by Jen Carter
“Because,” I said slowly, “people have speculated that belladonna was the drug that Juliet took to fake her death?”
Hunter nodded at his feet. “And we never did find the bottle.” He took a deep breath. “I think the high school play should be cancelled. Or at least postponed until we find out what happened to the drama teacher and what happened to Livy. It seems like someone doesn’t want this play happening, and I can’t see a reason to continue with it.”
He was right. Someone did not want the Temecula Hills drama group to continue in its present form. Maybe there was more to it than that, but at the very least, the play had to stop. We couldn’t put anyone else in danger.
“I agree,” I said.
“Livy’s not going to like that,” Hunter said, “but I think she’ll understand. And once the person responsible for all this is caught, you can do the play.”
Again, he was right. Thoughts of the notecard sent to Livy blew across my mind, and before I could keep the words from coming, I said, “Though she be but little she is fierce. In the modern sense, of course.”
I was getting really tired if I was quoting Shakespeare, even if it did seem fitting.
“You two should head home,” Hunter said. “Nothing else is going to happen here tonight. I’ll call or text you in the morning with an update.”
“I can stay,” I said. “I don’t have to be up early for anything. I’m helping at the winery in the afternoon, but that’s it.”
Hunter forced a smile. “You need sleep, too. I’ll be fine here.”
I didn’t argue. Hunter looked too tired to argue with me, and really he might have just wanted to be alone. Nico and I said goodbye and zigzagged our way to the hospital exit. Neither of us spoke. We were just too tired.
Hopefully in the morning we’d have some answers about Livy’s state. And hopefully everything would look clearer in general. Hopefully.
TWENTY-FIVE
Green with Envy
By Lucy Argyle
Not even a week ago, Temecula Hills High School teacher Marcus Fleming was found starved to death at an old, condemned farmhouse called the Old Everly Place. He suffered the kind of death that no one deserves, and sadly, there’s been little discussion of how to celebrate his life since his passing was discovered. After all those years teaching both drama and English students at Temecula Hills, you’d think that of the hundreds of students whose lives were touched by Mr. Fleming maybe just one of them would find it in their hearts to organize a memorial.
But no.
Not one memorial has taken place to celebrate Marcus Fleming’s life. Not even the students currently taking classes with him have stepped up. Instead, they’ve added insult to injury by going onward with their play—even without the school’s backing—like they’ve completely erased his existence.
But erasing his existence isn’t enough for those forging on with the drama program, which of course is being spearheaded by a local OV resident, washed-up has-been small-time actress Livy Green. No, Fleming can’t be the last person whose story is associated with the Old Everly Place. That story can’t have its due recognition. Instead, it has to be replace by another frightening event.
Have you heard? Last night that washed-up drama substitute, Livy Green, went missing. Where’d she turn up hours later? In the ravine behind the Old Everly Place. She was delirious, mumbling incoherencies. Allegedly, she ingested some herbs for pain relief, but either she doesn’t know her herbs (Watch out! She sells them in her OV store, Mortar and Pestle!) or she was quite careless in taking something without realizing it.
Of all places to end up. The Old Everly Place? Will the people of OV ever stop wanting to steal the spotlight?
Please, no more drama. No more attention-seeking fueled by envy. Let the poor man be laid to rest in peace.
No more.
***
No way.
No way.
I stared at my phone, scrolling back through the online article so I could read it again. Jules had texted me first thing in the morning about it, and I just couldn’t wrap my head around what Lucy had done. There were so many layers of wrong, I didn’t know where to begin.
Wasn’t Lucy freaked out by the note she got about wasps and hornets? Maybe she wanted to prove that she did take a stand, unlike the people in Dante’s Inferno who were locked out of Hell because of apathy. I couldn’t see how this did the trick, though. Yes, she was sticking up for Fleming, but she had to twist facts and put other people down to stick up for him. To me, this was more of the same from her. She accused the people of OV of being attention-seeking and dramatic, but in doing so, her article was attention-seeking and dramatic itself. And that meant she wasn’t doing anything for the greater good.
But then again, maybe she wasn’t trying to prove anything. Maybe she didn’t care at all about what our creepy mystery note writer thought.
Even so, I couldn’t figure out why she was attacking Livy personally. It was one thing to attack all of OV—or even someone like my grandfather who had been a leader in the area. But attacking someone who was just trying to help kids out during a hard time? Someone who was recovering in the hospital as that article was written and published?
There was something very wrong with Lucy. I started texting Jules that exact thought when a message came through from Hunter.
Livy’s doing a lot better. She’ll be released today.
Simultaneously, all my muscles relaxed. I hadn’t realized they were so tense, but it wasn’t that surprising given how stressful the last couple days had been.
Thank goodness! I typed back. Are visitors allowed today?
Yes, he responded. Come after 8. I think she’ll be less grumpy by then.
Grumpy. That was understandable. At least she wasn’t scared or panicked. In fact, grumpy meant she was back to her normal feisty self.
Then I would plan on being there shortly after eight. There was just enough time for me to go for a quick run and get a shower.
On the way to the hospital, I thought more about Lucy Argyle’s terrible article. She had said Livy ingested herbs that disoriented her. Was she referencing the belladonna in a roundabout way? And if she was, how did she know?
Lucy couldn’t have been at the hospital eavesdropping on us last night. Could she have been? It was either that or someone told her about the belladonna. The only other person who would have known about it was the person who stole it from Livy in the first place. Probably.
But why?
I remembered back to the drowning at our winery about six months ago. The person who knew the truth about what happened that night had spoken with Lucy, hoping she’d publish something to throw the investigation off track. Maybe something similar had happened here.
There was one way to find out. I could track Lucy down and ask her. After all, she had tracked me down to ask about the Dante quotes. There was no reason I couldn’t do the same to her.
Except, of course, that I didn’t want to talk to her.
But if I put that aside, there was no reason I couldn’t do the same.
I walked through the hospital doors just after eight o’clock, and the kind woman at the reception desk pointed me in the right direction. Within a minute, I was up the elevator, down the hall, and walking into Livy’s room.
I wasn’t quite sure what I expected. Maybe because she had been so groggy and helpless the night before I imagined her being weak and tired this morning.
But no.
She was sitting in the hospital bed, eyes shooting daggers at Detective Fitts, who was sitting in the only chair next to the bed.
“Hey,” I said approaching her side. There was still an IV in her arm, so I surmised that her release wasn’t coming right away. With all those cords surrounding her, I didn’t want to attempt a hug and risk jostling her. So I settled for squeezing her shoulder and smiling. “You hanging in there?”
“I’ll be better once Hunter’s back with my coffee,” she said.
; “D’Angelo,” Fitts said. “I really need to talk with Miss Green—”
Livy interrupted him with a snort of disgust and an eye roll.
Apparently, she didn’t like being addressed as Miss Green.
“Can you give us a couple minutes?” he continued.
“Why don’t you give us a couple minutes?” Livy said. “I’ll talk to you after I talk to my friend.”
Fitts pushed himself up from the chair, slowly, like he was fighting against a deep-set fatigue in his muscles. “Okay,” he said, starting across the room. “I’m going to get some coffee.” Stopping in the doorway and looking over his shoulder toward us, he added, “Want anything?”
“No, thanks,” I said.
Livy didn’t respond. Fitts waited an extra second in case she chimed in. When she didn’t, he disappeared down the hall.
“That man is such an oaf,” Livy muttered, eyes on the doorway.
I smiled, hoping that it looked sympathetic. Fitts had annoyed me plenty in the past, but I had yet to see annoying behavior today. Telling me that he wanted to talk to Livy alone wasn’t unreasonable. Asking if we wanted coffee wasn’t unreasonable. But maybe I had missed him acting like a pain in the rear before I got there.
“How did he get to be a detective?” she continued. “And how does he solve cases? He asks so many questions, and they are totally irrelevant.”
I didn’t even want to know.
“And he gets irritated when I ask why he’s asking dumb questions. If he didn’t ask dumb questions in the first place, I wouldn’t have to point it out to him. He brings it upon himself.”
I still didn’t want to know.
Hunter had mentioned earlier that Livy was grumpy. He hadn’t been exaggerating.
Livy sighed. “I probably just need coffee. It’s been a long night.”
“So are you feeling okay?” I asked. “Aside from Detective Fitts annoying you, are you doing all right?”
“I guess.” She looked at the ceiling. “I don’t remember what happened. I’ve been told that I went to a hardware store and disappeared after that. I don’t remember a hardware store, and of course I don’t remember disappearing afterward. I don’t even know why I’d be at a hardware store. I wasn’t planning to tackle the stage issue for another two weeks. I even marked it in my calendar.” She tried to sit up straighter and looked at me. “So what happened from your perspective? Hunter said you and Nico found me. What’d you see?”
I recounted what I remembered from the night before. I had repeated it so many times to Fitts and the teenagers’ moms that I practically had it memorized. Livy listened intently, her face remaining expressionless the whole time. When I finished the part about how she had recited lines from A Midsummer Night’s Dream while we got her out of the ravine, she looked toward the window.
“I wonder if I thought I was dying,” she said so softly that I could barely hear. “That scene meant a lot to me when I was younger.” She looked back at me and shook her head. Louder, she added, “Long story.”
“Knock, knock, I’m back,” Fitts said while walking into the room. He held a coffee cup in each hand and held one toward me. “Here.”
“Thanks,” I said, taking the cup from him. That was nice, even if I had said I didn’t want anything.
“How did you get back here before Hunter?” Livy asked.
“Keep your socks on, he’s got your coffee,” Fitts said. “He’s just out in the hallway talking to a doctor.” Fitts walked around to the other side of the hospital bed and sat in the chair. He placed his coffee on a side table and picked up the tablet that he had left there. He flipped open the cover, his eyes flicking toward us before launching an app. “Do you have the energy to answer a couple more questions, Miss Green?” he asked.
“Yes,” she answered. Then to me, she said, “Can you go tell Hunter to hurry up?”
I nodded and stepped outside the door, nearly running into Hunter. Luckily, his reflexes were faster than mine and he sidestepped before I rammed into the coffees he held.
“Yikes, sorry,” I said.
“Don’t worry about it,” he said, taking two steps backward and dropping his voice. “Hey, do you have a second?”
I stepped toward him, also dropping my voice. “Yeah, what’s going on?”
“Two things. First, can you make sure everyone knows play practice is cancelled today—and maybe indefinitely?’
“Yes.”
“Thanks. And second, did you see the article in today’s paper?”
“Unfortunately, the answer to that is also yes.”
“You didn’t mention it to Livy, did you?”
I shook my head. “No. And I doubt anyone would—not on purpose, at least.”
Hunter glanced at the door. “She’s going to be so mad. But I have to tell her about it sooner than later or she’ll be even madder that it was kept from her.”
No doubt. I did not envy Hunter being the bearer of bad news.
“Do you think Lucy meant the belladonna when she said Livy took herbs for pain relief?” I asked.
“I don’t know how she’d know that.”
“Hey,” Fitts said, appearing in the doorway. He looked right past me to Hunter and pointed over his shoulder into the room. “We need you in here.”
Before Fitts could go back inside, I said, “Do you have a quick second?” I beckoned him to step closer. “I have a question.”
Fitts joined us, his facial expression telling me that I literally had a quick second to ask my question.
“Do you think Lucy knew about the belladonna when she wrote this morning’s article?” I said.
“I don’t know what she knew when she wrote that article,” he said.
“Can we call her and find out?”
“No, we can’t call her, D’Angelo.”
I knew he meant that I was supposed to stay out of it. There was no we here. He was the only one who should be making calls like that. But I persisted.
“Then can I call her? What’s her number?”
Fitts shook his head. “Look, I don’t have time for this. I’ve already told you to stay out of the way. Now stay out of the way.”
Before I could blink, he had rounded the corner into the hospital room.
Hunter looked at me. “You could call the newspaper and ask to speak with her,” he said.
Then he too disappeared into the hospital room.
Yep, I could do that.
TWENTY-SIX
“Hi Lucy,” I said into my phone after her voicemail greeting prompted me to speak. “This is Jill D’Angelo. My friend—the one you called an attention-seeking, washed-up has-been—is recovering in the hospital after being nearly poisoned to death last night. Your article stated that she allegedly ingested pain relief herbs. I’d like to know where you got that information. On a completely unrelated note, I might be able to make those traffic tickets from the other night disappear.”
I left my cell phone number and hung up.
I probably couldn’t make those traffic tickets disappear, but I had to get her to call me back. She wasn’t going to call me without incentive. And maybe if she gave me a clue that led to unraveling the mystery I’d ask Fitts to forget the tickets. Maybe.
Bridges. They were meant to be crossed when we came to them.
And hopefully not burned in the process.
***
I walked into the lobby of Hathaway House, immediately feeling at home. Sandie may have spent decades of her professional life enlightening students about the literary treasures of America’s nineteenth century, but Hathaway House told the story of her secret passion: Renaissance England. Inside the bed and breakfast, dark wood beams crossed the ceiling. Ornate moldings created patterned designs across the slightly-yellowish walls, and equally ornate tables and chairs provided ample seating for guests enjoying their afternoon wine.
At home, I preferred modern furniture with simple, clean lines. But I loved walking into Hathaway House and somehow feelin
g like I had been transported back four hundred years.
Sandie sat behind the gilded reception desk. She looked up as I entered. I waved and smiled as I crossed the room.
“Jill, hello,” she said, matching my smile as I sat in the chair across from her. “How’re you doing?”
She wasn’t just making small talk. From her tone, she clearly knew what had happened to Livy and was wondering how I really was doing.
“I’m not sure,” I said honestly. “I can’t wrap my head around what happened to Livy. Or all the other things that have happened, really.”
“Time to cancel the play, I think,” Sandie said.
I nodded.
“I need to ask you something,” I said, my voice dropping as I leaned forward. “I heard you got one of those notes with a poem quote. And I heard it might have been ‘Annabel Lee.’ Would you mind telling me what lines were quoted?”
Sandie hesitated. Her eyes floated over my head as though she needed inspiration from the wall moldings to answer. “Well, Jill, it was ‘Annabel Lee.’ And just like you’re having trouble wrapping your head around what happened to Livy, I’m having trouble with the poem.”
“Lost love?” I asked.
“Yes, lost love, yes.” Sandie’s eyes continued to float. “I find it troubling that someone sent me lines from an Edgar Allan Poe poem, especially after Marcus Fleming was found dead in a manner akin to ‘The Cask of Amontillado.’ But ‘Annabel Lee’ is a poem that could be sweet and beautiful. It starts off talking about a love so strong that even the angels are jealous. Perhaps hyperbole, but isn’t that the kind of love most people spend their lives seeking?” Her eyes dropped to mine. “That’s the kind of love I had with my husband, Alton. And if I had been sent lines about love that couldn’t even be found in the heavens above, maybe I’d think the sender was reminding me of something wonderful.”
“But no?” I asked. “That’s not what was sent?”
She shook her head. “No. The sender went with the unsettling ending that only Edgar Allan Poe would throw into an otherwise heartbreakingly-lovely poem. ‘And so, all the night-tide, I lie down by the side of my darling…’” She looked away and swallowed hard, like she couldn’t finish the thought and might even be fighting back emotions.