by Anna Gerard
That offer drew a few smiles from some of the GASPers, who crowded about the bar cart to take hasty advantage of it. Except for Len. Half a glass of mimosa still in hand, he made a beeline for the door. From the way he reached with his free hand for the cigarette pack in his shirt’s breast pocket, I assumed he was headed for the smoking area behind the garden.
With mimosas replenished, the others followed more slowly. I’d make the rounds of the bedrooms later to pick up the empty glassware. For the moment, however, I waited until I everyone had left the dining room before turning back to Harry.
“You do realize that a leisurely breakfast is part of the B&B experience?”
He nodded and raised a final forkful of quiche in mock acknowledgment before taking an exaggerated bite.
“Yes, yes, I do,” he replied through a mouthful of fluffy eggs and cheese. “Which is why I’m taking my time finishing up here. My compliments to the chef, by the way.”
“That would be Daniel Tanaka, as I’m sure you know. And your troupe wolfed down Daniel’s awesome cooking so fast I doubt they even tasted it.”
He shrugged and spooned up a bite of cobbler. “Call it a teachable moment. Maybe tomorrow we won’t have to spend half the morning playing detective trying to figure out who’s playing tricks.”
“So you’re not worried that someone is trying to undermine the troupe?”
Harry snorted. “Believe me, these little antics are nothing compared to what goes on behind the scenes on a movie set. Someone’s trying to unnerve the rest of the cast so that they start flubbing lines and missing cues.”
“And the prankster looks like the star of the show, as a result,” I said, finishing his thought. “But would you really replace them all with the Cymbeline High drama club?”
“Not a chance.”
He grinned, momentarily reminding me of the Harry I knew and tolerated.
He continued, “For one thing, those kids are in summer vacation mode, so they’ll be harder to keep in line. For another, all the GASP players own their own costumes. I don’t want to scramble last minute for a proper sixteenth-century wardrobe to outfit a whole new cast.”
Which made sense. But another question had been nagging at me.
“What about whipping this cast into shape in time for next weekend?” I asked him. “That’s a pretty short timetable. Shouldn’t you have been rehearsing for weeks already?”
Harry downed the rest of his mimosa and then shook his head.
“If we were putting on a brand-new play, yes … but you’re forgetting this is a Shakespeare troupe. Everyone is familiar with the material, and most of them have performed in past productions of Hamlet over the years. Plus they’ve had their cast assignments since last month. A hard few days of rehearsals here at the B&B, and a dress rehearsal Thursday night on the actual outdoor stage, and we’ll be set.”
He said it with such confidence that I figured he must know what he was doing.
“You’re the director,” I brightly replied, and then pushed back from the table. “And since I’m the innkeeper, I’d better get the dishes out of the way so I can head to the garden for my lecture series.”
While Harry dunked a fresh teabag, I made quick work of the cleanup and dealt with the leftovers. By the time I headed out to the garden, Mattie trotting after me, Harry’s designated fifteen minutes were up. All of the troupe except the Marshes had gathered in the chairs set up under the back patio, enjoying a final bit of shade and moderate temperature before the summer heat began cranking up.
I didn’t envy them practicing outdoors, but Harry had a point. I’d glimpsed some of their costuming when the troupe had first arrived. Unless they were acclimated to the heat, the sun combined with layers of satin and velvet would pretty well guarantee at least one player keeling over.
“Hello, again,” I greeted everyone, feeling suddenly nervous though I’d given this talk to guests before. But the troupe all gave me encouraging smiles, with Radney adding a reassuring nod. Even Chris looked up from his phone a moment, so I took a deep breath and plunged on.
“This, as you have guessed, is my Shakespeare garden,” I continued and gestured at the circular garden beyond the patio. I gave them a quick description of the layout and went on: “The first thing I always like to point out is the tiered fountain in the middle. If you look closely at the column holding the largest of the three basins, you’ll find that it’s engraved with one of the most famous quotations from Romeo and Juliet.”
“That which we call a rose, by any other name would smell as sweet,” Bill unexpectedly finished for me in dramatic fashion.
I nodded. “Exactly. The garden was installed more than thirty years ago by Fleet House’s original owner, Mrs. Daisy Lathrop. You might be interested to know that she was also your director’s great-aunt.”
This drew surprised murmurs from everyone, as I expected, but it was Harry’s reaction I waited for.
Fortunately, he merely gave a slight nod of acknowledgment, apparently content to keep our on-again, off-again feud private for now.
“Shakespeare gardens first became popular in the early nineteen hundreds,” I continued, warming to the topic. “They now are found pretty much all over the country, mostly at libraries and universities and public parks. Depending on the designer, the garden may be devoted to the flora mentioned in a single play, or it might be planted with flowers from various of his sonnets.”
“My garden is somewhat different. You’ll notice that paved walkways divide the circle into four equal and distinct sections, like pie pieces. Each of those quarters is its own smaller garden devoted to its own Shakespearean play.”
The troupe nodded again.
“The mini-garden closest to us and to the right features plantings mentioned in Macbeth,” I went on. “Romeo and Juliet is the theme of the garden directly across from it. Flowers and shrubs from Hamlet fill the quarter to the rear of Macbeth. And, of course, we have Cymbeline as the theme of the fourth section. Now you might be wondering …”
“Where’s Len?” Susie interrupted me as she rushed out onto the patio, high-heeled sandals clicking on brick. “I went upstairs to freshen up, and when I came back down and checked the parlor, he wasn’t there.”
“Susie, how rude,” Tessa scolded her, and added a wagging finger for good measure. “You’re interrupting Nina’s most interesting talk about her garden.”
Susie’s pink-lipsticked mouth twisted like she was holding back a retort. But, always the lady, she promptly gave me an apologetic nod. “Sorry, Nina. Len told me he was feeling a bit peaked earlier, so I was concerned when I couldn’t find him.”
“He’s probably in the can again,” Marvin opined with a snort.
I shook my head. “I don’t think so. He went off for a smoke right after breakfast. He’s probably still back behind the fence.”
“Len!” Marvin bellowed in the direction of the smoking area before Susie could reply to that. “Get a move on. Folks is waitin’ on you.”
As we waited for a reply, it occurred to me that I didn’t smell any cigarette smoke wafting from that direction. But before I had time to wonder about that, from beyond the row of dividing hedges Mattie let out a bloodcurdling howl.
“What the …?” Radney exclaimed, leaping from his seat, while Harry and Marvin rose too. Even Chris looked momentarily startled behind his oversized glasses.
I too had jumped at the unexpected sound. Mattie never barked or howled just to hear herself make noise. When she did, it meant business. As in a zombie apocalypse in process, or a wild rabbit loose in the yard. Though it was more likely she had seen Len in the smoking area and—as Marvin had put it—was encouraging him to get a move on.
“Hang on, everyone,” I said. “I’m going to check on Mattie. If Len is still back there, he probably walked up on her and startled her.”
“More likely the poor dog gotta look at his ugly mug and got scared it was Bigfoot,” Marvin retorted, drawing an amused snort from R
adney.
Mattie came bounding through the hedge opening just as I circled the fountain. But when the executive didn’t make an appearance, I frowned.
“Wait at the patio,” I told the Aussie, gesturing her in that direction. “I’m going to get Mr. Marsh.” But rather than trotting back to the porch like a good girl, she whipped around and dashed back through the hedge wall again. I followed after her.
The smoking area was about fifty feet away, and it was obviously empty. Unless Len had decided to take a full lie-down nap on the bench there. But as I started down the steps and across the yard, I heard a sharp bark from the Aussie behind me.
I swung around … and that’s when I saw a pair of long, khaki-covered legs protruding from the hawthorn hedge.
Chapter Nine
“Harry, come quick!” I shouted automatically even as I wondered why I was calling for him rather than Susie or one of the others.
Though, of course, a moment later not only Harry but the rest of the troupe came rushing through the hedge opening, almost falling over one another in their haste. By then, I was already kneeling beside Len’s prone form—at least the part of him that wasn’t hidden by the hawthorn into which he’d apparently fallen. He wasn’t moving, and I couldn’t tell just from his legs if he was simply unconscious, or …”
“Keep Susie back!”
This from Harry as he knelt beside me, though the warning came too late. Catching sight of her husband sprawled in the hedge, the woman screamed and crumpled into the arms of Marvin, who fortunately had been on her heels. Radney, meanwhile, had shoved past the others to join me and Harry.
“C’mon, let’s get him out of there,” Radney exclaimed. “Harry, if you can get his legs, I’ll ease him out of the bushes so we can lay him there on the grass.”
Don’t let him be dead, don’t let him be dead, the mantra spun through my mind as I watched them settle the still figure on the lawn. Len’s eyes were shut, and several bloody scratches—no doubt from when he’d pitched into the shrubs—stood out in contrast to the grayish pallor of his face. But other than that I saw no signs of trauma to him, at least from my angle.
In silent panic, I tried to see if he was breathing or not, while Radney leaned over him, listening at his chest as Harry checked the man’s neck for a pulse.
Fearing the answer, I asked, “Is he …?”
Radney and Harry exchanged glances. Then Harry did the solemn headshake thing you always see on TV that means, He’s a goner.
I clamped both hands over my mouth to hold back a cry. OMG! Someone finally did murder Len!
But barely had that thought flashed through my mind than I shoved it aside. Just the shock, I told myself in dismay. That would be the only reason such an idea would pop into my head. The fact that half the troupe had been voicing their dislike of the man from the minute they arrived at the B&B didn’t mean someone had taken things to the extreme.
Or did it?
I heard Susie shriek again and then burst into noisy sobs as she clung to Marvin’s arm. So much for Marvin’s contention that she wouldn’t shed a tear over her husband. I took a deep breath to center myself.
You’re the innkeeper. Hold it together.
“Ahem,” Bill spoke up from where he and Tessa and Chris huddled to one side. “Shouldn’t someone be calling 911?”
Right. I slapped at my jeans pocket, only to realize that I’d left my phone inside. But Harry stood and whipped out his cell.
“On it,” he said, moving a short distance from the body as he started punching numbers.
While Harry gave the dispatcher the necessary information, Chris took a hesitant step forward. “Can’t someone do CPR or something?” he asked in a shaky voice that squeaked to almost sonic levels.
Radney grimaced and slowly got to his feet again. “Sorry, kid. I think he’s beyond help now.”
“No!”
Leaving Bill and Tessa to cling to each other, the youth hurried over to where Len lay. To my surprise, he dropped to his knees in the same spot where Harry had been and began to exert frantic chest compressions on the still figure, pausing every few moments to listen for a heartbeat, or a breath. But of course, it made no difference. As Radney had pointed out, Len was already past saving.
“Chris, let him go,” I choked out after a minute of this, unable to watch the youth’s futile efforts any longer. But when I moved to stop him, Radney put out a restraining hand.
“Doesn’t hurt for him to try,” he said in a low voice. “He’ll run out of gas in a couple more minutes. But in the meantime he can tell himself he’s helping.”
Which was more than the rest of us were doing, I realized, feeling suddenly ashamed. I couldn’t bring Len back, but I could at least show the rest of the troupe that I could take charge. Time for the mental-emergency to-do list.
I shot a questioning glance at Harry, who had just ended his call. “Is an ambulance on the way?”
“Already dispatched,” he replied, sticking his phone back in his pocket and heading back to join us.
Check.
Turning to Marvin, who was still clutching the newly minted widow as she sobbed, I clipped out, “Take Susie inside … not the parlor, the dining room. There’s some cognac in the sideboard. Give her a little, if she’ll drink it, to help calm her down.”
Marvin nodded. “Gotcha, Number Nine,” he replied and began steering the crying woman back in the direction of the house.
Check.
To Bill and Tessa, I said, “You two, open the driveway gate for the emergency vehicles. Stay out there until they arrive, and show them the way back here.”
Bill grabbed his wife’s hand. “On it,” he said, echoing Harry’s words of a few minutes earlier.
Check.
While the pair hurried off, I turned back to Chris. As Radney had predicted, the youth had finally exhausted himself with his failed attempts at reviving Len and had sunk back onto his heels. His eyes behind the oversized glasses were wide and brimming with tears. While I doubted he’d had any great affection for the departed Len, coming face-to-face with death like that doubtless was a shock.
I know it was a shock to me.
“Chris,” I urged gently, “why don’t you and Radney take Mattie inside now? I don’t want her getting in the way when the EMTs show up. Seriously, that would really help me out.”
He didn’t reply but took the hand that Radney offered to help him stand. With a nod in my direction, Radney whistled for Mattie, who obligingly followed the former as he urged the youth up the steps and into the garden, headed for the house. Which left me alone behind the hawthorns with Harry—and, of course, Len.
In the past minutes I’d tried to avoid looking at the unmoving figure lying a few feet away. Gingerly, I glanced his way now. His gray pallor had bleached to white, and his stillness was profound. From my decidedly unmedical perspective, the only thing the paramedics would be able do for him was load him up and transport him to the local funeral home.
“So, what do you think?” Harry asked.
I shot Captain Obvious a disbelieving look. “I think Len is dead.”
“I know that. I meant what do you think killed him? Stroke? Heart attack?”
Knife in the back?
Unfortunately, it wouldn’t have been the first time I’d seen a man dispatched with a blade. But there had been no sign of blood as Radney and Harry had moved the man about. Once again, I was letting my imagination get the better of me in assuming that something nefarious was afoot.
“He’s the right demographic,” I agreed instead. “Late fifties, stressful job, smoker. And then he’d been taking those pain pills for his knee. Maybe it was one of those health-related things that was bound to happen.”
But why right here and right now? Why at my B&B?
Because I couldn’t actually say that out loud without sounding heartless, instead I went on, “This is pretty a tough break for the Shakespeare festival. I guess you’ll have to cancel, since you can’
t go on without your Hamlet.”
Harry gave me his patented raised brow, his tone more than a little judge-y as he replied: “That’s pretty heartless. You ask me, Len’s the one who had the tough break. We can worry about the festival later. Right now, what’s important is being there for Susie and helping her get through this.”
And then, just as I was feeling as low as the worms that would eventually be making Len’s acquaintance, Harry reverted to his usual self.
“Who am I kidding? We’re in a jam now. The play is the festival, and we have to go on somehow.”
“But you said that everyone in the troupe knows all the various roles,” I reminded him. “Can’t someone else take the lead?”
“Bill knows the part, but no way am I going to put a ponytailed, geriatric Hamlet on any stage of mine. And I already explained that Chris doesn’t have the acting chops to handle the role”
“Then what about Radney?”
Harry shook his head. “I’m all for color-blind casting, but take a look at the arms on that guy. No audience is going to believe his Hamlet sat around sulking for months after someone offed his dad. Besides, he doesn’t know the part.”
Which left only one other cast member, since Susie would surely be in no shape to take on any role. Before I could test Harry’s views on gender-blind casting—frankly, I would have been psyched to see Tessa give the role a shot—another voice drifted from the garden beyond.
“Emergency guys are here!” Marvin bellowed from the back door.
Leaving Harry to stand guard over Len—not that I expected him to get up and go anywhere—I rushed back to the house, cutting through the kitchen and exiting into the driveway.
The paramedics were already unloading their gurney there. They looked like the same crew that had been to the place a couple of months before for another similar disaster. Fortunately, none of them made any comment about return engagements. Instead, the lead tech—a tattooed Latina with short spiked black hair—asked, “Ma’am, where’s the patient?”
Cutting through the Shakespeare garden wasn’t going to be an option. I could tell that the gap in the hawthorn hedge would be far too narrow for the EMTs to negotiate with a gurney and their accompanying equipment. And so instead I led them down the driveway.