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Bessie Mitchell, secretary of Horner Springs Amateur Theatre group smiled as she left the local newspaper office. She had just placed an advertisement seeking actors to audition for the group’s new production. Bessie loved being part of the group and hoped other residents would be as enthusiastic as she was about raising money to help the local tennis club.

Despite the cold winter weather, a good crowd of people showed interest in ‘treading the boards’ and attended the audition at the community centre. The selection committee – Bessie together with Margaret Thompson, the group’s flamboyant and colourful president clad in one of her many flowing caftans, and local handyman and the group’s treasurer, Roger Lee – were a happy trio at the end of the evening.

“Well,” said Bessie, “that ad certainly paid for itself, didn’t it?”

“Certainly did,” remarked Margaret as she poured her friends a glass of Chardonnay with her usual theatrical flourish! “As the producer of ‘What happened at Wey River House?’ I am a very happy woman now we’ve cast the play.”

“From a treasurer’s point-of-view,’ announced Roger, ‘I’m happy too. This play is over 50 years old, and has no royalties attached to it. It means we can donate all our profits to the tennis club for their new court. It will…”

The remainder of his sentence was lost by the thunderous arrival of Ivan Proctor, the local football club president.

“As long as I live, you arty-farty lot will never perform your stupid play, and as for raising money for a new tennis court, get a grip, what we need are modern footy clubrooms!”

Margaret Thompson rose angrily from her chair and advanced, imperiously, towards Ivan. “Remove yourself, Ivan,” she bellowed. “We will perform our play, you can’t stop us!”

Roger jumped up and stood between the two combatants. Bessie didn’t move. She was horrified. What was ‘her’ Ivan, the man she was having an affair with, doing here?

“I mean what I say, woman!” Ivan screamed at Margaret. “Mark my word, I will stop you. I have connections.”

Roger stood his ground, gently ushering Ivan toward the community centre exit. “Perhaps you will see things differently in a few days’ time,” Roger replied. “We only want to help the tennis club out.”

Ivan stood his ground. “Over my dead body, Mate!”

Bessie looked away as Ivan left the centre, deciding there and then to keep their affair quiet.

Rehearsals went well, despite Ivan Proctor’s threats until two weeks prior to opening night. Rehearsals had moved to the local theatre, The Springs.

At the beginning of the second act, Alice from the Post Office, playing the part of the detective, totally unscripted, crashed through the French door at the back of the set, falling heavily to the floor.

Bessie, portraying a maid, was on stage. She rushed across the set. “Oh my goodness Alice, are you okay? Oh, heavens, don’t move, your ankle is swollen already. I reckon it could be broken.”

Alice groaned, wincing with pain.

“I’ve called an ambulance,’ shouted Roger.

Fifteen minutes later, Alice was on the way to the local hospital with a suspected broken ankle.

After the rest of the cast had left the theatre, Margaret and Bessie followed Roger to the back of the set.

“I reckon someone has tampered with these steps,” he announced. “Look.” He had two screws in his hand. He bent down again. “… and what’s this doing here?” He unravelled a piece of crumpled paper. “It’s a footy club flyer. Ivan Proctor has a lot to…” He did not finish his sentence. A light, which had been suspended from the catwalk, spiralled down hitting him on the head. He fell heavily to the floor and did not move.

Bessie gasped! Ivan had promised her he wouldn’t interfere with the production of the play. ‘He wouldn’t go back on his word, would he?’ she thought, ‘or is someone else responsible?’

Angry wasn’t an adequate enough word to describe Margaret’s feelings. “I’m calling the police,” she reached in her pocket for her phone.

“Do you think that’s necessary?” Bessie was distressed and suspicious but felt anxious for Ivan in case he’d be falsely accused. She wondered if her loyalty was misplaced … what if he was responsible? He did say he had connections … she wondered what he’d meant.

Margaret was too angry to mince words. “If you’re going to protect your fancy man you’re on your own.” She dialled 000.

Bessie was stunned. She didn’t know her affair was public knowledge. It had started out as a friendship that somehow grew into more when Ivan left his wife, tired of her complaints about being a ‘football widow’. Bessie shared a passion for football with Ivan and one thing had led to another. Her husband, Nigel, was a Qantas pilot and away more than he was at home, so Bessie had thought a ‘little on the side’ wouldn’t hurt anyone. She thought they’d been discreet but after Margaret’s comment she wondered. Had Ivan blabbed? He did become irrational after a few too many beers. Maybe he’d been skiting about his ‘conquest’.

“Ambulance and police are on their way,” Margaret looked askance at Bessie, “Sorry, I didn’t mean to say that. I’m just so angry. Sorry though Bess. Truly.”

“I didn’t think anyone knew,” Bessie said miserably. “Do you think Roger is okay? He hasn’t moved.”

Margaret leaned down to feel his pulse. “Quickly, get the defibrillator, he’s stopped breathing.”

They worked on their injured treasurer come handyman as they’d been shown in the First Aid class they had been required to attend when the theatre recently bought the defibrillator, but Roger did not respond. It was with relief they heard sirens approaching and Margaret rushed to the door to usher the paramedics in to the injured man. The police arrived soon after.

Despite the best efforts of all, Roger could not be revived. It was a very distressed, devastated, pair who followed the trolley to the ambulance and watched it drive away.

“I’m Constable Pierce and I will need statements from you all, my colleague is Constable Yance, she will take notes. It looks like an unfortunate accident so we won’t take much of your time.”

“Accident be damned,” Margaret exclaimed, “It’s murder and we know who did it.”

“Don’t say that,” Bessie tried to hush her, “we don’t know anything of the sort, it was just a light fell on him. The theatre fittings are old and …”

Constable Pierce interrupted, “If there is any doubt I am calling in Detective Inspector, Mark Whitehead. Was he still in the office this evening Constable?” He turned to his partner.

“He was there when we left, would save time if we called him and got him to come here now, instead of writing a report for him,” Constable Yance was anxious to get home, she’d had a long day.

Bessie’s heart sank, she felt sick and faint. She wondered if she should text Ivan and warn him … but … what if he did, indeed, tamper with the set … and … there was Alice and her injured ankle.

Fifteen minutes later DI Mark Whitehead arrived. After going over Constable Yance’s notes she was allowed to leave. Mark and Constable Grant Pierce then closely examined the light wiring, the screws removed from the stairs and the flyer found near the stairs.

“I’m not an electrician but there doesn’t appear to be any tampering here, and the screws out of the stairs could be wear and tear, Constable, what do you think? “Constable Pierce nodded in agreement, scratching his head and trying to draw a connection between the two accidents.

“Something doesn’t add up to me, Boss. Yep, it seems all too easy to believe Ivan did this.” He said aligning with his boss’s thoughts.

“We will certainly call Ivan down to the station for questioning but let’s interview the rest of the cast. We will keep Margaret and Bessie till last.” Mark instructed.

DI Mark Whitehead and Constable Pierce moved to the back of the theatre and the cast members, who were sitting in the front stalls, were then called up one-by-one to be questioned, Bessie and Margaret left to last.

“Where do we go from here?” Margaret questioned.

“It’s a crime scene, ladies, so you’ll all have to leave and you can’t use the stage until we finish our investigation.”

Bessie said her goodbyes, but Margaret lingered.

“You coming, Margaret?”

“I’ll talk to you later.” she replied in an almost guilty manner.

She looked around to make sure Bessie had gone.

“I think there is something you need to know, Detective.” Margaret said nervously rubbing her hands together. I feel awful saying this,” She continued. “You need to know that Bessie and Ivan are having an affair. Ivan left his wife and Bessie’s husband is a pilot and spends a lot of time away from home.”

“Are you suggesting jealousy could be a factor in this crime?”

“Although Ivan caused the kerfuffle, I’m sure he wouldn’t do anything that could harm Bessie. Can I go now please?”

Mark nodded. “Ivan is certainly the most likely suspect but from what we’ve learnt about the man I think his bark is worse than his bite. It all just seems too simple. What do you think Constable?”

“I think this new information about Bessie and Ivan’s affair certainly adds to the mix, boss!”

“I agree. Let’s sleep on all this. We’ll sift through the statements tomorrow, Grant. Whatever we do now won’t, sadly, bring Roger back to life.”

Next morning, as Mark Whitehead and Grant Pierce were checking the actors’ statements plus the Forensics’ crime scene findings, they were interrupted by a knock on the door by Constable Yance.

“Sir, there’s been a development in the death at the theatre.”

“That sounds ominous, ‘Death at the theatre’ – very Agatha Christie’!” Constable Pierce replied chirpily.

“What’s happened, Constable?” DI Whitehead inquired, ignoring Grant Pierce’s attempt at humour.

“Bessie Mitchell is at the front desk. She’s quite distraught. Evidently, Ivan Proctor was to have breakfast with her this morning but he didn’t turn up. She went round to his house and found the front door wide open but no sign of him.”

“Thank you, Constable. Grant will be out to speak to her while I finish reading the Forensic report.”

Bessie Mitchell was ushered into an interview room by Constable Pierce, Constable Yance joining him a few minutes later with a glass of water for the sobbing woman.

“Did you see anyone acting suspiciously when you arrived at Mr Proctor’s home?”

“N-n-no,” stammered Bessie. “I was worried when I saw the door open though.”

“Mr Proctor lives there with his …” he paused for a moment, “… his wife?”

Bessie shook her ahead. “No, he lives there alone.” She gave a sob, “I was worried because the door was open. I …”

The rest of her sentence was cut short by the arrival of DI Whitehead.

“Excuse me, Grant, would you step outside for a moment.”

Constable Pierce, a puzzled look on his face, joined his boss in the corridor.

“The Forensics report on the damaged stairs and the theatre light has identified a suspect.” Mark told Constable Pierce.

“Right, sir, who are we looking for?”

“The person in question has a record for causing malicious damage. It’s Ivan Proctor’s wife, Josie Proctor! Complete your interview with Bessie Mitchell. We’ll then follow up on this information.”

As he was returning to his office, DI Whitehead heard loud shouting erupting in the police station’s front office. ‘What now?’ he thought. He strode along the corridor to be confronted by Constable Yance attempting to restrain a highly agitated lady – Margaret Thompson, Horner Springs Amateur Theatre Group’s exuberant president.

“Constable, what on earth is happening here?”

“What is happening here, my man,” shouted Margaret Thompson, lashing out with her handbag at the young constable, “is our treasurer Roger is dead, God rest his soul.” She paused, making the sign of the cross dramatically across her heart, “…and I’ve just had a visit from that mongrel Ivan Proctor’s wife, Josie.”

DI Whitehead moved forward in an attempt to help Constable Yance restrain Margaret, “Madam, please calm down then we can…”

“I am calm,” shouted Margaret. “Josie Proctor told me she has taken matters into her own hands and Ivan won’t be troubling anyone else ever again. Good riddance, I say. What is important now, young man is, when can we all return to the theatre and continue our rehearsals? The show must go on for poor Roger’s sake.”

The Detective Inspector and the Constables looked at each other in amazement.

“Madam,” Mark Whitehead gathered his thoughts and usual calm demeanour, “Are you telling us Josie has harmed her husband?”

“Yes, that’s exactly what I mean,” Margaret retorted, “got what he deserved. They were having a blazing row and Josie shoved him off the balcony, didn’t mean to kill him of course, thought he’d land in the pool beneath. Hit his head on the tiles along the edge though, not Josie’s fault of course, you won’t prosecute her, will you? Did us all a service you know.” She looked at the stunned expressions on the officers’ faces and realised she had probably said too much. “Josie called the ambulance right away …” Her voice faded away, she knew she’d definitely said too much. “Big mouth,” she muttered under her breath. “Can we get on with our rehearsals now?” She said aloud.

“Yes. Break a leg,” said Mark. He nodded to Constables Yance and Pierce to follow him.

“We have quite a few surprises for Josie Proctor, her past record and our forensics are proof enough she didn’t kill her husband by accident. A woman scorned is a dangerous creature indeed, Constables.”

“Indeed she is, tried to frame him for Roger’s murder and then murdered him so he couldn’t raise suspicion,” Grant Pierce quipped, “I doubt the plot of ‘What happened at Wey River House?’ can match the story of what’s been going on behind the scenes.”

“I for one am definitely buying a ticket,” Constable Yance smiled to herself as they made their way to the car.

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Issy Jinarmo is a pen name for writing trio Jill Baggett, Narelle Noppert and Maureen Kelly OAM. They live far apart in Australia and started writing never ending stories by email during the lockdown. They have had stories accepted for publication now in magazines and anthologies from such diverse areas as Australia, India, England and USA. They have released a book of detective stories. Some of the stories which have been published by online magazines can be read from the Issy Jinarmo Facebook site.

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