The Princess and the Poison

by Carol E. Ayer

  At last, a man and woman entered the room and introduced themselves as Detectives Joseph Ochoa and Sharon Truesdale. Ochoa looked to be in his late fifties while Truesdale was a couple of decades younger.

  "So. You're the manager of StoryWorld, is that correct?" Detective Truesdale asked once they were seated.

  "That's correct. And the owner."

  Ochoa put on a pair of glasses and glanced at a page of illegible notes. "And you were the one who hired Katrina Irvine to play Sleeping Beauty?"

  "Yeah, kind of. She wasn't getting paid, but there was still paperwork I handled through her agent, and StoryWorld picked up the bill for her hotel room. I'm not exactly sure how she found out about the plays in the first place. It must have been through one of the acting troupes that co-produced the play with StoryWorld." I swiped my hand across my forehead when I realized I'd started to sweat. "What is this about, anyway?" I knew the answer, but I wanted one of them to say it.

  "Katrina Irvine's death was suspicious," Ochoa answered without a trace of emotion. His dimples, apparent even when he wasn't smiling, reminded me of Craig, the boyfriend I'd had before Jamie. What a disaster that relationship had been, and what a delightful contrast my romance with Jamie was afterward. But why was I thinking about that now? I had to focus.

  I arranged my features in a serious expression. "So it was murder."

  "We didn't say that. Do you think it was murder?" Truesdale asked sharply, looking up from her notes. She was very pretty, with green eyes, a cute smattering of freckles, and long red hair done up in a cool-looking braid. I wondered if I'd ever be able to pull off a braid like that. It looked complicated. But I was doing it again, letting my thoughts get away from me.

  Quickly I said, "No. I mean, I don't know. I was just speculating." What was I doing? I didn't want them to suspect me. Maybe I should have called a lawyer. Not that I knew any. "I can't imagine anyone killing her." Not true. I could imagine several people wanting to murder her, at least in theory. "What was suspicious about it, then?"

  Ochoa looked at me over the top of his glasses. "If you don't mind, Ms. Cleary, we'll ask the questions."

  "Okay," I mumbled.

  "When did you first meet Ms. Irvine?" Truesdale asked.

  "It was the first day she came to StoryWorld. So that would have been, let's see, the eighteenth of May."

  "Did you have any problems with her?"

  I cleared my throat. "Not really. I mean, she wasn't especially…agreeable." This was such an understatement that it wasn't even close to the truth.

  "Did you argue with her?" Ochoa asked.

  I shook my head, remembering my ineffectual attempts to get her in line. "No."

  "Where were you the day before and the morning of the performance?" Truesdale asked, continuing their tag team approach.

  "All over the place, really. I usually am. I'm in the office a lot, but I'm also out on the grounds. I have to bring change to my employees, and sometimes I'm asked to come out to talk to a customer. And if I'm short-staffed, I give breaks sometimes." This was probably way too much information for them, but maybe if I drowned them in minutiae, they wouldn't suspect me.

  "Did you see Ms. Irvine before the play?" Truesdale asked.

  I nodded. "Yes. I went up to the stage about an hour and a half before to make sure everyone was ready."

  Ochoa spoke next. "Did you notice anything unusual at that time?"

  "No. Nothing. Everything seemed to be in order. Katrina was reviewing her script and not interacting with anyone."

  "Was the stage locked up at night?" he asked next.

  "Once the props arrived a few days before the premiere, yes. We wanted to secure them. So I locked the stage after the actors finished up and unlocked it in the mornings when they got there."

  "Who has a key to the stage?" Ochoa followed up.

  "I'm the only one. And it's always on me, on the ring with my other keys."

  "Are you aware of any enemies Ms. Irvine may have had?" This was Truesdale.

  "She wasn't especially well-liked, but no, I'm not aware of anyone who would have hurt her."

  Ochoa asked, "Is anyone associated with StoryWorld an expert on plant life? Do you have a gardener, for example?"

  I'm sure my eyes bugged out of my head, like a cartoon character's. Plant life? So she must have been poisoned, after all. "We have a gardener, yes. He's been on vacation for the last couple of weeks. Otherwise, no. Well…no."

  "Why the hesitation?" Truesdale asked.

  "Donna's husband—Donna runs the restaurant at StoryWorld—is a professor of botany at the university."

  There was a long pause, and I looked back and forth between them. "What? What's wrong? What did I say?"

  Truesdale said with a quick glance at Ochoa, "We can reach Donna at StoryWorld, right?"

  I gulped. What had I done? "Yeah. She runs the restaurant. She's there most every day in the summer."

  "That's all the questions we have for now, Ms. Cleary. Thank you for coming down." Ochoa stood and shook my hand.

  Truesdale remained seated and didn't bother to say good-bye. Before I knew it, I was back in my car with a very bad taste in my mouth. Had I just somehow implicated Donna? But how? Surely they wouldn't suspect her.

  Back at the park, I stayed in the office until it was time to go. I'd never told Donna I was going to the police station, so she didn't seek me out to ask me how it had gone. But I couldn't avoid her forever. Maybe nothing would come of it. They'd find the real killer, and everything would be fine. I could only hope.

  * * *

  A phone ringing jangled me out of a deep sleep the next morning. I flung my arm over to the nightstand for the landline, croaking "Hello" when I finally had the receiver in my hand.

  "Ashling? It's me."

  "Donna, hi." I checked the clock. "Oh, cripes. I overslept. Is anything wrong at the park? I'll be there soon. I'll skip my shower and be there in twenty minutes." I rolled myself out of bed, fell unceremoniously to the floor, and staggered to my feet, all while somehow managing to keep the phone in my grip.

  "Ashling, no. Please listen. Charlie and I are on our way to the police station. We're being questioned about Katrina's death. She must have been murdered, just like you thought."

  My stomach dropped. This was all my fault.

  Before I could say anything or confess what I'd done, Donna spoke again. "Hon, I think they suspect us!"

  After doing my best to calm her down and asking that she keep me updated, I disconnected and dialed Katie, who lived across the street from StoryWorld. I asked her as nicely as I could if she would please go to work to set things up for me, even though it was her day off. She agreed more than a little grumpily, but only once I told her she could wear her pajamas and leave as soon as I got there. Then I got ready for work faster than I ever had in my life and drove to the park, making it about fifteen minutes before we opened.

  Before I unlocked the side gate to bypass the growing line of customers at the entrance, I straightened the sign I'd posted canceling the rest of the Sleeping Beauty performances. The notice explained that the young star had passed away due to a previously undiagnosed health condition. The fact that it could have been murder hadn't made it into the media yet, and I wasn't about to be the one to leak that information.

  When I'd driven up the service road a few minutes earlier, I'd taken note of several news vans still camped out in the parking lot below. This was annoying on many levels, not the least of which was they were taking up parking spaces my customers needed. As I unlocked the gate, three reporters, each accompanied by their camera operator, ran up the embankment from the lot.

  "Are you the owner? Can we get a comment about Katrina Irvine's death?" one reporter asked.

  "What's it like knowing StoryWorld will always be associated with Katrina's death? Do you expect attendance to drop or will it go up?" another asked in what I felt was very poor taste.

  "Are you going to cancel the other two plays now that
the star is dead?" the third queried.

  I shooed them off without answering any of their questions. The camera operators had been filming, and I sure hoped I wouldn't see myself on the news that evening.

  Donna called me again two hours later from the car. She and Charlie had been released, but they'd been cautioned to expect more of the same. Charlie was about to drop her off at work.

  When I went to check on her, she was outside the restaurant, clearing off one of the tables, obviously distracted. She took the dirty paper plates and stacked them neatly instead of throwing them away, and then she picked up a used hot dog wrapper to wipe down the table.

  I removed the hot dog wrapper from her hand and placed it on top of the paper plates. "Donna," I said quietly, and we embraced.

  Donna fell into the nearest slipper chair. "Oh, Ashling. It was horrible. They questioned us separately in different rooms. It seemed like it went on forever. They asked question after question, and any time I hesitated or misspoke, they jumped all over me."

  "I'm so sorry."

  "Are you hungry? I could use some coffee."

  "Did Alice fall down the rabbit hole?"

  She gave me one of those smiles that didn't reach the eyes. "Scone?"

  "Please. And a large latte."

  She rose, and I collapsed into her chair to wait for her.

  "I just don't understand this, Donna," I said once we were settled. "I was there yesterday, and they asked if anyone at StoryWorld had anything to do with plant life. I'm sorry. I told them about Charlie. I didn't mean to. It just kind of happened. But I didn't think anything would come of it."

  She patted my hand. "It's okay. They probably would have figured it out anyway."

  "But I don't get it. Why do they think you guys would have anything to do with Katrina's murder? Was it poison made out of some kind of plant? Did you tell them she didn't eat or drink anything that day?"

  Donna took a long swallow of coffee before answering. "The detectives asked each of us if we had access to curare. They must think she was killed by it. They're probably testing for it right now, Charlie thought."

  "Curare? What's that? Wait, I think I remember reading about it in college. Isn't it used on poison darts or something? But how obscure. I don't understand."

  "Yeah. That's exactly right. And they must think Charlie could have gotten some because of his job."

  My throat felt very thick. "And they believe you put it into her coffee? But, again, she didn't eat or drink anything that day, you said. Or is it something that would have killed her hours later?"

  Donna shook her head. "No, no. That's not how it works. Charlie explained it to me. South American natives used it for poison arrows, as you said, to paralyze and kill prey. If it were poisonous when ingested, the natives would have died when they ate the animals they killed."

  "Then how would you have poisoned Katrina? I still don't get it. I'm sorry I'm being so dense."

  "Well, if the curare is extracted from the root of the plant and mixed into this kind of…paste and then injected into a human being, it can be fatal. Charlie thinks the murderer covered the spindle with it. Katrina stuck herself during the play, and the poison entered her bloodstream and killed her."

  My mouth fell open. Part of me was impressed by the killer's cunning, while most of me was horrified.

  "It's very fast-acting," Donna went on. "The victim is paralyzed and stops breathing. If we'd known what was happening right away, someone could have administered CPR then and saved her. But by the time CPR was administered, the lack of oxygen had caused her heart to stop beating. It was too late by then."

  Oh my God. A chill ran through me. What an appalling way to die.

  "What I don't understand is how the spindle would be that sharp," Donna mused. "It would have had to be sharp enough to break the skin, but surely it was fake."

  "Actually, it wasn't," I said with another shudder. "I noticed how realistic the spinning wheel looked when it arrived. Julie told me it was an antique wheel with the spindle still intact. The stagehand was going to put a plastic cover over it so Katrina wouldn't actually hurt herself. The killer must have broken off the cover. Too bad they couldn't have just removed the spindle completely."

  "And Katrina must have been so in the acting zone she didn't notice the cover was missing and the spindle was exposed."

  "I wonder if the police have the spindle."

  "I doubt it. Probably it was removed during all the commotion by the killer. Who, supposedly, is me."

  "Oh, for heaven's sake. You didn't have a motive. I mean, sure, you were irritated with her, but so was everyone else. That's hardly a reason to kill someone."

  "Yeah, that's not, but our huge shouting match might have been."

  "What? You didn't tell me you had a shouting match with her. That doesn't sound like you. You never shout."

  "I know, but it's true. A dozen people overheard us. All the actors, Julie, and Katrina's entourage. The detectives asked me about it. Someone must have ratted me out."

  "What did you argue about?"

  "I'd just brought her one of her lattes. She didn't say thank you. Not that she ever did. I was so mad at her. The way she was treating all of us. It really bothered me. I told you I was a fan…" She stopped abruptly and blushed.

  "Donna?"

  "Look, I know it's silly at my age, but I…I admired her. I watched her TV show. And her movies. All right? I didn't tell you because I was embarrassed. Me, forty-three years old, still watching young adult television shows and movies. But she just wasn't how I thought she'd be. I…lost it, I guess."

  "What did you say, exactly?"

  Donna blushed some more. I couldn't remember ever seeing her this embarrassed.

  "I said—screamed—some things about her being a spoiled child who didn't care about anyone else. She yelled back about her being a big star and me being an old crone who served people coffee. Which, as you can imagine, made me madder. At that point, Julie took charge and told Katrina to take a walk. Julie calmed me down, but I was angry. I've never been that angry."

  "But still…"

  "The detectives must think I had the opportunity to tamper with the spindle because I was over there twice a day delivering her coffee."

  I shook my head in disbelief. This was just so ridiculous. "Without anyone noticing? That seems so unlikely."

  "I know, but someone did it without being seen. I guess it's possible. So why not me?"

  "You seem awfully calm about this."

  "Just on the outside. Inside, I'm going crazy. Ashling, I don't know what to do!"

  I was speechless for a number of beats. "This is horrible! But I'll clear you. I don't know how yet, but I will. I'll figure out who the real killer is. Don't worry."

  CHAPTER FIVE

  In the office, I allowed myself a few minutes of wallowing. I lay my head on my desk and moaned. How could this have happened? Donna would never have hurt Katrina, let alone murder her. So what if she had a screaming match with her? If I'd had an ounce of courage, I would have yelled at her too. I promised Donna I'd help her, and I would.

  On my computer, I set up a spreadsheet with three columns: Suspect, Motive, and Opportunity. I hesitated, undecided if I should add Means. Because I was so unsure of how the curare was obtained, I left it off for now.

  Dinah jumped onto my desk and rubbed against my arm. I idly scratched the swirled colors on her back as I pondered how to fill up the columns. I eliminated Donna as a suspect right off. Katie, and by extension Cameron, had been livid with Katrina, and the rest of the staff hadn't been enraptured with her either. But I eliminated all of them too. I couldn't imagine one of my young employees plotting a murder when they couldn't get to work on time. Half of them had to ask me time and time again how to turn on the merry-go-round.

  But lots of other people had the wherewithal to plan the murder and the opportunity besides. The members of Katrina's entourage, the director, and the actors all had access to the stage. I type
d in Julie's name. Next, I found my Sleeping Beauty program buried in a huge pile of papers on my desk and used it to copy the actors' names into the spreadsheet. Once I finished typing in the actors, I added the members of the entourage using the initials X, Y, and Z until I could find out their names.

  My mind wandered back to "means." How exactly the murderer got his or her hands on the curare was a vexing problem I couldn't ignore forever. I added a column for Means but left it blank for now.

  I moved on to the Motive column, still absentmindedly stroking Dinah. She nipped at my hand to tell me she'd had enough and jumped down from the desk. She padded over to her bed and curled up. She meowed when she was settled to inform me of her intentions to go to sleep.

  Okay, motives. There was Bradley's sexual harassment charge, Julie's general irritation with Katrina's diva-ness, and Florence's dislike of the star. I gulped, remembering I'd never followed through with admonishing Katrina after my inept attempt in the office. If I'd gotten her to stop behaving so badly, maybe the killer would have been satisfied and never have done the deed.

  Pushing that unpleasant thought aside, I moved on. I'd have to talk to the other actors. Were they jealous Katrina got all the attention? Had she criticized their acting? Those didn't seem like very good reasons to commit murder, but what did I know? Actors, like other creative types, were emotional and passionate people or so I understood.

  Although I didn't have any complaints from the members of her entourage, it was safe to assume they had issues with Katrina too. They probably weren't paid well and were treated harshly by their boss. I wouldn't have wanted to work for her. I twirled the charms on my bracelet watch, wondering if I was overlooking anything.

  What about motives besides being royally pissed off with the victim? What about money? Katrina wasn't married, and as far as I knew didn’t even have a boyfriend, so who would inherit what was surely a substantial fortune? Her parents? Her siblings? Did she even have brothers or sisters? But how would any of those people have had the opportunity to kill Katrina? The questions seemed to multiply like the bunnies in our Peter Rabbit set.