Foul Deeds: A Rosalind Mystery

by Linda Moore

  “I haven’t forgotten,” he said. “I’ll pick you up early so we can get good seats.”

  That afternoon, I ran around to the shops and picked up some cards and champagne for the cast and crew and then went home and had a leisurely, uninterrupted bath. Uninterrupted apart from the cat, who promised me loudly that she wouldn’t fall in. I let her join me, and she kept her word.

  I decided to wear something kind of chic and looked hopefully through my closet. I took out a little black dress that I could still manage to get into. I was surprised when I looked at myself in the mirror. I hadn’t worn a dress in forever. Somehow they didn’t suit the criminologist’s lifestyle. I turned sideways. Maybe a better bra. I curled my hair with the curling iron, noticing a few grey strands creeping into my brunette tresses. Then I put on some lipstick, eyeliner and shadow, and assessed the result. “Pretty racy, Roz,” I said to myself.

  I got a dark red pashmina out of the drawer to keep the chill of the Crypt off me and poked through the footwear on my closet floor for some high-heeled black boots. “You’d think it was all about me,” I said to the cat, who actually looked confused when she saw me.

  Harvie was early as promised, looking pretty sharp himself wearing a striking Hugo Boss suit. Each of us was dumbstruck by the transformation of the other.

  “Hey, you clean up good,” I managed.

  All he said was, “Wow.”

  I put the long stem red rose he brought me in a vase on the hall table and instructed the cat not to knock it over. He brought one for Sophie too, which we took with us to the theatre.

  As planned, we arrived at the cathedral early, hoping to get seats together. There were, after all, only sixty seats in total.

  “There should be comps for us here,” I said.

  “No way,” Harvie said. “I’m buying our tickets. Can’t think of a better way to spend my money than on a production of Hamlet.”

  “You’re crazy,” I smiled at him. “You must like Hamlet as much as I do.”

  “I do,” he said.

  I opened the greenroom door and passed in the opening night greeting cards I had prepared that afternoon, along with Harvie’s rose for Sophie and the bottle of champagne for after the show.

  “Thanks Roz!” George said. “Enjoy yourself out there.”

  “Break a leg everybody. Merde!” I closed the door and went and found Harvie again.

  There was already a crowd milling around—friends and family of the company.

  Walking towards the archway into the Crypt, I was amazed at who was just ahead of me.

  “Aziz! Look at you! It’s Roz.” I reached out my hand. “McBride and I visited you that day in the hospital.”

  “Of course I remember you—you saved my life. Sophie called and invited me. And look, I brought my camera. Don’t worry,” he said, noticing the alarm on my face. “I won’t be taking pictures during the show, but I’m hoping to interview people afterwards. All part of the doc I’m making about…well, everything.”

  “You can interview me, if you want. Aziz, this is Harvie Greenblatt, a lawyer with the Prosecution. He’s been working with the police on the case.”

  “Good to meet you,” Harvie said. “How are you feeling?”

  “Every day I’m stronger. I’m happy to be alive.”

  “I’m happy that you’re alive too.” It was a voice behind me. I turned to see Daniel King standing there.

  “Oh, good,” I said. “Aziz, this is Peter’s son, Daniel King. He’s the one that got the investigation rolling in the first place. This is Aziz.”

  They shook hands. “This is my partner, John, everyone,” Daniel said, putting his hand on the arm of the man beside him. “He just flew in this afternoon. Moral support and all that.”

  After exchanging greetings, we all crowded our way into the Crypt proper. Harvie and I managed to get two seats together, but the place was filling up fast. There was a seat on the aisle just in front of me and I put my coat on it.

  “McBride will show up just as the lights are going down,” I said.

  “He cuts it close, does he?”

  “Too close,” I said. “He almost missed the train that day.”

  “You can have a relaxing weekend now, Roz. It’s all over but the crying.”

  “I think I’ve done enough of that already,” I said.

  Just as Michael was finishing his “no cellphones, no candy wrappers” speech to the audience, McBride slipped in. I reached out and tapped him on the shoulder. “There’s a seat for you right there.” I pulled my coat off the chair.

  “Great. Thanks kiddo.” The house lights started going to black. The deep foreboding cello notes of the score began to sound. I grabbed Harvie’s hand and squeezed it. He looked kind of startled.

  “I’m nervous,” I said.

  “It’s going to be great, Roz,” he said returning the squeeze.

  And he was right. It was.

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Following her tenure as artistic director of Neptune Theatre, Linda Moore has worked primarily as a stage director for various theatres throughout Canada—most recently the National Arts Centre, Alberta Theatre Projects, and the Valley Summer Theatre in her home province of Nova Scotia.

  She currently lives in Halifax and has received numerous awards for achievement in theatre including the inaugural HRM Mayor’s Prize and the Theatre Nova Scotia Legacy Award. In the spring of 2012, she received the Robert Merritt Award for Outstanding Direction.

  Linda has been guest instructor and director in theatre programs at the University of Victoria, McGill, Dalhousie, and Memorial Universities, and was the Crake Fellow in Drama at Mount Allison University from 2008–2010. She is the recipient of an Honorary Doctor of Letters from Saint Mary’s University (Halifax).