Beatrice had left the stage and was stumbling up the far aisle, working her way up to the side exit. Claire aimed and shot out the illuminated exit sign.
“Stop right there, Beatrice,” she said.
Beatrice cowered in the aisle.
“Don’t shoot me!” Beatrice cried.
Carlyle entered the theater and came running down the aisle.
“I had no idea you were such a crack shot,” Carlyle said, as he hoisted himself up onto the stage.
“My father taught me,” Claire said.
He gently removed the gun from her hand, saying, “Let’s not have any more accidents, shall we?”
Claire hastened to attend to Agatha, who looked dazed and was bleeding profusely.
“I’m so sorry,” Claire told her. “We’ll take you to a hospital so you can get that looked at.”
“I should have announced who I was,” Agatha said. “I was afraid Beatrice would shoot me, as well.”
Claire wadded up one of Agatha’s scarves to press against her wound and stop the bleeding.
“It’s true; I told Beatrice I had a little crush on you,” Agatha said. “She said I was being ridiculous. You’re so pretty and friendly, but it was all just in my imagination, wasn’t it? I guess I got carried away.”
“That happens to all of us,” Claire said.
“Aye, she’s a siren calling from the cliffs,” Carlyle said. “She doesn’t know what power she has over us mere mortals.”
Claire rolled her eyes at Professor Mappe.
“He’s full of the Celtic manure,” she said. “I’m sorry if I hurt your feelings and I’m terribly sorry I dropped a counterweight on you. I was so afraid.”
“It’s quite all right,” Professor Mappe said. “I don’t feel so dizzy now.”
“You’ll be right as rain before long,” Carlyle said.
He knelt down and held Agatha’s other arm as they attempted to help her stand up.
“What are you doing here?” Claire asked him.
“I came to my good friend Alan Richmond’s funeral, only to find an imposter in the casket,” he said. “I don’t know who that guy was, but he wasn’t Alan Richmond.”
“Alan stole a man’s identity,” Agatha said. “Beatrice was blackmailing him over it.”
“I hate you all,” called out Beatrice.
“I’m still watching you,” Claire replied. “Don’t give me an excuse to shoot you.”
“The Alan Richmond I knew was a professor at the R.C.S. in Glasgow when I was there,” Carlyle said. “When I read the obituary, it listed that position in this guy’s background, so I thought for sure it was him.”
“He stole that man’s identity so he could apply for the position here,” Beatrice said. “I gather he was a great actor in the UK but didn’t have any education to speak of.”
“So that was his great secret,” Claire said. “Among others.”
“I wonder what happened to the real Alan Richmond? Someone had better check on him to make sure he’s all right,” Carlyle said. “How did you get mixed up in this, Claire?”
“Can we please get Agatha some medical care, first?” she asked. “I almost killed her thinking she was trying to kill me.”
“What about that one?” he said, gesturing to where Beatrice sat.
“Let me use your cell phone,” she said.
“I’ll pay you not to report this,” Beatrice said. “My husband has access to all the school’s money.”
“There’s an offer on the table,” Carlyle said. “What say ye, fair Claire?”
Claire tapped out 911 on Carlyle’s phone and reported a shooting at the college.
Beatrice, thoroughly cowed by Claire’s shooting expertise, stayed right where she was until the college security detail arrived. She started with the “don’t you know who my husband is?” but went silent when her husband arrived shortly after the security detail.
To him she cried, “It’s all a misunderstanding,” but he allowed the head of security to escort her out of the theater.
An ambulance arrived and the EMTs took Agatha away. She claimed her roommate would pick her up from the hospital, so Claire felt better about not accompanying her. Claire handed the gun over to another security officer, retrieved her shoes, and then she and Carlyle went back to the security office to give their statements.
During the subsequent questioning, Claire kept stealing glances at Carlyle. He did look different, and when his face was still, she hardly recognized him. His skin was so shiny and the tan so fake. His hair was highlighted and his face was clean-shaven. The broken nose had given him such a rakish quality that without it he’d lost the essential character of his face. She discerned he’d had fillers injected, because there was nary a wrinkle to be seen, and his cheeks were puffy with it.
When he spoke, however, and when his facial expressions were animated, it took her right back to Scotland, where they’d huddled under umbrellas in the freezing mist, and to the pubs where they bonded over laughter and pub quizzes. Laughter had led to bed, and bed had led to the best sexual experiences Claire had ever known.
‘Sorry, Ed,’ she thought, but it was true. It wasn’t love, though; it never was. It was attraction and lust and a fun adventure, but she couldn’t love someone who would instantly throw her over at the first temptation of money and fame.
It was still unnerving, to say the least, that he showed up when he did. A younger, more naïve Claire would’ve consigned it to fate, and fallen into his arms. As it was, she felt awkward and off-kilter, having her past slide into her present like a tee ball player into home.
After they gave their statements, a security officer allowed Claire to retrieve her phone, and then escorted them to the gates of the college and watched them walk out. When they reached the warm glow of a streetlight, they stopped and their eyes met.
“How did you find me?”
“I came late to the funeral but you weren’t there. When I asked, someone said you’d been and left,” he said. “I saw the man in the coffin wasn’t who I thought I was coming to pay respects to, so I went looking for you.
“I went to the reception but you weren’t there, either. When I asked someone about you, she said you worked here and gave me directions to your office. I was leaving you a note when I heard the gun go off in the theater. I went into the control booth to see what was going on, and when I saw what was happening I thought I better intervene.”
“You probably saved my life.”
“I always knew my stage-craft days would come in handy.”
“Why didn’t you let me know you were coming?” she asked.
“I’ve called or texted you almost every day for the past six months,” he said. “I suspect you’ve got me blocked.”
“I do,” she said.
“Well, then,” he said. “You’ve every reason.”
“I heard about the film,” she said. “I’m sorry it didn’t work out for you.”
He shrugged.
“I’ve had my taste of the high life,” he said. “I found I much prefer my feet on the ground.”
“Did she fire you?”
“You can believe this or not, but I fired myself,” he said. “Not a day went by that I didn’t regret my choice. When they gave me the opportunity to break the contract, I went for it.”
“Was there a parting gift?”
“A generous check in return for taking all the blame.”
“For the failure of the film or the relationship?”
“Both,” he said. “I signed another one of those thingamies, you know, the paper that promises what’s left of my soul to the devil if I say one word against her.”
“I know them well.”
“So, how are you, Claire?” he asked. “When you’re not dropping counterweights on people or shooting out exit signs.”
Claire sighed.
“It’s been a long six months,” she said.
“Too long,” he said.
“I know t
hat look,” she said. “Save it for the next one.”
“I’ve missed you so much, Claire,” he said. “I know I don’t deserve it, but I’m begging you to give me another chance.”
“I’m sorry,” she said. “You had your chance and you blew it. You’re part of the past now.”
“Look at me,” he said. “Look me in the eyes and tell me you don’t feel anything.”
Claire looked into his eyes, and felt sadness, regret, and a little nostalgia, but she didn’t feel love.
“Aye, that’ll do,” he said. “I know when I’m not wanted.”
“You take care,” she said.
“You, as well,” he said.
He took her hand, kissed it, and then let it go.
The last she saw of him was that jaunty walk as he disappeared into the gloom of the cloudy evening.
Claire found Ed in the newspaper office, working on the printing press.
“You took your time,” he said. “I thought you’d abandoned me.”
“Never,” she said, and put her arms around him.
“Watch out,” he said. “I’m covered in grease; you’ll get your clothes dirty.”
“Then I best take them off,” she said.
“Let me close the blinds first,” he said.
“No, wait a minute,” Claire said. “I’ve got a long story to tell you.”
“Can it wait until I get this fixed?” he asked. “I really need it to work by tomorrow morning.”
“Sure,” Claire said. “I’ll see you at your house.”
When Claire got to Ed’s house, Tommy was playing a computer game online. He greeted her but barely seemed to register her presence. He got like that when he was playing online. Claire called it ‘game trance.’ Ed could have whole conversations with Tommy that he seemed to participate in, only to discover later he hadn’t been paying attention and couldn’t remember what was discussed.
“Hey, Tommy,” Claire said. “Whatcha been doing’?”
“Just playing this game with some other guys from school.”
“Did you go anywhere for Labor Day?”
“To the lake with Mom and Patrick.”
“What was going on out there?”
“Pig roast, band played, swimming, fireworks, other stuff.”
“You stay all day?”
“We went around noon and stayed ’til after the fireworks were over.”
“You didn’t come back to town for anything?”
“Nope,” he said. “Stayed all day.”
“Hmmm,” Claire said. “Did you have fun?”
“Yeah, I guess. The band was kind of lame but the fireworks were good.”
Claire went down to the Rose and Thorn and helped her cousin, Patrick, by washing glasses and pulling draft for an hour. During that time, she just happened to mention Labor Day, asked what he had done to celebrate it, and Patrick, without realizing it, corroborated Tommy’s story.
Scott caught up with her as she left the bar, and walked her to Ed’s house.
“I’m on my way to Eldridge,” he said. “What happened there this evening?”
They sat on the front stoop of Ed’s house while she told him the story.
“Did they ask if you plan to press charges?” he asked her after she was finished.
“No,” Claire said. “They took Carlyle’s and my statements, thanked us for our assistance, and then sent us on our way.”
“Typical,” he said. “Attempted murder on this side of the gate is a slight misunderstanding on that side.”
“She was so drunk I don’t think she’ll remember it tomorrow,” Claire said. “It seemed like a complete overreaction to me, but if there’s more to it than just jealousy and protecting her boyfriend’s promotion, it makes more sense.”
“What do you mean?”
“Agatha saw Beatrice and Maurice sneak off during the Eldridge Trustees’ barbecue,” Claire said. “What if it was Beatrice who Rafe saw in Alan’s apartment that night?”
“No one would mistake Maurice for a teenage boy, though.”
“I know,” Claire said. “I don’t know who that was, or why Beatrice would cover up a murder for that person. A student of hers she wanted to protect, maybe.”
“Rafe seemed very credible,” Scott said. “But we only have his word for it that anyone besides him was in Alan’s apartment that night.”
“Do you think Rafe killed him and made up the rest of it?”
Scott shrugged.
“He’s an actor,” Scott said. “I’ve been fooled before.”
“Did you let him go?”
“Had to,” Scott said. “This isn’t officially a murder investigation until Sarah says it is, and she’s waiting on the toxicology report. I called her, but she wasn’t interested in talking to Rafe. Told me to ‘take good notes.’ ”
“So condescending.”
“That’s Sarah,” he said. “I asked him to keep in touch with me and he said he would.”
“What about the photo albums?”
“Locked up in the station safe.”
Claire told him she had temporarily suspected Tommy, but that Patrick had corroborated his alibi.
“Have you ever considered a career in law enforcement?” Scott asked her.
“Very funny,” Claire said. “You’re being awfully accommodating of my snooping. Why is that?”
“If you repeat this I’ll deny it, but of the three of you, you’re the most level headed,” Scott said. “Hannah can’t keep her mouth shut and Maggie’s too confident in her mental superiority over any criminal. When they snoop, I usually only find out about it much later. At least with you, I know you’ll keep me informed.”
“The whole time Beatrice had the gun I was thinking, ‘she really could kill me; this could be it.’”
“You’ve had several close calls this year,” Scott said. “It doesn’t seem to deter you or your cousins.”
“I think I’m done,” Claire said. “Finding out who did it won’t bring Alan back, and honestly, what I’ve found out about him makes me care much less.”
“Well, I have to care,” Scott said, and then got up with a groan. “I’m going to Eldridge.”
“Good luck,” Claire said. “Beatrice has probably been bundled off to rehab by now.”
“If you decide to press charges, let me know.”
“I’ll think about it.”
Ed came home late, after Tommy had gone to bed. He listened intently while Claire regaled him with her latest adventure. It was fun to tell Ed any story. He was a professionally excellent listener, asked lots of pertinent questions, and enjoyed both depth and breadth of detail. With all that focus on her, Claire felt like the most fascinating woman in the world.
Later on, lying in bed with Ed, Claire was having trouble sleeping.
“What are you thinking about?” he asked.
“You,” she said. “When you had a crush on me in high school, did I do anything to encourage it?”
“You were nice to me,” he said. “I did all the rest in my imagination.”
“So, you didn’t feel like I led you on or anything.”
“Nope,” he said. “I knew you only thought of me as that nerdy boy next door, but I was smitten. I think if you had actually shown any romantic interest I would have fainted from shock.”
“I wish I had been interested,” Claire said. “I wish I knew then what I know now.”
“Do tell,” he said. “The fifteen-year-old in me is dying to know how well I turned out.”
“You’re smart and kind. You care about people, and about things being fair for everyone. You’re not afraid to speak out when other people turn their heads and ignore issues. You’re a great dad to Tommy. You always treat me with respect. Plus, you’re cute as hell with that red beard.”
“Not to mention brave and virile,” he said. “Be sure to mention that.”
“Very brave and so virile,” she said. “You’re like, mega awesome, Ed, like, really, really c
ool. All the other girls in study hall are, like, so jealous.”
“That’s right,” he said. “Nothing shames me. Heap it on.”
“Does it bother you that Carlyle came here to see me?”
“Of course it does,” he said. “But there’s nothing I can do about it. You’re always free to do what you want. If you’re with me because you want to be, that means more to me than if you felt obligated or trapped.”
“I don’t feel attracted to him anymore,” Claire said.
“I’m glad to hear it.”
“But even if I had been, I’m committed to you, to us,” she said. “That means more to me than anything.”
“Then let’s get married.”
“I just want things to calm down a little first.”
“What if they don’t?”
“You’re right, I know you’re right,” she said.
“Let’s set a date,” he said. “Thanksgiving or Christmas Eve. Or New Year’s Eve. Or Valentine’s Day.”
“Too cliché,” she said. “I don’t want us to be like everyone else.”
“All right,” he said. “How about the Winter Solstice? December 21st. It’s the shortest day of the year, and an historic Celtic holiday. In Ireland there’s a tomb that’s decorated inside with beautiful artwork; the only day it’s lit up inside by the sun is on the solstice.”
“All right, nerdy boy next door, it’s a deal,” she said, and they shook on it.
“A deal’s a deal,” he said. “Remember that when life gets wild and woolly between now and then.”
“I will,” Claire said. “A deal’s a deal.”
“I’ve got to get up,” he said.
“Why?”
“I’ve got to write up your story for The Sentinel,” he said.
“Wait a minute,” she said. “I told you all that in confidence.”
“C’mon, Claire,” he said. “You can’t expect me not to write about an Eldridge professor shooting at you, or the cover up of teenagers being molested at a college party.”
“But what about Charlotte and Rowan? What about Agatha?”
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