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“I don’t disagree,” Ryan grumbled, “but he’s still suspicious. And he has one of the best reasons for wanting Tatiana gone.”
“Other than the lovely Nadia here,” Andy said with a smile. “But we know she has a rock-solid alibi.”
“Damn right,” I said.
Andy swung his spectacled gaze back to Ryan. “But Nadia and Atkins aren’t the only ones with motive. They are just the most obvious. Everyone with a stake in the show would want her gone.”
“We’ve been over this,” Ryan whined. “Yeah, everyone has a reason for her to be gone. That doesn’t help us narrow it down.”
“It might even be unrelated to the show,” I said. “Someone with a personal vendetta. Someone we haven’t met.”
“But then why go to the trouble of setting up an accident here?” Andy said.
Ryan nodded. “They could wait outside her apartment with a baseball bat and fucking Tanya Harding her ass.”
“Good point,” I admitted.
Andy dipped a chip in hummus and pointed it at me. “Do you know any of the other dancers?”
“Not enough to pick out anyone suspicious. They’re all just work acquaintances.”
“Normally, I would say whoever is funding the show would have an interest in ensuring it does well, by any means necessary.” Andy swallowed his chip. “But since the producer is Tatiana’s grandfather…”
“He’s blown millions on all of this shit just to give Tatiana a lead role,” Ryan said, looking around. “The show doing poorly would hardly matter at that point, even if he somehow miraculously decided his granddaughter had to go.”
“Not to mention the fact that a grandfather who cares enough to do all of this for her wouldn’t want to see her injured,” I said blandly.
“Right. That too.”
“So we’re back to square one,” I said. “Hopefully we’ll catch them in the act. How long are you guys going to camp out in here?”
“All night. That’s why we had you bring sleeping bags,” Ryan said.
“No, I mean—how long? Just tonight? Every night until you find something?”
The two men looked at each other. “Haven’t thought that far ahead,” Ryan said. “We’ll take it one night at a time and play it by ear.”
“Does Atkins know you’re doing this?”
Ryan shook his head. “If he’s the saboteur, we want to catch him by surprise.”
“Like a leprechaun,” I said, pointedly not glancing at Andy. “Sneaky, and with low cunning.”
Ryan focused on the food. “Leprechauns don’t migrate this far south until spring.”
“Oh, that’s good to know,” I said. In my peripheral vision, Andy was struggling to keep a straight face.
When the food was gone, we spread out the sleeping bags on the stage and stretched out. “You sticking around?” Ryan asked, giving me a sideways look while he pulled out a deck of cards.
“For a little while. I want to see if we can catch our phantom.” I looked around. “I should’ve brought some beer.”
“Oh!” Andy leaped to his feet and jogged backstage. He returned with an unopened bottle of scotch. “From Atkins’ office.”
“It’s bad luck to steal a man’s liquor,” Ryan said.
Andy’s mouth hung open.
“I’m joking!” Ryan said, grabbing the bottle from him and pulling out the cork. “Let’s play something.”
