Macdeath (An Ivy Meadows Mystery Book 1)

by Cindy Brown

  I breathed a sigh of relief. It wasn’t about us and he hadn’t been poisoned.

  Jason, still peering around the room, said, “What time is it?”

  I glanced at the clock with its senior-sized numbers. He really needed those contacts. “Six-thirty. I’d better get going.”

  “What’re they doing about the show? Going to cancel it?”

  I froze. Omigod. I hadn’t told anyone.

  “Ivy?”

  “Tell you later. Gotta run.” I blew him a quick kiss (which he probably couldn’t see), dashed out of the room, and pulled out my cell phone. Damn. Dead battery. I rushed to the nurses’ station.

  “Could I use your phone? It’s an emergency.”

  A large nurse, stuffed into her uniform like a sausage, looked at me skeptically. “Why didn’t you ring for a nurse?”

  “It’s not that kind of emergency.”

  “What kind is it?”

  “A...uh...theatrical emergency.”

  She gave a little “phh” of disapproval. “There’s a pay phone in the basement.”

  After spending fifteen minutes trying to find the damn pay phone, I gave up and ran to my car. When I got to the parking garage toll booth, the gum-chewing cashier said, “Five dollars, please.”

  “Five?” I hoped I’d heard wrong.

  She didn’t even look my way. “Yeah. Five dollars.”

  I looked in my wallet, even though I knew what I would find. Three one dollar bills and some change. I pulled out the bills, dumped the change into my palm, and shoved it at the cashier.

  She looked at it. “You’re a dollar forty short.”

  “It’s all I have and I’m really late. It’s an emergency.”

  “What kind of emergency?”

  I wasn’t about to go through that again. “Listen, can’t you please just let me out?”

  She chewed her gum lazily, like a cow who’d heard it all before. “This is my job, lady.”

  The car behind me honked. Like that was going to help. My air conditioning started blowing hot air. Damn. I’d just spent a couple hundred bucks on the stupid thing. The car behind me honked again. I looked pleadingly at the cashier. She seemed perfectly content to let us all stay in her garage forever. I reached into the back seat for my duffle bag, scrounged around through makeup and tights, and found four quarters. I held them out to the cow triumphantly.

  “Good,” she said.

  I waited for the gate to go up.

  “Now you’re only forty cents short.”

  The driver behind me really laid on the horn. I was about to flip him off when I had a better idea. I yanked my scoop-neck T down to show some cleavage, hopped out of my car, and ran to the big black SUV behind me. A tinted window slid down, revealing a forty-something driver with enough product in his hair to withstand a hailstorm.

  “I am so sorry,” I said breathlessly, bending over and squeezing my arms together to ensure maximum cleavage. “But I’m a little short today.” I watched his eyes go straight to my chest. “Could you possibly help me out? I just need three dollars.” I wasn’t going through this for forty cents, let me tell you.

  “Um, sure.” He said, fishing out his wallet, his eyes flickering to mine for a second. He pulled out a twenty, as I’d hoped he would, and handed it to me.

  “Thank you so much!” I gushed, with a little wiggle. After all, he was paying for it.

  I ran up to the attendant booth, gave her the twenty, and waved at the SUV driver, who was now staring at my ass. Staring so hard, in fact, that he nearly missed seeing the cashier give me change. But he did see. He honked as I hopped back into my car. I waved at him and hotfooted it to the theater with an extra nineteen dollars and sixty cents.

  I squealed into the theater parking lot, jumped out of my car and ran toward the theater. I had just passed the guy we called Homeless Hank when I had an idea. I ran back, pulled the SUV driver’s bills out of my shorts pocket and handed them to him.

  “Just call me ‘Robin Hood,’” I said.

  Hank whistled in appreciation and attempted a bow, wobbling dangerously. I made sure he was steady, then hurried on my way.

  I finally skidded into the theater. Linda was already there, prepping for the show. This was going to be bad. I flagged her down as she headed backstage to check on props.

  “Linda? Can I talk to you a minute?”

  “Only if you can walk and talk. I got business to take care of.”

  I trotted after her as she headed to the darkened backstage area, toward the butcher-paper-covered prop table. Each prop was outlined on the paper in bold black marker so that the table looked like the crime scene for lots of tiny dead bodies.

  I couldn’t figure out how to tell her about Jason without pissing her off, so I didn’t say anything, just hovered. I watched her move Genevieve’s dagger to its proper place on the prop table.

  “What is it? Spit it out, Ivy.”

  “Jason’s in the hospital. He can’t do the show tonight.” I spat it out, just as she requested.

  Linda turned, squinting at me in the low light. I guess she was trying to see if I was kidding.

  “I would have called earlier, but my cell battery ran out and I couldn’t find a pay phone.” I sounded lame, even to myself.

  Linda looked at me a moment, her expression unreadable, then said, “I’ll meet you in your dressing room in two minutes. Go, and do not tell anyone what you just told me.” She pulled out her cell phone.

  I walked to my dressing room, eyes to the ground, past the cast members who had arrived. I was afraid to make eye contact with anyone for fear I’d spill the beans. I felt bad letting all these people prep for a show that wasn’t going to take place.

  I sat in my dressing room, depressed. If I kept making mistakes like this, I was going to need another career. I caught sight of myself in the mirror. I didn’t have any makeup on—my mad dash to the hospital had precluded that—and with my blonde hair, pale face and no visible eyelashes, I looked like someone out of a Vermeer painting. Maybe I could be an art school model. I wondered how much they paid. I wondered if I’d have to get naked.

  Linda, true to her word, showed up in two minutes. She said, “Edward’s on his way.” And then didn’t say anything more. She just stood behind me, flannel-ensconced arms crossed. How could she stand to wear flannel in this heat? I surreptitiously studied her in the mirror. Ah, she wore a white T-shirt under the flannel shirt. She probably wore that outside and put on the shirt to fight the air-conditioned chill indoors. Linda’s hair was reddish-brown and cut in a severe, boyish style. She was fit, almost muscular. She didn’t have on any makeup either, but she looked more Vin Diesel than Vermeer.

  Candy swept into the room, taking in Linda as she did. “So how’s our Diet Coke today?”

  Linda squinted at her.

  I looked at the plastic cup full of soda sitting on the dressing room counter. “Didn’t check,” I said. Candy came over to look for herself. Linda squinted again. Maybe she needed glasses.

  I cleared my throat. “Someone told my uncle Diet Coke would dissolve a nail. We thought we’d test it for ourselves.”

  “And?” She looked interested. An image flashed into my mind: Linda at rehearsal with, yep, a Diet Coke in hand.

  “Nail’s still there,” I said. We all peered intently into the cup, as if testing my veracity. The nail was still there and looked in good shape, no rust that I could see.

  “Hmph,” said Linda. “Looks like a waste of Diet Coke to me.”

  Edward knocked and entered. It was the first time I’d ever seen him without a carrot.

  “Why do y’all knock if you’re just gonna come in anyway?” said Candy, hands on her hips. Her outrage disappeared when Edward said, in a dangerously soft voice, “I need to speak to
Ivy. Alone.”

  Candy huffed a bit under her breath as she went out into the hall. Edward jerked his head at Linda. “Alone.” I saw Linda’s reflection. Her look of surprise mirrored mine. She left, pulling the door shut hard behind her, just short of a slam.

  I faced the mirror. I could see Edward glaring at me, but I didn’t turn around. It was easier to face him this way.

  “Why in the name of God did you wait until an hour before curtain to tell us we have no lead?” he said. “Are you as stupid as you appear?”

  Ouch. What do you say to that? I stayed silent.

  “What do you expect us to do now?” Another angry rhetorical question. I wasn’t biting.

  Edward paced behind me. I could see his wheels turning, thoughts flitting one way and another. He was no actor. Everything showed on his face. I reminded myself to invite him to a poker game when he’d forgotten about all of this.

  “Why you?” he asked, turning to face my reflection. I could feel his breath on my neck, smell a faint whiff of brandy. I’d heard Pamela was out of town, maybe he was living it up. “Why did Jason call you?”

  Something hard and brilliant in his eyes gave me pause. It reminded me of the villains in the cartoons my brother used to love when we were kids. That—and the fact he hadn’t asked what happened to Jason or if he was okay—influenced my answer.

  “This whole thing was a big coincidence.” I put on my dumb blonde face. If he thought I was stupid, I was going to use it. “I was there to pick up my uncle.”

  “Yeah, I heard about that. How is he?” Edward actually looked concerned. That was weird. Really weird. I filed it away for later.

  “Fine. I was going to get him a pop from the cafeteria when I saw Jason being wheeled down the hall.” I cringed inwardly. Even I wouldn’t believe that.

  “They were wheeling him to the cafeteria?”

  “No, no, I was in the hall. They were taking him to his room. He was still unconscious.”

  “Unconscious.” Did Edward smile? “So you haven’t spoken to him?”

  That glint was back in his eyes. “No,” I lied, thinking I’d call Jason ASAP and let him in on my deception. “I came back later, but he was sleeping. I talked to a nurse. She said there was no way he’d be released today.”

  Edward’s director face replaced his villain face. “Shit, shit, shit. We have a full house tonight.” He glanced at his watch. “Shit.” He yanked open the dressing room door, shouting “Linda!” He nearly ran into her. She must have been standing there the whole time. “Assemble the cast in the greenroom. Now.”

  Linda strode off immediately. I could hear her knocking on dressing room doors. I got up, meaning to join the rest of the cast. But Edward still stood in the doorway, blocking my way.

  “Ivy?”

  That soft voice again.

  “I’d stay away from Jason if I were you. He’s dangerous. Just ask his last girlfriend.” He looked me in the eye. “Oh, that’s right. You can’t,” he said. “She’s dead.”

  CHAPTER 30

  Saucy Doubts and Fears

  Jason, Edward, Uncle Bob...My thoughts swirled like the fake mist onstage (I never could figure out what mist was doing in a circus, but that’s neither here nor there). Still, being a consummate professional, I dove into my role.

  The first scene went fine, because it was just us witches. Scene II was Duncan’s introduction. Bill Boxer knew his lines now, but his acting hadn’t improved. Then it was the top of Scene III. I tumbled out of the cauldron with the other witches to greet Banquo and Macbeth.

  “All hail, Macbeth! Hail to thee, Thane of Glamis!” said Candy/First Witch.

  The Real Witch was next: “All hail, Macbeth! Hail to thee, Thane of Cawdor!”

  Then me: “All hail Macbeth! Hail to thee, thou shalt be king hereafter!”

  A near-sob escaped my lips. I hoped the audience would interpret it as some sort of witchy noise, when in fact I was praying that this Macbeth would not be king hereafter. My true feelings came out along with the line. Guess I wasn’t a consummate professional.

  Edward was our new and, please God, temporary Macbeth. He’d only spoken a few lines so far, but, oh boy. His acting veered from wooden to flamboyant. It was as if he’d caught himself sleepwalking and then decided to make up for it with a burst of energy.

  “Hail!” Candy said to Banquo.

  “Hail!” said The Real Witch.

  “Hail!” I said, a beat late. I had no business talking about sleepwalking. I’d nearly missed that cue.

  We made it to the end of the short scene. “Stay you imperfect speakers,” yelled Edward, in flamboyant phase. “Tell me more!” He wore Jason’s lion-tamer costume. The tights hung loosely around his skinny legs, like the skin on a chicken drumstick.

  We may have been imperfect speakers, but we didn’t stay. The stagehands hauled our cauldron up into the fly space, where we were hidden from the audience. We had to wait there, huddled together in our human stockpot, until the techies could let us down in the blackout at the end of the scene.

  “The audience is going to want their money back after this show,” grumbled The Real Witch.

  “If he can’t run with the big dogs, he should stay on the porch,” agreed Candy.

  I couldn’t get worked up about the show right then. I couldn’t get Edward off my mind. He’d acted so...malevolent earlier. And there was that dead girlfriend thing. I shivered, not sure if it was from the air-conditioning or the thoughts that kept trying to invade my head.

  “Have we eaten on the insane root, that takes the reason prisoner?” asked Banquo, onstage below us.

  I needed to call Jason. I had to tell him I had lied about not talking to him in the hospital when I spoke with Edward. My cell phone was still out, though.

  “Candy, I need to ask you something,” I whispered. I knew she had her cell in the dressing room.

  “Shh!” said The Real Witch.

  “Hello? You just talked, witchie-poo.” Candy poked The Real Witch with a finger. “You could start an argument in an empty house.” Then to me, “Yeah, I need to talk to you, too.”

  At the blackout, we hurried back to our dressing room. Candy shut the door and leaned against it. She spoke before I had a chance to.

  “I am so sorry about your uncle.”

  My jaw tightened. Uncle Bob. What had happened now?

  Candy must have seen the look on my face, because she said, “Oh no, don’t worry. There’s nothing new. I’m just sorry about telling everyone. About your uncle.”

  I stared at her, trying to puzzle out what in the hell she was talking about.

  “I mean, I just wasn’t thinking, and people asked why you were at the hospital, and I told them and then they wanted to know what had happened to your uncle, so I told them he was poisoned and—”

  “You told them he was poisoned?”

  Candy cringed. “Yeah. I mean, when you told me, you didn’t say it was a secret or anything, but now, well, you’ve been sorta distant these last few days and I thought maybe you were mad at me.”

  I was mad, but just at myself. I should have known better. Candy was sweet, but she had a mouth the size of Texas.

  And had I told her I suspected poison? I’d talked to her a few times since Uncle Bob’s accident, but I couldn’t remember what I’d said. I realized I shouldn’t borrow her cell phone unless I was willing to lie to her about who I was calling. And I was tired of lying, at least for now.

  “I’m not mad.” I smiled at her and headed for the door.

  “Didn’t you want to talk to me about something?”

  “Yeah, but right now I gotta pee like a racehorse. I’ll be right back.” Okay, that was a lie, but a really little one.

  Candy and I occupied one of the chorus dressing rooms, which had
no bathroom. Usually I complained about having to go down the hall to pee, but this time I was happy for the excuse. Once outside the bathroom, I looked around. Seeing no one, I dashed down the hall toward Linda’s office. I could use her land line to call Jason. I’d tell him about Edward and get at least part of a load off my mind. The dead girlfriend bit I wanted to address in person.

  I’d heard Linda’s door was usually unlocked during a show. It was. I slipped into her office and shut the door behind me. I wasted a few precious seconds gawking at her office décor. I don’t know what I’d expected, but it wasn’t...kittens. Lots of kittens, tumbling on posters, crawling on calendars, even ticking at me in the form of a cat clock with a swinging tail. Huh.

  I pulled myself away from the kitties littering her office. I needed to do this quickly. I picked up Linda’s phone, then set it down. I needed a phone number for the hospital. I glanced at Linda’s computer, thought about booting it up so I could find the number online, and decided it was a bad idea. It’d be too easy for her to figure out someone had used it, and then there’d be questions. Maybe she still had a phone book. I yanked open a large, likely-looking drawer. I tipped up a couple of loose-leaf binders, to look underneath. No phone book. But I found something else.

  Something much more intriguing.

  CHAPTER 31

  Powerful Trouble

  I stared into Linda’s big desk drawer. A tackle box was partially hidden under the few binders I’d picked up. It was brown and beat up from years of service, and it was Simon’s. His makeup kit. What was it doing here? Didn’t Linda say she wasn’t going to move his stuff until the show had closed?

  I tried to remember when she’d said that. We’d been in my dressing room, with Candy and...Jason. Jason with two black eyes. That needed covering up. With pancake makeup.

  Simon’s pancake makeup. Jason had used it and ended up in the hospital. Simon had used it and ended up dead. I popped open the top of the tackle box. Makeup brushes and eye pencils filled the niches meant for fish hooks and flies. I dug around in the bottom compartment and unearthed a used tin of pancake makeup. I opened it and sniffed. Smelled like makeup. I shut the lid to the tackle box, rearranged the binders, and closed the drawer with my knee. I put the tin of makeup on Linda’s desk next to a Hello Kitty mug and reached for the phone. I still needed to make that call.