Much Ado About Muffin

by Victoria Hamilton

  “I thought of making it a roving performance, creating several different sets in the castle and having the audience follow. You see this is the gallery,” he said, pointing to a sketch with the end of his fork. “And this,” he said, pushing another sketch toward me, “is by the big windows in the dining room. We would break between scenes and have the audience move.”

  “It could work. Would the voices resonate in each place?”

  He got technical then, but the simple answer was yes.

  When he was done, I broached the subject dear to Janice’s heart. “Have you given thought to doing The King and I, as you promised?”

  “I didn’t promise, Merry, I said I’d think about it. I’m the program director and make the final decisions.”

  “Okay, you’re the boss. I promised Janice I’d talk to you about it.”

  His gaze kept straying back to the drawings, and his attention, too. “Right now I’m concentrating on Much Ado for Roma’s sake. She needs this, Merry.”

  I took the empty plate and touched his hand. He didn’t need to explain to me. “I’m going out for a few hours,” I told him.

  “See you later, then,” he said absently.

  “I may commit a murder or two while I’m out,” I said, watching as he bent over the sketches again, his attention wholly focused.

  “Okay, love. I’ll be here. Tell me how it goes.”

  I didn’t know what to expect at a Consciousness Calling class. Would we be holding hands and singing “Kumbaya”? Taking a weird communal massage and dishing all our dirtiest laundry, as Lizzie had said? I drove into town and parked on a side street as the last rays of sunshine gleamed in the windows along the streetscape. It was still hot, so I’d decided on tan walking shorts and a pale blue silky tank top.

  This evening’s Consciousness Calling event was supposed to be an introductory session. I had seen the flyers all over town, stapled or taped to every telephone pole saying there would be a session Thursday evening, seven pm, and promising refreshments. I grabbed my purse and strolled the street. They practically roll up the sidewalks in Autumn Vale after five PM, except on Friday evenings, so everything was closed.

  Emerald’s shop, however, was ablaze with light, which glowed from the window and lit the dimming sidewalk outside it. I followed a youngish harried-looking couple in, wondering if this was their version of date night. There isn’t a lot to do in Autumn Vale. The nearest movie theater is a drive-in on the other side of Ridley Ridge, and there are no bars in town. For that, too, you had to go to “sin city”—aka Ridley Ridge—where there was the run-down divey cocktail lounge where Emerald worked.

  As the door started to close behind me, someone else rushed in. I turned to find Helen Johnson, a woman I knew to be a staunch supporter of the local church. I smiled at her and she looked uncertain, crossing the room and standing on the edge of the bank of fold-up chairs in the center, as if waiting until I sat so she could choose her seat. I was surprised she was there; this kind of new age stuff would be, I thought, anathema to her. But I had to imagine that many folks would check it out for gossip’s sake.

  Two more singles, a middle-aged man and an older woman, entered, and—surprise, surprise—Dewayne Lester, dressed in a clean T-shirt and jeans. He smiled and nodded. Interesting. There were seven of us newbies. Logan Katsaros was present, leaning against the wall, staring down at his cell phone. Beyond the curtain that sectioned the space from a back room I heard voices, whispering that rose to sharp words, and then Crystal herself emerged, her expression flashing from one of annoyance to a deliberately serene look of inner peace.

  The curtains slashed open with a rattle of the beach glass beads, and Lizzie stomped out to stand at the back. She was fuming inwardly so hard that she didn’t even see me. Brianna followed. The girl caught sight of me, and her eyes widened. She sidled over and nudged Logan, who looked up, caught sight of me, and shrugged, murmuring something to Brianna. She smiled timidly at me, and I smiled back.

  Well, this was working out. I was here to check things out, mostly for Emerald and Lizzie’s sake, but if I could answer some questions about Minnie’s relationship to her boarders I was all for multitasking. I cleared my throat and caught Lizzie’s eye, gratified to see a smile replace the sullen look of fury. She rolled her eyes, then cast a significant look at Crystal, who was greeting the young couple at that moment, and rolled her eyes again. I nodded, then took a seat a row away from Dewayne, settling my purse on my lap. Helen abruptly plopped down on one on the far edge.

  Music filled the room, one of those babbling-brook-overlaid-by-bird-noises-and-harp-music CDs meant to induce calm or irritation, depending on the person. I prefer my music as music and my bird noises in the woods. I snuck a glance over at Helen. She looked tense, her fingers white-knuckled where they clutched her pocketbook. Dewayne looked relaxed as he scanned the group, then sat back, the chair creaking with his weight.

  Crystal finally noticed me, and her expression soured, though she regained her serenity in a flash. But she had stiffened, and her body language changed. I was not welcome, but she couldn’t exactly throw me out in front of the others.

  Brianna, like a proper acolyte, had moved to the front and stood to one side of Crystal watching her intently. Logan, who had taken a chair on the fringe of the group, looked bored, chewing gum, crossing his legs, then uncrossing them and fidgeting. The couple were whispering, bending toward each other in what looked like some kind of spat that ended in frigid silence.

  Crystal gathered us all with a sweeping glance, then clapped her hands together in a prayerful attitude. This evening she looked more the part, wearing a white calf-length gown belted at the waist; it appeared to me to be an intentional echo of religious garb. Helen, wide-eyed, fidgeted in her seat, tucking her blue knee-length skirt under her thighs on the plastic folding chair.

  “Welcome, all you dear people,” Crystal said, holding out her hands palms down as if it were a benediction on us all. Her voice was different than when she normally spoke in conversation. “Welcome to our introductory session of Consciousness Calling, a system of living that will free you of guilt, worry, and fear, and bring to the surface your hidden reservoirs of strength, positive energy, and healing.” She paused and looked around. “Healing,” she repeated. “Think about that: whatever is ailing you, whether it is body, mind or spirit, you have the ability to fix it yourself. No therapy. No psychologist. Just you, and the power of positivity.”

  She spoke in the same vein for several minutes. Was this all there was, endless psychobabble positivity chatter that I could hear in any self-help group?

  But when we had been lulled into receptiveness, I supposed, she got down to brass tacks. “As babies we know instinctively how to get what we want without being bogged down by the expectations and desires of others. But through our life we become burdened by guilt, overwhelmed by the neediness of others, depleted by the negative emotions surrounding us and the confusion of everyday life.”

  Everyone nodded. She had struck a nerve.

  “With Consciousness Calling, you can learn to rid yourself of all that toxic negative energy. Abandon worry, escape guilt. You can become truly free to receive from the universe exactly what you need,” she said, pointing and letting her finger rove over the audience. “What do you need? Whatever it is, you can have it.”

  She had them, I could see it. The young couple were rapt, leaning forward, as were the two singles. Even Helen was transfixed. Who didn’t want to escape guilt and worry? The only holdout was Dewayne, who sat back with a neutral expression.

  “It’s simple, and anyone can do it. You need to open your heart, and let your body become one with your mind. You must stop trying to control the people around you, as you don’t wish them to control you,” she said, flashing a glance in my direction.

  I heard Lizzie snort in the background and saw the severe look Crystal threw her way
. From then on I started listening with more vigilance.

  “Control is an illusion,” she said, her voice becoming even more fluid, with almost a singsong quality. “Give up control. Allow yourself to be happy. Give yourself permission to become prosperous. Release those in your lives who only want to tie you down, make you bend to their will, destroy your confidence and peace. The universe wants to reward you, but you’ve been blocking it from giving you peace, love, happiness . . . and prosperity.” She approached the crowd and met their gazes—except for me, who she skimmed over—and lowered her voice further, the sensation intimate. “You deserve money. You deserve happiness. You deserve all the nice things in life. Others have it; why not you?” She looked at the young couple. “Why not you?”

  They nodded and both murmured what sounded like “Why not me?”

  “Do you have people in your life who are tearing you down? Those are downward-trending people, DTPs. They want you to fail so they can feel better about themselves. They’re losers on a downward spiral, and you are winners willing to do whatever it takes to become wealthy, influential, and happy. Once you become your true self, they may get angry,” she said, pointing. “They may say you’ve changed. Well, you will have; you will no longer be the sucker who makes them feel better about their pathetic lives. They’ll try everything to make you come back into their loser fold and behave like the wretched, hopeless, joyless losers they are.”

  Helen sat back, an expression of distaste on her face. She shifted in her seat, sitting up straighter, clutching her purse tighter.

  “But you’re better than that,” Crystal continued. “You’ve made the decision to make something of yourself, of your life. Do you wish you could find the strength to confront that boss who only wants to put you down? Or your mother-in-law who is always so snide?”

  Nods, again, among the crowd, especially the young couple. But Crystal had lost Helen. The churchwoman’s mouth primmed with a moue of distaste. Dewayne simply watched, a thoughtful look on his face, his beefy arms folded over his chest.

  “I can help you eliminate the sources of turmoil in your life. But you need to trust me. Can you do that? Can you trust me?”

  It was the siren song of the guru; I can teach you to be happy, you just need to abandon all caring for those in your life who offer more complications than a bean sprout.

  There were murmurs of assent.

  “We’re going to do a focus exercise, Chanting the Contexts,” Crystal said. She began, and those inclined followed.

  “I deserve love. I deserve happiness. I deserve wealth. I am whole, I am complete, I am perfect as I am.”

  She went through that again and again, gathering people into her chant as she repeated it. I slipped into a meditative state, and caught myself saying, “I deserve love,” with the rest of them.

  There was a moment of silence, and I looked up to find Crystal staring at me with an odd, vibrant intensity. I was taken aback, my breath caught in my throat. She broke it off, and at a hand signal, Brianna sprang into action and wheeled out the massage table I had noticed along one wall. She centered it in front of Crystal.

  Crystal put her hands on the table and smiled. “This is the cleansing table, where with just one Calling Inner Consciousness session I can help you remove from your life every single obstacle to happiness, wealth, freedom of mind and body. Do you want to be rich? I can help you. Do you want to find your perfect lover? Freedom from worry? Let me help you! Do you wish for better health? I can help you rid your body of those nagging problems that are keeping you from living and walking in perfect health.”

  Brianna appeared at her elbow with a clipboard.

  “We do group Callings, but I’m only booking private Calling sessions for this week. They’re far more effective for those seeking the maximum benefit, a quick fix to all your life’s troubles and turmoil. It’s very intense, and I can only do two every day. Maybe three. Four at the most. Let me help you receive the light and make your life exactly what you want it to be.”

  Logan had disappeared at some point during the session. I hadn’t even noticed, and I realized that it was Crystal’s quality of voice and the way she emphasized certain words that had made me so rapt I had missed some stuff during the chanting. Interesting. As strong as I thought myself, she had managed to snag me. She had the combined mesmeric quality of a county fair huckster and an evangelical preacher—a dangerous combination.

  Lizzie and Brianna set up a little table with a kettle and jar of instant coffee and some bakery boxes of goodies I recognized as Binny’s. Helen fixed a cup of coffee in a Styrofoam cup, snagged a cream puff, clutched her purse to her chest, and hustled out of the place as if she had accidentally strayed into a black mass ceremony, scattering white powered creamer as she beetled out.

  The young man and woman were already signing up on the clipboard. After a brief, intense conversation, he got his wallet out of his pocket and pulled out a card.

  “And there’s the payoff.” Lizzie was at my elbow, arms crossed over her chest.

  “What do you mean?”

  “He’s got his credit card out,” she muttered. “It’s either that or cash to book a session. She’s a freakin’ genius.”

  Crystal made them sign something, then wrote down his credit card number. The other two unknowns in the class were lined up waiting, and I examined them. I had seen them around before, but I didn’t know their names. Both looked uncertain, but when you want a better life it’s tempting to believe someone who tells you they know all the answers. Crystal was convincing.

  “Maybe she can help people,” I murmured.

  Lizzie looked up at me with a snort of disbelief. “What is it with adults? You’re all so . . . so brainwashable.”

  Lizzie was young and despite her difficult life so far, she still had the faith that if adults left her alone, she’d manage just fine. When you get older, life crowds in on you; there are so many demands, all competing. Sometimes to fulfill all of other people’s needs and expectations you sacrifice your own. Crystal had tapped into a desperate desire for release.

  “I know that’s Brianna, Minnie’s boarder,” I said, motioning toward the girl. “What’s she like?”

  Lizzie shrugged. “She’s okay. Messed up in the head, but okay otherwise.”

  “Messed up in the head?”

  “When she was kicked out of the foster care system at eighteen, she didn’t know what to do. She was practically homeless. But then she moved here and found a job and lived at Minnie’s.”

  “A pseudo-family.” With Minnie as pseudo-mom. “I talked to her once, but I’d like to speak to her again. Can you get her out of here?”

  “Sure.” She went to Brianna, motioned toward me, and the girl nodded.

  Lizzie and Brianna followed me out the door, watched by Dewayne. Crystal noticed, but she was tied up with the couple, and trying to keep the attention of the two singles, who were getting impatient and starting to eye the exit themselves.

  The evening was cooling off. I turned as the two girls followed me out and down the walk a few steps.

  “Bri, this is Merry Wynter,” Lizzie said. “She wanted to talk to you about stuff.”

  I gave my young friend a look. That was not what I had in mind, her being warned that I wanted to talk to her. She’d be on her guard and probably report back to Crystal. “We’ve met,” I said pleasantly to Brianna. “I’m sorry about Minnie.” I hadn’t thought it through, and my lack of planning was going to make for an awkward moment. “Actually, I know I didn’t say it when we met before, but I’m the one who found her. Dead. It’s . . . it’s terrible, and when I saw you here I wanted to say, I’m sorry.”

  Brianna’s face was blank of expression and she didn’t reply. I examined her for a moment, the petulant lips stained with bluish lipstick, her dyed hair pulled back in a messy ponytail. How could I find out what I wanted to know
? “I understand Minnie came here to the Consciousness Calling a couple of times. There was some kind of confrontation with her.”

  Brianna shrugged. “It wasn’t her thing.”

  “That must have been awkward for you. Is anyone pressuring you to leave the house, with Minnie gone?”

  The girl, her eyes rimmed in dark makeup and her lashes thickly coated in mascara, stared at me with suspicion. “Why did you talk to me and Logan earlier? And why didn’t you say who you were? Minnie hated you. She told, like, everyone. Maybe you’re the one who killed her.”

  “Merry would never hurt anyone!” my young friend bellowed, hands balled into fists. “You watch what you’re saying or I’ll—”

  “Lizzie, enough!” I held up a hand and gave her a look, then returned my gaze to Brianna. I hadn’t figured that Minnie would have openly talked about me to her boarders. But what else did she have besides work and her various interpersonal wars? “I didn’t kill Minnie. I felt sorry for her, in a way.”

  Brianna snorted and looked away.

  “How did you learn about what happened to Minnie that morning?”

  She shrugged. “Cops came hammering on the door. I was in the shower getting ready for work, so Logan answered.”

  “That’s right, there were just the two of you. Your roommate Karl had a big fight with Minnie the night before and stormed out.”

  She sharply turned and stared at me. “Who told you that?”

  “The guys he’s crashing with.”

  “He didn’t walk out,” Brianna bluntly stated. “Minnie threw his ass out . . . kicked him to the curb.”

  Chapter Twelve

  I opened my mouth to ask why, and what their argument was about, whether it had become physical, but Emerald strode down the sidewalk toward us.

  “Merry, what are you doing here?”

  Taken aback by both her arrival and her abruptness, I waited a moment so I wouldn’t snap back, then said, “I took your suggestion and came to the introductory CC session.”