The Princess and the Poison

by Carol E. Ayer

  We took apart the machine, laughing, and dipped our fingers in.

  "Tasty, isn't it? Happy Fourth, darlin'!"

  I got up to retrieve two plastic spoons from Cameron's table and returned to Florence. Between the two of us, we ate the entire batch of ice cream. I didn't tell Florence about the fire. I couldn't bear to talk about it. Whenever I thought about it, I became lightheaded with fear.

  "Ready to play the queen on Saturday?" I asked.

  "As ready as I'll ever be. Am I the fairest of them all?" She screwed up her mouth in an exaggerated pout and tossed her long ponytail over her left shoulder.

  I giggled. "Yes!"

  * * *

  Many hours later, Scott and I sat on opposite ends of the sofa at his home in Redmond. Although Donna had also offered to put me up, I'd accepted Scott's invitation, touched by how helpful he'd been about the fire. I didn't have the energy to consider what living together might mean for us long-term, so I decided I'd just go one day at a time. Maybe even one hour at a time.

  A pizza with only two slices missing sat in front of us on the coffee table. I didn't have much of an appetite, but I couldn't blame it on the fire. Eating several cups of ice cream had dampened my hunger.

  I'd never been to Scott's house before. It was bigger than my cottage but not by much. The furniture was cozy and unassuming. If things had been wildly different from the way they were, I might have been here on a romantic overnight. Maybe we'd be watching a movie and cuddling on the sofa, rather than sitting primly on opposite ends, not talking.

  Outside, fireworks and firecrackers exploded noisily, and every time one went off, I jumped. This was why I didn't like the Fourth of July. But I had other reasons to be jumpy too.

  Scott looked at me sadly. "I'm sorry about all this."

  "I know you are. Everything has been so hard lately. The murder, the fire, the…" I trailed off. I'd been on the verge of mentioning the vandalism, but I remembered I'd never told Scott about it.

  "I don't want to fight with you, but I have to ask. Have you been investigating the murder still?"

  I stared at the pizza. The shape of the remaining slices resembled a heart, and I wondered if I should take any significance from that. "I don't want to argue either. So don't make me answer that question."

  He took a deep breath, and I knew he was wrestling with what to say. "Just answer me this. Are you done now? Have you sufficiently scared yourself? Do you see that the killer isn't going to let you continue? What if you had been inside your cottage when the fire was set?"

  "I'm sure I would have escaped," I said and took note of Scott's expression. Wrong answer, I supposed.

  He didn't say anything, and my stomach fluttered. I couldn't stay here. Not with him.

  "Scott," I said and stopped. I didn't know how to tell him.

  But he seemed to realize the impossibility of it at the same time I did. "You want to go stay with Donna and Charlie?"

  I nodded. "I'm sorry."

  "All right. I'll take you."

  On the way over, I called Donna and told her there had been a change of plans. "You can stay as long as you want," she said warmly. "Maybe having a buffer around here will be good for us. Things are becoming a little strained between Charlie and me."

  * * *

  A little later, Donna and I sat outside on her porch and watched the pyrotechnics show at the Springdale Fairgrounds a few miles away. We could see the highest of the fireworks over the rooftops. We were far enough away so the noise was tolerable. The fireworks seemed a metaphor for my life, which was detonating all over the place.

  "What's going on with you and Charlie? You said things are strained?"

  "It's just hard on him. You know how he wants to protect me. But he can't protect me—or us—from this…this ordeal. It's making him crabby."

  "I'm sorry."

  "What about you? It didn't work out with staying with Scott?"

  "We were just going to argue about me trying to find the killer. He thinks I'm being stupid. I had to get out of there."

  "He's right, though, hon. This is way too dangerous. You're obviously getting too close for comfort to the killer. You've really got to stop."

  A blue firework exploded, sending sparks down the sky. The sparks dissolved into the air. "I admit I'm spooked, but what can I do? The detectives still think you and Charlie did it. I have to figure this out."

  She didn't answer, and we stayed silent, watching until every spark had disappeared from the sky. Finally, we went inside to go to bed.

  Donna had made up the guest room for me. A huge vase of flowers took up most of the nightstand. Charlie or Donna must have picked them from the garden as Scott and I were driving over. Flower-shaped soaps sat in the dish in the guest bathroom, and Donna had put out a pair of her pajamas, a set of slippers, and a light robe.

  Not at all tired, I lay face up on the bed and stared at the ceiling. The things you saved in a fire. I hadn't had a chance to take anything, but I knew I would have taken my Jamie mementos—ticket stubs, dried flowers, the Claddagh ring he'd given me. Fortunately, they would be fine, and I still had pictures of the two of us in my wallet.

  I climbed off the bed and grabbed my purse. Finally locating my wallet, I pulled out the picture of us at the Springdale Fair, a snapshot taken by a friendly passerby just after Jamie won a huge bear. In the picture, I had my arms around the bear, and Jamie had his arms around me. We looked so happy. Did I look that happy when I was with Scott? I didn't think so, but could I expect that? I'd been through a lot after Jamie's death. And I was young when he died. Not even thirty yet. Didn't it make sense I'd be more serious now? I wouldn't be so much of a romantic?

  I cried that night for all I'd lost. Jamie, my friendship—or whatever it was—with Scott, the security I used to feel at StoryWorld and in my home. For Katrina too, who would be stuck forever at age twenty-five.

  It was only in the wee hours of the morning, after being awakened by a particularly loud spate of illegal fireworks, that I remembered I'd never gotten a new battery for my smoke alarm. If the killer had decided to set the fire at night, I wouldn't have been awakened by the alarm. I could have died. But was he—or she—only trying to warn me again, like with the vandalism? Probably. But it could easily escalate to more if I didn't stop investigating. Of course, I wasn't going to do that. Unfortunately, I had no clue how to proceed from here.

  * * *

  The next afternoon at work, I reviewed my suspect list, determined to make some kind of headway, even if it killed me. Oops, probably not the best way to think about it.

  Ryan and Mariana were still at the top of the list. Maybe if I talked to Ryan, he'd reveal something key, either about himself or Mariana. A new possibility occurred to me—maybe they worked together to get rid of Katrina. How could I see him again?

  I bent to pick up Dinah from the floor, and I cuddled her in my arms. She emitted a soft "uurp" and rubbed her nose against mine. The buss reminded me of Scott and the kisses I wanted and didn't want at the same time.

  "Oh, Dinah. What should I do about Scott?"

  She purred in response.

  "Yeah, I know. You like him. He gives you nice massages. He probably would give me nice massages too, if I let him."

  Still holding Dinah, I gazed at the red and white roses Scott had brought me for the Fourth of July, in the vase I'd positioned on my desk next to the snow globe. I hadn't noticed before, but there was a small note nestled among the stems. I pulled it out and read:

  I'm sorry we argued. I didn't mean to tell you what to do. I just hope you know that it's because I care about you. Very much.

  I wiped a tear from my cheek. Scott was such a lovely person. As much as Jamie had been.

  I thought about Jamie, my darling Jamie, whom I still missed so much. I was fully in the acceptance stage now, but that didn't stop me from thinking about him several times a day. Every so often a song would play on the radio—not necessarily one he and I had listened to—and the
hugest sense of nostalgia would come over me. Was the problem that I would never love anyone as much as Jamie? Was this always the way when you lost someone?

  On a whim, after carrying Dinah to her bed, I left the office and drove over to Florence's house. Florence didn't answer when I rang the doorbell, but I heard what I thought was a Joni Mitchell song streaming from the backyard. I went through the side gate and found Florence sunbathing on a redwood deck that surrounded a teardrop-shaped pool, an obvious modern addition to her Victorian. I was happy to see her wearing a short-sleeved blouse. Sunbathing topless seemed like the kind of thing she might do.

  She stopped mouthing the words to the song and greeted me. "Hey, darlin'! Want a margarita? Or chips?"

  "No, thanks. I just thought I'd stop by to say hi. I saw you guys weren't rehearsing today."

  "That was awful nice of you. Julie gave us the day off today, but we'll be back tomorrow. Isn't there anything you want? I may have some pot here somewhere."

  Surprised, I repeated, "Pot?"

  "Sure. Pot, weed, Mary Jane—whatever you want to call it."

  I coughed out a laugh. "That's okay. I'm good."

  "Well, sit down and put your feet up anyway."

  I did as she suggested and settled into the chaise longue next to her. But I couldn't find the words to tell her what I wanted to know.

  "What's on your mind, darlin'? Tell Auntie Florence."

  "You said you lost your husband."

  "I did. About a year ago."

  "Have you ever thought about getting married again? Do you date?"

  Florence passed me the basket of tortilla chips and gestured to the salsa, even though I'd already declined. "Help yourself. No, I can't say I date that much these days. I did at the beginning, a little after George died."

  I leaned closer to her. "But it didn't work out? Was it that no one could live up to George?"

  "Could be. I did love him dearly. But what's this about? Your beau again?"

  I nodded. "Yeah. We still haven't worked things out. I don't know what to do about him."

  "Relationships are hard. A lot of work. You just gotta decide if it's worth it, I suppose." Florence took a long swallow from her margarita, emptying the glass. "I'm gonna get another one of these. Sure you don't want one?"

  My cell phone rang before I could answer. I'd actually remembered to bring it with me. It was Cameron, who needed change at the entrance.

  I hung up and said to Florence, "I've gotta go. Thanks for talking to me."

  "Any time, darlin', any time. You know where to find me. If I'm not at the park, I'm here."

  The Joni Mitchell song ended, and a Judy Collins ballad took its place. The sounds of Florence belting out the tune from the kitchen followed me to my car. I envied her self-assurance.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  My impromptu visit to Florence and a broken merry-go-round set me back with my paperwork. I didn't leave the park until almost seven. When I walked into Charlie and Donna's house, I was surprised to hear Donna crying in the living room and Charlie murmuring to her. They apparently hadn't heard me come in. I tiptoed partway into the kitchen and listened. Charlie was doing his best to console her, but she seemed really torn up.

  "It's going to be okay, honey. I promise," Charlie said.

  She said something I couldn't hear.

  I leaned against the kitchen counter, flummoxed. Had something new happened? No, Donna would surely have told me. Did this happen every night, and I just didn't know? I really, really had to fix this.

  * * *

  Happily, the first performance of Snow White went off far better than the premiere of Sleeping Beauty, but, of course, the bar wasn't set very high. I wouldn't have minded forgotten lines, dropped props, or actors stumbling on stage. Heck, I wouldn't have cared if they'd put on an entirely different play. As long as no one was murdered, I would have been happy. As it was, everything went smoothly, and the actors received a standing ovation. I took note of Laura Tenniel eating up the attention and wondered if moving her down the suspect list was premature. She sure was basking in the glow of her new starring role. Still, I couldn't get my head around the idea of her murdering Katrina for parts in a couple of small-town plays.

  For once, I was caught up on my work. Not used to the feeling of having nothing pressing to do, and with no ideas on how to proceed with my investigations, I was at loose ends after the performance. I needed company. Donna was always my first choice for buddy time, but she'd left early to attend a block party. There was always Dinah. I decided to go get a cold drink and bring it back to the office and have cuddles with her.

  After making a detour to bring change to Cameron up at The Castle, I headed for the Jack Sprat, promising myself just an iced tea and no food. Florence was sitting in a slipper chair, surreptitiously pouring alcohol from her flask into a cup of coffee. She stuffed the flask into her crocheted purse and, at the same time, dislodged a mascara wand and pen, which fell to the ground. I picked them up and handed them back to her.

  "Thanks, darlin'." She replaced them in the purse. "This purse has gotta go. Things are always falling out."

  "May I join you?"

  "Of course. Sit right down. Fancy sharing a sandwich?"

  "Sure," I answered, forgetting my intentions to not eat. "Turkey okay?"

  She nodded, and I got up to order.

  Back at the table, I told Florence, "Good work today. I really believed you as the queen."

  "It was fun. Good to get back on track."

  "I'm sure."

  "How are you doing this fine day?" She gazed up to the sky, which, of course, was perfectly clear.

  I told her I was all right.

  Vince arrived with my iced tea and the sandwich, which I'd asked him to cut in two. Florence and I each took a half. I ate mine in about three bites, while Florence lingered over her portion.

  "You have a good appetite," she commented.

  "Yeah. Unfortunately, it's been out of control lately."

  "I suppose we women go through times like that, don't we?"

  "Yes." I didn't confess that my "good appetite times" had gone on for a while now.

  Florence leaned back and let out a relaxed sigh. But just as she did, a group of kids came rushing over from the direction of The Three Blind Mice and jockeyed for position at the order window. Their happy shrieks resounded throughout the area, and I took note of Florence's frown.

  Struck with an idea, I asked her, "Want to see a secret place? Where we can get away from it all for a while?"

  "I'm intrigued. Lead the way."

  I led Florence past The Three Blind Mice and Little Miss Muffet over to the outer reaches of the park. We traveled through the Magic Forest and into The Wind in the Willows set, where I pointed to a small door to the side of Mole's house. "Through there," I said.

  "It opens? I thought it was fake. It actually leads somewhere?"

  "It's a well-kept secret. My staff doesn't even know about it. My mom used to come over here when she needed a break. Jamie and I would meet here sometimes." A blush crept up my neck.

  "Your own private inspiration point?" Florence nudged me in the ribs.

  My face burned with embarrassment. At the same time, I had a vision of Scott and me making out, which I quickly dispelled.

  We bent down to squeeze through the door, ending up in a lush meadow with a canopy of redwood trees and dozens of wildflowers. A butterfly flew near Florence's nose, and we laughed.

  "It's beautiful here," Florence said as she surveyed the area. "What's the history of this place? Besides it being a secret?"

  "I don't really know. Maybe there was going to be another set here, but it never came to fruition. Or maybe my grandfather—he founded the park—wanted a secret hiding place too. He and my grandmother might have come over here."

  "To neck?"

  We laughed at the old-fashioned term.

  "Right."

  We sat on the grass underneath the overhang of the redwood trees.
The temperature was at least ten degrees cooler here than elsewhere in the park, and it was many decibels quieter. Florence crossed her legs into the half-lotus pose, surprising me with her flexibility. But I was beginning to think I shouldn't be surprised by anything she did.

  Florence looked around. "Truly lovely."

  It was quite peaceful. The one drawback was how long it took to get back into the heart of the park if I was needed. So I usually chose Jack and Jill's Hill when I wanted to get away.

  I gazed at Florence's wrinkled face. I'd noticed she never wore makeup, even for her performances, including her role as the queen in Snow White. All she had done for the part was bundle her long gray mane into a tidy bun.

  "Are you lonely, Florence?"

  "Oh, I don't know, darlin'. Sometimes I wish I could have someone to bounce ideas off of. But I love performing in the seniors' troupe. It gets me out of the house. I have friends. And I seem to be making new ones." She patted my knee.

  "Did you have a good marriage?" I was being awfully bold. Maybe she would tell me to go to hell.

  "We had a wonderful marriage. But I loved him perhaps too much. I was constantly afraid he would leave me."

  Hmm. Was that what was holding me back with Scott? A fear of him leaving me? It made sense I'd be afraid of him dying like Jamie had, but was I also worried he would just up and leave? Yes, I was. It was what my father had done. He left my mother and me when I was only thirteen to date and eventually marry another woman. It had taken me several years to forgive him.

  "There aren't exactly any guarantees, are there?" I said. "In love. Or life. I mean, look at what happened to Katrina."

  Florence uncrossed her legs and looked at me. "Nope. Never are guarantees."

  Despite the serious subject matter, I was feeling quite relaxed and sleepy. I could easily fall asleep and never return to work. I felt safe here, far away from romance problems, loss, and murder. Birds twittered in the trees, and another butterfly flew by. So peaceful…