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When The Fat Lady Screams by Stephen D. Rogers
Inspector Macafee woke when the house lights came on.
Turning to the rather large woman sitting next to him, he started to ask how she had enjoyed the opera but until he noticed the small bullet hole in the center of her forehead.
As the auditorium had already emptied, the Inspector took a moment to examine the body before raising the alarm. There were no other apparent wounds and the lack of a powder burn suggested she hadn't been shot at close range.
The Inspector gathered the cast and crew on the stage before returning to the victim's side. "Does anyone recognize this woman?"
A domineering man at the front sniffed. "Instead of asking who recognizes her, you should ask who doesn't."
"And you are?"
"I am Jacques, as if I needed any introduction."
The Inspector recalled that Jacques was the male lead. "What did you mean by your earlier comment?"
"The dead woman was the entertainment critic from the Times, a vile woman with all the taste of a Nelson family."
"You didn't much like her."
"The feeling was mutual."
A woman shouldered her way to the front of the group. "I'm Karen Weisburg, the producer. Perhaps I can answer your questions."
"Was there a gun on the stage at any time?"
She shook her head, pointing at the pike that Jacques held. "Firearms hadn't been invented in the tenth century."
"Did you know the deceased?"
Karen laughed. "Let's put it this way. The fact that she won't turn in a review tomorrow means the show won't close and I won't be bankrupted."
Seeing a young man trying to slip away from the crowd, the Inspector called out.
The man returned, blushing. "I'm her nephew." At that, the entire company turned to stare at him in surprise. "She hated that I was part of this opera. We fought about it but I didn't kill her."
"And when was the last time you saw your aunt?"
"Just before the curtain. We had words backstage."
The Inspector asked the producer where she was during the performance.
Karen shrugged. "The producer's job is to be everywhere."
The Inspector glanced down at the program folded in his hands. So much for trying to add a little culture to his life to offset his day-to-day routine. Lifting his head, he took one more look at the assembled cast and crew. This time he noticed something that pointed at the murderer.
Or rather, something that the murderer pointed at the victim. The Inspector started towards the stage. "Jacques, let me see your pike."
The actor drew himself to his full height. "I won't let you have the lines. Yes I, Jacques, fit a modified derringer into the pike, drilled a shaft down its length to create a rifle barrel, and shot the vile creature dead in front of a packed house."
As Jacques took a deep bow, the rest of the cast and crew applauded.
The Inspector was a bit more pragmatic. He snapped a pair of handcuffs onto Jacques and closed the curtain.
THE END Stephen D. Rogers © 2007 |
Over
three hundred of Stephen's stories and poems have been selected to
appear in more than a hundred publications. His website,