Peachy Scream

by Anna Gerard

  Motive: Said that Len was standing in the way of departmental funding and promotions.

  A legitimate gripe but, in my opinion as a former corporate drone, hardly worthy of such tactics. Better to take a new job elsewhere than go to the trouble of trying to eliminate the guy. On the other hand, Radney did have that Pazaxa prescription, so I couldn’t quite let him off the hook yet.

  Bill and Tessa seemed relatively motive-free save for their mutual dismay that Len had been cast over Bill as Hamlet. In fact, Tessa had even hoped aloud that a fortunate accident that might put Bill back in contention for the role. Could she have engineered that accident herself? As a bonus, Bill—like Marvin—seemed more than a little interested in Mrs. Marsh. Maybe he’d thought that if Len were out of the way his professorial charms would win her over.

  With that last note made, I took a quick survey of my list. The only troupe member left was Chris, whom I’d pretty well eliminated from the list. Unless my theory about Chris being Christina being Christina Marsh was correct, in which case there could be a whole slew of Shakespearean motives for offing a parent.

  Tucking my notes safely into my pocket, I returned my attention to the play’s final scene in time to watch Harry succumb to his stage death alongside Randy, Bill, and Tessa. My applause when Harry called, And close curtain!, was genuine.

  “All right people, good work,” Harry exclaimed as he lithely got to his feet and extended a hand to his fellow corpses, who rose more slowly. “Let’s take five and then meet in the dining room to go over our notes. After that, we’ll break for a while and have lunch at noon. Our tech rehearsal will begin at one-thirty.”

  The note reading went relatively smoothly, with most of the commentary constructive. Lunch was from Romeo and Juliette’s Pizza: salad, chicken fettuccine Alfredo, and garlic bread. I broke out the animal dishes again, and everyone stuck to the script, so to speak, as far as keeping their plates to themselves.

  The full troupe helped with the cleanup, so that at a few minutes after one we were all loading into the Uber van that Harry had called to take us to the town square. I’d considered bringing Mattie along to help me keep an eye on things, but given the heat I decided she’d be better off lounging in the AC rather than broiling in the sun like the rest of us.

  We arrived at the site to find burly young men and women dressed in bright-blue festival T-shirts busy putting the finishing touches on the stage. As the festival didn’t open for two more days, a temporary fabric privacy screen now surrounded the stage area so that the crew could work without interference from passersby.

  A professional-looking light bar hung from the canopy-styled roof system made of canvas and metal rigging, while speakers on tall tripods stood at either side of the stage. Two sets of portable aluminum bleachers were arranged in front of the stage, each with enough benches that perhaps a hundred people could squeeze in. Those bleachers were separated by an aisle, at the end of which was set up what Radney explained was the control booth.

  Rather than an actual enclosed booth, however, it was a waist-high box-like platform similar to what I’d seen at small outdoor concerts, with lots of wires and metal panels covered in switches and indicator lights. That was where the technical crew handled the light effects and the audio mixing.

  The tech rehearsal pretty much lived up to its name. Tessa had warned me that it could be boring, and she was right. While the actors walked their way through the various scenes, Harry coordinated with the stage manager, Mrs. Constance O’Malley. In her late fifties, with a flawless white complexion and the reddest curly hair I’d ever seen, she had a no-nonsense air about her that even Harry seemed to respect. From what he’d told me earlier, they’d been conferring back and forth now for more than a month regarding the script and casting, plus she had served as stage manager for all the previous festivals.

  I noticed that her binder was just as thick as his.

  Between Harry and the stage manager and the sound and lighting designers, they determined what lights would hit us when, and how loud we would be. I also learned that, except for a few large props—thrones, sections of wall, and a curtained panel—we had no backdrop scenery per se. Instead, the lighting director would project the appropriate scenes of mountains, castle walls, and so on onto a false wall that stood up against the rear stage curtain.

  We repeated the critical scenes until the technical folks were satisfied, which took a big chunk of afternoon. Fortunately, Harry had arranged an Uber for the return trip home too, since none of us wanted to make the short but hot trek back to the B&B on foot.

  After the long day we’d all had, no one seemed very interested in calling in a new order for supper either. Sufficient leftovers remained from lunch for another round, however, and everyone agreed that supper could be a repeat. So we gathered in the dining room again at six, with Tessa and Susie insisting that, given the fact we had just enough to go round, the ladies serve themselves first.

  “Because there’s always someone”—Tessa shot a stern look at Marvin while spooning up a sizable portion of fettucine herself—“who will take more than his share.”

  “Nope, not the night before dress rehearsal,” Marvin genially protested, and gave his broad belly a fond slap. “No extra garlic bread for me tonight. Don’t wanna have to let out the seams of my doublet.”

  “Yeah,” Radney echoed, giving his own somewhat convex stomach a rueful look. “I’m sticking with salad.”

  “A sensible suggestion,” Harry agreed, forking greenery from the half-filled salad bowl onto his plate. “But tomorrow’s a different story. You’ll want to carb up a bit more than usual for the dress rehearsal. I don’t want anyone passing out on stage from low blood sugar.”

  Then, shifting the subject back to Marvin’s comment, he went on, “Speaking of costuming, Nina, we need to get you an appropriate ensemble too.”

  “Me?” I echoed in surprise as I grabbed the extra slice of garlic bread that Marvin had passed on. “You mean, as an actor? But I thought I was out.”

  “We can use you as an extra. You don’t have to worry about lines, you’ll just follow Radney or Marvin around and look subservient.”

  “Oh, go ahead and do it, Nina,” Susie spoke up with a smile. “It’ll be fun.”

  Bill nodded his encouragement. “And you’ll get to see the play up close and personal.”

  “C’mon, Number Nine,” Marvin urged. “Think about it. You can put it in your annual Christmas letter that you got to perform Hamlet onstage … and with the great Harry Westcott, no less.”

  Plus I’d get to keep an even closer eye on Chris and the others.

  The last of which being what decided me, though the suggestion about my Christmas letter was almost as compelling. I nodded. “Okay, I’ll do it.”

  Which is how the next morning, while the others were finishing breakfast, I found myself in the parlor with Harry and what he called his trunk o’ costumes.

  Said trunk was actually a ginormous wheeled red suitcase, the zippers of which appeared strained to their limits. I was already familiar with it, in a sense, given that I’d seen Harry assume more than one costume in the past. But when he unzipped it there on the parlor floor, it was rather like flinging opening a cram-packed steamer trunk found in your grandmother’s attic.

  All manner of costume pieces, from hats to jackets to monk robes to practically anything else spilled out of the suitcase. The actor knelt and riffled through it, pulling out a pale-yellow jacket with poufed sleeves and a dark-green cloak, both of which he tossed to me.

  “You’ve got black leggings, don’t you, or maybe some heavy-weight black tights? You’ll wear the doublet over them. It’ll be big on you, but that’s okay. You can pad it with a throw pillow and that will flatten out your figure. The cloak will cover everything else.”

  He dug around a bit more and extracted a flat black cap with a scarlet feather coiling from it. “This will work. Blow-dry your hair so it’s straight and curled under, and wear the cap
at a rakish angle. We’re not costuming to look like Danish courtiers, we’re going for the more traditional Elizabethan look.”

  “What about shoes?” I asked him as I juggled my new wardrobe.

  He frowned. “If you have some ankle-high black boots, preferably with heels, wear them. Nothing cowboy, please. That, or lace-up black shoes with a chunky heel.”

  Since I had two of the three in my closet, I nodded.

  “And when we go for rehearsal,” he went on, “you’ll need a bag for your civilian clothes and any personal items. Susie or Tessa can help you with stage makeup, so you won’t need that. Leave as much of your personal stuff at home, but bring your script with you. No cell phones allowed onstage … and that includes backstage. We’ll have some sort of lock box or locker for all that.”

  “Got it,” I managed.

  Surprisingly, I could feel an incipient attack of stage fright creeping up as he literally piled all this on me. Knowing that I really was going to have to get up in front of an audience, I was beginning to have second thoughts about letting myself be volunteered. Unfortunately, it was too late to back out now.

  Harry must have read all that in my expression, for he gave me an understanding smile. “Feeling a bit shaky? That’s okay, a little bit of nerves is good for you, keeps you on your toes. As long as you don’t fall off the stage, you’ll do fine.”

  “Besides,” he added, with a shrug, “no one will even notice you. The audience will be focused on the acting brilliance of that marvelous actor Harry Westcott.”

  I knew he’d thrown in that bit of braggadocio for my benefit, and so I smiled back. “I’m sure they will. Let me run all this to my room, and then I need to get breakfast cleared up. I’ll be sure to try everything on before we head out to the festival.”

  “Remember what I said about the throw pillow,” he told me as he started repacking the suitcase.

  Then, from outside the parlor, I heard a frantic shout from Chris, “Nina, come quick! Mattie’s sick!”

  Instantly, I tossed the costume pieces onto one of the blue-velvet loveseats and rushed into the hallway. Chris stood near the back door alongside the Aussie, who was choking and gagging. By the time I reached the pair, the dog had thrown up what appeared to have been a breakfast burrito.

  “Mattie, what happened?” I asked the pup, suddenly feeling a bit like choking and gagging myself.

  She stared up at me with guilty eyes, and her bobtail gave a small wag as if to say, Sorry. Then I turned to Chris, whose expression was equally guilty.

  “I promise, I didn’t feed her anything … at least, not on purpose,” the youth protested. “After you went off with Harry, I got another breakfast burrito. I wanted lemonade too, so I went into the kitchen to see if there was any in the fridge. I swear I was gone thirty seconds, max. When I came back, Mattie was eating the burrito right off my plate. I figured it wasn’t that big a deal, so I just went and got another one. And then five minutes later she starts heaving.”

  “Well, at least she had the decency to do it in the hall,” Harry observed as he rolled on past with his suitcase on his way to the kitchen and back out to his bus. “Though I must say I’ve never seen Daniel’s food get anything other than stellar reviews.”

  I frowned at that and gave Mattie a comforting pat.

  It wasn’t like her to snatch food from anywhere but her bowl. I’d left a whole baked chicken on the counter before, and though she’d whined longingly at the smell of it, she’d never tried to steal it.

  And Harry was right. Daniel’s burritos were light and tasty, made with scrambled eggs and potatoes and cheese, with just a hint of his famous jalapeno bacon. Nothing in his food should have made Mattie sick.

  Unless some had added something to the burrito she’d chowed down on … the same burrito that Chris had planned to eat.

  My previous suspicions that had been allayed for a time came rushing back. I’d kept an eye on breakfast again this morning, but had left before everyone finished, which could have given someone the chance to slip a little something into Chris’s food.

  Torn between guilt and fear, I dropped to my knees and gave the Aussie the once-over. Already she seemed perkier than a moment ago. Her eyes were bright, and she wasn’t drooling or staggering, which was a positive. Plus, her gums and tongue were pink, not white or bright-red. Still, when it came to the possibility of poison, I wasn’t going to take chances.

  “Chris, please take her to her water bowl in the kitchen so she can drink. If you can watch her for a minute, I’ll clean up this mess. Call me if she acts at all strange. And don’t let her eat anything else!”

  I made quick work of the cleanup and then returned to the kitchen to find Mattie and Chris going through the former’s repertoire of tricks. Chris looked up and gave me a hopeful look. “She seems fine now, don’t you think?”

  Mattie gave a quick woof of agreement.

  Relieved, I called the Aussie over to me for another look. Whatever might have affected her a few minutes ago seemed like it was out of her system now. But I’d keep her close for the rest of the morning in case a visit to the vet was called for.

  “I think everything’s okay,” I told the youth, who looked as guilty as I still felt. Which was why I added, “Don’t worry, the jalapeno bacon probably didn’t agree with her. We’ll just have to be a bit more watchful next time she’s in the dining room. Why don’t you go ahead and finish your breakfast while Mattie and I take care of the dishes.”

  I waited until Chris had left the kitchen, then knelt and gave my pup a big hug.

  “Such a good girl, Mattie,” I exclaimed, not caring as she licked me back. “You’re a true heroine, aren’t you? You knew someone tampered with that burrito, and you ate it so Chris wouldn’t get sick.”

  “You really think that’s what it was?” came Harry’s voice from behind me.

  Startled, I swung around. The actor had come back in through the door that led out to the driveway, empty-handed now that he’d stowed away the red suitcase again. He bent to give Mattie a scratch behind the ears, adding, “Don’t you think it’s more likely the burrito didn’t agree with her?”

  I shook my head no. “She’s eaten the exact same thing before and never gotten sick. Besides, there’s something you don’t know about her.”

  I gave her a final pat and stood. “You see, Mattie is a rescue dog. I’m pretty sure her first owner”—I put that last word in finger quotes—“equated beating with training. When I brought her home from the shelter, she was afraid she was going to be hit anytime she did … well, anything. It took a good year for her to get over the worst of that. But one thing she still won’t do is steal food off the table.”

  Harry frowned, and I could see from the expression on his face that the light was slowly dawning. “So you’re saying …?”

  “I’m saying there’s no way would she have swiped Chris’s burrito. Not unless it was a matter of life and death.”

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Harry considered my words for a moment. “Did Chris say who else was in the dining room right before he went into the kitchen? That might narrow down the field as to who our mysterious poisoner is.”

  I shook my head. “I was so worried about Mattie that I didn’t think to ask.”

  I hurried over to the swinging door between kitchen and dining room and pushed it open a crack. “Everyone’s already gone back to their rooms, it looks like.”

  Then, my voice teetering on a quaver, I went on: “I can’t believe I let that happen. I’d been so careful watching everything these past few days.”

  “Don’t beat yourself up,” Harry replied. “Thanks to Mattie, Chris is okay, and that’s the most important thing to remember. We’ll just keep doing our best to keep an eye on things.”

  Then he brightened up. “How about I assign Chris to help you out with getting ready for the dress rehearsal this afternoon as this is going to be your first official appearance onstage? That way it’ll look like he�
�s sticking to you instead of vice versa. And no one will have any reason to ask questions.”

  “The buddy system,” I agreed. “That makes sense. And, to be truthful, I wouldn’t complain about having someone hold my hand through all this.”

  “Don’t worry. I promise you’re going to be tired of hands on you by the time we’re done today.”

  I learned what he had meant that afternoon, as the troupe and I gathered at the front door with our costumes and props a few minutes before four, waiting for the Uber van to arrive.

  According to Harry’s description of the festival stage, while impressive it had minimal dressing-room amenities. For that reason, we’d all done our stage makeup in advance, the ladies setting up with lights and mirrors in the dining room and the men in the parlor. As promised, Tessa and Susie had helped me with the heavy pancake foundation and the rest of the makeup. Chris, minus the earbuds and already wearing what looked like a cosmetics aisle’s–worth of products, looked on.

  “As you’re playing a man,” Susie had explained as she dabbed pale-pink spots on each of my cheeks, “we can’t pretty you up too much. But plain old everyday makeup won’t cut it. The idea is for people to be able to see your features from the cheap seats.”

  “Exactly,” Tessa agreed as she drew on large red lips many shades brighter than the brown-hued lipstick Susie had used on me. “Otherwise, your face is just a big white blob once the lights hit you.”

  I’d felt more than a little conspicuous once Susie had finished, as I was also wearing plenty of eyeliner and mascara. But that feeling faded a bit when we joined the men at the door and I saw their kohl-ed eyes and lipstick similar to mine.

  Marvin noticed my scrutiny and grinned.

  “And just when you thought the Rad-man and I couldn’t get any prettier,” he said, nudging Radney in the ribs.