Henry & Eva and the Castle on the Cliff

by Andrea Portes

  Henry and I look at each other.

  August speaks. “If you don’t think anyone will believe you . . .”

  “. . . allow the proper people to put the pieces together themselves,” Sturdevant finishes.

  We contemplate this strategy.

  “That’s exactly right,” Henry realizes. “Thank you all so—”

  But when we turn back around, excited, they’re gone. Nothing. Zero. Zilch. Now we are just having a conversation with the wall.

  “Ugh! They keep doing that!” I look at him. “Totally annoying.”

  We stare ahead at the walnut-paneled wall. The wood creaks a bit in the wind and the two of us suddenly remember we are trapped in this house on the cliff with a murderer.

  “Whatever happens”—Maxine’s voice echoes from some great unseeable distance—“we aren’t far away.”

  4

  “A PLAY WITHIN a play.” I turn to Henry, who is sitting crisscross applesauce in the middle of his teepee, looking pensive. “Do you think it will work?”

  He ponders. “Well, it might possibly work to get Uncle Claude to feel guilty, and even possibly look guilty. But the question is . . . who will be there to see it? I mean, it’s not like the entire coast of California is going to come see some dumb play a couple of kids put on.”

  Huh. I hadn’t thought of that.

  “Okay, okay . . . I know . . . what if we give them some incentive. Like we make it some kind of fabulous event . . . ?”

  Henry squints. “Perhaps a charitable event. The kind Mom and Dad would host. In combination with something intriguing . . .”

  “I’ve got it!” I hop off the ground, excited. “We’ll do a super-fantastic movie night . . . some really cool movie screening of a film everyone loves . . . and we’ll do it on the lawn. Outside. With the ocean in the back! Remember when Mom threw you that Star Wars party, when you were five? Where those Jedi-trainer guys came and we all had to do that treasure hunt for the light sabers and then learn how to be Jedis?”

  “Of course. Mom played the Star Wars theme when they put the Jedi medal on me.” He smiles wistfully.

  “Mom really knew how to throw a party.” And now I am wistful, too.

  We both just sit there a moment, lost in those idyllic days not so long ago.

  “But, see, Henry. We’ll do it like Mom! We’ll throw a big crazy party, with a movie screening on the lawn for a really good cause.”

  “Mom and Dad did have lots of charitably minded friends,” Henry says. “And they do feel badly for us. The power of guilt is very strong . . .”

  “We’ll dedicate all donations to something truly important, like Feed the Children. I think Dad and Mom would be proud. Oh, and . . . and . . . I have all the addresses we need from all those fancy invites to Mom! The ones I hid from Terri.”

  I run to the box of invitations. There must be at least a hundred by now. As I’m talking, I flip, flip, flip through the stack. “You’re not even going to believe the best part. Not even when I show you.” I hold up two envelopes. One is an invitation to the Police Officers’ Ball. The other is a benefit for Judge Maya Selenator.

  “These are from the chief of police and the chief judge in our county.”

  I nod. “Aka ‘the fuzz.’ Apparently no charity, ever, edits its guest list.”

  Henry raises his eyebrows. I know what he’s thinking. Suddenly, this plan is seeming very, very promising. “So, charity event. Movie screening. Do you think we should do the dastardly play within the play beforehand?”

  “Yes!” I nod. “We’ll do, like, a fun little play thing before the main event . . . the people who we need to be here will be here. We’ll do the play, Claude will freak. Cops will arrest him. Boom.”

  “Not bad,” Henry says. “It might actually work . . .”

  “Woo hoo!” I tackle Henry, which is something I haven’t done in a while but is something I used to do on a regular basis. The key is to hit below the waist. He doesn’t always like it.

  “Ugh, Eva, stop! You’re so weird!”

  “Weird like awesome? Or weird like super awesome?” I joke.

  But he’s smiling now.

  There’s nothing better in life than having a plan.

  Everything is thrilling now.

  Full of possibility!

  “Okay, so what movie?” I wonder. “It has to be something people will want to come see. What’s a classic movie everybody loves but maybe hasn’t seen a million times . . . ?”

  “Casablanca?”

  “Too on the nose.”

  “The Discreet Charm of the Bourgeoisie?”

  “Too obscure,” I object.

  “Okay.” And then he thinks of it. “Touch of Evil! Orson Welles!”

  I take this in. “Orson Welles does have quite a history here in the Central Coast.”

  “And . . . and . . . it involves finding out the guilt of someone, so, theoretically, it has something to do with our underlying diabolical plan.” Henry is up on his feet now. We jump around like two overexcited lima beans. Yes, it’s been a while since we’ve felt this. This something like hope.

  Maybe we are trapped in a ghost-filled house with a murderer and his girlfriend. But it is also true that there is a way out.

  Don’t linger on the problem. We are all about the solution.

  5

  HENRY AND I are sitting on the back porch now, having our lunch. We are eating some extremely unsatisfying sandwiches made with almond butter and organic blackberry jelly on twelve-grain toast. Yes, I made these. Yes, they’re terrible.

  “Okay.” I return the subject to our Machiavellian plan. “So—we do a play within a play, where we act out what Uncle Claude did to our parents, in the play. Then, when Uncle Claude freaks out, riddled with guilt, which he will because he’s so guilty, everybody will see that he’s guilty . . . the cops arrest him.”

  “I doubt the police are going to arrest him as a result of theater,” Henry quips.

  “You’re right. But . . . if we lay it out really specifically in the play, so Uncle Claude freaks out badly enough . . . and then the cops notice this and take him in for questioning . . . ? Then, we just go to the cops, share our evidence, and boom . . . Bob’s your uncle.”

  “Your exclamation is clearly unnecessary.” Henry peers out over the grassy slope, the sound of the waves crashing beyond. “Do you really think it will work?”

  I shrug. “It’s worth a shot. Also, don’t you think it would be supremely satisfying to see Uncle Claude totally busted, in front of everyone who’s anyone? He’ll be humiliated! I mean, I know we’re not getting real revenge, because murder is against our ethical code. But it will be just like a tiny sweet morsel of vengeance.”

  “It would certainly be a sight to behold,” Henry says. “All right. But I have one request. I’d like to do my magic act before the performance.”

  “Your—”

  “Eva?” Henry holds his hand up, stopping me. “It’s important to me.”

  I nod. “Okay. Deal.”

  The back door swings open and there is Terri with about ten department store shopping bags in hand.

  “Nothing like a little retail therapy. Right, kids?”

  “Yeah, I guess,” I answer, looking at Henry. Mom would not approve of this conspicuous consumption.

  “You might be interested to know that Eva and I are planning on putting on a play, as well as screening a film, as part of a charity event. Here. At the house. Preferably in the yard. I intend to do my magic act.” Henry appears to be swelling with pride.

  Terri comes down from the landing. “A play? Well, isn’t that sweet.”

  “Yes, it will be sweet.” I wink at Henry.

  “Well, if you’re fixing to do your magic act, then I ought to do my rodeo act!” Terri suddenly drops all the shopping bags in her excitement.

  “Are you serious?” Whoops. That came out wrong. “I mean . . . wow! Cool! Are you serious?” Enthusiastically.

  “You bet. Not onl
y was I in the rodeo, you are looking at the three-year all-state champ of the Arizona Lasso League. Go Big Turquoise!” Terri seems to be turning into a different person.

  “Big turquoise?” Henry asks.

  “Well, sure. I think that would be great, Terri.” I take a moment. “I’d like to thank you for contributing. Henry and I both appreciate it. Very much. Don’t we, Henry?” I elbow him.

  “Yes. Yes, we do. Thank you for volunteering for this exciting endeavor.”

  “You’ll need to up your practice schedule. We need you ropin’ day and night!” I tell her.

  “That’s no problemo. Aw, shucks. It’ll be fun!”

  She swats the air, playful, before marching up the stairs, presumably to rest her arms from the weight of all those shopping bags.

  Henry watches Terri go. “Nice move, sister.”

  I nod. “Now she’ll be busy roping while we’re busy putting a bow on all our plans.”

  6

  WE SHOULD HAVE known that anyone and everyone would be dying to participate in the opening numbers. Terri. Check. Random yoga instructor from down the street. Check. Bearded Guitar-Playing Guy from local café. Check. I’ve decided to stop even mentioning the talent portion of the evening, as every time I do, someone seems to offer their dazzling, never-before-seen number. Who knew there was so much undiscovered talent around here? Every time I put up a flyer there’s a new volunteer. At this rate the show is going to last twenty hours.

  Terri seems to have become the default organizer. Somewhere between the newfound return to the lasso, the feeding of hungry children, and the phone ringing off the hook, it’s as if Terri the Terrible unzipped her Terri-suit and a new Terri has come popping out. And this Terri is motivated.

  I am, personally, refraining from performing. I know! So many people will be disappointed! But I’ve made up my mind. My role in this is to simply keep the show going. I’ll do a little announcing, maybe. Other than that? The show must go on!

  It’s been three weeks from conception to this mystical night of magic. Three long weeks. The house has been freezing and, if it weren’t for our shindig here, I’m sure Henry and I would have fallen into a deep depression. We haven’t seen Uncle Finn. Marisol is still (we think) in Guatemala. So Henry and I have been stuck together like glue, hoping not to run into Uncle Claude on our lonesome.

  During the day, he’s at the office. At night, we’ve barricaded ourselves into our room. So far, it’s kept us safe.

  And now, we’re here! In a few minutes it’s curtains up. Bearded Guitar-Playing Guy is slated to do an acoustic version of Coolio’s “Gangsta’s Paradise” from that movie where that blond lady saves all those inner-city kids. I’m not really a fan of the movie but Guitar Guy auditioned for us and he really puts his heart and soul into it.

  Before him, Random Yoga Instructor Lady will be doing a traditional Spanish dance involving these clickety-clackety jobbies that she clicks theatrically. The dance is called flamenco but I call it awesome. She kind of squiggles around like a cobra and then stops dramatically, clicking the castanets. Also, she gets to wear this embroidered burgundy-and-black Spanish dress that basically belongs in the Smithsonian Institution. I’m sure by the end of the dance every male in the audience will be throwing himself onto the stage and begging to slay a dragon for her. I don’t know Random Yoga Instructor Lady very well, but I will say I’m quite impressed with her.

  I haven’t seen Terri’s lasso routine yet. She says she’s saving it for us, but I’m a little concerned that might mean it’s horrible. I just hope she doesn’t fall off the stage into the audience.

  Awkward.

  Henry’s magic routine tonight consists of turning a bunch of sheets of paper into doves. I haven’t actually seen him do the routine, but I have noticed that the toilet paper seems to be running out.

  The play within the play is really the pièce de résistance.

  I don’t want to tell you too much about it, because I don’t want to spoil the surprise. Let’s just say it would be extremely difficult to sit through if you happened to be named Claude.

  In case you’re wondering, the ticket sales for tonight’s big event, i.e., the screening of “Touch of Evil—Under the Stars,” have skyrocketed. So much so that we have had to actually rent out a bunch of bleachers, hire security, and provide enticing vittles for this menagerie of film aficionados.

  Like I said, Terri really threw herself into it.

  I’ve even heard tell there are people coming from both up the coast, aka Santa Cruz, and down the coast, aka Cambria. I don’t doubt this because some of these people streaming in are definitely not wearing socks with sandals. Which is a thing we do hard-core here in Big Sur.

  Henry has been selling last-minute tickets at the box office we’ve constructed from hay bales. Why hay bales, you ask? Well, why not. Also, they were originally going to serve as seats until the great bleacher rental.

  I’m hoping that the do-it-yourselfness of the whole event comes off as “cute” and not “pathetic disaster the likes of which these cliffs have never seen.”

  The best part about it is, we are donating all of it, all the ticket sales, etc., to the Children’s Food Bank of California, to feed hungry children and their families. So, even though this thing is thrown together on a shoestring, the cause is a worthy one and the atmosphere seems genuinely kind. Positive. We’ve even been giving out Children’s Food Bank flyers and taking donations. There’s a giant glass jar next to the box office, in case you want to contribute. Don’t be stingy.

  “Hello! Are you Eva?” A square-jawed man with closely cropped hair leans down to shake my hand. I would know this man anywhere. He is our most important guest—other than Claude.

  “Chief Talley!” I cheer. “So glad to have Monterey County’s finest with us tonight!”

  The tiny woman next to him beams at me. “It’s so wonderful what you kids are doing here.” The corners of her eyes sparkle with unspilled tears. “Your mother would be so proud.”

  I smile and swallow hard against the lump in my throat. “Thank you, um, here! Please take your seats right here, on the aisle. Want the chief to have easy access to the exit in case duty calls!”

  The actual stage faces out from the direction of the ocean, so while we wait for the sun to go down, with our enthralling flamenco-slash-lasso-slash-acoustic-slash-magic show, the audience can relax with their refreshing refreshments and admire the giant orange sun dipping itself into the Pacific Ocean. Not bad, huh? That part was Terri’s idea, too.

  The giant curtain we patched together from a bunch of old quilts, sails, and blankets is covering the stage, so as to preserve the mystery before the big reveal!

  Back in the house, Random Yoga Instructor Lady is practicing her moves, Bearded Guitar-Playing Guy is warming up his voice in a manner I find humorous but he seems to be taking quite seriously, and Terri is in the bedroom, hopefully, please God, hopefully, practicing.

  And where is Claude, you might ask?

  There. Down center stage three rows back. The sweet spot. Not only, as Henry declared, are the acoustics best in these particular seats, but he will be up close, real close, to see his heinous crime demonstrated for all to see.

  Shame! Shame! they will say.

  In my mind, they also hurl tomatoes, but nobody has brought tomatoes. I notice there are, however, cherry tomatoes on the bruschetta, so they could carefully be picked off and thrown with abandon.

  There’s a long line of cars down the access road, which actually turns right into Pacific Coast Highway. Oh, and the Monterey Herald did a little piece on the “two tragically orphaned kids,” aka us, “who are trying to make the world a better place.” So, that helped.

  As the sky starts to turn lavender above, there’s a kind of anticipation in the air. The little candles and solar lights Henry rigged up all over the place are starting to show themselves a bit now, with the loss of the light, twinkling. He put about a zillion of these lights everywhere, even thou
gh I told him he was going too far, but he said it was a purposeful aesthetic choice and that magicians were also artists.

  Whatever.

  Suddenly, from out in the audience, I catch someone smiling at me and waving madly. It’s Uncle Finn!

  A rush of warmth comes over me.

  The last time we saw him, when Uncle Claude kicked him out, was about three weeks ago. Honestly, I thought he’d be in Timbuktu by now.

  I wave back at him in enthusiastic spurts. Uncle Finn came. He came to support us. I call over to Henry, who is busying himself with the last-minute magician pre-show touches.

  “Psst! Henry! Look, it’s Uncle Finn! Finn’s here!”

  Henry looks up at me blankly, follows my gaze, and sees Uncle Finn. He smiles, waves, and looks back at me.

  Uncle Finn gives us a double thumbs-up. He is proud. Beaming.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I see Random Yoga Instructor Lady sneak back behind the makeshift curtain, flamenco dress billowing in the breeze. A few members of the audience catch her, too, and there’s an audible gasp. The hive mind seems to realize the show is about to begin. The anticipation is palpable. The spotlight comes up on the curtain. A hush falls over the bleachers and somewhere down the driveway, a mockingbird tries to steal the show.

  Something’s going to be stolen tonight, all right. The freedom of one horrible person: Claude Billings the Third.

  7

  SOMETHING STRANGE HAPPENS during the flamenco cobra dance. Behind, on the screen that will eventually show the long-lost movie, a set of a thousand stars appears. The hypnotizing stars twinkle and glow and I find myself amazed that Henry was able to put this production design together. I guess he really is an artist. The audience oohs and ahhs, not just at the flamenco dance, with its winding snake moves and castanet clicking, but at the sheer spectacle of this enchanting dance in front of the enchanting stars. It’s like a magic spell.

  When Random Yoga Instructor Lady finishes the dance with a dramatic swoop, one hand in the air and a rose in her hair, the audience rises to its feet. Everyone hooting and howling, “Bravo! Perfecto! Encore!”