CHAPTER THREE #2
Her voice caught, then she continued. “Over the years, our friendship deepened. When I founded Magnolia Gateway, Veronica was one of our earliest supporters. She invested financially, yes, but more importantly, she lent her name and connections to help establish us. And when Roberta’s centennial approached, it seemed natural to honor both women with this retrospective.
Veronica was excited about it. Said it felt like bringing her mother home one last time. ”
“I’d like to see the crime scene,” Riley said. “Would you be willing to accompany us, Ms. Sinclair? It might help us understand exactly how events unfolded.”
“Of course. Whatever helps catch whoever did this to Ronnie.”
The use of the nickname—intimate, personal—struck Riley as significant. Either Gillian was truly close to the victim, or she was masterfully playing the grieving friend.
They followed Gillian out of the office and through a maze of corridors, eventually exiting the administrative building and crossing the lot to a large soundstage marked “Stage 4.” A police officer stood guard outside, nodding to Hayes as they approached.
“The scene’s been fully processed,” Hayes informed Riley and Ann Marie. “Forensics finished around dawn.”
Gillian pushed open the heavy door, revealing the meticulously recreated Midnight Lounge. The set was now harshly illuminated by work lights that stripped away any nostalgic glamour. Crime scene tape still cordoned off the area where Veronica’s body had been found.
Riley stepped carefully into the space, absorbing details.
The period-appropriate furniture, the vintage glassware behind the bar, the small stage with its lone microphone standing sentinel—every element had been chosen with care.
She tried to imagine the scene as it had been: filled with elegantly dressed guests, suffused with atmospheric lighting, the air hazy with theatrical smoke.
“Ms. Sinclair,” Riley said, turning back to face the studio executive, “could you walk us through exactly what happened last night? Start from when you arrived at the set with the guests.”
Gillian nodded, visibly steeling herself.
“We’d just come from the screening at the Majestic.
The guests were excited when I mentioned a surprise waiting at the studio.
And Veronica had no idea what was in store.
When we arrived here, the set was dark. Then the lights came up slowly, revealing the Midnight Lounge exactly as it appeared in the film.
There was audible gasping. Veronica was stunned. ”
“Where were you seated?” Riley asked.
Gillian pointed to a table near the stage. “There. That table for two. It’s the same one Roberta’s character sat at in the film before her performance.”
“And the other guests?”
“They spread throughout the room at the remaining tables. The bartender served period-appropriate cocktails. There were even actors hired to mill about as extras, creating the atmosphere of a busy nightclub.”
“Then what happened?” Riley prompted.
“I asked Veronica if she would sing ‘Midnight Reverie,’ her mother’s signature song from the film.
She was hesitant—she’d always been careful to establish her own musical identity, separate from her mother’s.
But then she agreed. She went up to the stage, the quartet began playing, and she sang.
She was magnificent. For a moment, it was almost like having Roberta back. ”
“And after the performance?”
“She returned to our table. We toasted with our drinks—I had a gin rickey, she had a Manhattan. She took a sip, and then...” Gillian’s composure finally cracked, her voice breaking. “Then she started to struggle for breath. Her glass fell. She collapsed. It all happened so fast.”
Ann Marie stepped closer to Gillian, offering silent support as the woman fought to regain control.
Riley surveyed the scene again, trying to piece together the logistics of the poisoning. “The Manhattan—it was delivered while Veronica was performing?”
Gillian nodded. “The waiter brought fresh drinks to our table just before she finished her song.”
“The same waiter who had served you earlier?”
“I... I think so. It was dark, atmospheric. I wasn’t paying close attention to the staff.”
“You said the whole scene was meant to be a surprise. How many people were in on it?”
Gillian nodded. “Oh, it’s hard to say. We had construction and tech workers here all the time we were setting this up, so they knew. And of course, the extras and the jazz quartet. God knows how many people they might have told. But most of the movie audience did seem surprised.”
Riley turned to Hayes. “I’d like to see this place as it was that night. Can we recreate the exact lighting and atmosphere?”
Hayes glanced at Gillian, who nodded. “Of course.” She moved to a control panel near the entrance, checking the switches. “The technical crew set everything up with programmable presets. This should restore it exactly as it was.”
She pressed a button, and the harsh work lights dimmed.
Soft amber lighting faded up, casting the set in a warm glow.
Blue gel lights illuminated the bar from beneath, creating an ethereal effect that transported the space back to 1953.
A subtle hiss preceded the appearance of theatrical haze, drifting lazily through the air in perfect simulation of cigarette smoke.
The transformation was startling. What had seemed merely an elaborate set moments before now became a living, breathing space that blurred the line between reality and fiction.
“My God,” Ann Marie whispered beside her. “It’s exactly like the film.”
Riley paused at the table Gillian had indicated, running her fingers lightly over its surface.
Two indentations in the tablecloth marked where glasses had stood.
In her mind, she could almost see Veronica returning from her performance, flushed with success, lifting her drink in celebration, only to find death waiting in the glass.
Here in this magical space, Riley recognized a familiar sensation. Her unusual talent nudged at her, as if she needed to pay attention. Would it work? Could she get a sense of this killer’s mind right now? Riley closed her eyes and reached out …