The Death of an Actor (The Bentley Hill Players Book 3) Read online

  Chapter 4

  "I think it's going to work perfectly this time!" exclaimed Harry.

  "I hope it does. I don't think my heart can take another explosion," said Jim.

  Harry finished off twisting two copper wires together, and wrapped them in insulating tape. He took hold of the plug, and dragged the extension lead across the stage to the nearest wall socket. He plugged it in, and flipped the switch.

  The electronic parrot on the stage came to life.

  "Ca-caw! Ca-caw!"

  "Yes! Fixed it!"

  "Ca-caw! Ooh, mother!"

  BANG!

  The parrots head exploded, and sparks began shooting from it's neck. The voice continued to play, but instead of a cheery parrot voice, it was now a deep baritone, slow and steady, and sounding like it had just escaped from the gates of Hell.

  "CAH...CAW...WHO...DID...IT...? ME...HA...HA...HA...POLLY....WANNA....KILLER...."

  "Did you tell it to say that?" asked Jim, cowering behind an upturned table.

  "No!" said Harry, squatting down next to him. "I think it's possessed. It's the only answer. We need to get it exorcised."

  "Or you could just unplug it..."

  "Ooh, good idea."

  Harry crawled on his hands and knees back across the stage to the wall socket.

  "DON'T....YOU....DARE!"

  He flicked the switch. The parrot stopped sparking, and the room fell silent. And then, the whole parrot exploded.

  Just at that moment, Lillian walked in through the door, carrying Stanley in his cage in front of her.

  "What in the blue blazes was that?" she asked.

  "That's the parrot that Harry fixed..." said Jim.

  "Ca-caw! Don't fix Stanley! Ca-caw!"

  "Hello - who's this?" asked Jim.

  "This is my new friend, and our newest actor, Stanley the Macaw."

  "Macaw?"

  "Ca-caw!"

  "It's a type of parrot, Jim. I thought you'd know that with being an ex-vet."

  "I know it's a macaw, Lil. I just thought you might have got a different type of parrot, like the agapornis lilianae. It's more commonly known as Lilian's lovebird!"

  "CA-CAW! LILYBUM BUMBIRD! LILYBUM BUMBIRD! CA-CAW! TONY KONY! BANG! CA-CAW!"

  "Now look what you've done. I thought you were good with animals."

  "I'm better than Harry. Look, the head on this one hasn't even exploded yet!"

  "Hmm. I not sure that would have been a good advert for your veterinary practice, are you? We're good with animals - even our parrots heads don't explode!"

  "Uh huh, point taken. But why have you brought a parrot with you?"

  "Because frankly, Harry's parrots keep blowing up. And this one 'ere, little Stanley, can say the lines just as well as anything Harry built. I've trained him."

  "Really?"

  "Yes. Watch. Stanley, who did it?"

  "SQUAWK! CA-CAW! TONY KONY DID IT!"

  "Very good, Lil. That's not the line though, is it? It's Mac Flint did it, not Tony Kony."

  "I know, but it's all I can get him to say. You try it."

  "OK," said Jim, addressing the parrot. "Stanley, Mac Flint did it."

  "NOKE! NOKE! TONY KONY!"

  "Mac."

  "MAC!"

  "Flint."

  "FLINT!"

  "Did it."

  "DID IT!"

  "Mac Flint did it."

  "TONY KONY DID IT!"

  "See?" asked Lillian.

  "That's ridiculous! He can say the words, just not all together!"

  "I know. I could have told you that."

  "SQUAWK! BANG! BYE BYE BIRDY!"

  "It's very clear though, isn't it?"

  "That's down to my training, I'm sure," said Lillian, over-enunciating every word.

  "I'm not sure about that. But I reckon we could get away with changing the name in the show. Rename the character Tony Kony. I mean, for a parrot that doesn't explode, it's got to be worth it."

  "Hey! I tried really hard!" said Harry.

  "Well if this parrot doesn't explode in the next half hour, I say we give it the job."

  "Right," said Harry, indignantly. "At least it's cheaper than a new iPod."

  ***

  The news was good - the parrot's head did not explode. The rehearsal was nearly over when Dave Sweet entered the hall, broom and haircut first. His impressive head of hair had only increased in size since the last show, and his bravery had come on in leaps and bounds since his experience with a ghost.

  He stood in the middle of the hall, watching and waiting until the last line was spoken. He immediately broke in to applause, which made everyone smile. Owen even curtsied again.

  "That's a very impressive parrot there, Harry," said Dave as he ambled up on to the stage. "Looks like the real thing."

  "It is the real thing, Dave."

  "Course it is, Harry, course it is," said Dave, tapping the side of his nose and giving Harry a wink. He walked up to the parrot and stared it directly in the eye. "Such realistic eyes, mate. Is it battery powered?"

  "No, it's a real parrot, Dave..."

  "Sure, sure, you said. You could run a power lead up the stand for the cage, that'd do it."

  So saying, Dave unhitched the cage door, thrust his hand in, and grabbed Stanley. He turned him over and examined his stomach.

  "That's amazing! You can't even see where it joins...OW!"

  Stanley was unaccustomed to being grabbed and flipped upside down. Dave was unaccustomed to having his thumb bitten. Neither of them were happy with recent developments.

  "It bit me!" yelled Dave, dropping Stanley back on his perch and closing the cage door. "How did you get it to do that? Harry, you're a genius. An electronic whizz-kid. Consider me impressed."

  "Dave, it's a real parrot."

  "Uh huh, yup, sure, you said. Absolutely amazing."

  Dave left the stage and started to sweep the floor of the main hall. Harry and the rest of the cast just stood and watched him in bewilderment.

  "Righto," said Lillian. "Who wants to give me and Stanley a lift home?"

  ***

  After a great amount of effort, pushing and shoving, Jim managed to get Stanley's cage in the back of his car, and took Lillian home to her flat. It took just as long to get the cage out of the car again.

  Lillian thanked Jim as he carried the cage in the house, and then waved goodbye as he got in his car and drove off home. She put the kettle on, made a cup of tea, and sat down to listen to the radio.

  She found a repeat of an old show being played, with big band tunes and over-excited announcers, and smiled as she remembered the first time she heard such a show on the radio. Lillian gradually drifted off to sleep as she sat in her warm home, and Stanley joined her. He tucked his head under his wing and settled down nicely.

  The radio continued playing, and the announcer told the audience what was coming up next.

  "...and that's when he put on his socks. So now, here's a tune from the musicals. It's time to Put on a Happy Face from Bye Bye Birdie...."

  Stanley jerked awake, and squawked loudly.

  "CA-CAW! BYE BYE BIRDY! Stanley shut up. Stanley good boy. SQUAWK! BANG! Take it easy, pilgrim."

  "Stanley! Shush! It's too late to be making so much noise! Go back to sleep, there's a good boy. Pretty Stanley."

  "CA-CAW! NEE-NAW-NEE-NAW! Good afternoon, coffee-table. No, not seen a thing. CA-CAW!"

  Stanley stood firmly on his perch and glared at Lillian. Lillian glared back.

  "If you don't start being quiet, I'm going to put a blanket over your cage, and we'll see how you get on in the dark."

  "Stanley love a Lily-bum. Stanley good."

  "Oh Stanley, that's so sweet!"

  "CA-CAW! BYE BYE BIRDY!"

  "Yes, it is bye-bye-birdy time. I'm getting a blanket."

  Lillian pulled herself out of her seat, and went to the bedroom to find a blanket. She rummaged through the cupboard, found one, and pulled it out. As she went to go back to the othe
r room, she heard the sound of a voice from outside.

  She put the blanket on the bed, and sidled up to the window. Seeing nothing, she quietly opened it a fraction. The voice was coming from somewhere up the road.

  "...yeah...yeah. He didn't think at all. He just came round and said he didn't have it....I know...But I thought he was gonna pull a knife on me...so yeah....I did. He put his hand in his pocket, so I did the job. Turns out it was his cheque-book he was pulling out. Didn't matter though, coz his bank account was empty....No, no-one....Well yeah. But I've got it in hand, if you know what I mean."

  Lillian closed the window. Knife? Did the job? Bank account?

  "I must find out who that is tomorrow," said Lillian to herself. "It sounds like he's setting up as a butcher, and I'm right out of bacon."

  She returned to the sitting room, threw the blanket over Stanley's cage, turned off the radio, and started to get ready for bed.

  ***

  Harry sat at his kitchen table, an empty cup of tea to his right, a disassembled (make that exploded) robot parrot to his left. The speaker had been buzzing again, and Harry was determined to make sense of what it was saying.

  It crackled in to life just as he got up to wash his cup out.

  "BZZT...on the phone to the boss.....ZZZUP...yeah, I think so.....CRKKK...dead....PHRAPP....got no money...MUUUURRRPP...ooh excuse me, beans at tea time...CRK..BZZT"

  The speaker went dead again. Harry stood frozen in the middle of his kitchen, cup in one hand, saucer in the other.

  "...hello?" he said cautiously.

  No reply.

  He dumped the cup and saucer in the sink and ran out the door, straight round to Chris's house.

  ***

  "All right, all right, calm down. I'm here!"

  Chris was talking from behind the closed front door of his house as he fumbled around to unlock it. He finally found the right key, and opened the door.

  "You're not going to believe this," said Harry. "I just heard...what the hell are you wearing?"

  Chris stood in the doorway wearing a pink skin-tight top that was clearly two sizes too small for him, a pair of Lycra cycling shorts, and a pair of blue slippers designed to look like monster feet. He'd accessorized with a pair of plastic bunny ears on his head.

  "I was getting ready for bed, Harry. What does it look like I'm wearing?"

  "Something from a nightmare. Why are you wearing bunny ears?"

  "Am I? Oh. Forgot about those. Pretend you never saw them," said Chris, whipping them off and hiding them behind his back.

  "OK, assume I didn't see them. Why the pink shirt?"

  "It's Sophie's."

  "Oh. Sorry. Is she here?"

  "No."

  "....then why do you have her shirt?"

  "I borrowed it."

  "Why?"

  "To see."

  "To see what?"

  "If it fits me. It doesn't."

  "Right, I don't need to know anything else about what you're wearing. Let me in, it's chilly out here."

  Chris stepped aside and let Harry through the door, which he closed behind him.

  "I was in my kitchen, and the parrot started talking to me."

  "What have you been drinking?"

  "Tea. The other night, they way it was going on, it was like a drug deal or something. And tonight it proclaimed someone was dead!"

  "Well parrots do sometimes say strange things..."

  "No, this is the electronic one!"

  "I thought it played Taylor Swift MP3s?"

  "No, no, no. It's picking up some kind of radio interference. I think something big is going down."

  "Like a hot air balloon."

  "What?"

  "A hot air balloon. They're big, and when the hot air comes out the balloon goes down. Something big going down, like a hot air balloon."

  "I don't think you've got that right. But what are we going to do? Do you think I should ring the police?"

  "Harry, do not ring the police. They'll lock you up."

  "But I haven't done anything wrong!"

  "Tell me, word for word, what you'd say."

  "Hello officer, the exploded parrot on my table just told me that someone is doing a drug deal and someone else is dead."

  "And that, buddy, is why they would lock you up."

  Chapter 5

  The sun shone brightly through the wispy clouds, brightening Blackworth Market on what the weatherman promised would turn out to be an exceptionally warm day. Owen O'Donnell was prepared for such an eventuality, visiting the market in his trademark green trousers, a pair of gardening boots, a string vest and a knotted handkerchief on his head. Small tufts of black and grey hair poked through the string vest from places that no human should have hair.

  The townsfolk were used to him, so he drew no more attention than usual. He still insisted on carrying a blue canvas bag around with him, and it still looked as though there was a bowling ball in it, but debate raged in the local pubs every night as to whether it was the bowling ball, or if it had been substituted for a watermelon.

  Only Owen knew the truth, which was that it was indeed a bowling ball - but the ball had been hollowed out and filled with gin, and the thumb-hole was plugged with a cork. Just in case of emergency.

  Owen stopped outside of the newsagent. In the window, there were a wide variety of flyers, posters and business cards. A bright orange one drew his attention.

  "Bye Bye Birdie," read the headline. "Performed by the Blackworth Amateur Theatre Stars! See us at The Old Cinema on the Marketplace!"

  Underneath there was a line drawing of Elvis Presley, and black and white photos of the actors. Unfortunately, due to the orangeness of the paper and the way the flyer had been photocopied, the faces were almost unrecognisable. The bottom line of text showed the dates of the show, and a contact phone number to order tickets.

  Owen furrowed his brow. He held up several fingers, waved them around, and appeared to be counting. He looked back at the orange piece of paper. He drifted closer to it, until his nose was almost touching the glass of the window. It wasn't until he was this close that he could read the very top line of the page, just above the headline.

  It said, "Tom McLean Presents..."

  Owen rubbed his eyes and read it again. It still said the same thing. He slowly looked down and through all the pictures again, and managed to pick out a few faces he recognised. The largest one was Tom himself, grinning from ear to ear. Below him were his daughter, Zoe, and Derek Lamb, the butcher from High Street. Local pub singer Martin Silver was there too, along with Trev The Fruit, a market stall owner with a last name that nobody actually knew, but a face that Owen was familiar with after the brawl on the market in the run up to the last show.

  Owen went through the open door of the newsagent to find out what they knew about the show.

  ***

  The loud banging on the front door made Anne Butler jump. She muttered under her breath, put her knitting to one side, and went to see who the uninvited caller was.

  She opened the door, and there was Owen, out of breath, standing on the doorstep.

  "Owen! Are you OK? You look worn out! And sweaty. Sweating right through the gaps in your string vest."

  "IT IS A MATTER OF UTMOST URGENCY THAT I SPEAK WITH YOUR HUSBAND! Is the kettle on?"

  "Why, what's up? He's in the conservatory if you..."

  She didn't get chance to finish as Owen pushed past her and headed in the direction of the conservatory.

  "Kettle's not on. But I guess I'll put it on now. Now we have company."

  She shook her head, closed the door, and went to the kitchen.

  ***

  Jim sat in the conservatory with his feet up, looking out through the open French doors at his garden. Owen burst in, jabbering away.

  "JIM! JIM! There's a problem, oh my word there's a problem."

  "Owen! What a....delight! And in a string vest too."

  "No, this is serious. There's bats in Blackworth!"

/>   Jim folded his arms across his chest, and pursed his lips.

  "Bats, Owen? Why is that a problem?"

  "Because Tom McLean controls them!"

  Jim nodded sagely. "And does he go out at night and drink the blood of the innocent?"

  "You know, I've actually heard a rumour to that effect. But I don't know."

  "So the emergency is that Tom McLean might be a vampire?"

  "No, no. I'll start again. There's a new theatre group in Blackworth."

  "Right."

  "They're called the Blackworth Amateur Theatre Stars - that's BATS for short."

  "Right. BATS in Blackworth. Starting to make a little more sense now."

  "And...they're putting on a show."

  "Good for them!"

  "No, you don't understand. Tom McLean seems to be running the thing, and from what I can make out from the pictures, his daughter's in on it too."

  "And?"

  "Their show is on the same nights as ours is!"

  "Really?"

  "Yes!"

  "Oh that will not do! That's going to split the audience in half!"

  "Jim, it might be worse than that. I saw a flyer in the newsagents, and I went in and asked them about it. Apparently, McLean has paid them five hundred quid to make sure they don't advertise any other shows until his is done!"

  "That's ridiculous!"

  "Yeah, and it's every shop window in Blackworth - all got the flyer, all been paid for exclusive advertising."

  "But he'll be losing money hand over fist at that!"

  "Yep. So you know what that means."

  "No, what?"

  "Jim, I thought you were the sober one. If he's paying a fortune to advertise, and he can't hope to get the money back, then he's not in it for the money. He's running a show in direct competition with us - he wants to shut us down!"

  Chapter 6

  The following day, the news had spread amongst the cast like a bad case of the measles - everyone had it, and no-one liked it. Unfortunately, there was nothing that could be done, as today was dress rehearsal day, and opening night was only 28 hours away.