I tried again. ‘So, how are you enjoying your time in Manchester?’ I asked Miss Lucinda, who was slurping her tea in a most unladylike manner. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed Miss Bea’s thinly veiled look of disgust.
Miss Lucinda dunked a cookie into her tea and took a bite of the dripping sweet. ‘I was doing just fine until this,’ she nodded toward Miss Bea, bits of cookie dribbling from the corners of her mouth.
Miss Bea gave a small snort. ‘Well, I certainly didn’t ask you here, Lucy, as you might recall.’ I laughed inwardly; Miss Bea got in an underhanded shot with that ‘Lucy’ comment.
‘Hummph. I can recall many a time when you needed me around, Beatrice. I have a feeling this is one of them.’ Another noisy gulp followed this pronouncement. ‘So, what exactly is going on?’
‘We can’t find Miss Bea’s handbag, for starters,’ I said, reaching out to gently pat the plump hand that lay next to mine.
‘OK. That’s soon enough sorted. We just need to wait for the McLaughlins to return, as I remember. What’s next?’ Miss Lucinda’s stern glance moved among the three of us, who sat in a line much like naughty children trying to explain ourselves to a strict nanny.
Leslie and I began speaking at the same time, our words tumbling over one another in our haste to assure her that nothing else was amiss.
We didn’t convince her.
‘I’ll be the judge of that, girls,’ Miss Lucinda announced. She turned to face her sister-in-law, who instantly cowered closer to me. ‘Beatrice, I hear that you’ve created some foolish mystery tour or some such nonsense. Is that what’s causing the ruckus?’
Miss Bea shot to her feet, no easy thing for her to do. She stood as straight as her stature would allow; even her hair seemed to frizzle to a new height, quivering with righteous indignation.
‘My Murder Mystery Tour,’– I could clearly detect the capitals – ‘is a success, Lucy, and I don’t need interference from the likes of you.’ She crossed her ample arms over her ample bosom, steam practically billowing from her ears.
Her reaction didn’t faze Miss Lucinda in the least. With one last swallow of her crumb-filled tea, she stood to her feet, leaning for a moment on the chair’s arm.
‘I highly suggest that you begin by being honest with me, Beatrice,’ she intoned, heading for the door. ‘I will be in my trailer when you are ready to disclose everything. Jo, your arm, if you would.’
Together we descended the steps and began walking back toward the front of the campground. This time she kept a firm grip on my arm, and I had the feeling it was more to detain me than to assist in walking.
‘Beatrice has always been a trusting soul.’ This declaration, out of the blue, startled me. My mind had been on how to graciously disentangle my arm from hers.
‘I would have to agree with that,’ I answered, once my heart had shifted from my throat and back to its normal spot in my chest. ‘She trusted four complete strangers to come to Colorado and share her home with her.’
In the distance, I spotted Derek and LJ. They were standing near their trailer’s front door, watching me approach with Miss Lucinda’s grasp firmly on my arm. I decided to take the bull by the horns and steered her gently in their direction.
‘Miss Lucinda, there are the other two folks who are part of our troupe. I want you to meet them.’
We approached the boys, Miss Lucinda’s limp a bit more pronounced as we walked uphill. We finally reached their trailer, and I lifted my eyebrows in silent warning against any extemporaneous conversation.
At least, I hoped that they understood my meaning.
‘Miss Lucinda Becklaw,’ – their eyebrows joined mine in the stratosphere – ‘this is Derek Robertson and LJ Smythe, the rest of the Murder Mystery Tour troupe.’
Miss Lucinda inclined her lavender head regally, the front part of her hairdo threatening to slip off her head entirely. What was it with the Becklaw women and their hair?
‘Pleased to meet you, ma’am,’ chorused the boys in unison. They looked at me questioningly. ‘Is Miss Bea ready to take off for the fairground? We’re due to meet up with the bit-parters in forty minutes.’
I slapped my forehead. Dear Lord! I had nearly forgotten the practice, in the excitement of discovering Miss Lucinda Becklaw.
‘I’ll run and get her right now. No, wait. You go and get her and Leslie, Derek. They’re still at our trailer. LJ and I will stay here with Miss Lucinda. Besides, I need to keep my eye on the front office. Miss Bea seems to have left her handbag there, and the McLaughlins aren’t answering the door.’ I looked over at LJ. ‘LJ, you stay here with Miss Lucinda. I’m going to go knock on their door again.’ I took off without giving either boy another option.
I once again pounded on the private entrance and this time I had a response. Mr McLaughlin stood in the open doorway, arms firmly folded and a scowl on his face. This cleared the second he saw who it was that stood there; still afraid of bad publicity, I thought.
‘Mr McLaughlin, I’m afraid Miss Bea left her handbag in your office. Could I get it for her, please?’ I gave him my most charming smile.
‘Why, certainly! Let me go around and unlock the office for you.’ He stepped out into the sunlight, pulling the door behind him quickly. Maybe Mrs McLaughlin was indisposed.
I followed his lanky frame around the side of the building and to the front door. He inserted a key on a bunch pulled from his pants pocket, holding the door to let me go in first.
I spotted the handbag right away, sitting safely where Miss Bea had placed it that morning. Catching it up, I thanked Mr McLaughlin for his time and left, waving merrily at him.
LJ and Miss Lucinda were exactly where I had left them, in almost the exact same position. LJ’s face was a study in misery, and Miss Lucinda looked like she’d eaten a very sour lemon.
Hmm, I thought. Time to institute a little camaraderie here.
‘So,’ I said, with what I hoped was a natural smile, ‘will you be joining us, Miss Lucinda?’ I have no idea why I said that; the words seemed to come from somewhere other than the Land of Common Sense.
‘I rather think that I will,’ she replied, lavender hair bobbing in the light breeze that had sprung up. ‘You, young man!’ This was directed at a very startled LJ, who stood as straight as he could. I half expected him to salute. ‘Go get that good-for-nothing sister-in-law of mine and those other two young people. We have an appointment at the Silverton Country Fairground.’
Somehow we all managed to cram into the station wagon. Miss Bea, still reeling from the shock of having run into her dead husband’s sister, drove worse than usual. I was good and carsick by the time we arrived at our destination.
The fairgrounds were set smack dab in the middle of a large, meadow-like area, surrounded by thick stands of spruce and fir trees. For some reason, the locals seemed to have an affinity for faux log buildings, and every structure on the site looked like it had come from the same factory as the McLaughlins’ office. We parked near the entrance in the lot reserved for fair employees (I suppose that’s what we were), and we hustled off to meet our bit-parters.
The building where the dinner theater would take place was near the center of the grounds; surrounded by low hedges and with flower boxes at the windows, it might well have passed itself off as a private residence.
The huge oak door was propped open with a metal chair. I could hear the sound of voices coming from somewhere inside, talking and laughing with one another. I tried to relax, hoping that the tension I had felt before had dissipated.
I would soon find out that I was wrong. Dead wrong, in a manner of speaking.
Josie sat on a chair near the back of the building, literally surrounded by the Andy, Julian, and Bert contingency. Trying not to be obvious, I glanced around for Lily and finally spotted her sitting alone, head low over the book in her lap. I let out my breath, which I’d been holding without realizing it. That was OK, then. At least there was no verbal sparring going on, no one trying
to outdo the other.
They looked up as we entered the darkened hall. Andy sprang to his feet, followed by Bert and Julian. They walked over to meet us, shaking hands with Derek and LJ, and giving the females a friendly nod. They each gave Miss Lucinda a curious glance, but said nothing.
‘We’re ready to get started, Miss Bea. Just tell us what we need to do to get the place set up,’ Andy spoke up, looking eager to please.
Bert nodded. ‘Yeah. Just tell us what to do, ma’am.’
Miss Bea looked more energized than she had for the past hour. Turning to look around the spacious room, she pursed her lips as she planned.
Miss Lucinda rolled her eyes.
I leapt into the fray. ‘Why don’t you have Derek and LJ direct these guys, and Leslie and I will take the gals for some costume fittings?’
Miss Bea gave me a grateful smile. ‘That sounds wonderful, Jo. I’ll just sit down and go over my notes to make sure that we’ve got everything together.’ She purposefully ignored Miss Lucinda, putting her plump back to her and walking to a nearby table.
Miss Lucinda, not to be outdone, followed me and Leslie as we led the girls for their fittings.
‘I’d like a word, Jo,’ she announced, not bothering to lower her voice. Miss Bea’s head snapped up from her paperwork, an alarmed look on her face.
Chapter Eight
I felt nervous, there was no denying it. The last thing I wanted was to become a pawn in the ongoing Battle of the Becklaw Women. Leslie gave me an apologetic glance, then directed Lily and Josie off to the ladies’ room. I stopped walking to let Miss Lucinda catch up, waiting for her to speak.
Lucinda stood still a moment, more to catch her breath than for dramatic pause. In spite of her obvious handicap, this woman was one tough cookie.
‘I have decided to join Beatrice in this cockamamie outfit of hers. What job should I do?’ She stared at me with eyes that dared me to disagree.
I didn’t.
‘Well,’ I began slowly, ‘Miss Bea oversees everything that we do. I suppose you’d better talk to her.’ There. I had extricated myself neatly from another Becklaw Pitfall.
Lucinda Becklaw snorted, an almost horsy sound. I fully expected her to lift a hoof and paw the ground in front of us.
‘That Woman,’ she said, her voice issuing capital letters to the words, ‘is a dingbat.’
I had to quickly stifle a grin. I hadn’t heard that epithet since watching reruns of All in the Family.
‘I’m sorry, dearest Lucy?’ The words were laden with sugary sweetness, the voice unrecognizable to me for its dangerously mellow tone. ‘I’m afraid I missed that last comment.’ Miss Bea had walked up behind me, laying a hand on my shoulder. ‘Jo, dear, run along and give Leslie a hand, won’t you?’
I obeyed. Quickly.
I scampered down the hall and didn’t look back. I don’t know what I was afraid of seeing: perhaps my beloved Miss Bea with claws in place of hands and fire issuing from her kindly mouth. I knew that was just a fancy but, from what I had just heard, it could have happened.
Leslie was kneeling down in front of Lily when I walked in, pins bristling from her mouth in a parody of teeth.
‘Hng n a minit,’ she said, trying to speak without swallowing one of the little daggers.
I looked around the small dressing area. Dresses with lace flounces and feather boas covered nearly every surface. The mirrored dressing table and the cushioned stool that stood in front of it, carried a load of acting minutiae; vials of thick stage make-up and jars of face cream were side by side with all manner of undergarments; push-up brassières and double-sided tape, along with girdles in all sizes, lay strewn around for everyone and their grandma to see.
With Lily’s dress reconstructed to her satisfaction, Leslie came groaningly to her feet.
‘That carpet needs some new padding,’ she grumbled. ‘Where’s Miss Bea, Jo? I need her to see Lily’s dress before I make the changes for tonight.’ She bent down and plucked a box of straight pins off the floor.
‘Oh, I think that I’d trust your judgment on this one, Leslie,’ I said, cutting my eyes sideways at Lily to indicate ‘not in front of the newbie, Leslie’.
She didn’t get it and babbled on. ‘I was just saying to Lily and Josie that Miss Bea is in the head honcho for everything we do in Becklaw’s, isn’t that right, Jo?’
What was it with everyone trying conversationally to entrap me today?
I didn’t have to answer, thank goodness. We three heard the sounds of rapid footsteps coming toward us. The door was flung open and in stepped Miss Bea, flames figuratively shooting from her eyes. Instinctively, I moved nearer to Leslie and Lily. I don’t why I did; Miss Bea wasn’t the type to murder me in my tracks … was she?
‘I have just been informed by my dear sister-in-law that she intends to join our little family and run part of the troupe.’ Miss Bea’s face was unnaturally red, and her hair had completely come undone, its tangled frizzle hanging around her face à la Medusa. If that didn’t give one nightmares, then nothing could, I thought, as I edged even closer to Leslie.
‘What’s going on?’ Leslie looked from me to Miss Bea, concern evident in her tone. ‘Do you need us to run her off, Miss Bea? I can certainly do it and LJ will be more than happy to take care of business for you.’
Miss Bea brushed aside an armful of clothing and plopped down on the stool. I held my breath, praying silently for its safety and hoping that the craftsman had counted on bottoms of all sizes.
‘No, that’s very kind of you, my dear,’ she said, her face less flushed and her voice quieter. ‘When I married my sweet Desmond, I essentially married his family. His sisters, Lucinda and Miranda, were so clingy, and his mother, God rest her soul, acted like Desmond wasn’t old enough to leave home. We took off as soon as we had the money, leaving kith and kin behind and happy to do it.’ She paused, smiling at the ceiling in a way that I now associated with her many visits to a happier past.
‘There are two of them?’ I couldn’t keep the horror out of my voice, looking back over my shoulder as if another Becklaw Person was going to come swooping at me from the shadows.
‘Yes,’ smiled Miss Bea in amusement. ‘Lucinda and Miranda – Lucy and Mindy – are twins. For every bad point that is Lucy, Mindy is as sweet and kind as the day is long.’
I shook my head in disbelief. I couldn’t get out of my head the fact that Miss Lucinda had a twin and that this twin was sweet. ‘Sweet’ was not an appellation that one would ever, ever apply to Lucinda Becklaw.
Leslie came to life, pointed to Lily’s dress, and asked if it looked OK. Miss Bea turned an appraising eye toward the flounces that Leslie had pinned up to accommodate Lily’s shorter stature.
‘That looks fine, my dear,’ Miss Bea said, rising from the stool. I heard a groan and wondered if the stool was thanking its lucky stars that she had stood up.
Once more, the door was opened with force. Miss Lucinda stood there in the open doorway, arms firmly crossed and a stern look on her face. She homed in on Miss Bea, who seemed to suddenly grow ten feet taller and shoot sparks.
‘I believe that the actors’ dressing rooms are off-limits to the public,’ Miss Bea announced in stentorian tones.
‘Oh, give it a rest, Bea!’ Miss Lucinda bit her words off as cleanly as a seamstress cutting thread.
Leslie turned to look at me, making a slight pointing motion with her head, first toward Miss Bea then toward Miss Lucinda. I shrugged, wiggling my eyebrows to telegraph my opinion. Miss Bea’s radar, though, was in fine working order.
‘Girls, you don’t need to do that,’ she admonished sternly, although I swear I could detect a smile in her eyes. ‘Whatever it is you need to say, just say it.’
I took a deep breath. Leslie was counting on me to be the leader, and poor Lily was in something like shock, watching the drama unfolding in front of her.
‘Miss Bea, Miss Lucy,’ I began, then swiftly corrected myself. ‘Miss Lucinda. We need to
get these costumes ready to go for tonight. Which one of you will be in charge of that?’
I felt the air thicken as Miss Bea’s eyes narrowed. I had really stepped in it.
‘I am the One in Charge,’ Miss Bea said stiffly. I felt crushed. Miss Bea had never used that tone with me.
‘I didn’t mean it like that, Miss Bea,’ I replied contritely. It must have worked, because her sunny smile returned and I felt forgiven. ‘What I really meant to say was, are these changes that Leslie made OK with you?’ I had clean forgotten that she’d already told us that they were. I was pretty shaken up, I guess.
Apparently she was shaken a bit as well, because she answered, ‘I’ll take a look in a few minutes, dear. Let me just escort dear Lucy here to the front room first, then we’ll go over the costumes. Lucinda?’
Here she opened the dressing room door, holding out her left arm in a magnificently sweeping gesture that said very clearly, Get Out.
Dear Lucy got out.
In spite of the bad vibes between the two Becklaw gals, we managed to fit both Lily and Josie, as well as the Three Amigos. With the clothing issues out of the way, we set about getting the eating area in order, our ‘stage’ zone defined by a long table (Derek’s bar), an upright piano, and three round tables with mismatched chairs. Since we really didn’t use props other than the cards, ashtrays, and a few bottles for the bar, we were ready to go.
‘Miss Bea,’ questioned Josie, ‘when I leave to go rest during the play, which direction should I walk?’
As we had already gone over what ‘stage right’ and ‘stage left’ meant, I waited for Miss Bea to reply using one of those terms. To my amazement – and amusement – she said, ‘You go to your right, Josie, as if you were looking out at the audience and decided to run back to the dressing room. Does that make sense?’
Her tone was kind, not facetious in any way. I could tell then that Miss Bea associated ‘beauty’ with ‘empty head’. Well, who didn’t? Josie didn’t seem to notice anything of the kind, instead pausing to crinkle her smooth brow, look out at where the audience would be, back to her right, and then nod.
Becklaw's Murder Mystery Tour (Jo Anderson Series) Page 6
