Note of Peril

by Hannah Alexander

  The door opened, and she stood on the threshold looking like warmed-over dinner from a week ago. “What’s up?” she whispered.

  “You’re sick.”

  “I can’t be.”

  “So tell me how you’re feeling.”

  She fingered perspiration from her forehead and eased herself onto the padded dressing bench. Slowly. As if she was dizzy. But would she admit that to him? No.

  “Stupid and frustrated,” she said. “Jolene caught wind of what happened the other night at the Chateau.”

  He stared at her blankly. “What happened at the Chateau, other than the fact that Denton brought the wolf into the sheep’s pen, and Delight returned from the bathroom begging Blake to take her home immediately without any explanation?”

  Grace sighed. “I’m sorry. Of course you wouldn’t know.” She patted the seat beside her. “I forgot you never read the paper. My credit card was rejected, so I had to arrange for credit with the Chateau.”

  “So? Jolene must’ve been scraping for news if she—”

  “I discovered the reason my card was rejected. The Lladró I received last week was charged to my account.” Her voice broke with hoarseness. “My credit card company doesn’t call to verify large purchases the way some do.”

  He sank down beside her. Hard. “No way.”

  She nodded. “Someone definitely found a way, because I sure didn’t do it.”

  He had no doubt about that. But who would have been in a position to do this? “Do you do much shopping on the Internet?”

  She shook her head. “Never with that card.”

  “Are you still refusing to call the police?”

  “I called, and they’re taking care of things as discreetly as possible. Unfortunately, when they asked the music box companies and delivery companies who paid them, guess what their answer was.”

  “You?”

  “You got it.”

  He glanced at his watch. No time for this talk right now. He handed her the cup. “Drink this.”

  She gazed down into the red liquid. “What is it?”

  “My own special vitamin C concoction for emergencies. It’s dissolved in tepid water, just the right temperature. I could kick myself for not starting you on it earlier, but I didn’t want you to have to make any decisions about trust when you have so much to worry about.”

  She took the cup from him as she gave him a level look. “Did you think I’d accuse you of trying to poison me?”

  He grimaced. “Sorry. I didn’t mean that the way it sounded. So trust me and drink it all.”

  She tasted it and wrinkled her nose. “Sour.”

  “Drink.”

  She did as she was told and handed the empty cup back to him. “Think it’ll help?”

  “At this point, nothing could hurt.”

  “Michael Gold, the hopeless optimist,” she drawled with whispered sarcasm.

  “I’ll get some more.” He got up and reached for the door.

  “Michael?”

  He turned back. She looked so vulnerable, her face so pale. His heart flipped a double rhythm in his chest as he looked into those lovely and beloved eyes.

  “Do you think I bought those gifts and wrote those notes myself for publicity?” she asked.

  He grinned. “Everybody’s embarrassingly aware of the way you court the press.” He hoped his sarcasm surpassed her own. “You love being the center of attention.”

  Her expression seemed to relax, and those aquamarine eyes glowed with sudden warmth. “Sherilyn thinks I did it.”

  “Sherilyn doesn’t know you as well as I do, does she?”

  “Obviously you know me better than I know you.”

  “Maybe that’s partially my fault,” he said.

  “Oh, really?”

  “I said partially.”

  “I know you better than you think,” she said. “And I trust you more than it shows, obviously.”

  “Save your voice.”

  She nodded. “The problem is me, Michael.”

  He had thought about that a lot the past couple of weeks. “I’ve never been betrayed by someone on whom I was dependent,” he said softly. “I think trust would be a major challenge for me if I had been.”

  She looked down at the cell phone in her hands. “You know the day I freaked and walked out on you at the restaurant?” she whispered.

  She was kidding, right? “Vaguely.”

  “I was upset because I’d hurt you.”

  “We were both upset that day. I think we both said some things we didn’t necessarily mean. And if you keep talking, you’ll lose your voice completely.”

  She placed her cell phone on the bench beside her and stood up. She swayed.

  He reached for her. “Grace, have you taken some new medication? Please tell me you aren’t taking diet pills of any kind. You’ve been losing weight far too quickly.”

  She frowned at him. “No drugs.” But she allowed him to steady her, and she didn’t complain when his hands remained on her arms. “Michael, just before I met you that day, I discovered my father was trying to contact me. Combined with my concerns about the nasty notes, it all became too much. I’m sorry.” Her voice was nearing a whisper again.

  Her eyes looked strange.

  Michael tipped her chin up and studied her pupils. They were dilated, her skin was hot and perspiration moistened her forehead in spite of the air-conditioned coolness of the room.

  And then her words registered. “Your father?”

  She nodded, her eyes searching his as if waiting for an answer to a question she hadn’t asked. He got the distinct impression he was supposed to be reading her mind right now.

  “Have you spoken with him?” he asked.

  She shook her head.

  At least she was attempting to heed his warning about voice rest. “And you’re asking my advice?”

  “About forgiveness,” she croaked.

  Ouch. He released her chin and turned away. “I’m not exactly a shining example of that virtue.”

  “But you’ve forgiven me, haven’t you?”

  He nodded. He couldn’t stay angry with Grace.

  “You’re sure?”

  He turned back to her. “I’m sure.”

  “How did you forgive me?”

  “I prayed about it, and I realized that forgiveness is a process of steps. The first step is to acknowledge that refusal to forgive is a sin. That’s a truth from the Bible. A person can’t make a truth go away just because he doesn’t want to see it. It’s like seeing a rattlesnake in the grass and deciding it isn’t there. The thing is still dangerous.”

  “So thinking about rattlesnakes helped you decide to forgive me?”

  He grinned as he held up the cup. “Wait right here. You need some more of this.”

  Delight found the courage to call her mother just before show time Thursday night. She waited until she knew the man she’d always called Daddy would be at his deacons’ meeting.

  When her mother answered, Delight almost got cold feet and disconnected.

  “Honey?” Mom said. “What’s wrong? Shouldn’t you be in a show?” She had caller ID.

  “In a few minutes. I just needed to…um…ask you a question.”

  “Well, sure, but can I call you back on my cell phone? I’ve got to take your brothers to a party at church, and if they’re late, they’ll never let me—”

  “Just a quick question, Mom. It’s all I have time for.” Delight the coward. “Did I ever tell you about the guy who owns the theater here?”

  There was a short silence. “That’s the question you wanted to ask just before a show?”

  Delight knew from the sound of her mother’s voice that she suspected something. “You know him?”

  This time, no answer.

  “His name is Denton Mapes.” Delight heard the quiver in her own voice.

  There was a long pause, then a heavy, drawn-out sigh. “Yes.”

  Delight raised a trembling hand to her lips. No
. Oh, no, no, no! “H-how long have you known he was the owner of the theater where I worked?”

  Another awkward pause. “Really, honey, this isn’t a good time. I need to—”

  “Please just tell me this—is he…did you know him in college?”

  There was a sharp gasp over the line. “He told you?”

  Delight squeezed her eyes tightly shut. It was true. A shaft of nearly physical pain shot through her. Her daddy wasn’t really her father? And they’d never told her?

  “Oh, Jesus, help me,” she whispered. It was the first prayer she’d prayed in a long time.

  “Delight?” her mom said softly. “Honey, we need to talk.”

  “I’ll see you at Christmas, Mom. I know all I need to know.” She hung up, her face wet with tears.

  It was true—Denton Mapes was her father!

  And her mom had never warned her, never given any hint. How could she deceive Delight so?

  And yet there was no time to even think about this now. She needed a quick makeup repair before the curtain came up.

  Sniffing and wiping her eyes, she cut through a seldom-used storage area that was off-limits to cast and crew, but she needed a shortcut to the dressing rooms. Deep in the shadows she tripped over a concrete block, stumbled against a ladder and muttered under her breath.

  She was bent down, rubbing her leg, when she caught sight of Cassidy Ryder carrying an armload of water bottles through the dim light. He apparently drank the same brand as Grace.

  As Delight followed him at a distance, he stopped at Grace’s stash, removed the bottles already there and replaced them with the new ones.

  Cassidy Ryder, water boy. How weird was that?

  Grace thanked God for the power of prayer and an extra dose of adrenaline as her voice carried her through the second stanza of the final song before intermission. The theater was filled almost to capacity, and the response to their show tonight continued to be enthusiastic. The audiences still loved the interactive byplay.

  That potion Michael had forced her to drink had worked wonders, at least for a while. But the relief hadn’t lasted. Now she felt awful. But she couldn’t let on, even though the heat from the spotlights made her perspire heavily, which in turn made her fear for her carefully applied makeup job.

  She glanced at the band over her shoulder and winked at Michael, who sang from his position at the piano keyboard. When he returned the wink she swung back around to face the audience.

  She stumbled as her right foot wobbled on the high heel, and she nearly turned her ankle.

  Stepping to the edge of the stage, she waved and applauded with the rest of the cast as they showed their genuine appreciation for their beloved supporters.

  But tonight, for some reason, those cherished faces blurred as she waved to them.

  Grace turned, still clapping, and realized she couldn’t feel the impact of her hands against each other. She couldn’t feel her feet as she walked across the stage.

  The heat increased, and the faces in the audience became a blur. The theater began to spin around her in a nauseating merry-go-round of sound and lights.

  She opened her mouth to sing the final stanza, and nothing came out. She swallowed and licked her lips, but before she could try again, another voice, clear and high, merged with perfect symmetry to the music.

  Grace turned with dizzying swiftness to find Delight, Phoebe and Rachel harmonizing without her. She smiled, but as she moved toward them, her feet refused to cooperate. She stumbled and fell.

  She tried to get back up, but a heavy weight pressed her onto the stage. Darkness overwhelmed her. The sound, the hardness of the floor and the lights all receded as blackness caught her up into nothingness.

  Michael scrambled from the piano bench and raced across the stage. “Grace!”

  Her face glowed pale in the spotlight, and he pressed his fingers to her carotid artery.

  He froze. Nothing. No pulse. “Somebody call 9-1-1!”

  Chapter Seventeen

  Michael paced the small confines of the family conference room at the hospital, frantic to hear news of Grace. This place resembled the green room at the theater before a performance, with half the cast in attendance, sitting on chairs and sofa and even the floor as they waited for the doctor to break free and talk with Grace’s mother.

  “What’s takin’ them so long?” Delight fidgeted on a straight-back chair at the far side of the room.

  “No news means good news at this point,” Michael said, hoping it was true.

  No, he didn’t just hope. He prayed. Oh, God, please protect her. Bring her back to us. I can’t bear the thought of losing her, and if that’s selfish of me, I’m sorry. If You take her from us now, think of all the people who will miss the loving testimony of her music.

  He sat down next to Grace’s mother and heard the raggedness of her breathing. The tips of Kathryn Brennan’s fingers whitened as she gripped her hands together.

  Peter sat on the floor by the wall next to Delight, legs crossed. Blake sat on Delight’s other side, and Denton huddled by the door next to an openly weeping Mitzi. Phoebe and Rachel had stayed at the theater with Cassidy and Ladonna to make sure the guests made it out safely and everything was left in order.

  “It’s been thirty minutes,” Kathryn said.

  Michael put a comforting hand on her shoulder and squeezed. “I’m sure they’re trying to stabilize her. Just keep praying.”

  Across the room Delight bowed her head and closed her eyes, her lips moving silently as tears slipped down her cheeks. Blake put an arm around her. Denton watched her with obvious concern.

  “Michael, can’t you go in there and hurry things up?” Peter asked. “You’re practically a doctor.”

  “I’m not a doctor, I don’t work here and we have to give them room to—”

  The door opened, and Kathryn caught her breath. A harried-looking man who appeared to be in his late thirties stepped into the room, wearing scrubs and a white lab coat with a badge. Michael recognized the name. He’d visited Cheyenne at Hideaway Clinic a couple of times.

  “Hello,” the man said. “I’m Dr. Gordon Renneker, and I’ve been taking care of Ms. Brennan. Is there family here? I need to get as much information as quickly as I can.”

  Kathryn leaned forward. “I’m her mother. These people all work with her, and they were with her when she collapsed. How is she?”

  Dr. Renneker perched on the arm of the sofa. “Her condition is critical but stable. Who can tell me exactly what happened?”

  “She collapsed onstage,” Michael said. “I went to her immediately, and she had no pulse.” He nodded toward Delight. “We did CPR and rescue breathing until the paramedics arrived.”

  “Congratulations,” Dr. Renneker said. “Your fast action may have saved her life.”

  Kathryn caught her breath and leaned weakly against Michael. He felt a little weak himself.

  “She was sick before that, though,” Delight said. “She stumbled a couple of times, and she was havin’ a lot of trouble with her voice. It kept goin’ out on her, even in practice, remember, Michael?”

  The doctor nodded. “That coincides with our findings. She probably would have had dry mouth. She had a high fever. Is she allergic to anything?”

  “Penicillin,” Kathryn said. “Nothing else I know of.”

  “Does she take any medications regularly?” he asked.

  “Only vitamins.” Kathryn looked up at Michael. “Isn’t that right? She wasn’t taking anything for her laryngitis, was she?”

  “No. I asked her this afternoon during a break in practice. She wasn’t taking anything. She had no known health problems except for her recent trouble with hoarseness.”

  Dr. Renneker frowned. “How long has the hoarseness been going on?”

  Michael looked at Grace’s mother. “At least a few weeks, wouldn’t you say?”

  “That’s right,” Kathryn said. “Doctor, what do her symptoms suggest?”

  He gave a
baffled shake of his head. “At first glance, if I were to take a guess, it appears to be some kind of anticholinergic poisoning.”

  “She was poisoned?” Peter exclaimed.

  “I’m talking about a drug that speeds things up in the body and can have bad effects on the heart,” the doctor explained, his dark, heavy brows forming a V across his forehead. “It would have triggered a lethal arrhythmia.”

  “Did you do a blood test?” Michael asked.

  “Yes, and it was negative, which might only mean our lab isn’t set up for whatever might be in the blood. Fortunately, there’s a treatment for that class of poisoning, but it would really help to know what she’s ingested, if anything.”

  “But she wouldn’t take anything like that,” Kathryn protested, her slender hands spread in the air helplessly.

  “Just in case, though,” Dr. Renneker said, “it would help us if someone would go through her purse or her medicine cabinet at home and see if there’s anything we might be missing. If you say she’s had trouble with hoarseness, it’s possible she’s been taking something she doesn’t realize could be causing her trouble.”

  “Like what?” Kathryn asked.

  “Diet pills, perhaps?” the doctor suggested.

  “I asked her that tonight,” Michael said. “She hasn’t been.”

  “Maybe something else that might otherwise seem innocuous?” the doctor asked. “If you find any kind of cold care product or prescription bottle, something she might have been taking, bring it in or call us.” He rose from his perch on the sofa arm. “If you’ll forgive me, I need to get back in there.”

  “Please,” Kathryn said softly, “can I see her?”

  The doctor moved toward the door. “I’m sorry, ma’am, but that wouldn’t be wise. She isn’t out of danger yet, and we might have to take drastic measures at any moment. She’s still not totally conscious, and she has a tube down her throat to help her breathe. I’ll keep you informed as we find out more.”

  “Doctor, are you saying Grace could still die?”

  Dr. Renneker hesitated, then nodded gravely. “I’m sorry, I have to get back in there.”