that he'd seen Bobbe exiting Renata's dressing room just before the intermission.
And there was the dog urine in Renata's wardrobe closet.
Kristine was equally high on the list of potential killers.
Now, though, I wanted to know Bobbe's background.
After a few tries on different search engines, I found
far more than I'd anticipated. Bobbe had graduated from
UCLA with a degree in film history. Somehow, she changed
the direction of her life and become involved with makeup.
A little more reading, and I found why she'd changed
her interest. She'd dated the lead singer of a rock band, C-4,
a group known for theatrics. In one song, "Reptile Boy,"
Danny Joe Batson was attacked by a man in a mask carrying a chain saw. As blood spurted across the stage,
Danny's arm would fly into the audience. Then, in a miracle of healing, Danny would regenerate an arm and begin
to play again. The makeup had been high-class and demanding. Bobbe had shown a talent for it.
Scanning through the photos of Bobbe with the band, I
saw a different person. She was still the same tall, elegant
girl, but in the photos she was smiling and hugging
Danny Joe's waist. In another photo she was holding the
fake arm in her mouth like a dog. The fun was sick but infectious. In a final photograph, Bobbe and Danny were
getting married. Bobbe was pregnant and in the bloom of
health.
I compared the pictures on this Web site to the woman
I'd met at The Club. Bobbe was still a beauty, but the
smile had disappeared.
Bobbe's bio carried her forward to the off-Broadway
musical Stomp, and then she'd hooked up with Renata
and followed her for the past two years. New York, Atlantic City, Reno, and Mississippi. The photographs depicting the travelogue showed a woman with more and
more unhappiness in her face.
If Graf had been telling the truth about Renata blocking Bobbe's job at ABC, then Bobbe had good cause to
kill Renata. Danny Joe and C-4 were living in New York
City. The job at ABC studios would have been much easier on Bobbe than being on the road.
Sighing, I turned the computer off. It was nearly four
A.M. I had another performance at eight P.M., and if I didn't get some sleep, I was liable to fall off the stage. Crawling
under the covers, I let my hand drift down the side of the
bed to rest on Sweetie Pie's head. My hound was loyal
and loving. She never let me down. Why couldn't Coleman be that way?
I drifted into sleep where Coleman and I were standing at an altar. The minister held a Bible.
"Take the ring and place it on her finger," the minister
instructed. "Repeat after me. With this ring, I thee wed"
But it wasn't a ring Coleman pulled out of his suit
jacket. He snapped the handcuffs around my wrists and
turned to the minister.
"Marry her? Why would I marry her? I'm taking her
to jail on a murder charge"
I woke up with sweat beading my face and my heart
racing. When I looked at the clock, it was just after six.
I'd been asleep for little more than two hours.
It wasn't enough, but I sure wasn't going to try again
after that nightmare. I got up and began to think about my
day. I'd become my own worst enemy. Instead of being
proactive, I was moping around, depressed, with my feelings hurt. What I had to do was begin to find the person
who'd killed Renata. If Coleman was going to try to pin
the murder on me, then I had to find the real killer.
And I had to do it soon.
I could feel everyone staring at me as I walked into
Millie's Cafe, Tinkie at my side. She slowed at a table
where Booter and two friends had stopped eating their
naked salads to stare at me.
"You've been to both performances of Cat, Booter."
Tinkie picked up a piece of spinach from Booter's salad bowl and chomped it. "I didn't realize you were such a
culture vulture. When we were at Ole Miss, didn't you
flunk Art Appreciation?"
"I don't recall." Booter was unfazed. "What I remember about Ole Miss was how every fraternity boy
And there was the dog urine in Renata's wardrobe closet.
Kristine was equally high on the list of potential killers.
Now, though, I wanted to know Bobbe's background.
After a few tries on different search engines, I found
far more than I'd anticipated. Bobbe had graduated from
UCLA with a degree in film history. Somehow, she changed
the direction of her life and become involved with makeup.
A little more reading, and I found why she'd changed
her interest. She'd dated the lead singer of a rock band, C-4,
a group known for theatrics. In one song, "Reptile Boy,"
Danny Joe Batson was attacked by a man in a mask carrying a chain saw. As blood spurted across the stage,
Danny's arm would fly into the audience. Then, in a miracle of healing, Danny would regenerate an arm and begin
to play again. The makeup had been high-class and demanding. Bobbe had shown a talent for it.
Scanning through the photos of Bobbe with the band, I
saw a different person. She was still the same tall, elegant
girl, but in the photos she was smiling and hugging
Danny Joe's waist. In another photo she was holding the
fake arm in her mouth like a dog. The fun was sick but infectious. In a final photograph, Bobbe and Danny were
getting married. Bobbe was pregnant and in the bloom of
health.
I compared the pictures on this Web site to the woman
I'd met at The Club. Bobbe was still a beauty, but the
smile had disappeared.
Bobbe's bio carried her forward to the off-Broadway
musical Stomp, and then she'd hooked up with Renata
and followed her for the past two years. New York, Atlantic City, Reno, and Mississippi. The photographs depicting the travelogue showed a woman with more and
more unhappiness in her face.
If Graf had been telling the truth about Renata blocking Bobbe's job at ABC, then Bobbe had good cause to
kill Renata. Danny Joe and C-4 were living in New York
City. The job at ABC studios would have been much easier on Bobbe than being on the road.
Sighing, I turned the computer off. It was nearly four
A.M. I had another performance at eight P.M., and if I didn't get some sleep, I was liable to fall off the stage. Crawling
under the covers, I let my hand drift down the side of the
bed to rest on Sweetie Pie's head. My hound was loyal
and loving. She never let me down. Why couldn't Coleman be that way?
I drifted into sleep where Coleman and I were standing at an altar. The minister held a Bible.
"Take the ring and place it on her finger," the minister
instructed. "Repeat after me. With this ring, I thee wed"
But it wasn't a ring Coleman pulled out of his suit
jacket. He snapped the handcuffs around my wrists and
turned to the minister.
"Marry her? Why would I marry her? I'm taking her
to jail on a murder charge"
I woke up with sweat beading my face and my heart
racing. When I looked at the clock, it was just after six.
I'd been asleep for little more than two hours.
It wasn't enough, but I sure wasn't going to try again
after that nightmare. I got up and began to think about my
day. I'd become my own worst enemy. Instead of being
proactive, I was moping around, depressed, with my feelings hurt. What I had to do was begin to find the person
who'd killed Renata. If Coleman was going to try to pin
the murder on me, then I had to find the real killer.
And I had to do it soon.
I could feel everyone staring at me as I walked into
Millie's Cafe, Tinkie at my side. She slowed at a table
where Booter and two friends had stopped eating their
naked salads to stare at me.
"You've been to both performances of Cat, Booter."
Tinkie picked up a piece of spinach from Booter's salad bowl and chomped it. "I didn't realize you were such a
culture vulture. When we were at Ole Miss, didn't you
flunk Art Appreciation?"
"I don't recall." Booter was unfazed. "What I remember about Ole Miss was how every fraternity boy
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