Read Online The Apostrophe Thief by Barbara Paul - Free Book Online

“Sergeant?”
    Marian thanked John Reddick for his help and stepped out of his office. “Something?”
    â€œThey came in with the cleaning crew,” Perlmutter said. “Three of them. The crew thought they were stagehands—one was carrying a tool box and the other two were pushing a laundry cart, one of those big ones like they use in hotels. That’s how they got the stuff out.”
    â€œAnd the stage doorkeeper didn’t notice anything funny?”
    â€œHe wasn’t on duty yet. They all came in the front way—the guy getting ready to open the box office thought they were stagehands too.”
    â€œWhat time was this?”
    â€œAround nine, in the ay em.”
    â€œDescription?”
    â€œOne middle-aged man and two younger ones. The older man was short, stocky, and wheezed when he talked. One of the younger men was tall, dark hair worn in a ponytail, didn’t talk much.”
    â€œAnd the other?”
    Perlmutter grinned. “A hunk,’ unquote.”
    â€œOkay, it’s a start,” Marian said. “We’ll have to get the cleaning crew to look at mug shots—you can start picking out possibles. Mind if I use your phone while you’re in court this afternoon?”
    â€œHelp yourself.”
    They stopped for greaseburgers and coffee before going back to the station. Then Marian spent the afternoon calling auction houses as well as all the listings under “Collectibles” in the yellow pages. No one had ever seen a Three Rings script offered for sale, and no one could (or would) give her a name of someone even remotely associated with the black market in souvenirs; most of those she spoke to got huffy when she asked. A touchy subject, evidently. Shortly after four she called it a day.
    When she got home, Marian tapped out the number Holland had given her. It turned out to be a voice-mail service; she left a message saying there was a play she wanted him to see Saturday night.

5
    The next day Marian went to an auction.
    An auction house in Sheridan Square was advertising a collection of “cinema and stage treasures”; the pièce de résistance was to be one of Madonna’s girdles. Marian took the subway and arrived just as the doors were opening.
    Inside, she paid a fee and received a printed program listing the items to be auctioned. Marian had decided not to flash her badge; she’d probably get a better reception if she posed as a collector. But she didn’t see any playscripts listed and wondered if she was wasting her time.
    Rows of padded folding chairs were set up facing the auctioneer’s desk, currently unattended. Marian sat down near two not particularly well-dressed women. The woman closest to her had a beaked nose and bulging eyes, giving her an avaricious look. “What’s your field?” the woman asked unexpectedly.
    â€œUh, playscripts. I’m looking for a copy of Three Rings .”
    â€œHuh. You won’t find it here.”
    The other woman, a plump blonde, leaned around the beak-nosed one and said, “What do you want that one for? Three Rings flopped, didn’t it?”
    â€œActually, it’s the director’s copy I’m looking for,” Marian improvised. “I collect John Reddick.”
    That made sense to the two women; specialists were commonplace. “Scripts run high,” the woman with the nose said. “Personally, I don’t bother with paper.”
    â€œPaper?”
    â€œScripts, posters, play programs, autographs … you know, paper . I think personal items are so much nicer. The last thing I got was Tyne Daly’s travel alarm clock. From when she was touring Gypsy ? I just loved her in Cagney and Lacey .”
    â€œI collect stage props,” the blonde said happily. “Last month I got the original spear Raul Julia carried in Man of La Mancha .”
    â€œIt’s a repro,” the first woman muttered.
    â€œIt is