The Straw Hat Theater Mysteries - Box Office Nightmare

Written by William Shepard, Published on 10/19/2009, Re-published on 7/23/2010

The Straw Hat Theater, nestled in Vermont’s idyllic Northeast Kingdom, was enjoying a banner season. The summer offerings, a shrewd mix of new plays and old standards, with some familiar operettas by Offenbach or Rodgers and Hammerstein thrown in for balance, routinely drew sellout crowds at each performance. Rumors that the last play to be offered, a dark comedy called, “All’s Right Now That You’re Here”, would feature a film star, increased the sense of excitement whenever summer theater fans talked about the summer’s offerings. However, Resident Director Arthur Glendon refused to comment on those rumors, rightly calculating that his non-denials would fan the rumors and continue to swell box office receipts.

The current show, “Lehar’s Merry Widow”, was a perennial favorite. It made no difference that half the audience knew all of the song lyrics by heart. They could - and often did - sing along with the cast as the numbers were performed. So why was it, Arthur Glendon said to himself as he opened the day’s mail, that the theater’s bills had not been paid in full? Here, for example, was a horrendous bill from Vermont Electric and Power. It had been a warm summer, but this was northern Vermont, after all, not Jamaica! Surely the air conditioners were not on 24 hours a day! And the catering bill, which supplied snacks for the cast and food for the lodge kitchen, was too high. All told, carry-over balances from the previous month’s bills were $400.

Glendon called both companies and was assured that the bills rendered were correct. The previous month’s bills had only been partially paid. Fortunately, the other bills, which also trickled in early in the month, all seemed to be in order. Then he called Basil Carmody, accountant to the Straw Hat Theater Company for years. Basil drove over to the summer theater with the account books in his briefcase.

“As you know, Arthur, I pick up the cash and checks from your cashier, Martha Gilmont, every Sunday evening after the performance. I’m a season ticket holder myself and see that show every week. We count the receipts together - I sign a receipt which she countersigns, and then I deposit the money in the Vermont Enterprise Bank on Monday morning. It’s the same system that we’ve had for years. I’ve never known her to make a mistake.”

“Who do you deal with at the bank?”

Basil replied, “Usually Lawrence Blake, the Head Teller. He’s been with them for years.”

Glendon kept pressing Basil, “Who pays the bills?”

“Why, John Franklin, of course, your Treasurer.”

“How does he know what the bank balances are?”

“That’s easy. The Vermont Enterprise Bank is online. All John does is to log in to the account, and the information is there. He of course also has the company checkbook, which I do not. As a matter of fact, I think he - and you - are the only ones authorized to write checks for the Straw Hat Theater Company. Satisfied?”

“Of course, Basil. Nothing implied. It’s just that we seem to be short, and I don’t know why. I wanted to know exactly what our procedures are, that’s all.

Arthur Glendon frowned. He was not a trained investigator and didn’t want to act like one. Talking with an old, trusted friend like Basil Carmody was one thing. He couldn’t imagine calling in the local sheriff. That would really upset the entire theater staff and perhaps ruin the season. Some of the more imaginative actors might enjoy the experience, but it would not help sell tickets. Come to think of it, selling tickets wasn’t the problem!

Glendon decided on a forthright approach. As soon as Martha Gilmont came into the office from her coffee break, he asked her about office procedures. “We’re just not doing as well as we should be doing, Martha. I’m trying to find out why.”

She explained what he already knew, including the discounts that were offered for season tickets and the First Thursday special prices, available only with a coupon cut out from the local newspaper. She had a precise record of receipts, performance by performance. To save money the box office didn’t accept credit cards, which caused some grumbling. The proceeds were about two-thirds in cash and the rest in local checks. She even kept the coupons that were presented at the box office for ticket discounts on First Thursdays, $8 off each ticket. Each performance record was in a separate manila envelope and was countersigned by Basil Carmody. Each week, he left with her the bank receipt for the previous Monday’s deposit of cash and checks.

Trying to figure out what was happening, Glendon asked Martha, “How long do you spend at the box office?”

Her answer surprised him. “Until halfway through the first act. Nobody comes for tickets after that. I like to see the shows too!”

“Do you make up the performance records before you leave the box office?”

She turned red. “No. Everything is in the drawer, and I lock the outside door - after the performance I grab a cup of coffee and do the receipts. It’s tedious, but I’m careful. My eyes aren’t what they used to be, so I double and triple check everything!”

John Franklin, the Treasurer, was surprised at the inquiry. He was by profession an actor. The few duties involved in handling the theater company checkbook were paid for by a nice stipend. He was glad to have the work, if work was the right word for writing a few checks every week.

“Yes, Arthur, that’s the drill. After you see the bills, they come to me, and I write checks for payment. Of course, first I log on to the checking account at the Vermont Enterprise Bank on the office computer. And of course, I have to make sure that the checks we get have cleared before I write our own checks. That sometimes takes a couple of days. I’ll also get the monthly bank statements. The next one for this summer should be arriving in a couple of weeks.”

Glendon pressed for details, “But you didn’t pay either the power company or the caterer last month in full?”

John defended his actions, telling Glendon, “That’s right. There wasn’t enough money. I probably should have raised it with you, Arthur, but I thought it best to pay off all the bills I could. I thought that I could catch up this month. Is there a problem?”

“I’m not sure. I hope not. I guess I’m just surprised that we aren’t doing better, given the full houses we’ve been attracting.”

Lawrence Blake was a taciturn Vermonter, given to monosyllables and long silences. “Nope, I don’t handle the account any different from any other - Basil Carmody deposits the receipts on Monday mornings, and I give him a receipt. The checks come in later, of course, signed by your Treasurer. The current one is John Franklin. I saw him last year, but haven’t seen him this summer. I gather he’s got a role in “The Merry Widow”. That would be worth seeing.”

Returning to the Box Office, which was an alcove with a window off the main theater office, Arthur Glendon checked the box office receipts once again. Something didn’t seem quite right. Then it came to him. As he thought, the discount coupons were xerox copies, not originals. He returned to his part of the office and sat at his desk. “This is just a one pipe problem,” he said to himself. “It wouldn’t be a great problem for Sherlock Holmes, and it certainly isn’t for me.” The trick, without solid proof, was to get reimbursement for the missing $400, and also stop the thefts from ever happening again. He was quite sure that with a low-key talk, both goals would quickly be accomplished.