Death By Drama

by Abigail Keam

  John thumbed through it, coughing now and then. “It’s Madison’s copy. That’s her handwriting in the margins.”

  “It is indeed your wife’s copy. Now, will you turn to page seventeen, please?”

  Deliah took the manuscript from John and opened to page seventeen before handing the manuscript back.

  “Are you on page seventeen, Mr. Smythe?”

  “Yes.”

  “Will you please read out loud the stage instructions for the protagonist, which was played by Miss Madison, as to which goblet she was to drink from.”

  John took out bifocals from a case in his pocket and put the glasses on. Using his finger, he found the passage Asa requested. “It reads that the leading lady is to pick up the goblet from the left.”

  “And you still maintain that nothing was changed from the original manuscript you received from the agency?”

  “I already told you, nothing was changed.”

  Asa picked up two more scripts and handed one to Zion and the other to Ashley. “How do you explain that these scripts have no such instructions regarding which goblet the female protagonist is to drink from? One I purchased from the agency, and the other one downloaded off the internet.”

  Deliah snatched the script from Ashley and flipped through until she came to page seventeen. “There are no such instructions in this rendition of the play. John, did you put those instructions into the script?”

  “Mr. Foley, what about your copy of the script?” Asa asked, walking in a circle with her head bowed.

  Zion threw the heavy, bound script on the floor. “No such instruction in this one either.”

  John remained silent, using the time to carefully consider his answer. Finally, he spoke, “It’s true that I made a few little changes here and there, but Madison was having difficulty remembering stage directions and her lines. I was trying to help, that’s all.”

  “I told you he did it,” Zion accused.

  “Mr. Foley, please restrain yourself,” my daughter said.

  “What motive did I have to kill Madison?” asked John, looking helplessly about the room.

  Zion started to speak, but I pinched him to keep quiet.

  Asa replied, “I can think of two motives: one is money and the other is jealousy. It has been reported to me that it was Miss Madison who held the purse strings, and you had signed a disadvantageous prenup that would leave you penniless if the two of you divorced.”

  “I loved her.”

  “Then there was the fact she was having an affair with someone in this group.”

  Robin sat straighter in her chair at that little bombshell.

  “It was nothing,” John replied.

  Deliah blurted out, “I saw Madison kiss another man upstairs, and when you discovered them, there was a scuffle. I heard her say she wanted a divorce.”

  John sneered, “Aren’t you the little snoop!”

  I think he would have scratched Deliah’s eyes out if we hadn’t been around.

  Frightened, Deliah scooted in her chair away from him.

  Asa continued, “Miss Deliah, can you identify the man you saw kissing Miss Madison upstairs?”

  “It was Zion.”

  “Mr. Foley, can you confirm?” asked Asa, standing in front of John and blocking his view of Zion.

  “Madison and I were in love, and she wanted a divorce, but not because of us. She just wanted to get away from John.”

  “Oh, you poor sap,” laughed John. “You were the last of a long list of suckers Madison played. She loved the drama of an affair. She loved the attention. Don’t flatter yourself, pal. Madison never loved you. She was never going to leave me. It was the same routine over and over again. Madison would entice a man to fall for her, contrive for them to get caught, cause a scene, say she wanted a divorce, then when tired of the idiot, she’d dump him.”

  I felt Zion stiffen in his chair next to me. His brow broke out into a sweat while his eyelids fluttered.

  “Hunter,” I called out.

  Hunter rushed over and felt Zion’s pulse. “Franklin, get me some aspirin. Quick!”

  Franklin hurried into the kitchen and returned with a bottle of aspirin and a glass of water.

  Hunter gave Zion four aspirins and checked his pulse again. “I think we need to get you to the hospital, old man.”

  Zion pushed Hunter’s hand away. “Thank you, but no. I’m going to see this through. It’s a panic attack. I have them all the time. They look like heart attacks, but I’ve been checked out. My heart is strong and sound.”

  Hunter addressed Asa. “Well?”

  “Mr. Foley’s a big boy. He knows the risks. If he wants to stay, let him.”

  Reluctantly, Hunter went back to his seat, as did Franklin.

  I leaned over to Zion. “You let me know the moment you feel any worse. Promise.”

  Zion nodded as Asa continued.

  “Mr. Smythe, so far we have established that you had both motive and opportunity.”

  “So did everyone else. What about Zion? Madison probably told him they were through, and he killed her in a rage,” John accused.

  “That is a possibility.” Asa turned her attention to Zion. “Did Miss Madison call it off with you?”

  “Never. And even if Madison had, I never would have hurt her. To destroy all that loveliness would have been a sin.”

  Asa harrumphed as she took a small scrap of paper off a table, handing it to Zion. “Do you recognize this note? And please read out loud.”

  Zion took the note and read, “Darling, we’ll be together soon.”

  “Do you know who wrote this note?”

  “I did.”

  “Did you try to disguise your cursive handwriting on this note?”

  “No.”

  Asa turned and winked at Hunter. “Whom was this note intended for?”

  “Madison.”

  “How did you give it to her?”

  “I left love notes in her coat pockets.”

  “Did you do this often?”

  “Yes.”

  “When did you leave this particular note?”

  “On the night of her death.”

  “When you stuffed these notes in her pockets, did you ever discover any other items?”

  Zion looked away.

  “Mr. Foley? Did you find other items in her coat pockets?”

  “I would find small items.”

  “Such as?” Asa inquired.

  “Just bits and pieces.”

  Asa walked around the room. “Perhaps a pair of sterling silver salt and pepper shakers? Or a valuable first edition of Leaves of Grass? Things like that—small, but valuable to a collector?”

  Zion nodded, wiping away a tear.

  I handed him one of my good linen handkerchiefs—again.

  “What did you do with the things you discovered in Miss Madison’s pockets?”

  “I realized they were from Wickliffe Manor, so I would put them back if I could. Franklin noticed items were missing, so he started surreptitiously checking people’s tote bags and coats. He discovered something in Madison’s coat, and after that, I had a hard time retrieving items from her pockets before Franklin got to them.”

  “Did you ask Miss Madison about the items?”

  “She said she didn’t take them, and that’s all she would say about it.”

  Asa swiveled on her high heels. “Is that because Miss Madison was covering up for you, Mr. Smythe?”

  Before John could reply, Robin chimed in, “I saw him take a jade statuette off a side table at Wickliffe Manor and stuff it in Madison’s coat pocket.” She looked around at everyone. “I did. I saw him take it.”

  Asa asked, “Mr. Smythe, do you have a problem with sticky fingers?”

  She held up a wagging finger. “Before you answer, I have several reports from high-end stores in Cincinnati, Louisville, and Nashville from which you have been banned.”

  John’s shoulders slumped. “When I’m anxious, I take little things. It
helps with my anxiety. I don’t know why I do it. It calms me. Madison would always cover for me. ‘Don’t worry, John,’ she’d say. ‘I’ll smooth everything over,’ and she did. Madison was kind like that.”

  John regarded Franklin. “Madison tried to put your things back, but I kept stealing faster than she could keep up with. When you confronted her, Franklin, she was mortified. Madison cried, saying I had shamed her, and she didn’t know how was she going to face people.”

  “She never explained your situation to me, John,” Franklin said.

  “Madison would never have exposed me. That’s the kind of person she was. She went to her grave keeping my secret.”

  “The noose seems to be tightening around your neck, Mr. Smythe,” Asa said. “You filled the goblets that contained ethylene glycol. You knew your wife was having an affair. You were stealing from Wickliffe Manor and having your wife cover for you.”

  John slid off his chair to the floor onto his knees imploring, “I didn’t do it. I didn’t do it. I swear to God I didn’t do it.”

  Asa smiled. “No, Mr. Smythe, you didn’t.”

  “What?” John squeaked, gaping up at Asa.

  “I know you didn’t kill your wife.”

  “You believe me?”

  “Please get back into your seat.”

  Asa handed out nine identical photographs. “These are copies of a police photograph taken of the decanter and the goblets. Do you concur?”

  Everyone nodded, including me.

  “Was it possible that someone tampered with either the decanter or the goblets after Miss Madison fell ill?”

  Franklin spoke up. “No. Seven of us in this room were always present after Madison became ill. If someone tampered with the decanter and goblets, one of us would have seen it, and I always marked the juice bottle when I poured the juice into the decanter. It was at the level I had marked, and both the decanter and goblets had not been disturbed. After she died, Hunter closed off the room. No one went back in there until the paramedics arrived.”

  “Why did you close off the room, Mr. Wickliffe?”

  “Mrs. Smythe has passed. There was nothing more to be done. I did it out of respect.”

  “Does everyone agree with Franklin and Hunter’s assessment?”

  We all nodded or murmured yes.

  “Then look at the photograph and tell me if you notice something odd about the decanter and the goblets.”

  Everyone carefully examined their copy of the photograph and remained puzzled. Deliah turned hers upside down while studying it. Ashley put his aside. John and Zion regarded the photograph intently. Robin looked at hers and then handed it to her husband Peter.

  “How did Madison ingest the antifreeze?” asked Asa, disappointed that no one had made the connection.

  Zion spoke up. “From drinking the cranberry juice.”

  “You assumed she ingested the antifreeze from the cranberry juice. Franklin has already stated that he marked the juice bottle after he poured the juice into the decanter.”

  “But antifreeze was found in the cranberry juice,” John insisted.

  “That is correct, Mr. Smythe,” Asa replied. “Yet, how do we know Miss Madison ingested it from the cranberry juice?”

  Deliah turned her picture right side up and studied it. “I’ve got it! I know!” she shouted.

  “Miss Deliah, you have the floor,” Asa said, grinning.

  “Look at the goblets. See? They’re full to the brim. No one drank out of the goblets,” Deliah pointed out.

  “Let’s take it step by step. Franklin always marked the level of juice in the bottle. He poured the juice into the decanter, marked the level of juice on the bottle, and put both the bottle and decanter into the fridge. Are you with me?”

  I nodded along with everyone else.

  “Mr. Smythe came along and took the decanter into the parlor. We know he didn’t tamper with the level of liquid in the juice bottle because Franklin witnessed him taking the decanter out of the fridge and carrying it into the parlor, where Franklin witnessed Mr. Smythe pouring the juice from the decanter into the goblets. Mr. Smythe went to another part of the house, and Franklin decided to take the decanter and goblets off the table and dust. He then put the decanter and goblets back.

  “Now watch this.” Asa pointed to an end table, which held a decanter and two goblets similar to the ones used in the play. “As you can see, the goblets are full and the decanter is filled three-fourths of the way to the top. Now if I pour the contents of the goblets back into the decanter, what do I have?” Asa poured the juice from the goblets into the decanter.

  Deliah bounced up and down on her chair. “You have the decanter filled to the level Franklin had marked!”

  “Correct.” Asa turned toward Franklin. “How much juice did you pour into the decanter?”

  “I filled it all the way to the top.”

  “When Mr. Smythe took the decanter into the parlor, what was the level of liquid in the decanter?”

  “The decanter was filled to the top.”

  “And after he poured into the goblets?”

  “John poured out enough juice for two goblets.”

  The room went quiet, with each person silent in their thoughts.

  “I think we have proven that Madison Smythe was not poisoned by the cranberry juice, since we can account for every drop of juice that fateful night.”

  Ashley snarled, “Then who put poison in the cranberry juice and when?”

  “Good question. I would suggest that it was done to throw us off the actual way Miss Madison ingested the ethylene glycol.”

  “We’re right back where we started,” Robin complained.

  “Be patient, Miss Robin. We’re almost there,” advised Asa. “All of you were asked by the police to have your doctor check for calcium oxalate crystals, which are deposited in the kidneys after exposure to ethylene glycol. Mother, do you have calcium oxalate crystals in your kidneys?”

  “No, I don’t.”

  “Franklin?”

  “No.”

  “Hunter.”

  Hunter shook his head.

  “Miss Deliah?”

  “My doctor said I was in perfect health,” Deliah replied, smiling and throwing out her chest.

  “Mr. Moore?”

  “Nope.”

  “Mr. Smythe?”

  “No sign of those crystals.”

  “Mr. Foley?”

  Zion looked nervously at Asa. “Yes.”

  “Say that again.”

  “Yes, my doctor found crystals, and I have been treated for the condition.”

  “I see. That leaves Miss Robin.” Asa walked over and stood in front of Robin Russell. “Do you have calcium oxalate crystals concentrated in your kidneys?”

  “I did. Massive amounts, the doctor said. That’s what was causing my confusion, and then my body threatened to shut down completely. My doctor said I would have been dead in another forty-eight hours. I was lucky. Very lucky.” Smiling, Robin turned to Peter and held his hand.

  Asa walked around the circle, making contact with all nine sets of eyes. “So, out of the entire theater group, three people display signs of having ingested antifreeze—Madison Smythe, Zion Foley, and Robin Russell. How did they ingest it? What did these three people have in common? The answer is the theater group, where all three were poisoned when the group met to rehearse.”

  The grandfather clock sounded in the hallway. Ashley took a quick look at his watch. “It’s on the hour,” he announced.

  Robin seemed aghast. “But who and why?”

  “Before we get to that, some dirty laundry needs to be tidied up.” Asa picked up a report from a side table.

  “Mr. Moore, why did you come to Lexington?”

  “For school.”

  “You are from northern Kentucky, are you not?”

  “Yes.”

  “There are good colleges there and across the river in Cincinnati.”

  “I felt I needed to be here.”


  “Why was that?”

  “None of your business. Look, I’m getting sick of this.”

  “You are going the long way around the barn, Miss Reynolds,” Zion commented.

  “I’ll get to the point, then,” Asa replied. “You came to Lexington to search for your birth mother. Correct?”

  Ashley glanced at Robin. “How is that relevant to this murder case?”

  Undeterred, Asa asked, “You are adopted, are you not?”

  “Maybe I am. What’s that got to do with this?”

  “In fact, you joined this theater group to be close to your birth mother.”

  Robin shot me a look of utter despair, but I was not going to interfere. The umbilical cord had to be severed.

  Ashley was silent.

  “You won’t expound on this?”

  Robin jumped to Ashley’s defense. “I’m his mother.” She turned to Peter. “I wanted to tell you, but my mind got so muddled.”

  Shocked, Peter pulled away from Robin’s embrace.

  “Please understand,” she begged. “I was so very young at the time.”

  Asa picked up another report and turned to Ashley. “Is Miss Robin your mother?”

  “Yes.”

  “How do you know?”

  “I saw my birth certificate after my adoptive father passed away.”

  “I have a copy of Ashley Moore’s birth certificate. Can you verify that this is your birth certificate?”

  Ashley took the certificate, perused it, and handed it back. “It is my birth certificate.”

  “Are you positive?”

  “Of course I’m sure,” Ashley snapped.

  Asa picked up another report on the table and handed it to Robin. “Miss Robin, while you were in the hospital, my mother paid you a visit.”

  “Josiah was nice enough to visit and bring a bouquet.”

  “I’m glad you acknowledge that my mother Josiah was there. Besides wanting to see how you were doing, I wanted her to pick up something for me.”

  “I’m sorry, Robin, but I took hair from your hairbrush and replaced your used toothbrush with a new one,” I confessed.

  “Whatever for, Josiah?”

  “So we could obtain a DNA sample,” Asa answered.

  Outraged, Peter barked, “That’s an invasion of my wife’s privacy. It is certainly illegal as well.”