Macdeath (An Ivy Meadows Mystery Book 1)

by Cindy Brown

  I heard the door open. I sat on the desk, covering the tin of makeup with my butt.

  “Ivy?” It was Linda.

  Damn. It must be intermission. Even so, why was she here? She usually stayed up in the booth.

  “Yeah.” I smiled brightly at her and, God help me, giggled. I put on my best dumb blonde voice, hoping it would work on her like it had on Edward. “I needed to make a call, and my cell is dead and I couldn’t find a payphone. Then I remembered you had a phone and so here I am. Have you noticed there are no pay phones anymore? I mean, what are poor people supposed to do?” This last was a feeble attempt at the art of distraction.

  Linda didn’t say anything. Her squint had returned, making it difficult to see her eyes, but I swear they flicked toward the drawer that held the makeup. She nodded at the phone.

  “Go ahead.”

  “Oh, it’s kind of personal.” I smiled again. My cheek muscles were beginning to twitch.

  “All right.” She sighed and walked toward me, disentangling a wad of keys from a caribiner clipped to her belt loop. “’Scuse me,” she said, motioning that she needed to get into the desk I was perched on.

  I hopped down, palming the makeup. I slipped my hand behind my back. I couldn’t keep my hand there, way too suspicious. I shoved the tin up the leg opening of my leotard so that it rested on the top of my butt. I’m sure it showed—couldn’t hide anything in that leotard—but as long as I faced Linda, she wouldn’t be able to see it.

  She locked the top desk drawer with a small brass key and then tried it to make sure it had locked. I wondered if she was securing the office because I was in it. I wouldn’t blame her. I also wondered what else was in that drawer and why she didn’t want me to see it.

  “Just don’t mess up anything, all right?” she said over her shoulder as she walked out of the office, clipping the caribiner back on her belt loop.

  “Sure.” I waved at her. “By the way, I love your cats.”

  She stopped and looked at me. Arghh. Why can’t I leave well enough alone?

  “Your office cats, I mean. Kitties. I love kittens.”

  I was fond of cats, but mostly on posters, where their silky fur didn’t fly off their bodies and straight up my nose.

  Linda looked me up and down. It made me nervous, so I sat on the desk again. The makeup tin in my leotard made a soft “thock” as it made contact with the desk.

  “Oops,” I said. “Excuse me.”

  I waved the air as if I’d farted. It didn’t really sound like a fart, but my ruse worked. Linda crinkled her nose, shook her head, and left.

  I jumped off the desk and tried the drawer with the makeup. Definitely locked. Locking the top drawer must have had the effect of locking all of them. Oh well, I had the pancake makeup I needed.

  I picked up the phone. Damn. I still needed a phone book, and I needed to make this call now. We witches were on right after intermission. I had about seven minutes before they’d be expecting me to crawl in the cauldron. A quick scan of the room showed no phone books. I went to a bookshelf and moved cat photos and kitty snow globes, hoping that a phone book was hiding behind them. No dice. I looked at Linda’s cat clock. Five and a half minutes until showtime.

  I ran back to the phone and tried to dial information. I wasn’t surprised when a recording said I must first dial one, and then, of course, when I tried it, said I couldn’t dial one from that number. I put down the receiver and looked at the phone. There were a bunch of lines, maybe a different one would let me dial out. I punched one. Nope. Another. Nope. Another. Oops. A few seconds too late, I realized I’d punched a button for a line already in use. I started to hang up, when I heard familiar voices on the line.

  “So you did talk to her?” It was Edward. My palms started to sweat.

  “Yeah. Is there a problem?” It was Jason. They couldn’t be talking about me, could they?

  “It depends. Just how close are you two?”

  “Listen, if you’re asking me what I’ve told her, the answer is nothing. She knows nothing.”

  “About opening night?” Edward’s voice sounded tight, like he wasn’t getting enough air.

  “That and...the other.”

  There was an uncomfortable silence on the line. My stomach took the opportunity to emit a loud growl.

  “What was that?” said Edward.

  “What?” said Jason.

  There was another silence, as if they were both listening. I twisted my body so my offending stomach was as far from the mouthpiece as possible. I held my breath for good measure.

  “Nothing. Must have been a connection issue,” said Edward, finally. “So she doesn’t know where you’ve been these past few days?”

  “No.”

  My still-growling stomach lurched. Where had Jason been?

  “What did you say about this recent...incident?”

  “I told Ivy it was peanuts.”

  They were talking about me.

  “Was it?”

  “I don’t think so. I usually react a lot quicker to peanuts.”

  There was a crackle on the speaker mounted in the corner of the office. I hung up, hopefully soon enough they didn’t hear Linda’s voice say, “Places, top of Act Four.”

  Dammit. I really wanted, needed, to hear Jason and Edward’s conversation. What did they not want me to know? Why was Edward pissed off that Jason had spoken to me? And when had they gotten so close, anyway? If I could find out what was going on, maybe my stomach would unclench.

  But I’d have to think about Jason and Edward later. Right now I had to get in the cauldron. It was clear from Linda’s announcement that she was using the sound system, which meant she was back up in the booth where she belonged. Everyone else should be headed to the stage.

  I peeked my head out of the office. I waited until the last actor had disappeared, figuring I’d bring up the rear, so I could keep my makeup-tinned ass undiscovered. I could hide the pancake somewhere backstage. I slipped out of the door, pulled it shut, and ran toward backstage.

  “Ivy! What’s with your butt?” said a voice behind me.

  Shit. I’d forgotten that Riley was always, always late.

  “It’s uh...chew.” Wow. Where did I come up with that?

  “Chew?” Riley stared at me, his astonished gaze on my ass.

  “You know, chewing tobacco.”

  I leaned into Riley, trying the art of distraction once again. This time it worked. His eyes were now fixed on my breasts. I was glad he was so predictable.

  “Please don’t tell anyone, okay?” I said.

  “That’s nasty.” Riley’s eyes gleamed.

  Great. Who would have thought chewing tobacco was a turn on? I considered using this newfound knowledge, but just couldn’t go there. I do have some standards.

  “It is,” I said in my most innocent-girl voice. “I’m quitting. Tomorrow. So you won’t tell, right?”

  “Scout’s honor, nasty girl.” He grinned and slapped me on the butt where the tin of makeup hid. I began walking backstage. “Hey!” he said. Dang, not off the hook quite yet. “I did a gig at a car show the other day. Ladies’ Day.”

  Where was this going?

  “You know,” he said, making a muscle man pose, “sat on the hood of a car with my shirt off? Paid pretty good and they gave me NASCAR tickets for doing such a good job. You want to go with me?”

  Oh dear God. “I’d love to, but—”

  The pre-curtain music began to play. Shit! I left Riley in the dust as I ran toward the stage. I took advantage of the darkness to shove the tin of makeup under a platform and crawled into the cauldron. As soon as I was in, a stagehand hauled us witches into the air.

  The Real Witch was so pissed off at my tardiness he wouldn’t even look at me. Good. That wa
y he didn’t see me sticking my tongue out at him. Candy saw it, though, and giggled. “You fall in or somethin’?” she asked.

  My mind raced to remember what I’d told her, but it didn’t have to go far. I’d told her I’d gone to the bathroom. I didn’t need long to remember, because now I really did have to go. Bad. I nodded at Candy, bit my lip, crossed my legs, and hoped that once onstage, I’d be so into character I’d forget all about it.

  Ha. Every time I tumbled out of the cauldron onto the stage, I prayed I wouldn’t pee.

  I guess my distress helped my performance. “I’ve never seen you writhe so beautifully,” said Edward as he passed by us witches after our scene was over. I nodded my thanks, crawled out of the cauldron with my legs crossed, stood up, and sprinted for the nearest bathroom, as well as I could with my knees together. I felt Edward watching me as I ran.

  I made it to the bathroom with only seconds to spare. I sat on the cold toilet seat, my mind spinning. How was I going to get the makeup out of its hiding spot backstage? Had Linda been hiding the makeup on purpose? What was up with Edward and Jason? I didn’t even want to think about the dead girlfriend thing. Maybe that was Edward trying to scare me off. But scare me off from what?

  I finished my business, left the stall, and nearly ran into Candy, who had slipped silently into the bathroom.

  “You scared me!” I said, with an enthusiasm I didn’t feel. Had I told Candy that my uncle was poisoned?

  “Sorry, darlin’,” she said. “Hey, I heard Edward say Jason should be back for the Sunday matinee.”

  “Thank the gods of theater,” I said. “Much more of Edward as Mac, and I would’ve tried to behead him myself. I think we should toast our good fortune. You going out for a drink after the show?” I wanted to get her talking, see what she knew.

  “Nah.”

  I waited. Candy always cheerfully disclosed information, often way more than anyone wanted to hear. Not this time, though.

  “Hot date?” I prompted.

  “Nah.” I stared at her until she met my eyes. “Just need my beauty sleep. Got a long day tomorrow.” I saw her flinch as she said the last sentence, the physical equivalent of “Oops, shouldn’t have said that.”

  “Why so long?” Damn, I’d spoken before thinking and asked a direct question. “Just work,” she said, and slid past me into a stall. “Gotta tinkle before curtain call.”

  Uncle Bob was right. Direct questions didn’t net you much.

  I shuffled back to the greenroom, mentally crossing Candy off my list of people I could trust. Did I need to cross off Jason, too? I’d promised Uncle Bob to pull away if there was any “funny business.” I didn’t know what to do. Last night with Jason—had it only been last night?—I’d felt special, chosen. Now, after listening to Edward and Jason’s conversation, I felt duped. I thought of the night before, the way he’d touched me, kissed me. My eyes started to fill. I willed them to stop. I couldn’t mess up my makeup.

  Makeup. Right. No time to mourn lost love. I needed to get that pancake out of its hiding place backstage without being seen. It’d be easier to do it while the show was running. Backstage was always dark during the show.

  I trotted back to my dressing room, where I kept a sweater. A lot of us Phoenicians stash sweaters in our cars or offices. It seems weird to newcomers until they’ve spent their first summer here, going from 110 outside to an overly air-conditioned 65 degrees inside. Then it just seems smart. It seemed especially smart today, as I needed a way to hide the tin of pancake. Inside the dressing room, I grabbed my black sweater from off the back of my chair, tied it around my waist, and headed backstage.

  Once there, I found all the soldier/clown actors milling about, waiting for their time in the spotlight. I elbowed past them to the place where I’d hidden the makeup. I knelt down and slid my hand under the back edge of the platform and felt nothing. Nada. I lay down on the floor, thick with sawdust, and extended my arm all the way underneath. I swept it back and forth, finally feeling the cool metal of the makeup tin. I curled my fingers around it and pulled it toward me. Kneeling, I slid the tin up the butt of my leotard, like before. I stood up and readjusted my sweater around my waist, only to see Genevieve watching me. She wore her sleepwalking costume, a filmy white, almost completely see-through negligee. Edward had said she could wear band aids to hide her nipples, but she’d gone without. Modesty was clearly not one of her virtues. Her breasts clearly were. Even in the dark, I could see them plainly. So could all of the soldier actors who made no attempt to pretend they weren’t ogling her.

  “Witch?” said Genevieve, one eyebrow raised. I brushed the sawdust off me, slowly, trying to come up with a plausible explanation.

  “Lost one of my earrings,” I said. I hoped the sweater covered my pancake-shaped butt. “Maybe it came off in the dressing room.”

  Genevieve smiled at me. And screamed.

  I jumped about a foot in the air. The soldier actors sniggered. From onstage I heard Edward/Macbeth say, “What was that?”

  “It is the cry of women, my good lord,” said the actor who played Seyton.

  Of course. It had been time for Lady M.’s suicide and the accompanying off-stage shrieks. Candy and I were supposed to scream along with Genevieve, but I’d been preoccupied. I looked around and saw Candy surrounded by a troop of soldiers. She’d obviously remembered.

  I smiled “silly me” at Genevieve and the still-chuckling soldiers, and made my way back to my dressing room. I hoped Genevieve had been distracted by my unintentional buffoonery and wouldn’t realize my costume didn’t include earrings.

  I had the dressing room to myself, so it was easy to bury the tin in my duffle bag without anyone noticing. I’d figure out what to do with it later. In the meantime, no one else was going to wear tainted makeup if I could help it.

  I shed my sweater, threw on some earrings I found in my bag, and got backstage in time for curtain call. I’d just made it. The actors with the smallest roles, mostly soldier actors, were onstage taking their bows. I stood in the wings beside The Real Witch, and looked around for Candy. I saw her, huddled in conversation with Genevieve. Weird. Candy typically avoided her, claiming Genevieve’s “Method” got on her nerves.

  Candy’s voice floated toward me. Wait, did she say, “Murder?”

  I quickly turned away so they wouldn’t see me watching them. I strained my ears to hear more of their conversation, but couldn’t catch any more. Then Candy was beside me, just in time for our curtain call.

  As I bowed, looking into the bright stage lights, I felt my throat constrict and my mind spin. I desperately wanted, needed, to talk to someone I could trust. Candy was out. Jason, out. Uncle Bob, well, he probably didn’t need anything else on his mind right now. I made it through bows and got offstage. I stood backstage for a minute watching the next round of actors take their bows, my mind still roiling. I felt like I’d burst if I couldn’t talk through my suspicions and feelings. I knew then I needed to go talk to the one person I could trust. My brother.

  CHAPTER 32

  That Perilous Stuff Which Weighs upon the Heart

  Late the next morning, I set off. The air still wasn’t working in my car, but I had a new plan. I wore a cotton tank top and shorts, filled a spray bottle with cool water, and misted myself really good before taking off. Then I rolled down the window on the driver’s side, and let the air rush past my damp skin and hair. Voila! My own evap cooling system. I had to spray myself down every five minutes or so, but at least it made the heat bearable. The weather guy said next week we should dip down into the 90s and stay there. I could hardly wait. In the meantime, I stayed damp.

  I drove to the semi-gentrified Coronado neighborhood, where beautifully restored Craftsman bungalows sat next to vinyl-sided houses with dead lawns. I steered toward an old cemetery that had a few scattered upright headstones among the
flat modern ones. A fresh pile of dirt bordered a newly dug grave. It somehow reminded me of Simon, put to rest without even a funeral. I swallowed hard.

  I shook my head, stepped on the gas and drove past the graveyard, a little too fast. I rounded a corner. Shit! I stomped on the brakes hard, and stopped inches from a pigeon who refused to move from the middle of the road. He didn’t even notice the car, just continued strutting and cooing in front of the tires that nearly killed him.

  I drove on, fuming. Stupid bird. Didn’t even know he was in danger. He was nearly a memory of feathers and blood, and still he was going merrily about his day. It wasn’t fair. Why should it be my heart that was pounding?

  I realized I was at my destination. Must have been on autopilot. Great. I could have run over someone on top of everything else.

  I parked on the street in front of a large green house with a wide front porch. A few struggling rose bushes lined a cement path to the front door. The house looked just nice enough that the neighbors wouldn’t complain, but it’d never win House Beautiful.

  I started to get out of the car, and then spied Simon’s tin of makeup on the seat. Dang. I couldn’t leave it in the car or it’d melt. My passenger seat still had a Really Rose stain from last summer’s lipstick. I’d only had possession of the suspect makeup for a little over twelve hours, but already it felt like an albatross around my neck. One that I needed to do something about.

  But not now. I grabbed the tin and shoved it in my front shorts pocket as I walked to the front door. In spite of the sweltering heat, a couple of guys in their twenties sat on the front porch. One of them, a chubby, sweet-faced guy, waved at me as I came up the steps.