The Death of an Actor (The Bentley Hill Players Book 3) Page 4

  Like most dress rehearsals, anything that could go wrong did go wrong, and Jim said "Don't worry folks, it'll be all right on the night" so often that everyone grew sick of the phrase.

  "Jim, if you say that one more time," said Harry, "I think I'll throw up. I'll be...wait for it...sick as a parrot!"

  Owen collapsed in fits of laughter, and had to sit down before he fell down. His face turned bright red, and he started to have difficulty breathing. Sophie took his hands and got him to look her in the face.

  "Breathe Owen! Breathe! Do I need to call an ambulance?"

  "HAW HAW HAW! No! HA HA! WOOHOO! SICK AS A PARROT!! HA HA HAW!"

  "OWEN!" yelled Emily, striding across the stage to his chair. "Calm down!"

  Emily slapped Owen as hard as she could across the face. Owen stopped laughing immediately.

  "Oooh...that stings. Thank you. Think I might have passed out if you hadn't done that!"

  "HA HAW CAW CA-CAW! said Stanley, partially impersonating Owen.

  "Oh lord," said Anne. "Not another one..."

  "Right," said Jim. "Let's try again. We need to do it from the bit just before Stanley says who did it. Ready? Go!"

  Sophie took a deep breath, and got straight back in to character.

  "But he needs to be brought to justice! You must tell me!"

  The parrot burped.

  Harry whispered, "Oi! Stanley! That was your cue!"

  The parrot burped again. "Cak. Tony Kony did it. Cak."

  "Cak?" asked Sophie.

  "Cak."

  "Shut it, loud-beak!" said Harry, continuing with the script.

  "Tony Kony? The bookmaker...."

  "CAK!"

  "Are you OK Stanley?"

  "CAK! BUUURP! TONY KONY DID IT! BANG! BANG! BYE BYE BIRDY! BANG! TONY KOOOOONY. TONE KONE. TONY KONE.CAK!"

  The parrot sneezed, and staggered along his perch. He spun round the perch until he was hanging upside down above the bottom of the cage.

  "Bye bye," said Stanley.

  He fell and landed head first on the bottom of the cage with a loud CLANG.

  "Oh! Goodness!" said Sophie.

  "Is he dead?" asked Jim.

  "Oh goodness?" asked Chris. "Is that really how you talk?"

  Sophie glared at him and opened the cage. She gently lifted Stanley out and held him on her arm like he was a new-born baby.

  "He's breathing, but he doesn't look well."

  "Let me see," said Jim. "No, he doesn't look well at all. I'll nip him down to my mate's practice in Woodlands, get a second opinion, but I think he's going to need some treatment."

  Jim and Sophie hurried to Jim's car to take the short ride to Woodlands, leaving the rest of the cast to finish the rehearsal on their own.

  ***

  "I'm sorry," said Steve Bowman, the vet. "There's nothing I can do."

  Stanley had stopped breathing in the car, and despite Steve's best efforts to resuscitate him, nothing had worked.

  "Can I ask, what had you been feeding him before this?"

  "I honestly don't know," said Jim. "Lillian's been looking after him. She told me she got him from a bloke up the street, and he gave her some food for the parrot. So I guess just parrot food."

  "Well I can tell you that this was triggered by something he ate. Look round his beak, Jim, and look at his eyes. See?"

  Jim looked carefully.

  "You're not wrong, mate. That's quite a severe reaction now you point it out. If I'd been wearing my proper glasses I would have seen that on the way here..."

  "You might have seen it, but there'd have been nothing you could have done. From when he collapsed to the moment he died, he'd have had half an hour, max. For a guess, I'd have to say chocolate."

  "Chocolate?" said Sophie.

  "Yep, I'm afraid so. Most people know that chocolate can be toxic to dogs, but our little feathered buddies can't handle it either. Messes up their digestive system, and can cause damage to their nervous system too. You said he was burping before he collapsed, so that adds weight to the theory. And the way he spun round and collapsed..."

  "Oh no! Who would do such a thing to a poor parrot?"

  "Well," said Jim. "Maybe Lil hadn't looked after a parrot before and didn't know. Maybe she tried to give him a little treat. You know how she is with her Dairy Milk bars."

  "I can't believe old Mrs Lovelace would have killed him," she said with a frown.

  "Well, like I said, it was probably an accident. But human error and parrot-cost aside, it's going to put us in a bit of a spot. It's opening night tomorrow, and one of our star actors is dead."

  ***

  Jim and Sophie returned to the hall just as the rest of the cast were getting ready to go home. They took Lillian to one side, and explained what had happened. She denied any wrongdoing in relation to chocolate, and insisted she'd only fed the bird the food she had been given.

  "But how am I going to tell that young man up the road that his parrot is dead?" she asked as Harry came over to see what was happening.

  Jim bit his lip and puffed up his cheeks, trying to prevent himself from laughing.

  "Jim, is the parrot dead?" asked Harry.

  Jim nodded, his cheeks turning purple.

  "Don't do it. It's too soon. Don't."

  Jim couldn't stop himself any longer. "Tell him it's pining for the fjords."

  "What?" said Lillian.

  "Tell him it's not deadI Nail it to the perch. Just say it's sad, and it's pining. By the time he realizes, it'll be too late to blame you."

  "Why would I do that?"

  "Because it's funny!"

  "But poor Stanley is dead!"

  "He's ceased to be!"

  "You're an idiot, Jim Butler," said Lillian as she hit Jim with her handbag.

  ***

  In time, everyone went home with the exception of Jim, Anne and Harry. Harry sat on the edge of the stage with his legs swinging, deep in thought.

  "C'mon chap, it's going-home-time. You gonna sit there all night?" asked Jim.

  "I'm going to sit here until I can figure out what to do about the parrot."

  "Nothing. There's no point. It is no more."

  "I can't believe how insensitive you are, James Arthur Butler," said Anne, frowning.

  "No, not the dead one," said Harry. "The one that's required for us to perform the show. We either need another one that we can train in about 18 hours flat, or I need to get the electronic one put back together. But with all the interference I don't think that will work."

  There was a loud BANG, and Dave appeared on the stage through the trap door.

  "Oops! Sorry! Thought you'd all gone home!"

  "Ey up! I've got an idea!" said Jim, staring at Dave.

  Dave looked around, and backed away from Jim. "Why are you looking at me like that?"

  "You'll do. Won't he, Anne?"

  "Do for what?" asked Anne, Dave and Harry in unison.

  "A parrot," said Jim.

  "What?" asked Harry.

  "Anne can make a, you know, like a, you know, glove puppet thing. But it's a parrot. And Dave just has to wear black and crouch down, and shove his hand up the parrot's bum, and Bob's your father's brother, one talking squawking living parrot that won't get poisoned and won't explode."

  "I'm not putting my hand up a parrot's bum..."

  "Not a real parrot, Dave. A glove puppet."

  "Oh right. Oh no. You want me to go on stage again..."

  "Yeah! And maybe you'll make it this time! All you've got to say is, ca-caw, Mac Flint did it!"

  "I thought we changed it to Tony Kony?" said Harry.

  "Only because that daft parrot couldn't say Mac Flint!"

  "Either way," said Anne. "It's not a bad idea. What do you say, Dave?"

  "No, I can't do it. I'll get stage fright."

  "I'll buy you a bottle of whiskey..." said Jim.

  "Yep. I'll do it."

  ***

  Later that evening, Jim and Anne lay in bed. The whole house was
quiet, and there wasn't a single car on the road outside. Jim sat bolt upright in bed and switched the light on.

  "Mmmh...what are you doing, Jim?" mumbled Anne, batting her hand against the light.

  "Are you awake?"

  "Of course I am now, you soft sod!"

  "I've had a thought!"

  "Well no wonder you had to put the light on for that. Shall we have a party too? Such a rare occasion."

  "No, really. Something has been bugging me. We announced this show after we finished The Ghost Under the Stairs. Tom McLean heard us announce it, and he's doing everything he can to stop us. And the original parrot exploded. And the new one died. And now we've got the janitor hiding under a desk with a glove puppet on. It's like...someone doesn't want us to do this show."

  "Yep, I had noticed, back when I was awake. But I think it's just bad luck."

  "What if it's Granddad Eric?"

  "What if what is Granddad Eric?"

  "It's him trying to stop us! Maybe he doesn't like the show!"

  "Have you seen him again?"

  "No, not since the last night of the Ghost show."

  "Have you heard him?"

  "No."

  "So why do you think it's him?"

  Jim sat in silence for a moment. "Because it has all the hallmarks of a ghost."

  "Like what?"

  "People dying. Well, parrots dying."

  "Nobody died in the last show..."

  "True enough, but now we've got a dead electric parrot, and a dead...is it analogue? A dead analogue parrot, too."

  "An analogue parrot? Jim, go back to sleep."

  "I've got to figure this out. This is more than bad luck."

  "Yes, it is. It's Harry not knowing a circuit board from a cheese board, and Lillian forgetting she fed the parrot a whole bar of chocolate. It's Occam's Razor. The simplest answer is normally the right one."

  "You're right! So simple - it's the ghost!"

  "It's not the ghost. Turn off the light."

  Jim sighed and turned off the light. He lay down and closed his eyes, but couldn't stop fidgeting. He eventually got up and went to the bathroom.

  He quietly crawled back in to bed as Anne was snoring and he didn't want to wake her again. He lay down and closed his eyes.

  Suddenly, he sat bolt upright in bed.

  "Good lord! Tom McLean murdered that flamin' parrot!"

  ACT II

  Chapter 7

  "Thank you all for getting here so early," said Jim. "It's not often that we have to hold a meeting like this just before opening night, but I think I have some information that you all need to know. This entire show has been jinxed from start to finish, and I think I know why. At first, I thought it was bad luck. And then, I thought that maybe it was some kind of supernatural intervention, and that the spirit world was mad with us. But now I know, it's something much closer to home. The cause of all our problems...is BATS!"

  There was muttering from the assembled cast. A few worried glances were exchanged, and the word "booze" was clearly spoken, but it was difficult to tell who had said it. Finally, Harry spoke up.

  "Bats, Jim? All our problems have been caused by bats?"

  "YES! This man gets it."

  "But how could bats make the parrot die?"

  "They poisoned him!"

  "Bats poisoned the parrot..."

  "YES!"

  "Flying rodents obtained poison and force-fed a tropical bird..."

  "No no no. BATS. Not bats."

  "Bats?"

  "BATS!"

  "I'm not following, Jim."

  "BATS! The Blackworth Amateur Theatre Stars! Tom McLean's group! The scunner poisoned the parrot and arranged his own show to compete with ours! BATS!"

  Emily muttered, "Totally bats, Jim, totally..."

  "Hang on Jim," said Harry. "That's a pretty wild accusation. You're essentially saying that Tom McLean resorted to murder in order to stop us from having a successful show."

  "I wouldn't put it past him."

  "Well I would. He's a complete jerk, but he wouldn't kill a poor defenceless animal."

  "That's where you're wrong," said Emily. "Although small and brightly coloured, parrots are not defenceless. Have you ever been bitten by a parrot? They can draw blood quite easily."

  "But there's a difference between biting someone and killing an animal," said Harry.

  Jim shook his head. "I think you're all missing the point. Tom McLean doesn't like us, fact. He's paying off the shops in Blackworth to only advertise his show, fact. He's running the show in direct competition with us, fact. Our star parrot has been killed by poisoning, fact. Unless Lil did give the bird a Snickers, I can't see any other way this happened. And I don't believe Lil did it..."

  "...I most certainly did not!" said Lillian. "I may be getting on a bit..."

  "...a bit..." said Chris.

  Lillian glared at him. "I may be getting on a little bit, but I'm not dozy enough to feed a parrot with a chocolate bar. It wasn't me!"

  "See?" said Jim. "If Lillian denies it, then I believe her. Tom McLean is behind this and there's nothing more to it."

  "I'm still not convinced," said Chris. "I know Zoe McLean quite well, and she loves animals. She'd never let her dad hurt a parrot."

  "I know Zoe McLean quite well too," said Sophie. "And she doesn't care about people, so I don't see why you think she'd be bothered about a parrot."

  "You're judging the daughter by the father's standards now," said Jim. "You're assuming she even knew about it. Do you think Tom stood up in front of the BATS and said, Oh hello, I'm Tom McLean, tonight we're going to improvise killing a parrot? No, of course not. He's not a fool. He would have kept everything quiet."

  "On the down-low!" said Chris.

  "On the...on the what, Chris?"

  "The down-low. They say it in American cop shows. Well looky here, pardner. We godda keep dis on da down-low, buddy."

  "You sound more like John Wayne than a policeman."

  "It's normally the bad guys who say it."

  "The ones in the striped jumpers and Lone Ranger masks?"

  "That's right!"

  "Chris, what's this cop show called?"

  "Something like...hmm. Tales. Something tales. Like Cop Tales. Wait - it's Duck Tales. The one with the rich guy who swims in the pool of gold coins."

  "Is his name Scrooge McDuck by any chance?" asked Sophie.

  "Yes! That's him!"

  "Sweetheart, that's a cartoon. It's not real."

  "Yeah, yeah, it is a cartoon. You're right. But I don't think Scrooge McDuck would kill a parrot, do you?"

  "Let me get this straight," said Jim. "You're comparing Tom McLean, parrot murderer, to a cartoon duck?"

  "Yes."

  "And you think that's a good thing?"

  "No, of course not! How could murdering a parrot be a good thing? Especially if you're a duck. That's like cannibalism or something."

  "Give me strength...Tom murdered the bird, he didn't eat him! And even if he did, it's not cannibalism unless the parrot was a human!"

  "That's my theory entirely!" said Chris. "So you think Tom's a cannibal?"

  Jim raised his hands as if to strangle Chris, grunted loudly in exasperation, and went outside to calm down.

  "He's got some strange ideas, that Jim has. Imagine. Thinking Tom McLean is a cannibal..."

  ***

  A short time passed, and Jim calmed down enough to continue. Upon returning to the hall, he made Chris stand as far away from him as possible, just to make sure he wasn't tempted to give him a smack.

  "The problem we have is that all the evidence is circumstantial. There is nothing that directly ties the murder of poor Stanley..."

  Lillian wailed.

  "..to Tom McLean. If we had a bit more, I'd go to the police and let them sort it out, but we can't really go to them with what we have. So I'm open to suggestions on what to do next. Open to suggestions from anyone except Chris."

  "That's not fair!" sho
uted Chris from the back of the hall.

  "I don't care if it's fair or not, I just don't want to end up in jail for the murder of a human, never mind a parrot. We've got four hours until the doors open, and McLean's group have the same."

  "Jim, I know this might sound like a silly question," said Harry. "But how many advance tickets have we sold for tonight?"

  "I don't know, I thought you were keeping track of that."

  "No, I got the tickets printed and gave them to you."

  "Right. Oh. Well in that case..."

  "In that case, what? How many have sold, Jim?"

  "Four."

  "Four hundred? Have we got enough seats for that many?"

  "No, Harry. Four. Mr and Mrs Wimbley from next door to us, Bert the window cleaner, and that bloke who comes round and cleans the wheelie bins."

  "We've only sold four tickets and you didn't think to mention it?"

  "I've been a bit pre-occupied with this dead parrot!"

  Lillian wailed again.

  "It's only been dead for a day! What have you been doing for the last few weeks!"

  "I've been expecting the shops in Blackworth to sell some...but of course they can't. I completely forgot."

  "So we've had no advertising, no ticket sales, and only four people are likely to turn up?"

  "Assuming they all get here, yes. Oh no, wait. Bert was for the second night, not tonight. So three."

  "Right, forget about it. I've got a plan. We're going to kill two birds with one stone."

  Lillian wailed again.

  "Here's what we do. We go up to Blackworth an hour before we open the doors down here, and stand outside The Old Cinema. That way, we can try and persuade anyone going there without a ticket to come and see our show instead. Someone will have to stay until a few minutes before curtain-up. At the same time, we'll get in there and have words with McLean. If we can get him to admit it, we'll have something to go to the police with, and we might get him shut down."

  "I like it, " said Jim. "Effective and quick. Scare the bejeebers out of McLean, and get some tickets sold. Let's do it! All in favour, say aye!"

  A chorus of aye echoed around the hall, with a quiet yay from the back of the hall.

  "Ha ha!" said Emily. "It's clobberin' time!"