Macdeath (An Ivy Meadows Mystery Book 1) (20 page)

CHAPTER 41

No Teeth for the Present

I decided to get into place for bows a bit earlier than usual. Didn’t want to sit alone in my dressing room with only thoughts of my ruined career for company. Riley stood in the wings, close to the stage, waiting to go on for his big fight scene with Macbeth. I walked up to him and touched his shoulder.

“Riley, I’m so sorry. With everything happening, I forgot. I’m really—”

“You know, Ivy,” he said, looking me in the eye. “I thought you were cool. You’re pretty and you’re funny and you seem nice. But you know what? You’re not. ’Cause ‘nice’ means thinking about other people’s feelings, and you don’t. You just...don’t.”

He shook my arm off his shoulder like he was shaking off a bad dream.

“Riley, I—”

“That way the noise is!” he shouted as he strode onstage. “Tyrant, show thy face!”

Cold water dripped down my face into my heart. Or at least it felt that way. I slipped into the shadows backstage to wait for my cue. Riley had struck deep. Why in the world did it hurt so much?

Because he was right. Even now, as I followed my castmates onstage for curtain call, I was thinking about me, about how hurt I was. I wasn’t thinking about Riley, who had waited for a date who never showed. Or Bill, whose career might be ruined. Or Uncle Bob, who may have been poisoned because of something I asked him to do. For God’s sake, I hadn’t even remembered to get him a medical bed.

As we witches got into place for bows, I reached for Candy’s hand, but she kept it by her side. Normally we three held hands during curtain call. Not tonight.

Candy didn’t come back to our dressing room, either. Must have undressed in Genevieve’s. I sat there alone, waiting for the police, like Linda had requested.

After what seemed like hours, a knock.

“Olive?”

A familiar voice. Pinkstaff. Finally someone who wouldn’t be pissed off at me. Maybe,
maybe
he’d even congratulate me.

“Can you believe it?” I put on a bright face as I opened the door. “I pulled a Poirot and it worked.”

I stopped. Pink’s eyebrows were drawn so close together they nearly touched.

“Come with me.” He jerked his head in the direction of backstage. I followed him dutifully, my heart sinking further with every step, but without knowing why.

Linda, who had been in the hall with Pink, followed too. Most of the cast fell into line behind us, walking with us to the Cage. Waiting to see what would happen next. I waited, too. Pinkstaff hadn’t said another word to me.

Bill now sat on the oily floor. When he saw Pinkstaff, recognition flashed in his eyes, and then something else. Fear? He jumped up, tossed off his top hat, tore off his tailcoat, and started rubbing his face with it.

“What the...?” said Pink.

“I can’t go to jail like this,” Bill said in a whiny voice. “In costume and makeup?” He stopped wiping the makeup off his face and began taking off his skin-tight black satin pants.

“Keep your pants on,” said Pinkstaff. “Olive should have kept hers on. Ivy, I mean. Her.” He jerked his thumb at me. I wished I knew what he was talking about. No. Scratch that. I really didn’t want to know.

“Besides,” said Candy, “isn’t goin’ to jail in your skivvies worse than goin’ in costume?”

Bill stopped undressing.

Pink showed Bill his badge. “Detective Pinkstaff, Phoenix PD,” he said. “I’d like to talk to you.”

“Watch it, Bill,” said Riley, “He might be playing ‘good cop, bad cop’ like they do on TV.”

Pink looked at Riley. “You see another cop here?”

“Maybe you’re playing both parts.”

“Why would I do that?”

“Cutbacks?” asked Bill, who was smoothing his rumpled hair. “Just the other day I reported on city deficits.”

“Shut up, Bill.” Linda unlocked the Cage with a jangle of keys.

“No reporters?” Bill stepped out of the Cage. “And you came alone? No other police?”

Pinkstaff didn’t say a word, just steered Bill down the hall. Linda walked ahead of us, opened the unlocked door to her office, and held it. Pink guided Bill into the room. “Olive, you too,” he said, nodding at me. “Everyone else, take off.”

Inside Linda’s office, Jason sat up straight in a stained burnt orange chair, staring fixedly at nothing. I decided to stand next to Linda’s desk, hoping that not taking a seat would somehow make whatever was going to happen, happen quicker. Linda closed the door and Pink guided Bill to the middle of the room, where they both stopped and stood.

The only noise in the room was the ticking of the cat clock with the swinging tail. Pinkstaff looked at Jason. Jason looked at Bill, who looked at the floor. I looked at Jason, who wouldn’t look at me. All this looking must have gotten to Bill.

“I didn’t mean to kill him,” he blurted.

“And you didn’t,” said Pink.

My mouth opened of its own accord. So did Bill’s. I shut mine.

“Ivy here jumped the gun,” said Pinkstaff.

“But you said the makeup—” The glare Pink gave me could’ve stopped a train, much less my runaway mouth.

“The makeup,” Pink said to Bill. “It was mixed with what, poison oak?”

Bill nodded. “Some of it grows near my cabin in Oak Creek.”

“Poison oak didn’t kill Simon,” said Pinkstaff.

I had publicly accused an innocent man of murder. “Bill, I’m so sorry.” It was all I could say.

“You didn’t kill Simon.” Pink continued, giving Bill a hard look. “But Jason here had a pretty bad reaction.”

“That was poison oak?” I asked. “His swelling and everything?”

“Yeah.” Pinkstaff didn’t look at me. “It has an oil that usually causes a rash and blisters, but some people are really allergic. Jason must have licked his lips or something and swallowed some.” He pointed a finger in Bill’s direction, stabbing the air for emphasis. “You could’ve killed him. If he’d died, you might have been charged with involuntary manslaughter. You could still be charged with assault.”

“I never meant...” Bill’s voice was whispery and high. “I just hoped the makeup would make Simon sick enough to need an understudy. I never even considered it might hurt anyone else.” He squeezed his eyes shut and looked at the floor. “I’m sorry, Jason.” He sank into Linda’s office chair.

Pinkstaff’s hands were stuck deep in his pockets, like he was afraid of what they might do. “Jason,” he said. “Should we press charges?”

Jason’s face was still puffy and splotchy from the poison oak, and his makeup barely hid the remnant of the shiner Bill had given him. “No.” Jason shook his head, like he was disgusted. He pushed himself up out of the chair, then turned on his heel and left, slamming the door.

Bill’s face, which had been gray and pinched, regained its color. A small smile of relief played on his lips. Pinkstaff took his hands out of his pockets with a shrug and nodded at him. “You can go.”

Bill turned to Linda. “Can I still do the show tomorrow?”

“Yeah,” she said, shaking her head at him.

Bill strode toward the door, his smile now all wounded dignity, playing the king already. As he passed by me on the way to the door, he gave me a slight, magnanimous nod. “Pardon me,” he said. His newscaster voice was back.

CHAPTER 42

The Harvest Is Your Own

I went to follow Bill, but Pink stepped in front of the door. “Get your stuff,” he said. “You’re coming with me.”

I turned to look at Linda. No help there, but a kitten clinging to a branch on a yellowed poster shouted, “Hang in there!” I hoped I could.

I grabbed my duffle bag from my dressing room and followed Pink out to his car. I climbed in over what looked to be the same pop cans that rolled around the floor on my last ride, when I was still in favor.

Pink didn’t say anything as we pulled out of the theater parking lot, just smoked a cigarette that smelled a little like Vapo Rub.

I didn’t say anything, either, until he made a wrong turn.

“Hey,” I said, craning my head to look behind us. “The police station is the other direction.”

“Uh-huh.” He continued going north when he should have been going south.

“You’re not taking me to the station?”

Pink sighed and tossed his cigarette stub out the window.

“Taking you somewhere else.”

“Where?”

“Someplace where your punishment will fit your crime.”

I looked to see if he was kidding. He looked serious. Then he turned onto a palm tree-lined street I knew well. I shut my eyes. “Oh no.” I knew what was coming.

“Oh, yes,” said Pinkstaff, and I heard the gravel crunch as he pulled into Uncle Bob’s drive.

Imagine a very, very angry Santa Claus. That was my uncle when we walked in the door.

“Um, hi Uncle Bob,” I said. He was still in his rented medical bed. The room smelled of disinfectant and boiled hotdogs.

No reply, just a steady gaze. I felt like Christmas had been cancelled permanently.

Pinkstaff shut the front door behind us. He nodded to my uncle and walked past us up the two stairs and down the hall. I wanted to follow him, go hide in one of the bedrooms. Instead I sat down in the chair next to Uncle Bob’s bed.

I sat. I waited. Damned if I was going to be the first to break the silence. Everything I had done was well-intended. All I wanted to do was exonerate Simon. And catch the person who had hurt Jason. And Uncle Bob.

“I did it for you, too, you know.” So much for waiting. And sitting. I was up and pacing the floor before I even knew I was doing it. “I mean, someone had to go after whoever poisoned you and Jason and Simon, who, yes, I’m sure was poisoned. I know I disobeyed you, but I don’t know why everyone’s so pissed at me when all I did was—”

“Lie,” said my uncle with that unwavering gaze.

I felt like he’d socked me in the stomach. I sat down again.

“You know, Olive,” he said. “There’s a little thing and a big thing. Yeah, I’m pissed that you ‘disobeyed’ me. I may not be God. I’m not even your dad. But I am your boss and someone who cares about you. I don’t give orders lightly.”

“That’s the little thing?” My leg began to jiggle.

He nodded.

“The big thing, the really big thing, is that you lied to me. If you had told me what you were doing, even if we disagreed, we coulda talked it through, probably avoided this mess you’ve got yourself into. But instead, you lied to me.”

“Not out loud.” I already wished I hadn’t said it.

“Lots of types of lies,” said my uncle. “And they all destroy trust.” He finally took his eyes off mine. “Pink!” he shouted. “We’re through here.”

Pink shuffled out of the hall and toward the front door. I got up and followed him.

“Olive,” said my uncle quietly. “I do mean through. I love you, but I can’t work with someone I don’t trust. You’re fired.”

CHAPTER 43

The Sin of My Ingratitude

The next day I sat on the couch in my stifling apartment and watched my favorite telenovela. The villainess had just lied her way into a hospital so she could poison her stepfather.

I turned it off.

I hadn’t meant to lie to Uncle Bob. I didn’t even really feel like I had lied, more just ignored him. Denied there was an issue. Wow, like I hadn’t heard that phrase about a million times before. Oh shit. I’d forgotten yet another promise to Uncle Bob. I needed to find the name of a good therapist. One who worked really, really cheap.

I’d do it later.

I went to the kitchen and opened the refrigerator. I did it for the cool air, not because I wanted anything to eat. That was a good thing, too, since a quick check showed butter, milk, some cream cheese in a crusty-looking foil wrapper, and a bottle of champagne Simon had given me when he cleaned out his fridge.

Simon. Had I really gone through all of this for him? I suspected not. I suspected I was “denying there was an issue.” I suspected this was really about Cody.

Cody. Crap. I’d never gotten him tickets to the show, never even thought about it again.

I called him in the afternoon, as soon as he got off work. He was thrilled. He and Matt would be there closing night.

He was just about to hang up when I said, “Listen, Cody?”

“Yeah?”

“Would you like to spend more time together?”

“Um...yeah?”

I needed to be more concrete. “I was thinking about...” I stopped. I’d been about to say “Suns games,” but I couldn’t afford the tickets now. And I realized I didn’t know enough about Cody to suggest something. “What would you like to do?”

“Go to plays?”

Perfect. I could almost always get into previews for free. “Great. I’ll figure it out and we’ll make a date for next month. Cool?”

“Cool.” He hung up, but not before I understood that Cody knew what I liked to do.

CHAPTER 44

Thy Hope Ends Here

A few minutes after I hung up with Cody, my phone rang. I ran to pick it up. I had called and texted Jason about a billion times since last night.

I didn’t recognize the number. “Hello?” Maybe Jason was calling from somewhere else.

“¿Oye hermano, que pasa?”

I didn’t think he was calling from that far away.

“I think you may have the wrong number.”

“No esta Pablo?”

“No,” I said. “Lo siento.” I’m sorry. It was one of the few Spanish phrases I knew.

I hung up and walked over to the thermostat. Ninety degrees. I turned the air conditioning down to seventy-two. A clunk, and then cool air poured out of a vent near the bedroom. I went and stood in front of it for a minute, the sweat cooling and then drying on my skin. Lovely. Then I went back and turned the thermostat back to ninety. The theater would pay me tomorrow for the run, but after that I had no source of income. No day job, no acting work. Nothing. I guess
Macbeth
’s curse didn’t just stop at death and poisoning.

I ate a quick dinner of Top Ramen and drove to the theater. I’d be early, but I could cool down and maybe even catch Jason during his prep time.

At 5:30 I climbed the stairs to the loading dock. I didn’t want to go through the greenroom. Never know who else might decide to show up early, and my courage, though fortified with carbohydrates, was shaky.

I swung open the heavy door and stepped into the chilled darkness. I closed it quietly so I wouldn’t interrupt Jason’s preparations, but the latch’s soft click seemed to reverberate throughout the cavernous backstage.

No need to worry. Jason’s voice boomed out. “We will proceed no further in this business.”

He was here. I walked toward the sound, toward the stage, my heart beating a tattoo. “A drum, a drum, Ivy doth come!” sounded over and over in my head. Great, a Shakespearean earworm.

I was walking out from behind the black velvet curtains when the earworm turned itself off. Something wasn’t right. I stopped and listened to Jason. Huh. This wasn’t one of Macbeth’s monologues.

“Was the hope drunk Wherein you dress’d yourself? hath it slept since?” said Genevieve. Yes. This was a scene with the Macbeths. I ducked back behind the curtain.

“And wakes it now, to look so green and pale At what it did so freely?” Genevieve continued. Though her voice was tinged with anger, her overall message was seduction. I felt a stab of envy. How did she do that? Maybe I should look into a Method acting class.

Except that, of course, my acting career was dead. But I couldn’t worry about that. I had other important business to take care of. I was here to try to revive my comatose romance.

“Prithee, peace,” Jason said to Genevieve in a dangerously soft whisper. “I dare do all that may become a man; Who dares do more is none.”

I would wait until the end of the scene. Jason and I would still have plenty of time to talk.

“What beast was’t, then, That made you break this enterprise to me?” Genevieve said.

I would quietly announce myself and ask to speak to Jason privately.

“When you durst do it, then you were a man.” Genevieve’s voice was smoky and smooth, like good liquor. “And, to be more than what you were, you would Be so much more the man.”

Silence.

Genevieve never took a pause here. I peeked out from behind my curtain. Genevieve was trailing her hand down Jason’s chest. “You would be so much more the man,” she repeated, reaching lower. Jason shut his eyes as her hand moved slowly down. He grabbed her by the hair. She arched her neck in pleasure and he fell upon it with a vampire-like hunger.

I drew back into the folds of the curtain. I didn’t want to see this. Maybe if I didn’t see it, it wasn’t really happening.

Soft footsteps came toward me. I inched deeper into the curtain. They passed by, Genevieve leading Jason by the hand. I shut my eyes and tried to think of ways to leave without being seen.

The footsteps stopped suddenly.

“No,” I heard Jason say. “Not here.”

“Is it because of the little witch?” Genevieve asked.

Had she seen me? I opened my eyes. No, they weren’t looking my way. Instead, the Macbeths stood in front of the hiding place where Jason and I had made love, just yesterday. Genevieve knew?

Jason didn’t reply. While they were intent on each other, I hotfooted it for the exit to the greenroom as quietly as possible. I was pretty dang focused on making it out of there, but I thought I heard Genevieve say, “Or because of what happened here opening night?”