by Sarah Dreher
"Calm yourself,” Divi Divi said, sensing her mood. "The point of Preppy is to equalize the power, not get the advantage."
Stoner eased up a little on the accelerator. "Preppy? That's what you call the car?"
"Yep. Because it's a Blazer. Preppy Blazer, get it?"
Stoner groaned. "That's terrible."
"I was going to call her 'Circle Pin,' but it lacked punch."
"Preppy Blazer has punch all right."
”Anyway," Divi Divi went on, "I'd be real surprised if it was Rita making trouble."
They went through the others one by one. Boneset was, indeed, Wiccan, and believed in the Three-Fold Law. Whatever she put out into the universe, she believed, would come back to her three-fold. She wasn't likely to do anything to bring negativity on herself. Barb was pretty taciturn and kept to herself. But Divi Divi had no reason to think Barb would cause trouble, as she was completely wrapped up in making the inanimate objects of theater behave themselves. Besides, Divi Divi said, she didn't have "that kind of imagination," which Stoner took to mean Barb didn't have much imagination at all. It didn't make her the life of the party, but it didn't make her a suspect, either.
Marcy, surprisingly, was a bit of an enigma to Divi Divi, who had begun to suspect—only this year—that there was more going on with her than met the eye. She couldn't put her finger on it, though.
Which left Rebecca, Roseann, and Sherry. Divi Divi was inclined to reject the notion that Rebecca would sabotage something she'd put as much energy into as she had into Demeter Ascending.
Roseann hadn't been with them long enough to get it in for someone, and, besides, she'd been too much of a target.
"And then there's me,” Divi Divi said. "What do you think of my chances?"
"Not much.”
"I don't know if I should be pleased or disappointed."
“What's your motive? Unless you're trying to stop them from making a mess of your script."
Divi Divi laughed. "Doll, they couldn't make a mess of that script. I can't even get a handle on it myself. But it'll come together by the end. I'll shift the order of a few scenes, and suddenly the wit and brilliance—not to mention the deep political and philosophical significance—of Not Quite Titled will flash like a diamond. If you continue to treat me with respect and deference, I'll invite you to the Pulitzer Prize ceremonies."
"How about the rest of the crew?"
"I really doubt it. Barb brings the crew up during the last couple of weeks, after the softball season ends. They stay long enough to build the sets and get the props and costumes together and be general go-fers. Then they go back to Boston and wait until we're ready to go into the theater."
"So they haven't been here all along,” Stoner said.
"No longer than you have."
"And the trouble started before that."
"Long before. If you want to throw every suspicious accident into the stew, it started right at the beginning."
Stoner glanced over at her. "Really?"
"Just about. Watch the road, please."
"Sorry."
"Just some weird shit happening," Divi Divi said. "Stuff disappearing from the barn..."
"Stuff?"
"People's clothing, books, scripts. But they always showed up somewhere else, so we figured we'd misplaced them."
"Showed up where?"
"In our rooms, or in the living room. Places we'd gone. And it didn't really matter about the scripts, since we were changing the play every day, anyway, and someone or other was running in to Bangor every night to get copies made. I guess that's why we didn't suspect anything, because it was all mistakes we could have made ourselves." She paused. "Or is it 'they were mistakes?' If you ever decide to take up writing, try to do it in an easier language than English."
So no one had noticed. No one but Sherry, that was. But no one but Sherry had received threatening notes.
"I guess you and Gwen are above suspicion, too:' Divi Divi went on. "Since the trouble started before you got here."
"Minor troubles," Stoner said. “We could have seen what was going on and decided it was the perfect opportunity to make trouble and not be suspected."
"What would you do that for? You didn't even know us. If you wanted to make real trouble, you could have tampered with the Dyke Hikers' equipment."
"But it wouldn't have been as much fun, or as challenging as trying to mess up a group that had worked together for years."
Divi Divi scraped the last bit of her Peanut Buster Parfait from its cup and stowed the trash in a plastic bin in the back seat. ''You have a devious mind, Stoner McTavish,” she said.
"So I've heard. We haven't talked about Sherry."
"Sherry." Divi Divi was silent for a moment. “Sherry,” she repeated.
Stoner glanced at her. "Something wrong?"
"Just trying to get a grip on her. Watch the road, please."
"Sorry."
"To tell you the truth,” the woman said after a while, "I don't know what to make of Sherry. Not that I think she'd do anything against Demeter, but in a general kind of way."
"How do you mean?"
"Well, most of the time she seems okay—a little bossy, a little too much of a cheer leader, and there are moments when I wonder if she knows the difference between a producer and a social director."
Stoner smiled. "I saw that in action."
"And sometimes she plays kind of loose with the boundaries, steps on other people's toes. Like the other night when she called a set-building session. Now, technically, that's was Barb's business to decide, not Sherry's. But I guess she'd say that's what being a collective means—people don't have rigid, assigned roles. On the other hand, there is such a thing as good manners. Not that Sherry's manners aren't good, exactly. She just kind of slips over sometimes. But maybe she doesn't know any better. Maybe she wouldn't mind if someone else did that to her, so it's not really important to her."
"Did she ever step on your toes?"
"Just once. We'd been working on some script changes, back before it was time for me to take over the writing and make it coherent. I wasn't quite satisfied with the new material, wanted to try a couple of other things the next day. Well, come rehearsal time Sherry waltzes in with new scripts, which she'd driven in town and had run off the night before without telling me. I clouded over and rained all over her." She fell silent again.
"What happened?" Stoner asked.
"Made a damn fool of myself, is what. She pointed out that she was only trying to help, and it wasn't as if she'd burned the barn down, she'd just had a few pieces of paper copied. I ended up feeling as if I was mentally ill for getting upset. Or is it 'were mentally ill?' Anyway, I dropped it and she didn't do it again."
"So it all ended okay."
"I guess. But, to tell you the truth, I still feel like a damn fool."
And I'll bet you haven't criticized Sherry again, Stoner thought. "That doesn't sound so bad to me,” she said. "I've done damn-fooler things than that."
" 'Damn-fooler?' "
"Hey, you're the writer, not me. I can say anything I want."
A soft puddle of light appeared in the distance, the glow from the Cottage reflected on the underside of the leaves. Stoner slowed for the turn. "Sherry mentioned that she was seeing someone in Green Lake,” she said. "After being there this evening, I find it hard to imagine."
Divi Divi seemed surprised. "Did she say that? I never heard anything about it. Of course, she might not tell me, since I'm..." She lowered her voice conspiratorially. "...hetero... sexual."
Stoner reached over and patted her hand. "You can't help it, Div. You were probably born that way."
Chapter Ten
She was surprised to see that Gwen hadn't come back yet. It was ten-thirty by her watch, and she doubted if even K-Mart stayed open much past nine. But they might have found a Wal-Mart, or stopped at the Dairy Mart, or the Food Mart, Fine Mart, Mini Mart, Smart Mart...
She decided to run down to Cla
ra and Esther's room and pick up their observations for the evening. Maybe something had happened which would clear everything up.
Sure.
There was no light under their door. The "Do Not Disturb" sign hung from the door knob.
Darn.
She trudged back to the second floor, and looked both ways up and down the corridor. There might be someone up and about that she could talk to. Maybe she'd even come across a bridge game needing a fourth. She felt too wired to be alone, too edgy. She needed to pass the time until Gwen got in.
There was light toward the end of the hall, spilling out of an open door. She went toward it and tapped softly on the jamb so as not to startle anyone.
"Hey, hi," Marcy said, turning toward her and away from the mirror. "Come on in. I was doing some expression exercises."
"I thought you and Gwen were going into Bangor," Stoner said, puzzled.
Marcy rolled her eyes. “Would you believe, at the last minute I got a message that my ex-lover was going to call this evening, so I had to stay here. Naturally, she didn't call. Just like her, used to do that all the time. I can't believe I was taken in again. I really can't believe it. How many times do I have to fall for that before I get the picture?"
"That's too bad." Stoner sat on the edge of the bed. "So who did Gwen go with?"
"Sherry."
Stoner felt herself go cold.
"She is so great," Marcy went on. "Sherry, that is. Well, I'm sure Gwen is, too, but I don't know her. Sherry gave up all her plans for the evening—had a hot date, she said—just so we'd have that styrofoam for Barb in the morning."
“Wouldn't it have been more helpful," Stoner said, dry-mouthed, "if Barb had gone?"
Marcy turned back to the mirror and resumed her facial exercises, twisting her mouth into grotesque shapes, frowning and furrowing her eyebrows, scrunching her features into an excellent imitation of a Shar-Pei. It was fascinating, and kind of frightening.
"Barb's beat," she said around pursed-up lips that displayed her beaverish front teeth. "Sherry said she was hitting the sack early."
A snake of apprehension woke up in her stomach and began moving around. Something told her this wasn't a coincidence.
"How did you find out your ex-lover was going to call?" she asked.
"Sherry told me. I guess she called earlier, when we were still rehearsing. One of the other guests took the call."
“Which other guest?" A honeymooner? Esther? Clara? Someone from the post-softball tech crew?
Marcy shrugged. "What's the diff?" She sighed heavily. "I really can't believe I fell for it again," she repeated. "To quote a Rita-ism, Jennifer is a douche-bag."
"Uh," Stoner said, "how long does it take to get to Bangor?"
"Half an hour, max."
"Don't you think maybe they should be back by now?"
Marcy looked at Stoner in the mirror. "Didn't you get my note?"
She shook her head. "What note?"
"I left it in your mail slot."
"I didn't check the mail slot."
"They're not coming back tonight. They decided to stay in town."
Stoner was puzzled. "Did something happen?"
"They didn't say, just to tell you they'll see you in the morning."
Apprehension shed its skin and turned into something larger. Something kind of slimy, that made her feel a little sick. Look, she told herself, everything's okay. Gwen's not in any trouble, or they wouldn't have called. Maybe they had a car breakdown, or one of the headlights got burned out or broken and they didn't want to drive in the dark that way. Gwen's a grown-up. She can take care of herself. If she suddenly wanted to go to a late movie, or just stay in town for the heck of it on a spontaneous whim, she has every right. She couldn't call me, I wasn't even here. Everything makes perfect sense.
“What?" Marcy asked.
"Huh?"
"You muttered something about 'perfect sense.' What do you mean?"
Great. Now she was talking to herself out loud. In company.
"I was just thinking it makes perfect sense to stay in town. There's nothing going on out here."
"Nothing going on in Bangor, either. That place is dead." She rearranged her hair and went through her facial exercises again, looking at herself from a different angle. "You think I should wear my hair like this for the show?"
"Looks fine," Stoner said. "Do you think they had car trouble?"
Marcy turned back and forth, studying her reflection. "Possibly. That heap's fucked me up more than once."
Sure, that was it. Gwen couldn't have chosen, of her own free will, to spend the night in Bangor with Sherry Dodder. Not with Sherry Dodder.
"Hey," Marcy said, "as long as you're here, do you want to run lines with me?"
Stoner was shocked. "Do what?"
"Run lines. You know. Give me my cues and see if I know my lines."
"Oh," Stoner said sheepishly. "I thought you meant something else."
Marcy turned and looked at her, then burst out laughing. ''You thought I was talking about doing coke, didn't you?"
Stoner nodded, feeling even more foolish.
"McTavish, that's known as doing lines, not running lines."
She felt her spirits lift a little. At least feeling like an idiot was better than worrying. And, since worrying was what she did best, perhaps the healthy thing to do would be to stay here for a while, until that eel got tired of swimming around in her stomach.
Not only that, but Marcy obviously didn't hold it against her that she was being cozy with Rita. She was glad. She hated feeling stiff and awkward with anyone.
"Sure," she said. "I'll cue you."
She actually enjoyed it. Marcy could be entertaining, once you got used to the idea that every mistake would send her to the brink of suicide. It was nearly midnight by the time she got back to her room. She'd have a long, hot bath while looking over her notes. That would make her sleepy. And, by the time she'd slept and had breakfast, Gwen would be back...
...or would have called if she couldn't make it back, and would talk to her personally...
...not have to settle for just leaving messages that could be shortened or garbled by anyone who happened to get them...
...who wouldn't be reliable or wouldn't understand the importance of writing down messages in their entirety...
...and being accurate and thorough and asking enough intelligent questions so people wouldn't get half-messages and end up nearly crazy with anxiety thinking all kinds of stuff...
Stoner shook her head at herself as she slipped the key into the lock and opened their door. Hard to believe she could be so nerved up over one little thing not quite going the way she'd expected. If she kept on like this, she'd end up never leaving her room, and spending all her time going through her things to make sure they were exactly the way she'd left them so there wouldn't be any surprises.
Actually, she was a little surprised at the way she was taking this. She'd never thought of herself as a particularly jealous or insecure person—well, no more jealous and insecure than any lesbian who'd been raised by homophobic parents and taught she didn't deserve anything in this world and would never be loved because of what she was, and besides "those people" couldn't be trusted, they'd play with you to get their way and leave you broken and broke by the wayside while they ran off with the next conquest...
Lovely. She was really having very mature and loving thoughts tonight. She rummaged through her underwear drawer and found her notebook just where she'd left it, thanks to Esther and Clara and their skill with keys. Sitting on the edge of the bed, she jotted down a few thoughts. They weren't very useful thoughts, not even very coherent thoughts, but they made her feel as if she were doing something.
"AH says no occult involvement. Perp amateurish but sincere, therefore dangerous. DD doesn't suspect anyone, never heard of SD's mystery date in Green Lake."
That was it. The fruits of an evening. Well, it wasn't entirely wasted. She'd had a change of scenery�
�if you could call it that—and talked with Aunt Hermione, which was fun and took her out of herself a little. She'd had a chance to get to know Divi Divi better. And pretty much eliminated her as a suspect. Divi Divi just didn't feel right as a trouble-maker. And then Divi Divi had eliminated just about everyone else.
She went to the bathroom and turned on the water, letting it run against her wrist until the temperature was right. It seemed like a good night for soaking and thinking, so she added a handful of rosemary bath crystals. Taking off her clothes, she tossed them onto her bed. She was about to get into the tub when she realized she'd have to travel some distance across the cold tile floor on warm and wet feet to get her pajamas when she left the tub. Better to have them close at hand and ready, instead of hanging on the back of the door under Gwen's night shirt.
Reaching out, she looked toward the door, and went hard as stone.
Gwen's night shirt wasn't there.
Under her own pajamas, maybe. She took them down.
Nope.
It had been here this morning. She was certain of it.
The laundry?
She ran to the closet and went through the clothes bag. Then through Gwen's bureau, and Gwen's suitcase...
The night shirt really wasn't there.
Okay, okay, there had to be a logical explanation for this. Maybe Gwen had planned to stay in Bangor right from the start.
But why hadn't she told her?
Because, when Stoner had left the Inn, she was still planning to go with Marcy.
Maybe...
Then what? Marcy's plans change, and Sherry goes instead, and Gwen decides to go along and spend the night since it's with Sherry?
And what are the implications of that?
Maybe it all happened as a last-minute kind of thing.
So why hadn't Gwen left her a note? Why rely on the "plans changed while we were in town, see you tomorrow" ploy?
Obviously their plans hadn't changed after they got to Bangor. They'd planned to stay right from the start.
Maybe they'd even set Marcy up, telling her she had to wait for a call so they could go together.