The Princess and the Poison

by Carol E. Ayer

  "Florence!" I yelled. "Florence!"

  A rustling noise, and suddenly she was there. She roughly grabbed my arms and pulled them behind my back. Before I knew it, my arms were tied together with what felt like rope, and something pointy was touching my back. Something that I suspected was a needle. Wow, she really came equipped. Needles and rope. Then it occurred to me she probably just took the rope from the Pinocchio area, where we continued to block off the stage during rehearsals.

  "Walk toward The Wind in the Willows set," Florence said. With one hand, she held the needle to my back, and, with the other, she gripped the knotted rope so I couldn't break away. "I have the feeling we don't have much time. The police are on the way, aren't they?"

  "No. I just told the 9-1-1 operator I had a medical emergency and needed an ambulance. I told her I didn't need the police."

  "I don't believe you. You're lying. You never would have made a very good actress. Not like me!" Then she laughed, a diabolical, high-pitched laugh I didn't care for. I didn't like the laugh, and I didn't like where she was taking me either. We were heading for the "oasis," otherwise known as "the place where Ashling would die."

  "You spent time in South America, didn't you?" I said. "It's where your family worked with the orphans?"

  "Very good! How smart of you to figure that out. My parents were missionaries. They were stationed in the Amazon when I was a teenager. I was deeply unhappy. I learned about plants to pass the time, including how to make poisons. I enjoyed it so much that I studied botany in college. I was a botanist before I turned to acting. I bet you didn't know that."

  We'd reached The Wind in the Willows set. Sure enough, we were headed for the oasis. Great. The detectives would never find us here. I was truly on my own.

  Once we'd stooped down and gone through the door next to Mole's house, we arrived in the meadow. Florence pushed me into a kneeling position on the grass, the needle at my back the insurance I'd do exactly what she wanted. So much for the serenity and peace I'd felt when we'd been here before. Once she actually injected me with the curare, I'd soon be unable to move. But as I'd read, I'd be painfully aware of what was happening. Poor Scott. He would have felt it too, as had Katrina. At least I'd saved Scott. Katrina would have known she was dying, and no one had helped her.

  I braced myself for the needle stick, but it didn't come. What was Florence waiting for? Maybe she was wrestling with the idea of killing me. Maybe she thought of us as friends, as I had until she'd decided to kill me. Sure, I'd kept her on the suspect list, but I'd never seriously considered her. I remembered spilling my life story to her, trusting her with all my secrets. Ryan might be a bad judge of character, but I was even worse.

  Maybe I could stave her off by talking to her, and the detectives would find us after all. Although I had serious doubts they would. As I'd unfortunately shared with Florence, no one alive, save my mother, knew about the existence of the "oasis." How ironic that term seemed now.

  "What I don't understand is why you killed Katrina in the first place," I said. "Just because she only did nice things to improve her image? And her true nature wasn't at all nice?"

  The demonic laugh rang out into the night, and I cringed. "She was a bitch, and she was a big fake, that's all true. But I knew her. You didn't know that either, did you? We met at an awards show years ago, when she was just coming up in the business. I was on my way out. We got to be good friends—kind of like you and me."

  I grimaced.

  "And then I found the little tramp and my husband in flagrante at his condo. Well, I'll tell you. I killed him."

  "What?! I thought you loved him. I thought you adored him!"

  "Yes, I told you the truth about that. And he felt the same for me. But as much as we loved each other, he was stupid the way men are. The way they're attracted to outer beauty rather than what really counts. George was quite a bit younger than me, and I was getting older and older, darlin'. Don't ever do it. Well, you won't, will you?" The laugh again.

  "He was flirting with other women too," she went on. "I never knew if he'd had affairs with anyone but the little bitch, but I suspected. And if it hadn't happened yet, it was just a matter of time. Don't you see? Don't you get it? I couldn't bear for anyone else to have him."

  Yeah, like that made sense. She didn't want anyone else to have him, so she killed him. And, wait, did she say she caught her husband with Katrina at his condo? I was sure she had. Did she mean to say she caught them at Katrina's condo? If she did mean his condo, what was up with that?

  I had to ask: "Did you kill him with curare too?"

  "I did, yes." She sounded awfully proud of herself.

  "But where did you get it?"

  "Oh, that part wasn't all that difficult. I knew they grew curare at the Wilkinson Botanical Garden in Los Angeles. I'd seen it. I disguised my appearance so I wouldn't be recognized, walked in, and told the administrator I was teaching a course at my senior center on plants that doubled as poisons and medicines. It took a little convincing and me quickly flashing my old credentials and acting the innocent old lady, but she agreed to give me some samples. At home, I mixed the samples up in the way I'd learned as a teenager. Then I went to George's work to see him, made sure we were alone in his office, and injected him with my special mixture. He had atrial fibrillation and was under a doctor's care, so there wasn't an autopsy. I got away with it! And such a nice way to go too!"

  That wasn't true. The victims were very much aware they were being paralyzed and then asphyxiated. Did Florence know that? Wouldn't she? Since she'd learned all about curare as a teenager? Maybe she did know but was in denial about it. I dearly wanted to believe she hadn't planned for her beloved husband to suffer.

  "And Katrina?" I gasped.

  "She didn't understand why I was so upset with her. She said George and I were separated, so there wasn't anything wrong with what she'd done! But she never told anyone she was having a relationship with him. No doubt because she knew full well it was wrong! She broke off all contact with me, saying I was being unreasonable. I was the unreasonable one. Isn't that rich? But not before the tramp claimed George only married me for my money."

  "Your money?"

  "Another thing you didn't know. I'm very well off. My first husband was filthy rich. He died too."

  Oh God. Another murder?

  As if reading my mind, she said, "Oh, don't worry, darlin'. I didn't kill Edward. He died in a car accident. Then I met George, and we fell in love. Yes, love. Despite what Katrina said. Technically, yes, we were separated, but we were workin' things out. He merely got sidetracked by her youth and beauty, but he loved me."

  While Florence nattered on, I wracked my brain for something I could do, anything that could get me out of this situation. My eyes darted around the area, searching for a weapon. But all I could see was grass and wildflowers. And the needle was still uncomfortably pressed against my back.

  "I wanted to kill Katrina too, but it would have been much, much harder than with George. Mostly because she didn't want to see me! I tried to make up with her, I really did. But she was having none of it. So, I figured I'd have to settle for gettin' far away from her, to try to forget. I moved up here, bought my house, and joined the seniors' troupe."

  She paused. If she was hoping for me to prompt her to go on, she was very mistaken. I didn't say a word.

  "Then I heard the seniors' troupe was participating in a summer play series at StoryWorld, and half the proceeds were going to the CLLC, one of Katrina's pet charities! Like she cared about anyone but herself, but it made her look good. I started hatchin' a plan. I would tell Katrina about it, tell her I wanted to put the past behind us. It would be an opportunity for us to act together. To mend fences. I told her it would be good for her image. For her to participate in plays at a children's park that benefited one of her pet causes. I suggested she act as though it was all her idea. Of course, she lapped that up and immediately agreed. Although she made sure to tell me she was only a
vailable because she'd decided to take a break this summer. She'd turned down several offers already. She wanted me to know how popular she was, how very popular and in demand.

  "I grow all sorts of poisonous plants in my garden that can be put into food. But she wouldn't come for dinner when I invited her. Maybe she didn't trust me. Can you imagine? She didn't trust me? I was about to give up on the entire plan when the props arrived a few days before the premiere, including an antique spinning wheel with a real spindle. The perfect vehicle for my favorite poison!"

  She sounded like she was talking about her favorite foods or clothing stores. What a sicko.

  "The spindle was covered up so the little bitch wouldn't hurt herself. It was very sharp, just perfect for my purposes! After I got rid of George, I still had some curare mix left and knew it could come in handy someday. As long as it's not exposed to the air, it has a long shelf life. So I bought a tube of mascara, cleaned it out, and kept my leftovers in there for when I might be needin' some."

  Her mascara wand! Of course. I remembered when it had fallen through one of the holes in her purse. I'd taken note of it but hadn't put that together with the fact she never wore makeup. I'd even had a dream about Dinah wearing mascara. I should have figured that out much earlier! If I had, I could have told the detectives, they could have found the curare and arrested Florence, and I would not be in this situation. This situation in which I was going to die.

  "And when I found out your friend Donna's husband was a botanist, everything fell into place. It played so well into my hands, I couldn't believe it. A built-in suspect! And then she had a fight with Katrina, which made things just so very perfect. I almost didn't go through with it because it was just too easy. I've always enjoyed a challenge."

  I thought about what Donna had said after we'd visited baby Jamie for the first time. How she was afraid she'd miss him growing up because she'd be in prison. I would literally miss him growing up because I'd be dead. What about Donna? My mom and Tim? I'd never see them again. I thought Scott would survive, but I'd never know for sure, nor would I ever see him again. I realized that I really, really wanted to see him again. I wanted to kiss him, to hug him, to have a relationship with him. Why did I have to only realize that now? When it was too late?

  Florence continued on with her story, but her voice seemed far away now, even though she couldn't have been closer. By now, the sun had set, and our only light was from the near-full moon. "So, when the stagehand wasn't there on Friday afternoon to put the props back behind the stage, we all pitched in. No one noticed when I took care of the spinning wheel. And when I say I took care of it, I mean I really took care of it. I was all prepared."

  This last bit made it through my haze. "But you wouldn't have known Marcus would be sick," I said, feeling very ill myself.

  "Oh, but I did."

  "You made him sick?"

  "What can I say? He loves smoothies. I made him a very special smoothie. Julie was stupid enough to have a few sips of it too. So she got a little ill herself."

  I said in a choked voice, "What was in it? What did you put in the smoothie?"

  "Oh, darlin', that's what you get for growing aloe vera in your Mary Garden. Aloe vera is an excellent laxative. Just like curare, a little is good, a lot…not so good." She laughed again, and I almost wanted to die just so I'd never have to hear that evil sound again.

  So she'd poisoned Marcus and Julie too. What if Marcus had died? He could have become severely dehydrated from the diarrhea. I remembered her saying she didn't trust authority and there were too many rules in life, implying a few should be broken. Was one of those "thou shalt not kill"? She was breaking that one all over the place. I recalled Donna saying that once a person killed once, she didn't hesitate to do it again. That was sure the case here. Big time.

  "Everyone thought Katrina died of a heart attack. There was such a lag time between her gettin' stuck and people realizing there was something wrong, which I'd anticipated, of course. The heart still beats for a while. Did you know that? But by then, her heart had stopped, just as I expected. Sure, I knew eventually they'd figure out it wasn't a heart attack. They'd have an autopsy because of her age. There'd be investigations. But I'd gotten rid of the spindle and the plastic cover by that time. And if my fingerprints or any other DNA were on the spinning wheel, I wouldn't be suspected, would I? I was supposed to touch the spinning wheel! That was my role.

  "It all would have worked, but you didn't give up, did you? I liked you, Ashling, I really did. But the vandalism, the fire… Nothing stopped you! And now, I just don't know what to do with you. I'm afraid you're going to have to die. I just don't see any other way."

  "Let me go, Florence. I promise I won't tell anyone it was you. And Scott won't either. I swear."

  "You're lying! No. That just won't work."

  I braced myself again. Surely she'd kill me now, now that she'd gotten all the details off her chest. First, I wouldn't be able to move, and then I wouldn't be able to breathe. I would die here at StoryWorld, in the place where my grandparents—not to mention Jamie and I—had secretly met. There was a certain poetic justice to that, I supposed.

  But Florence still didn't insert the needle. Why not? Somehow I doubted it was because she considered me a friend. This had to be the same needle she'd used on Scott. She'd taken care not to show it to me. There must not be any curare left!

  What did I have to lose exactly? Counting on the element of surprise, I wrestled out of her hold, staggered to my feet, and spun around. As hard as I could, I kicked her in the knee and screamed, "That's it, Florence! You crazy wacko killer! No more! You're never gonna hurt anyone again! Do you hear me?"

  She yelped in pain. Unfortunately, she wasn't quite as frail as I'd hoped. She rebounded quickly after I started running, and she came after me. Luckily, she hadn't closed the door after we came through from The Wind and the Willows. I squeezed through the opening and ran out into the center of the park, alternately yelling back at her to leave me alone and screeching ahead of me "Help!" as loudly as I could.

  I ran and ran until I hit something hard. Detective Ochoa. I had never been so glad to see anyone in my life.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Scott was released from the hospital late the next day, and I drove us over to Donna and Charlie's house. I kept my left hand on the wheel to steer, my right hand secure in Scott's left palm. He seemed exhausted, but he assured me he was fine. As for me, a doctor had checked out my wounds and dressed them, and they were already feeling better.

  We all settled down in the living room. Donna sat on Charlie's lap in the big armchair. Scott and I chose the sofa, again holding hands. I'd given Donna and Charlie the bare bones account of what had happened, and I'd filled Scott in too.

  "So, that's it," Donna said. "It's all over. Thank God. I'm just so relieved."

  "Thank you, Ashling," Charlie said. "We owe you big time."

  "I do too," Scott said, beaming at me.

  "She was really crazy," I said. "She said her husband married her because he loved her, but I really think it was for her money, just like Katrina thought. And once they separated, I don't think they were ever gonna get back together. Maybe he even fell in love with Katrina, and she with him. Maybe they would have eventually gone public. But, cripes. Florence killed him so Katrina couldn't have him? Talk about Crazy Town."

  "Well, I'd like to think that anyone who murders another person is crazy at some level," Donna said.

  We murmured in agreement.

  "There's something I don't understand," I said to Scott. "What were you even doing at StoryWorld?"

  "I went to find you, of course."

  "But how did you know I was going to be there?"

  He gestured with his chin to Donna. "Donna called me."

  "You might be a good liar with other people but never with me, Ash," Donna said.

  I wasn't so sure about that. Florence hadn't bought any of my lies. I decided then and there to never lie again.
/>
  "You figured it out?" I asked Donna.

  "I knew you weren't going to your parents' house. For one thing, you told me once they never wanted a computer."

  Of course. She was right. One of the problems with lying was needing to remember the information you'd given out before.

  Donna went on, "I tried to reassure myself, telling myself you wouldn't do anything foolish. But I couldn't stop feeling anxious. So I called Scott. I considered calling the detectives, but I knew I had no credibility with them. Charlie and I were still the main suspects, after all. And what would I have told them anyway? That you were acting weird about your plans for the evening?" She laughed.

  Scott took over. "I drove to your cottage and didn't see your car. I sped over to StoryWorld right away. It's the only place I could think of to go. Your car was in your space, so I went inside looking for you. But Florence got to me at the Sleeping Beauty set and stuck me with the needle."

  "Oh, Scott," I said. "I'm so, so sorry. It was such a dumb idea."

  "The plan left a little to be desired, yes." He crossed his eyes at me.

  "You must have been so mad at me."

  He touched my cheek. "No. At first, I was just desperate to get to you. I had a feeling any plan you'd concocted wouldn't work. No offense. Any plan that involved just a single person, especially one without a weapon, wasn't going to be effective."

  I nodded.

  "And then, after Florence stuck me, I knew I would die. As I lay there, unable to move or cry out, I prayed she wouldn't come after you. But that was just wishful thinking."

  "She was going to kill me, Scott. If not with curare, some other way. I think she was stalling, thinking about how she could do it. Can't you kill someone by injecting air into their veins? If she used all the curare on you, maybe she would have done that. Or maybe she would have tried to strangle me. She was surprisingly agile and strong." I shuddered, thinking of the different ways she could have done me in.