Free A Chorus of Detectives by Barbara Paul

survive somehow,” Emmy remarked dryly.
    â€œEh, we must all bear our burdens as best we can,” he said with a long-suffering air. “But I grow no younger. And Gerry, she is no longer the early chicken.”
    â€œEarly chicken? Do you mean early bird?”
    Scotti frowned in concentration. “ Spring chicken, that is what I mean. It means no longer young, does it not?”
    â€œShe’s not forty yet.”
    â€œAh, but the day comes soon. It is time to settle down. For both of us.”
    Emmy consulted the lapel-pin watch she wore. “I must leave, Toto. I want to go to Brooklyn to hear Rico tonight.” That wasn’t true; Emmy was one of those who thought Elisir was not one of Caruso’s better operas, but she’d listened to Scotti’s complaints about Gerry as long as she could without becoming rude. “I must go home and change.”
    â€œAnd I,” Scotti said with sudden resolution, “I go to Gerry’s place and I wait. I meet this new lover face to face! I confront him!”
    And make a fool of yourself, no doubt , Emmy thought. The speakeasy was beginning to grow crowded; the two singers worked their way among the tables to the door. Outside, it had turned dark. Scotti’s limousine was less than a block away; he told the chauffeur to take Emmy home first and then drive him to West Seventy-fourth Street.
    A fine time to get a coughing fit , Enrico Caruso thought, fifteen minutes before curtain time . If only his side didn’t hurt so!
    â€œLet me call the doctor,” Dorothy begged. “You’re in no condition to go on!”
    He shook his head no and sprayed his throat generously, leaving enough liquid there for a good gargle. But even he became alarmed when he saw blood stains in the washbasin.
    â€œThat does it,” Dorothy said firmly. “I’m calling the doctor!”
    â€œNo, Doro, I cannot wait for doctor! Now is time to start! You go take your seat now—you do not wish to miss curtain!”
    Dorothy protested, but found herself gently shooed out of the Brooklyn Academy star dressing room. It was time to sing.
    Caruso’s throat hurt him. His side hurt. He was sweating. He got halfway through the first act of L’Elisir d’Amore without having to cough, but then when he did he looked down at scarlet flecks all over the front of his costume. He kept on singing, but he could feel the blood coming out of his mouth. He could see the first few rows of the audience staring at him, horrified.
    A movement offstage right caught his eye; someone was standing there waving a white towel. He sang his way over to the side, snatched the towel, and wiped his mouth. He kept the towel with him as he went on with his role, patting at his mouth in between phrases. Before long, the towel was thoroughly soaked and useless.
    Part of the scenery for Elisir was a well, placed in the exact center of the stage; that’s where Caruso decided to deposit his bloody towel. Unfortunately, the audience saw him do it. Unfortunately, he was still slobbering blood.
    A chorister nudged him and passed him a fresh towel. The chorus kept relaying towels to him all through the rest of the act.
    Scotti was surprised to find Gerry about to sit down to dinner with Pasquale Amato and Rosa Ponselle. What was this? The new lover was not here? “Where is he?” Scotti demanded.
    â€œWhere is who?” Gerry asked.
    â€œWhere is this man you spend the afternoon with?”
    â€œI am right here,” Amato said, puzzled.
    â€œYou, Pasquale?”
    â€œHe was helping me do some Christmas shopping,” Gerry said. “What are you carrying on about?”
    â€œWhy you take Pasquale shopping and not me?”
    â€œDo not be stupido , Toto,” Amato whispered behind his hand.
    â€œ Non capisco ,” Scotti muttered. “What do you say?”
    Rosa was laughing. “I’d guess he’s telling you they were