A Deadly Night at the Theatre

Book 5: Three Dahlias Mysteries

by Katy Watson

Genres: Amateur Sleuth; Thrillers

Synopsis

MURDER IS WAITING IN THE WINGS . . .

Actresses Posy Starling and Caro Hooper both gained a name for themselves playing fictional detective Dahlia Lively on screen - but now they are back treading the boards in London's theatre district, starring in two very different plays.

Their fellow Dahlia, Rosalind King, is in the city to catch their opening weeks, but she can't help but notice some tensions between Posy and Caro. Perhaps because of Caro's new friendship with her co-star Luke Burrows, who seems to have a history with Posy . . .

Before Rosalind can get to the bottom of what's going on, Luke is found dead. Worse, his body is found in Posy's dressing room - with Posy standing over him, covered in his blood.

The West End is in uproar, but the cast of the two plays have closed ranks. Posy needs her fellow Dahlias to prove her innocence - but first she has to convince them that she didn't do it.

The play's the thing... but when all their suspects are actors, how can the Dahlias tell what's real, and what's just theatre?

Whether you've read the whole series, or are discovering the Three Dahlias novels for the first time, this is the perfect murder mystery to escape into if you love Agatha Christie, Jessica Fellowes and Janice Hallett.

Praise for the Three Dahlias mysteries . . .

'Dame Agatha would approve' DAILY MAIL

'An absolute treat of a read . . . Perfect weekend reading!' JANICE HALLETT, author of THE APPEAL

'Hugely entertaining' THE TIMES

'The best kind of book to curl up' KRISTEN PERRIN, author of HOW TO SOLVE YOUR OWN MURDER

'The perfect cosy: atmospheric, ingenious and fun!' IAN MOORE, author of Death and Croissants

'A wonderful celebration of Golden Age crime' S.J. BENNETT, author of THE WINDSOR KNOT

'A fun, 1930s style murder-mystery, which makes for perfect holiday reading' WOMAN'S WEEKLY

Release date: July 10, 2025

Publisher: Little, Brown Book Group

Print pages: 80000

Sample

‘It’s hard to believe it isn’t real sometimes, isn’t it?’ Dahlia said, as they both got to their feet to applaud the actors bowing on stage. ‘For the length of a play, we’re so taken in that everything seems as if it must be true – Romeo and Juliet must be in love, Mercutio must be dead – but then at the end the actors revert to their true selves and just go on about their lives.’ She shook her head. ‘Such duplicity, really. I’d hate it anywhere but at the theatre.’

Dahlia Lively in All The World’s a Stage

By Lettice Davenport, 1938

Rosalind King sprang to her feet with the rest of the audience of London’s Arcadia Theatre as the final curtain fell and the cast of Lights Out took their bows. There, right in the centre, beaming into the stage lights, stood the star of the show, Posy Starling – and Rosalind couldn’t be prouder.

Posy was the youngest of ‘the three Dahlias’, the name the three actresses who had played Dahlia Lively on screen over the past forty-plus years had given themselves. The fictional lady detective had been created by author Lettice Davenport back in the 1930s, but her appeal had proved to be timeless.

Rosalind, of course, had been the first to play her, back in the early 1980s, followed by Caro Hooper, who’d starred in the long-running TV adaptation of Dahlia’s adventures twenty-odd years later, until it was cancelled. Now, Posy had taken over the mantle for the new film reboot – and used it to refresh her flagging career as she turned thirty, after flaming out in her late teens following years as a child star.

Posy’s role in Lights Outs was a complete departure from playing Dahlia, and stage acting a mostly new endeavour for her, but she had absolutely smashed it. The production was a revival of a popular 1980s play set in New York during the blackout of 1977, and Posy’s role as a smart-talking, angry young New Yorker had showcased a whole different side of her talents from the elegant – if also smart-talking – amateur sleuth. She’d held the audience in the palm of her hand from start to finish, and she’d done it with charm and pathos. This play was going to be a huge success, Rosalind could tell.

Above them, crystal chandeliers sparkled in the rising lights, and the red velvet of the drapes and the seats couldn’t dull the roar of the applause. She turned to her companions, both also standing to applaud beside her in their prime seats at the front of the dress circle. ‘Wasn’t she amazing?’

Caro nodded sharply, just once. ‘It’s a good play. I’m sure it will do well for her.’

Not exactly the ringing endorsement Rosalind had been hoping for.

She looked further along the row to Annie, Caro’s wife, who gave her a pointed, I told you so look, before saying, ‘I thought Posy was brilliant. And so were the rest of the cast! Are we going to wait for her at the stage door with flowers like adoring fans?’

Did people still do that? They had, back in the day, when Rosalind was starting out in the theatre. Well, maybe the tradition needed reviving. ‘Yes, definitely. Then I think there’s an afterparty at a cocktail bar nearby.’

It was the official press night for Lights Out, although there had been preview performances for most of the last week, fine-tuning the play until it was as close to perfect as it could be, before they invited the great, the good and the reviewers in for tonight’s performance. Now, most people would join the party to continue talking about how great the show was, before the press reviews started to pour in overnight. She knew the producers and PR people for the show would be anxiously checking their phones at the bar, waiting for the first of them to drop. The better the buzz at the party, the more positive the reviews, in Rosalind’s experience.

They made their way out of the theatre, and onto the London street outside. The stage door wasn’t far from their exit, so Rosalind turned towards it, but Annie spotted a flower cart across the street and dashed over to it between the traffic.

‘Are you and Annie going to join me at the afterparty?’ Rosalind asked Caro. From what Annie had said when she called she half expected her to say no.

But Caro surprised her. ‘Yes, I imagine so. There’s actually a few of the Finding Freddie company planning on attending – they were in the audience tonight, too.’ Finding Freddie was Caro’s new play, opening at the Prince Regent Theatre around the corner for previews the following night. It seemed the stage was the place to be that summer. It made Rosalind nostalgic for her days treading the boards. But she’d had other priorities this year.

Caro looked over Rosalind’s shoulder and smiled. ‘In fact, here they are now.’

Rosalind turned to see a handsome man in his thirties and a younger woman with black hair cut above her shoulders approaching. She wore a golden dress that showcased a slim and lithe body, and had her hand tucked through the crook of the man’s arm. Behind them followed another woman, probably closer to the man’s age – this one in black jeans and a black satin shirt, with wild, red curls around her head.

‘Caro!’ The man broke away to hug her like he hadn’t seen her in days – which, since Rosalind knew the cast of Finding Freddie had been rehearsing at the theatre earlier that day, seemed a little excessive. The younger woman air kissed Caro’s cheeks, while the older one merely smiled and nodded.

Caro turned to introduce her. ‘Everyone, this is my dear friend—’

‘Rosalind King!’ The man looked scandalised to think Caro wouldn’t know they’d all recognise her on sight. The perils of being a National Treasure, she supposed. He stretched out a hand and Rosalind took it, only for him to lean in and kiss her on both cheeks. ‘It is an absolute honour to meet you, Rosalind. I’m Luke Burrows, and I’m lucky enough to be playing opposite Caro in our little play this season.’ He stepped back, still smiling, to present the others. ‘This is Darcy, another of our merry band.’ The young woman in the gold dress stepped forward to perform the obligatory air kiss, her lips not getting anywhere close enough to Rosalind’s cheeks to mar her lipstick. ‘And Amber, our stage manager.’ Amber just waved. Rosalind liked her immediately.

‘It’s lovely to meet you all. I’ve heard a lot about you from Caro,’ Rosalind said.

It wasn’t a lie; Caro had been enthusiastic about the company their producer and director had put together for Finding Freddie. The play was a new one, transferring to the West End from somewhere up in Yorkshire after rave reviews and success there. Most of the cast had travelled down with it, although Caro and Luke had been brought in for the main roles – a not unusual tactic in Rosalind’s experience, as a star name would always draw a bigger audience.

Caro’s star had risen considerably over the past few years, since they began solving murders as the three Dahlias and she started chronicling their adventures in her bestselling books. And Luke Burrows . . . well, he was one of those actors who’d apparently been around forever in insignificant roles in major shows or better roles in movies that no one saw, but had finally found his place over the last few years in a popular TV show in the States.

Rosalind hadn’t heard of him before he was cast opposite Caro in Finding Freddie. But since then she’d already heard more about him than she wanted to – and suspected she was going to hear an awful lot more before very long.

‘I found dahlias!’ Annie returned with three long-stemmed dahlia flowers wrapped in brown paper in her hands. ‘I thought they’d be perfect.’

‘They are,’ Rosalind assured her, as they waited for the stage door to open and Posy and her fellow cast mates to emerge.

While there were a few other theatregoers still out on the street, most of tonight’s invited audience had already made their way over to the cocktail bar, presumably because they knew that they could meet the cast just as easily there, and they could get a drink while they were waiting. Rosalind was glad of it; tonight was Posy’s night, and she didn’t want her and Caro’s presence to take away from that. Usually, if any two of them were together, there’d be someone around snapping a photo.

Which had already proved a problem recently. Rosalind thought of the newspaper article Jack had shown her back in Wales – a photo of Caro and Posy together in a cafe, Caro standing with her hands on her hips while Posy looked mulishly up at her, with the headline IS THE BLOOM OFF THE DAHLIAS?

As soon as they got to that damn cocktail bar, she was going to collar Annie and get the whole story behind that photo.

Finally, the stage door opened, and Posy appeared, her face scrubbed clean of stage make-up, replaced with a minimal look instead, and her costume changed for a short, black silk dress that made her legs look endless. Her blonde hair was caught up in a high ponytail, her cheeks pink and eyes bright with the success of the night.

‘Darling, you were wonderful,’ Rosalind told her, embracing her warmly. ‘This show is a sure-fire hit.’

‘That’s the hope!’ Posy pulled away and Annie darted in to give her the dahlias and a kiss on the cheek.

‘Posy, it was brilliant. Best thing I’ve seen on the stage this year.’ Annie lowered her voice to a stage whisper. ‘And I can say that because Caro’s play hasn’t opened yet.’

Everyone laughed at that. Everyone except Caro and Posy.

Amber stepped forward, breaking the awkward moment. ‘It really was great, Posy. Sorry, you probably don’t remember me – I’m Amber.’

‘Pollie’s friend, right? We met at that party?’ Posy said. Clearly they’d been introduced at some point; theatre circles in London were notoriously incestuous, and Posy had been here working for a couple of months already. ‘You’re stage manager for Finding Freddie? I’m looking forward to seeing it when it opens, if I can find a day I’m not performing.’

Then Luke moved towards them – despite, Rosalind noticed, Darcy clinging onto his arm until the last moment. ‘Posy. It’s good to see you again. You were incredible up there tonight.’

Posy stared at him for a moment, glanced at the silent Caro, then turned on her heel back to Rosalind and Annie. ‘We’d better get to the party before they send someone to look for us.’ She linked her arm with Rosalind’s. ‘Come on.’

Rosalind shared a meaningful look with Annie as they walked.

This was worse than she’d thought.

The cocktail bar that had been booked out for the party was, apparently, styled in the industrial-chic trend, with metal pipes, bare bulbs and a grim, grey sort of aesthetic. Behind the glossy black bar, cocktail waiters were serving up classic seventies cocktails like Blue Hawaiis, Tequila Sunrises and even a Slow Comfortable Screw Against the Wall, if Rosalind overheard the order right.

Posy snagged them a high table by the window, while Rosalind perched as delicately as she could on a backless stool, and let Caro go to the bar for drinks.

Posy managed to wait a full five seconds before asking, ‘So . . . did you really like it?’

‘I loved it, darling,’ Rosalind said, easily. ‘Reminded me of my teenage years, apart from anything else. But no, it was smart and funny and biting when it needed to be. And you were fabulous. Jack will be so cross he missed it.’ Damn it. She hadn’t meant to mention Jack – or draw attention to the fact that he hadn’t joined her on this jaunt to the city.

Posy beamed. ‘Well, you’ll just have to bring him down to London and see it again!’

‘Perhaps I will,’ Rosalind replied, noncommittally.

She waited until Posy was pulled away by someone else wanting to congratulate her, then shifted her stool closer to Annie, glad that Caro was already occupied with her other friends.

‘Right. What the blazes has been going on here?’

The three Dahlias might not have got on perfectly to start – fine, they’d all thought the absolute worst of each other when they’d met at a Dahlia Lively fan convention nearly three years ago – but tackling their first murder had brought them together. And regardless of their different generations, pasts and circumstances . . . they’d stayed together. Solving several more cases since had made them first friends, then family.

Until now. Something had come between Posy and Caro while Rosalind had been away in Wales with Jack for the past few months. And Rosalind needed to know exactly what it was so she could fix it.

Annie sighed, and reached for her wine glass. ‘I don’t know everything – at least, I’m assuming I don’t. I’ve mostly heard Caro’s side of things. And a flaming row at our house over Sunday dinner about a month ago, where I just took a bottle of wine and hid in the lounge until I heard the door slam, and when I came out, Posy had gone.’

Well. That didn’t sound particularly auspicious. The Dahlias had disagreed before, even argued. But for Caro and Posy still to be at odds with each other a whole month later? That was unprecedented.

‘You said on the phone it had to do with Luke Burrows?’ She glanced over at where the actor was laughing at something Caro had said.

‘Yes.’ Annie gulped down some wine. ‘He and Caro were the two new members of the cast when they started rehearsing, and I think they bonded quickly over that. She said he mentioned that he’d worked with Posy in the past, but more than ten years ago, I think, and it didn’t sound like they were still in touch. Posy barely acknowledged the name when Caro mentioned him at Libby’s wedding. She definitely didn’t say she had a problem with him or anything.’

‘But she does.’ It wasn’t a question; Rosalind could tell that from just thirty seconds in the same place as the pair of them. Luke, however, hadn’t seemed to have a problem with her.

Annie sighed. ‘Apparently so. Caro and Luke got more and more friendly, hanging out together when they weren’t rehearsing and such. I’ve been away such a lot helping my mum since she had that fall, and some weeks it’s just easier to stay up in Suffolk than travel to and fro every few days, especially when Caro’s working so much and . . . I guess she enjoyed his company.’

‘And Posy’s been busy too,’ Rosalind guessed. ‘With the play, of course, and I imagine quite a lot of publicity commitments.’

‘Kit was home for a bit last month as well,’ Annie added. Posy’s film-star boyfriend was away on location currently. ‘So, with one thing and another I suppose they hadn’t seen each other for a while. And then Caro invited Posy to some event or another – a charity gala, I think – and Luke was there too and, well, I guess it took Posy by surprise.’

‘That he was there or how close he and Caro had become?’ Rosalind asked.

‘Both, I imagine.’ Annie eyed Rosalind carefully. ‘I don’t want you to think I’m blaming you for this, because I’m really not. But you not being here . . . I think they’ve forgotten how to be the Dahlias without you.’

Rosalind looked away. Nearly six months she’d been hidden away in Wales with Jack, now. The first one or two had been spent watching him anxiously, panicking at every cough or ache, after his brush with death over Christmas. She’d finally relaxed around Easter and accepted that he wasn’t going to drop dead on her imminently.

But while she’d been focusing on her relationship, she’d let Caro and Posy’s friendship fall apart. They were the three Dahlias, not two. And while they’d never lived in each other’s pockets, apparently this time she’d just been gone too long.

She straightened her spine. ‘Well, I’m here now. So, what happened at the gala? Or after it?’

‘Remember I’ve only got Caro’s side of this,’ Annie warned. ‘You’ll have to get Posy’s. But according to Caro, Luke tried to speak with Posy – perfectly politely, in a “good to see you” way – and she cut him off and walked away.’

‘Like she did tonight,’ Rosalind murmured. Posy’s behaviour outside the stage door did add a certain credence to Caro’s version of events.

‘Anyway, when Caro called her out on it later, Posy said she couldn’t understand how Caro could be friends with such a horrible person,’ Annie continued. ‘I think Caro was quite taken aback, because she said that Luke had always been lovely to her. Posy just stared at her for a moment, and then left.’

Rosalind tapped a nail against the side of her glass, thinking. There was obviously something in Posy’s history with Luke that she hadn’t shared before making her act this way. Posy wasn’t rude by nature. In fact, she tended to go out of her way to be nice to people, probably – Rosalind believed – because she started every inter-action from the assumption that people would have heard the worst about the person she’d been in the past, and she wanted to prove them wrong.

Posy’s wild-child past was history, but it was one that would always hang over her. Rosalind had already seen a couple of articles about Lights Out which, while generally positive, couldn’t resist mentioning the partying and drugs that had led to Posy’s child-star downfall.

‘Okay. Fast forward to Sunday dinner. I assume that was the next time they were together?’

Annie nodded. ‘And that’s when it all came out. From what I could overhear, the crux of it was that the Luke Posy knew in the past was a liar, cheat and all-round bad egg. Caro asked exactly what he’d done to make her say that, but all Posy would say was that they’d dated and it ended badly. And that she’d expected that Caro would be able to see through his charm and smiles.’

‘But she didn’t.’

‘But she didn’t.’ Annie grimaced. ‘In fact, she and Luke had become friends and he’d already told her about his bad-boy past and how hard he’d worked to change over the last five years . . . to become a better man.’

‘Oh God, Caro thinks he’s another Posy,’ Rosalind realised.

‘Exactly,’ Annie said. ‘I knew you’d get it. Anyway, Caro is adamant that Luke has changed – and I have to say, I haven’t heard of any problems on their show, and if anyone would know it would be the people working closest with him, wouldn’t it?’

‘It would.’ Rosalind had appeared in enough plays to know that, when you were working so closely with people, day in and day out over an entire run, it became much harder to hide any less desirable tendencies.

‘But Posy was adamant that she knew him best, and furious that Caro wouldn’t listen to her, wouldn’t believe her – even when Caro pointed out that Posy hadn’t told her any of this before she got to know Luke for herself. She asked Posy for details, to tell her what Luke had done but, beyond establishing that Luke had never physically hurt her, she wouldn’t say any more. Just that he was a bad person.’ Annie gave a heavy sigh. ‘I don’t know. I don’t think either of them are being entirely rational about this. I know Caro’s been under a lot of pressure lately – not just with the play, but with edits on the next book, and her work with Ashok, and me being away . . . you know what she’s like when she’s doing too much. She loses the ability to empathise with anyone.’

‘Except Luke.’ Whatever Posy’s past with Luke – and the fact that she called him a cheat and a liar told her a lot – it had happened a long time ago. Back when Posy was another person too. So Rosalind had to allow that Posy wasn’t the best-qualified person to say who Luke was now.

But Caro knew now that her new friend had hurt Posy, who was family. And she hadn’t stepped away from him or acknowledged that, as far as Rosalind could tell from Annie’s account.

No wonder they were both so mad at each other.

‘Will you stay here a while and fix it?’ Annie asked. ‘I’ve got to go back to Suffolk tomorrow but I’ll be home again on Thursday evening to watch Caro’s play – she doesn’t want me there for the first preview tomorrow, says too many things are likely to go wrong, so we compromised on the second preview. She’s got tickets for both of us, I think.’

‘I’ll be there,’ Rosalind promised, and tried to pretend that she wasn’t secretly glad for a reason to stay away from Wales just a little bit longer.

Posy Starling fills the stage with an energy and brightness not seen for too long at the Arcadia, which has suffered a run of less-than-stellar productions in recent years. Ably supported by relative unknown Taran Brady, Lights Out lights up the West End with all the 1970s New York disco vibes you could hope for – but also provides a deeper dive into the chaos of the frenetic, fraught, scary and sweaty moment in time that was the New York Blackout of 1977.

Review of Lights Out on Behind the Curtain blog

Posy loved the Arcadia Theatre.

She might not have done much theatre work in the past, but she couldn’t imagine a theatre with more glamour, more style, more . . . presence, in the whole of London. From the chandeliers hanging in the lounge bar, to the recently replaced ruby-red carpet that swept up the cantilever staircase from the columns at the lobby entrance to the doors that let the audience into the circle seats, it screamed luxury. All that marble and gold, shining and perfect, welcoming the audience to a night out they’d never forget.

Entering through the stage door, however, was an entirely different experience.

The discreet door on the side of the building, away from the posters and the glamour of the main entrance, had only a small sign over it to let guests know it was an entrance at all, rather than an emergency fire exit or something. Posy had seen the Prince Regent Theatre stage door, which Caro and her cast would be using daily, with its Art Deco glass panels and pretty blue-green paint. But the Arcadia just had a nondescript, solid burgundy door that sometimes had a note reading ‘back in five minutes’ pinned to it when Mal, the stage-door keeper who was in charge of checking people in and out, had to dash off and do something else.

Today, the twenty-something Mal was ensconced in his usual position behind the counter at the stage door, ignoring something flashing away on his computer screen while he glared at his phone.

‘Hi, Mal,’ Posy said, as she slipped through the ajar door. Mal never bothered to close it completely at the busy times of day when people would be coming and going, especially when it was as warm outside as it was currently.

‘Hi, Posy.’ He didn’t even look up. Her first day he’d been genuinely starstruck and stumbled through an awkward hello. Now, she was old hat. Posy supposed that was how it went.

With a small wave, she left it to him to register her presence in the theatre on his system, and headed towards her small – but blissfully private – dressing room. She was halfway there when she heard him swear behind her; presumably he’d just spotted what. . .