. "So it's my hunch the threat is for you."

  "Oh, Goddess," Sherry gasped. Her chin trembled.

  Don't you dare cry, Stoner thought. It's much too early in the morning, and we have important things to think about.

  She was a little shocked to find herself reacting in such an insensitive way. Truth was, she was beginning to get annoyed. If they were going to have to drag every incident, every suspicion out of her...

  "Then you do suspect someone in the company," Stoner said.

  Sherry looked at her with surprise. "I do?"

  "You said nobody would tack it to the barn wall. You also said that was a company policy. So you must have the suspicion that this comes from within your group, or else it wouldn't have occurred to you to dismiss the wall-tacking so quickly."

  "Uh," Sherry said, and glanced at Gwen for help.

  "I know," Gwen said. "It's subtle and convoluted, but it's just Stoner's style of thinking. You do think it might be someone in Demeter Ascending, don't you?"

  The woman picked at an invisible hang nail. "I hate thinking like that. It's so un-feminist.”

  "If someone's out to sabotage your production," Stoner explained, "that person isn't very feminist, either." She read through the note again. "Let's assume it's directed to you because you're the producer. You're the one who has the authority to stop the show."

  "Oh, no," Sherry said, and shook her head wildly. "We make our decisions collectively."

  "But your input would have greater weight, wouldn't it? As the producer?" Gwen asked.

  "I suppose."

  "For instance..." Gwen wrinkled her forehead and thought. "...what does a producer do?"

  "I oversee all the technical aspects of the production." Sherry looked at the floor modestly. "And co-ordinate the backstage and front-of-the-house crews. Like the ushers. Then there's renting the hall, doing the publicity outreach, handling the budget..."

  "Sounds like quite a job," Stoner said.

  Sherry nodded. "It used to be even harder. Before Joanna left for Oregon... she had the position before me... the producer made all the decisions. Joanna really ran the company. We were called 'Lavender and Lace' back then."

  "I've heard of that company," Gwen said. "I even saw one of your productions. It was quite good."

  "Thank you," Sherry said. “After Joanna left, we went through a major reorganization." She gave an embarrassed little laugh. "You know how it is—political differences, artistic differences."

  "I know how it is," Stoner said. If there was one thing that could be said for the Lesbian Nation, it had its differences. Political, personal—and, apparently, artistic "It can be wrenching."

  Sherry's face took on a sad look. "It was. Anyway, after the dust settled, they decided to become a collective, so everyone makes the decisions."

  “ ‘They?’ ” Stoner asked.

  "I mean 'we,' " Sherry said quickly. She blushed a little. "I may as well level with you. We weren't all in favor of working collectively. It can be frustratingly inefficient." She shrugged. "But majority rules."

  "Did you mind terribly?" Gwen asked. "It sounds as if you stood to los
e a good bit of, well, authority."

  "And responsibility," Sherry pointed out. "I have more than enough of that, thank you."

  "So it seems," Gwen said. "In fact, if you pulled out there would be too many things to do for anyone else to pick up the pieces, wouldn't there? Especially if they had another function."

  "Nobody has any more power or responsibility than anyone else in a collective," Sherry reminded her.

  "I'm sure that's true," Gwen countered. Stoner could see the tiny tightening around her jaw that meant Gwen was beginning to clench her teeth. Yelling was just down the road. "On the other hand, considering how important everyone's job is, the loss of any one person would leave a huge gap."

  "That's just the point," Sherry said. "We're all..."

  "Equally important, I know," Gwen muttered.

  It was time to step in. "The thing is," Stoner said, "there must be special skills that you have that no one else does. Or few other people. Or other people who also have as much to do as they can handle."

  "That's probably true," Sherry admitted.

  "So, if you were out of the picture, what would happen that would make the production impossible?"

  Sherry rocked back and forth on her heels and chewed her lip. "Well, for one thing, they wouldn't have a place to rehearse. I mean, if someone did me in, I suppose the police would seal off the whole area. And that'd be that, wouldn't it?"

  "It certainly would," Gwen said.

  "Therefore," Stoner went on, "you would be an important person to get rid of. Assuming the motive is to close down the show."

  "I see your point," Sherry said. She gave a grim smile. "It's a dubious honor, isn't it?"

  "I'd be willing to say," Gwen said, "they don't come much more dubious."

  "In that case," Sherry said cheerfully, "I'll certainly have to watch my step." She brushed at her clothes, straightening out wrinkles. "I really ought to get down to the kitchen."

  She started for the door. Stoner stopped her with a touch. "One more thing. Do you know why anyone would want to close the show down?"

  Sherry frowned a little, thinking. "Haven't the slightest," she said as she opened the door. "Try the Eggs Benedict. They're excellent."

  The sun was up full by the time they entered the dining room. Most of the tables were filled, but the guests were sleepily silent. The light was dim, as the windows facing west were not yet in sunlight.

  Stoner was grateful for that. She hadn't gotten to sleep until late, worrying senselessly about the light they had seen, anticipating the Soul-in-Torment shriek would happen the minute she let go of consciousness and send her into heart-racing insomnia. Then Sherry swooping down on them at the crack of dawn, all emotion and nervous energy. Not an auspicious start for the day. And she still had to go through her morning waking-up ritual. She had to do it every day, no matter what. Sometimes, when life was particularly hectic or quick, she didn't get to it until evening, but it had to happen or the entire day would be remembered as unreal. So, even though she had had to hit the ground running with Sherry this morning, she still had to do the ritual.

  Sit quietly, drop back into herself, sip coffee. Let the surroundings come into slow focus. At first everything white-gray meaning "world," and "alive." Separating into colors, colors that signify things. Green, grass. Blue, sky. Eggshell, dining room walls.

  Red! Blood? No, just a shirt, nothing to worry about.

  Shapes forming out of the colors. Green grass and blue sky not seen through a window, but a painting on the far wall. Clumps of gray and brown and swirling rainbows resolving into human forms. Dyke Hikers. Table of women she hadn't seen before, probably Demeter Ascending women. The two silver-haired women, one in the wheelchair, over in their corner, still honeymooning.

  "Feeling better?" Gwen asked quietly. She had learned about the ritual the hard way, spending an entire day with Stoner when she hadn't had the time for it. By evening, Gwen said, it was like being with someone from the Twilight Zone.

  "Think so." Stoner wondered what she had done with Sherry's note, went through her pockets frantically, then realized she'd left it in the bureau drawer.

  Was that safe? What if someone searched their room?

  But why would anyone do that? As far as anyone knew, they were only guests here.

  On the other hand, they had signed the guest register with their real names. Sherry had known enough about Stoner's reputation to contact her for help. What if someone else recognized her and guessed at why she was there?

  But, other than Sherry, the only person who knew about the trouble was the person causing it.

  So what did that do to their situation?

  Obsessing was also part of the morning ritual. It always ended with her realizing, with all the surprise and joy of discovering for the first time, that obsessing was useless and only meant she didn't have enough information.

  "We need to know more," she said.

  "Agreed." Gwen dipped her spoon into her grapefruit. "It's probably time to infiltrate Demeter Ascending."

  "Demeter was a pretty angry woman," Stoner said. "I hope it's not a bad sign."

  "At least we're in it together."

  That was something for which Stoner was filled with gratitude. She'd been in rough places before, but seldom with Gwen at her side. It made all the difference in the world. Not just because it gave her someone to bounce ideas off of, and someone to help fill in gaps. But because, when you loved someone as much as they loved each other, nothing and nobody could hurt you down to the bone.

  "Have you decided on your cover?" Gwen asked.

  Stoner shook her head. "It has to be something that'll let me come and go at rehearsals. That probably leaves out things I can really do, like building sets and stuff. What about you?"

  "Props. Involving lurking back stage, with possible errands off the grounds with various persons."

  "Sounds like a good choice." She thought hard. "Who else hangs around while a play's in rehearsal?"

  "I'm not sure. At Watertown Middle School, there seem to be a lot of mothers hanging around."

  "I don't think Stage Mother is a role I'd fit into."

  "I've got it!" Gwen said excitedly, dropping her spoon with a clatter.

  "Got what?"

  “What you can do. Understudy."

  That really made her laugh. "Understudy?"

  “Why not?"

  "Because I couldn't even act one part, much less all of them."

  Gwen picked up a piece of toast and began buttering it wildly. "You wouldn't have to act. By the time the play comes off, we'll have the whole thing solved and be out of here. You just have to pretend to want to act."

  "That's acting," Stoner said.

  "Life is acting. I mean it, Stoner. It's perfect."

  She had to admit it made sense. Being the understudy would probably give her plenty of freedom of movement, plus a reason to be around. And, if she needed to talk with any actor alone, there'd be an excuse for it—trying to understand her part, questions about character, things like that.

  "Yeah," she said, "I guess you're right."

  "Now all we have to do is infiltrate the company."

  Stoner smiled. "Sometimes I think you like this cloak-and-dagger stuff too much for your own good."

  "Hah!" Gwen said. "You don't?"

  "Of course not," Stoner said, pretending to be insulted. "I only do it because it has to be done."

  The Eggs Benedict arrived. They were as good as Sherry had promised. As good as Egg McMuffin, which Stoner secretly loved, even though she seldom ate them since she was trying to live Low Fat so as not to die of heart disease at forty.

  "Gwen," she said, "you have to promise me something."

  Gwen rolled her eyes. "Here it comes. 'Don't do anything dangerous, don't do anything rash, don't disappear without telling each other where we're going.'"

  "This is serious. We're dealing with a potentially dangerous situation. Threats have been made..."

  "I know. But you
don't have to warn me every time we do something like this."

  "Of course I have to warn you. You never pay attention."

  "So why bother?"

  "It makes me feel as if I've done my best."

  Gwen leaned across the table and touched her hand. "You always do your best. It's one of the things I love about you."

  Stoner felt herself go shy. She liked compliments, stored them up the way a squirrel stores nuts, to be dug up later and turned over and over and enjoyed. But she never knew what to do with them at the time. She used to brush them off, but Gwen was breaking her of that by reminding her it was rude and left the payer of compliments feeling rejected. So now she was less rude and more awkward.

  Sherry came to her rescue. Bouncing across the dining room, all traces of her previous distress gone. Her innkeeper persona was firmly in place.

  "Good morning," she said cheerily. "Did you sleep well?"

  Not well, Stoner thought, and not long enough. "Fine," she said, and forced a smile.

  "I don't know what your plans are for the day," Sherry said, not loudly enough to draw attention but loudly enough to be overheard. "But if you're interested, we have a little theater piece in rehearsal. I'm sure you'd be welcome to sit in."

  "That would be nice," Gwen said, matching her tone. "But we wouldn't want to be in the way."

  "You won't. We'd welcome an audience. It's a comedy, and we've all heard the jokes so often we don't think they're funny any more. A fresh point of view would be—well, refreshing." She gave them a clandestine wink. "We usually start around ten with warm-ups. Any time after that would be wonderful."

  Stoner caught Sherry's sleeve. "Listen," she said quietly, ''I'm sorry if we said anything to upset you this morning."

  The woman looked at her. "Upset me?"

  "You left our room so abruptly. I was afraid..."

  "Oh, that," Sherry said with a tinkly laugh. She dropped her voice. "People were stirring. It wouldn't have done for me to be seen leaving your room, would it? Later."

  She scurried away to greet the hikers.

  Gwen looked after her. "At least we don't have to worry about working our way in. Sherry seems eager and capable."

  "Yeah." That could be an asset or a liability. It all depended on how Sherry reacted when or if they had to act without her.