Death By Drama

by Abigail Keam

  “Jo, did you notice Robin wasn’t here?”

  “Yes. I hope she’s okay. Robin was acting a little goofy the last time I saw her. Not herself at all.”

  “You know she’s a drinker.”

  “No, I didn’t realize. How do you know?”

  “That jumbo thermos she brings to all the rehearsals. You think it’s filled with tea. Hell, no. It’s full of sangria.”

  “You must be mistaken, Zion. She chugs from that thermos like a baby sucking milk from its mother.”

  “Exactly. I’m telling you, Robin is on her way to becoming a full-blown alcoholic. Madison and I sneaked drinks with her during rehearsals. I’m telling you that gigantic thermos was full of sangria.”

  “Zion, your cab is here.” I helped Zion up and over to the cab. After getting him stowed away in the back seat, I gave the driver Zion’s address and bid them both goodbye. I stood watching the cab pull out onto the highway before I made my way back into the church.

  Somehow the mention of that thermos filled with sangria stayed on my mind. I couldn’t shake it.

  What did it mean?

  29

  The service was over. I sat in a pew in the back of the church, waiting for everyone else to leave. I’m slow, and I don’t like to hold people up with my bad leg . . . and neither do they.

  Peter Russell stopped by my pew. “Hi Josiah. Nasty business, eh?”

  “It is an unhappy day, for sure. How’s Robin?”

  “Not doing too good. She didn’t feel up to coming.”

  “Did she go to the doctor?”

  Peter buttoned his coat. “Yeah, but we’re still waiting on the test results.”

  “Give her my regards, will you?”

  “Sure. Well, I’ve got to go. Robin might need me.”

  “Bye.”

  I was about to follow Peter out when John Smythe headed straight for me after speaking with several well-wishers. Widowed and divorced women were offering condolences and a shoulder to cry on if needed. Madison had barely been put to rest, and already the buzzards were encircling John, making a bid to be the next Mrs. Smythe. He shooed them away deftly before sidling alongside me.

  “Josiah, I saw how you got Zion out of here before he made a scene. I want to thank you.”

  I nodded. I didn’t know what to say, and I didn’t want to be sitting alone with John inside an empty church.

  “I appreciate you coming, considering your feelings for Franklin.”

  “I believe he’s innocent.”

  “I realize that.” He scooted closer.

  I scanned the church to see if anyone else was still inside. Fortunately, there were several parishioners lighting candles and praying.

  “Little birdies have told me that Asa is investigating the case for Franklin’s lawyer.”

  “She’s been poking around,” I confirmed.

  “I’ve never had the pleasure of meeting your daughter. She hasn’t interviewed me.”

  “She’ll get around to it.”

  “What does she look like, so I’ll know it’s her?”

  “She looks like a bird of prey.”

  John laughed, then stopped short after looking at the sour expression on my face. “Tell her I had nothing to do with the death of my late wife. I loved her.”

  “There are witnesses who say Madison wanted a divorce.”

  “Madison had been under a strain while doing The Murder Trap. She wasn’t herself.”

  “Did you take the cranberry juice out of the fridge and fill the decanter?”

  “No, Franklin did, but I filled the goblets. I’ve already talked to Detective Kelly about this. I have nothing to hide. I know Franklin’s your friend, but he must have slipped the antifreeze into the juice while he was dusting the table.”

  “Why did you hide a jade knickknack in Madison’s coat pocket?”

  John bristled at the question. His soft, pudgy body quivered in righteous indignation. He pushed his limp, dirty blond hair away from his eyes. “I did no such thing. Whoever accused me of such atrocious behavior is lying!”

  He stood quickly. “I just wanted to thank you for helping with Zion. Tell Asa I’m innocent. She doesn’t need to question me.”

  “I’ll tell her, but I don’t think it will do much good. Asa’s relentless. She’ll track you down sooner or later.”

  I watched him hurry out of the church and gave him a few moments to get to his car and drive away. What a phony baloney John was. He was trying to get information out of me, but I turned the tables on him. Wanted to thank me for helping with Zion. What crap! John hated Zion, and must have been delighted when Zion showed up drunk to the funeral, so the attendees would sympathize with the grieving widower.

  I hope he had sleepless nights now, like Franklin was having. He was going to obsess over who had seen him steal the jade statuette.

  Yes, I was mad at John because of Franklin, but after seeing him grieve at Madison’s funeral, I wasn’t so sure he’d killed her. He seemed broken up about the death of his wife. I didn’t think his grief was fake.

  After all, he was a director. Not an actor. He was worse at acting than I was. And that’s saying something.

  30

  “I don’t care who the real murderer is. My job is to put enough reasonable doubt in the jury’s mind to acquit.”

  “But why does Franklin have to go to trial if he doesn’t need to?”

  “That’s not my job, Josiah.”

  “Isn’t your job to protect your client?” I turned to my daughter. “Asa, help me here.”

  “You’re doing fine, Mom.”

  Shaneika shot Asa a nasty look. “You’re not believing this crazy theory of your mother’s, are you?”

  “Now listen to me, Shaneika. Madison had a massive dose of ethylene glycol that night. How did it get into her system? She had to ingest it somehow.”

  “Right. From the cranberry juice.”

  “No.” I slapped the table. Jumping Jehosaphat! I hurt my broken finger. I rummaged through the reports on her desk. “Here. Here. This one.” I opened the file folder and spilled out photos, pointing at one. “Now look. What do you see?”

  “The table with decanter and the goblets.”

  “What else do you see? Look closer. Asa, do you see it?”

  “Yes, Mother. I know.”

  “Someone clue me in, because I see the decanter and two goblets, one of which Madison drank from and . . . oh, my goodness!” Shaneika leaned in for a closer look. “Why didn’t I notice this before?”

  “Because we were set up to ‘see’ a certain way.” I turned to Asa. “You know who did this, don’t you?”

  “Yes, but I can’t prove it yet.”

  “Will you be able to?”

  “Yes, I think I can. I’ve suspected for some time. It was a clever attempt. The murderer almost got away with it.”

  “Will you tell me what you’re talking about?” Shaneika pleaded.

  “In due time,” Asa replied with a smug smile. “In due time.”

  31

  Franklin had lost a lot of weight, and his face looked haggard. He had a faint stubble on his cheeks, and his clothes were disheveled.

  “You look like crap, Frankie boy,” I said when he opened the door of Wickliffe Manor.

  “It’s nice to see you, too.” He looked at the casserole pan in my hands. “That for me?”

  “You and your brother. Hunter around?”

  “He’s out back working.”

  “Go get him and wash up. I’ve got lasagna, salad, and garlic bread.”

  “Who died?”

  “You will if you don’t eat a decent meal. Now, scoot. I’ll bring everything in.”

  “Is the lasagna homemade?”

  “I also made a Devil’s Food chocolate cake with marshmallow icing, which I’m going to take back if you give me any more lip.”

  “I’m off to see the Wizard.” Franklin hurried down the hallway and out to the backyard.

  I brought
the food into the kitchen, including the cake. Rummaging through the drawers, I found the good sterling silverware and linen napkins. The lasagna was cool, so I placed it in the oven along with the garlic bread to toast.

  Hurrying into the formal dining room, I set the table with Hunter’s finest china and crystal glasses. Suddenly, I heard footsteps running up the back stairs. I smiled, because I knew it was Hunter and Franklin rushing to clean up for dinner. Seeing as I had a few moments to spare, I went outside and cut a wildflower bouquet to place on the table.

  I was setting the vase on the mahogany dining table when Hunter rushed into the room, tucking his shirttail into his pants. His hair was wet. I noticed Hunter was letting it grow out a bit. It looked sexy.

  “What’s the occasion, Josiah?”

  “I know the two of you are keeping close to home nowadays, and if I wanted to see you, I had to come here. Also, I know you must be starving.”

  Franklin called from the kitchen. “Josiah, the garlic bread is getting brown.”

  “Take it out then,” I yelled. “Bring in the salad from the fridge, will ya?”

  Hunter went to help Franklin bring the food into the dining room. It wasn’t long before we were sitting at the table and stuffing our mouths full of red wine, warm garlic bread, homemade lasagna, and crisp salad.

  “This is too much,” Franklin jabbered with his mouth full. He swallowed and made a big gulping sound. “It’s been a long time since Hunter and I had a nice meal.”

  Hunter took a sip of wine. “I don’t cook unless I can grill it.” He looked fondly at Franklin. “My baby brother can cook when he’s in the mood.”

  “I’ve been too upset to cook lately, but I can make a mean shrimp and grits.” Franklin wiped his mouth. “This hits the spot.”

  “I’m glad I could help,” I declared.

  Hunter asked, “Speaking of helping, has Asa found anything?”

  Franklin looked at me expectantly.

  “Shaneika thinks she can put a bulldozer through holes in the DA’s case.”

  Franklin put down his fork. “That’s not enough, Josiah. I’ve got to be proven innocent. I can’t go through life with people thinking I killed a woman.”

  “Asa’s doing all she can to prove your innocence.”

  “I’m sorry if I come across as pushy and ungrateful. I’m not, you know.”

  “Franklin, we’re doing everything possible.”

  Hunter admonished, “Franklin, move on.”

  “Okay. How’s Emmeline?”

  “Growing like a weed.”

  Franklin looked as though he was on the verge of tears, but refrained at the last moment. “And?”

  “Matt is miserable. Just plumb miserable.”

  Franklin’s face brightened.

  Hunter threw his napkin on the table. “How can you inquire about that jerk?”

  Franklin shrugged. “It was good between Matt and me in the beginning, wasn’t it, Josiah?”

  I nodded. “I first met you when you came to the hospital with Matt to see me.”

  “Why were you in the hospital?” Hunter asked.

  “It’s so long ago, I can’t recall, but I dimly remember a priest came to my room and gave me the last rites.”

  Franklin and I both tittered while Hunter seemed confused.

  “That was a terrible time for me, but I got through it, Franklin, and you will get through this. I promise.”

  “I concur. You will, Franklin,” Hunter added encouragingly. He glanced at his empty plate. “Enough of this maudlin talk. I’m stuffed, but just happen to have enough room left for a piece of cake.”

  Franklin pushed back his chair. “I’ll get the dessert plates and Mother’s fancy dessert forks.” He removed our dirty plates and carried them into the kitchen.

  “I’ve got some vanilla ice cream in the freezer,” Hunter suggested.

  “I’ll get it,” I offered. “You sit and digest your meal.”

  “Are you trying to spoil me, Miss Josiah? It’s working.”

  “I know what it’s like to be under tremendous stress. A nice meal with friends can turn a horrible day into a tolerable one.”

  “I spend my work days around crime sites and the worst of humanity. Sometimes I forget people can be decent.”

  “Have you told Franklin you’re going to sell Wickliffe Manor?”

  “Not yet. I’ll wait until after the trial. I can hang on until then. There is no point burdening him with this, too. Please don’t tell him.”

  “I won’t.”

  Franklin burst into the dining carrying three delicate porcelain plates and forks. “Found them. They were dusty, so I had to wash them.”

  That gave me an idea. “Franklin, when you dusted the table before Madison’s episode, did you wipe down the decanter and the goblets as well?”

  “Probably. I like crystal to reflect the light.”

  “That explains it.”

  Hunter asked, “Explains what?”

  “Why John Smythe’s fingerprints weren’t on the glassware.”

  Hunter snapped his fingers. “Of course. Why didn’t I think of that?”

  “Because you’re too emotionally involved to look at this case with unbiased eyes.”

  “You mean I wiped both our prints off when I cleaned the glassware, and then put my prints back on when I placed them back on the end table?”

  “Exactly. You cleaned the glassware when you dusted the table and then handled the goblets and decanter again to put them back on the table. That’s why there was only one set of prints.”

  “I feel sick.”

  “Franklin, you had no way of knowing you were destroying evidence. A crime had not been committed yet. Don’t worry. Shaneika will make mincemeat of the DA’s theory.”

  “Yes, Franklin, don’t worry. I’ve had to testify in cases where Shaneika cross-examined me. She’s tough. I mean really tough.”

  “I wonder,” Franklin said.

  I wondered too, but cut the cake while Hunter scooped out ice cream. We were quiet eating our dessert, because the three of us could feel Damocles’ sword hanging over Franklin’s head. Would it fall and cut his throat?

  That was the question, but what was the answer?

  32

  “Robin, what happened?” I asked, moving a chair closer to her hospital bed. It was one of those newfangled hospital rooms where there was an additional area in the room for a family member to sleep. Besides a regular bathroom with a walk-in shower large enough for a wheelchair, there was a sink area in the room as well. I guess it was for the medical personnel to wash their hands before leaving the room.

  “Josiah, it’s good of you to come.”

  “What happened?” I asked again.

  “They tell me I collapsed in church. When I woke up, I was here.”

  “Do they know what’s wrong?”

  “The doctors keep scratching their heads. I hope they figure it out soon. I want to go home.”

  “I brought you flowers from the Butterfly.”

  “That’s very sweet. Can you put them on the dresser?”

  “Sure.” I rose and put the vase of flowers where Robin could easily see them. “Flowers always brighten a hospital room.”

  “Yes, they do.”

  I sat back in the chair. “Is there anything I can do for you?”

  “My memory is very fuzzy, but did something happen to Madison Smythe?”

  “You don’t remember?”

  Robin shook her head.

  “She died, Robin. You were there when it happened.”

  “I was?”

  “Yes, dear.”

  “When is she going to be buried?”

  “She’s been put to rest.”

  Robin’s face turned a bright red. She cried out, “What’s happening to me that I can’t remember something like that!” She burst into tears.

  “Robin, I’m so sorry,” I said, handing her a box of tissues.

  “My mind has been in such a fog. I
can’t remember much of the past several months. I think I must be losing my mind.”

  “Have you had a MRI?”

  “It was normal, but how do you explain this lack of memory?”

  “Robin, do you remember getting a telephone call from the police asking you to get tested for calcium oxalate crystals?”

  “Heavens, Josiah. Are you pestering my bride?”

  In walked Peter Russell, Robin’s husband, a tall, strapping giant of a man carrying a milkshake. He was an assistant professor at a local college and taught biology. “Here, baby, I got this for you.”

  Robin smiled weakly and reached for the milkshake, saying, “You’re too good to me.”

  “Chocolate and thick, just the way you like it,” he said before casting his baby blues at me. “Can I get you anything, Josiah? It’s so nice of you to visit.”

  “I was just asking Robin if she has been tested for calcium oxalate crystals.”

  “Have I, honey?” Robin asked before taking a sip of her milkshake.

  “I don’t know.” Peter directed his gaze at me. “Is there a reason why she should?”

  “The police want everyone in the theater group to be tested.”

  “The police?” Peter asked, wearing a sudden frown. “Does this have anything to do with Madison?”

  “Yes,” I replied, but before I could say anything else, Peter squelched my line of inquiry. “I think this entire episode about Madison is what has made Robin ill. She was fine until that night at Wickliffe Manor.”

  “What are calcium oxalate crystals?” asked Robin, putting the milkshake on the nightstand next to her.

  I waited for Peter to answer.

  “I’ll have a talk with the doctors about testing you for them,” he promised.

  “Can these crystals be making me sick?” Robin asked.

  “Let’s change the subject. The doctors say Robin needs rest, and this talk of Madison raises her stress level.” Peter glanced angrily at me.

  “You know I was feeling queasy weeks before then, Peter.”

  “Before when, babe? You never said you weren’t feeling well.”

  “I’m embarrassed to say this, but at first I thought it was due to Wickliffe Manor. I seemed to always feel bad after our rehearsals. I thought the house might have black mold or something I was allergic to, but nobody else seemed to suffer. Then I thought it was side effects due to my drinking. Josiah, please don’t breathe a word of this, but Peter and I were having financial difficulties, so I was drinking at the time. I was heavily imbibing sangrias. Drinking was a release for me.”