The Princess and the Poison

by Carol E. Ayer

  Bradley finally said, "There's her understudy. Laura Tenniel. She was upset Katrina was brought in to play all the starring roles this summer. Otherwise, she would have had the parts. She usually gets all the lead roles. She kinda had a temper tantrum when Julie told us about Katrina a few months ago. She kicked a chair and then stomped off. Now she gets to play Snow White and Cinderella."

  This was especially interesting and more information I hadn't had. I remembered catching sight of Laura at the premiere and how annoyed she'd seemed. "That's good. What about the other actors? In both your troupe and the seniors' troupe?"

  "Nah. As far as I can tell, no one else was all that mad at her. Sure, she wasn't the most popular person, but pretty much everyone just shrugged it off. I think I would have known if anyone else was seriously upset with her. We all spent a lot of time together."

  "Okay. Anything else?"

  "That's all I know. I really need to get home now." He stood.

  "Thanks, Bradley. You've been a great help." Pleased with the way I'd handled my first "interrogation," I pulled a business card from my purse. "Here's the phone number for my direct line at StoryWorld in case you think of anything else."

  "Yes, ma'am."

  Again with the ma'am. I high-tailed it out of there, feeling old, and returned to my car. Parking in the shade hadn't helped, and I yelped when my bare legs beneath my skirt hit the hot upholstery. I could barely place my hands on the sizzling steering wheel. How could people like summer? Hot temperatures, sweating, and day after day of the same weather. What was to like? Grumbling to myself, I drove back to work.

  On the way, I considered what Bradley had told me. He'd presented me with two promising leads. First, there was Laura, Katrina's understudy and now the star of the remaining performances. Had she wanted the parts so badly she offed her competition? Seemed like a tenuous motive—after all, these were small parts at a children's park—but I would have to talk to her. And what about Julie? She had known Katrina before the star ever came to StoryWorld. Julie certainly had never mentioned that. Was that why Katrina agreed to star in the plays? Because of a prior friendship with Julie? Clearly, somewhere along the line, the relationship had turned adversarial. I'd need to talk to Julie about that.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Paperwork took up the rest of the afternoon, eliminating any possibility of following up on my investigations. And all too soon, we were closing the park. Which, unfortunately, meant I was supposed to go home to get ready for my seven thirty dinner date with Scott. I hadn't had the guts to cancel.

  I trudged up to the restaurant to see if Donna wanted to go out for a snack so I could avoid going home…so I could avoid getting ready…so I could avoid going on the date.

  "Can't, hon. Charlie and I are having date night. We're trying to keep things as normal as possible, despite what's going on."

  "That's nice."

  She looked at me with concern. "You don't want to go home? Wait, what about your date? Did you cancel? Are you going?"

  "I didn't cancel. I gotta go get ready, actually. I'm going. I am. Right now. See you tomorrow."

  I took a circuitous way home, many miles out of my way, while also driving severely under the speed limit, arousing the ire of several drivers behind me. But finally, I had to do it. I had to go home.

  Because of my delaying tactics and usual inability to decide on an outfit, I was fifteen minutes late for dinner. I apologized to Scott, but he told me it was fine. He'd been late too. Why did he have to be so nice? It would be so much easier if he weren't. And it would help if he weren't so attractive. Tonight, he wore a gray suit with a red-striped tie, and I had the wild impulse to crawl across the table into his arms. I didn't.

  "I don't think you've ever told me how StoryWorld came to be in your family," Scott said shortly after we ordered.

  I told him the story of my grandparents, who had been school teachers in Minnesota. When they moved out west to Springdale in search of milder weather, they were shocked to find rundown schools and a lack of caring teachers.

  "My grandfather, Lou, wanted to create an educational park for kids that would be fun and affordable. He loved reading, and storybook parks were beginning to pop up around the country. So they put their life savings into building StoryWorld."

  "That's so great. Did you spend a lot of time at the park when you were a child?"

  I nodded. "My mom took over when my grandparents retired. She was there all the time, the way I am now. So, yeah, I ended up spending most of my childhood at StoryWorld. While my friends were doing after-school stuff like Girl Scouts and soccer, I was at the park. But I loved it. I loved how the stories I treasured were brought to life at StoryWorld. And I adored the animals too. I was always feeding them and talking to them."

  "But you were still resistant to taking over for your mom when you grew up?"

  "Yes. There were other things I wanted to do. I studied math and science in college. I thought I might be an accountant or a scientist of some kind."

  Scott raised an eyebrow. "Really? I can't imagine you doing anything other than running StoryWorld. It seems like the perfect job for you."

  I shrugged. "I wanted to do something on my own, something that was different from what my family did. My dad's a lawyer, so I steered clear of that too. It was my attempt at independence, I guess. Mom could have just made me the manager when she got sick, but she signed the entire park over to me. I think she thought it would make me more committed."

  "But it didn't work?"

  "No. I felt cornered. I was angry I wouldn't be able to follow my own path. But inheriting StoryWorld ended up being really good for me. It grounded me. I found a reason for getting up in the morning. Seeing how the children loved the park and how it inspired them to read gave me the sense I was doing something important with my life. And then, a couple of years in, I hired Jamie to work at the park part-time. Things started to look up." This was entering dangerous territory for me, and I hoped I wouldn't break down into a sobbing, slobbery mess.

  "You've never said how Jamie died." Scott reached across the table for my hand and gently massaged it. Little shivers ran up and down my spine. Damn.

  I chewed on my bottom lip. "It was a stroke. He had a congenital heart defect, and he developed more heart problems as he got older. The year before he died, he…kind of gave up. He didn't take care of himself as well as he should have. Before then, he was really careful with his diet, and he worked out and took medication. But then, in that last year, he ate junk all the time, and he drank, and he didn't exercise at all…" It occurred to me that, other than the drinking, I was doing much of the same these days. But I really didn't want to give any emotional energy to that realization.

  Scott said, "I'm so sorry."

  My stomach felt like Tigger was bouncing around inside it. This wasn't my favorite subject, but I knew it was bound to come up at some point. I braced myself. "It was really hard. For everyone. His parents separated for a while. They're back together now, though. And his sister sank into a bad depression, although she's much better. She got married, and she's having a baby. Really soon, actually." Stupidly, I looked at my watch, as though Becca were currently in labor and about to deliver.

  "And you? How are you doing now?"

  "It's not as hard as it was, but it's still difficult." The familiar hollowness from remembering Jamie was no longer in the world took over my consciousness. I squeezed my eyes shut as the memory slideshow began: Jamie playing darts at the county fair, us laughing and running in the Magic Forest, and the reassuring sound of his voice on the other end of the telephone late at night after I'd had a nightmare. To keep myself from breaking down, I opened my eyes, grabbed the dessert menu from in between the salt and pepper shakers, and began reviewing it. Tiramisu. Yum. Dessert and coffee mixed into one.

  "I can understand why you might not want to get involved again." Scott's gaze sought mine out, but I couldn't look at him. Unfortunately, his theory sounded not only possible bu
t probable. And, gauging by my sudden desire to down an entire platter of tiramisu, my eating problem was likely connected to it.

  Rather than think about this too deeply, I asked, "Can we talk about something else?"

  "Sure. How was work?"

  Ah. A much safer subject. "It was good. Amazingly, our attendance hasn't suffered now the news is out Katrina was murdered. If anything, it's increased. I'd like to think it's not because people just want to see where she was killed. That would be…gruesome. But a nice thing is that some of her fans have been making a memorial for her near the stage. With cards and stuffed animals and stuff."

  Scott nodded. "Very nice."

  "Oh, and I took some time in the afternoon to go see Bradley, Katrina's co-star, at the city tennis courts. He gave me some good information about possible suspects. I don't think he's a likely suspect, but he mentioned Julie, the director, and Laura, Katrina's understudy. They might have strong motives. I'll talk to them next."

  Scott put down his water glass in a deliberate manner and stared at me. "What? I don't understand."

  "What don't you understand? I have to clear Donna. And the only way to do that is to find the real killer. So I'm talking to everyone who might have done it."

  "Did you just hear yourself? Find the real killer? Talk to everyone who might have done it? What if the 'real killer' finds out you're investigating and kills you?"

  I shivered but didn't answer.

  "Well?"

  I looked toward the kitchen. "Is the lasagna good here? Maybe I should have ordered that."

  "Ashling."

  "I'll be careful, Scott. I will. Don't worry. It'll be fine."

  "Yeah. It'll be fine because you're gonna stop."

  Now it was my turn to stare at him. "Excuse me? That almost sounded like an order."

  "Ashling, when you're in a relationship with someone—"

  Whoa! I didn't like the sound of that. We were in a relationship? And apparently because we were in a relationship, Scott got to tell me what I could or couldn't do? The restaurant suddenly seemed very small and lacking in oxygen. I had to get out of there. I cut him off, "You know what, I'm not hungry. I'm going home. Good night." I threw my napkin on the table, gathered up my purse, and stormed off. Part of me was overwhelmingly relieved I'd avoided the date altogether, while another part of me felt like Humpty Dumpty after he fell off the wall.

  There was now a new layer to my Scott problems and not in a good way like a five-layer cake. How did he get off telling me what to do? Or not to do, in this case? Maybe he'd been right about me not wanting to get involved with him because I might lose him, but his assumption that he could order me around was at the forefront of my mind.

  * * *

  Deciding to bury myself, so to speak, in solving Katrina's death, I continued my investigations. The next afternoon, I called the Springdale Playhouse and asked to speak to Laura Tenniel, Katrina's understudy.

  She readily agreed to meet me for coffee at the Jack Sprat, surprising me with her easy acquiescence. Maybe this detective thing wasn't so hard after all. A short fifteen minutes later, we ordered coffee and scones and sat at a table in the shade.

  Revising my earlier estimate of Laura's age upwards to early 30s, I wondered briefly if she was getting too old to play young princesses. Which didn't mean she wasn't pretty. She might not have been as gorgeous as Katrina, but she had a natural beauty I envied. I had the feeling she was one of those women who looked adorable without makeup. As it was, she looked quite fetching with a surfeit of eye shadow and eye liner rimming her baby blues. She didn't look at all like a drunken raccoon.

  "What would you like to talk about?" Laura smoothed her long brown hair across her shoulders. "Some kind of PR for Snow White and Cinderella?"

  "What? No." Uh, oh. She thought this was about her newly acquired starring roles. No wonder she agreed so easily to come meet me. Oops.

  "Then what is this about?"

  "I just wanted to ask how you got along with Katrina. If you had any differences of opinion or anything."

  "I've already talked to the detectives about this." Laura crossed her arms against her ample chest. Her friendly smile disappeared. "I thought you wanted to talk to me about my upcoming starring roles." She scowled as though I'd misled her. In reality, I hadn't told her the reason I wanted to see her. I'd just invited her for coffee.

  "If you don't mind, I'd appreciate it if you told me too. Katrina took over the roles you would have gotten. That must have been really rough for you." I gave her my most compassionate look.

  "Like I told the detectives, sure, I wanted the parts. But I know this is how it goes with acting. You don't get all the parts you want. You win some, you lose some."

  I studied her. She seemed sincere, but wouldn't it be human nature to feel snubbed? And Bradley had said she was upset when she found out Katrina was taking over the roles. I myself had witnessed her sour look on the day of the premiere.

  "With Katrina not here, now you do have the starring roles." I looked at her closely.

  "Yeah, I know. But it's not like I wanted that to happen. Not this way, anyway. And I don't see how this is any of your beeswax."

  This wasn't going well.

  "I really have to get back." She stood and took her coffee with her but left the untouched scone, which I immediately grabbed and inhaled. This meeting hadn't gone nearly as smoothly as the one with Bradley. Probably I should have pressed Laura for more information, but, naturally, I'd lost my nerve.

  * * *

  I interrupted my regularly scheduled programming of eating and interviewing murder suspects to set up a memorial service for Katrina. Donna helped me post flyers inside the park inviting the actress's fans to attend, and Joaquin, our resident social media expert, tweeted and Facebooked about it on StoryWorld's pages. I also paid for a small ad in our local paper. I had my choice of reporters I could have told—all I had to do was go outside the gates to find them—but I didn't want them to think they could attend too. They were personas non gratas, or whatever the Latin plural was of persona non grata. Cameron and Joaquin agreed to reprise their roles as "bouncers" to keep the media away from the service.

  * * *

  A couple of hours after the park closed that Wednesday, Donna and I stood at the side gate to greet Katrina's fans. Donna had taken the time after we closed to run home to change clothes. She now wore a navy sheath and high heels, which put me to shame in my sweaty StoryWorld T-shirt and torn jeans. On the bright side, I'd remembered to apply fresh lipstick and mascara, and I'd put on my favorite Wizard of Oz charm bracelet that morning.

  At eight, dozens of fans swarmed up from the parking lot: a mix of teens and twenty-somethings and people in their thirties—both men and women. Many of the fans wore hot pink, in what Donna told me was a nod to Katrina's trademark style in the young adult TV show Whatever.

  After we'd greeted and sent in what was probably a hundred fans, Donna turned to me. "I think that's it. I don't see anyone else coming."

  "Great, let's go." We locked the gate and headed to the Poppy Field. As we'd directed, the fans had formed a large circle surrounding the microphone and podium we'd set up. Donna and I traveled around the circle, handing out LED candles and sometimes pausing to exchange a few words with a fan. Then, in almost perfect sync, the sun set, and everyone switched on their candles, illuminating the circle.

  I stood at the podium, with Donna next to me on the grass. The fans quieted, and, in the silence, one of the chickens in the nearby Henny Penny set clucked a few times. Soft laughter bubbled up from the circle.

  "Welcome to the memorial service for Katrina Irvine," I said. "We're happy to see so many of her fans here. Anyone who would like to speak is welcome to."

  Right away, a teen waved her hand, and we invited her up.

  "My name's Lila," she said into the mike. A tiny hot pink flower tattoo decorated the inside of her wrist. "Katrina Irvine saved my life."

  Donna and I looked at each ot
her in surprise.

  "I was bullied in junior high," Lila continued. "But I watched an episode of Whatever where Katrina was bullied in high school. The way she handled it helped me go back to school and stand strong. Eventually, the girls left me alone. It's all because of Katrina. Thank you, Katrina. I'll miss you and love you forever."

  Lila stood down to resounding applause.

  A young man, probably around fourteen, took the podium next. "I wrote Katrina a fan letter. She was the first person I came out to. I couldn't believe it when she wrote back! It was the sweetest letter anyone's ever written me. I still keep it under my pillow."

  Several more fans spoke in the hour that followed. Each said how much she or he had loved Katrina and how Katrina had helped just by being herself. My initial cynicism soon turned to sympathy, for both Katrina and her admiring public. Her fans sincerely cared for her and would miss her.

  I left the service in a thoughtful mood. Maybe it didn't matter that Katrina sometimes behaved badly. She had touched and inspired thousands and maybe millions of people, not a shabby way to live a life.

  * * *

  The day after the memorial service, I checked my suspect list and decided on Julie as my next "victim." After fortifying myself with a scone and a pep talk, I swung by the Springdale Playhouse after work and was happy to find my prey on the stage, folding up metal chairs.

  Julie didn't look at me after an initial glance. "How can I help you? I don't recall we had a meeting."

  Her tone was as cold as our Little Mermaid pond in winter. Was she hiding something? Had Laura warned her I was asking around about the murder?

  "I heard you and Katrina argued," I said. "I just wanted to ask you about that."

  Julie finished folding a chair and turned to me. "Of course I argued with her. Everyone argued with her. Everyone disliked her. She had zero respect for everyone else. Zero." To punctuate her point, she made a 0 with her thumb and index finger.