“This stays between us—got it?”
“Yep.”
Thomas spoke in a grave tone. “We’ve learned that Richard Lord is Mia’s father.” He waited for me to react. I’m sure he expected me to recoil in shock. He submerged a cookie sheet into the soapy water for me.
Instead, I laughed. “I already knew that.”
“What?”
“Yeah, she told me this afternoon.”
“She did?”
“Yep, told me the whole story. How Nancy knew all along and hired Mia to write her memoir so she could figure it out. Pretty awful, if you ask me. What does that have to do with intentionally telling Richard that I found his glove? I don’t get it.”
“The Professor figures if Richard’s kept it a secret all this time that Mia’s his biological child, it could be motive for murder. I’ll tell you this much, he doesn’t have an alibi for the time frame that Nancy was killed, and he was the last one to see her alive.”
He reached for a cookie sheet. “And we have a witness who places him at the theater last night when Caroline was attacked.”
I added hot water to the soapy sink. “See, this is exactly my point. Why did you tell him I was the one who found the glove? You put me in danger.”
“Jules, you were never in danger.”
“Thomas!” I couldn’t keep my voice calm. “I told you, he was just here. He threatened me. You left me alone with a murderer—on purpose.”
“Jules, you weren’t in danger. I was here the entire time.”
“What?”
“I never left. It was part of the plan. The Professor told me to hang around outside and watch for Richard.”
“I don’t understand?”
“I didn’t have paperwork. I was on Torte surveillance. I hid across the street. When I saw Richard storm in, I watched the whole thing from the window. If he moved any closer I would have nailed him. With the way you worked that knife, I don’t think I would have had to. Impressive.”
Rinsing the last mixing bowl, I took a minute before responding. I wasn’t sure if I should be relieved that Thomas had witnessed my exchange with Richard, ready to jump in if I needed help, or continue fuming because he set me up.
Deciding on the latter, I drained the water in the sink and opted for the silent treatment.
“Jules, come on.” Thomas folded the wet towel and placed it in the sink. “I’m sorry, but really, you handled yourself amazingly well.”
I gathered the dried dishes in my arms and returned them to their respective drawers.
“Ahhh, the dreaded silent treatment, it’s been a while. That’s it, huh? You’re not going to talk to me?”
“Listen, Thomas. I’m not in a great place right now. I think that’s pretty obvious, and actually I feel decent about how well I’m holding it together, but I cannot and will not stand for being lied to.” I swallowed hard. “Especially by you. That might just push me over the edge.”
Thomas stepped closer and lowered his voice. “Look, Jules, I don’t know what’s going on with you, but I promise I won’t ever do anything to hurt you.” His voice sounded injured and sincere.
I didn’t budge.
“Don’t you want to know what happened?”
He knew my weakness. As stubborn as I can be when it comes to pouting, my hunger for information won out.
“Fine, but I’m still mad. You could have told me what you were planning.”
“We could have, but it’s better that you didn’t know.”
I frowned.
“Anyway, the Professor’s on his way to the Merry Windsor as we speak.”
“Is he going to arrest Richard?”
“We don’t have enough evidence for an arrest yet, but the Professor’s bringing him in for questioning. Hopefully he’ll slip up, or confess. We’re still waiting for fingerprint and DNA analysis from the lab too.”
“So that’s it, Nancy’s murder is all wrapped up?”
“Not officially, but I’m feeling good. I think we have our killer.”
“Why do you think he did it? Was it so important to keep the fact that he’s Mia father secret that he was willing to kill for it? Twice? Poor Mia.”
Thomas hooked the industrial mixing bowl back in its slot. “No doubt. That’s enough to mess anyone up.”
“Why did he go after Caroline? She must have known. You think she confronted him?”
“I’m not sure, but we’ll find out soon. I got a call from the hospital. She’s awake. After I drop off your pastries with the fire chief, I’m going to talk to her.”
“That’s great news.”
“Are we good?” Thomas raised one eyebrow and gave me a goofy grin.
“I guess.”
“You guess?” He snapped his fingers. “I’ll take it.”
I rolled my eyes.
“All right, I’m off to deliver those boxes of goodness. I’ll check in tomorrow, okay?” He walked to the front counter and picked up the cardboard boxes. With one hand he turned the door and kicked it open with his foot. Turning to me, he called, “Hey, Juliet, I’m sorry, okay? Really. I’ll check in tomorrow.”
The truth was that once I got over the shock that Thomas and the Professor had set me up, I wasn’t mad. I considered it my personal invitation back into their investigation.
Caroline was awake. If I left now, I could get to the hospital before Thomas and have a little chat with her myself.
Maybe I was still a tad irritated. Or maybe Caroline really had wanted to talk to me about Mom. That’s the story I told myself as I packed a small box with a few extra cookies from the batch I’d made for the firefighters.
The hospital is less than a mile away—an easy walk from downtown. I’ve never owned a car. Mom offered to give me Dad’s old Mazda. I guess in a pinch I could use it, but honestly I don’t know if I remember how to drive. Cars are fairly useless on a cruise ship.
I closed up Torte and stepped out into the evening air. Immediately my lungs filled with smoke. Maybe walking wasn’t the best idea.
Covering my mouth with my T-shirt with one hand, I balanced the box of cookies in the other and headed down Main Street, away from town.
I could taste the ash particles as they stuck to my throat. Clearing it didn’t help. Within a few blocks my throat and lungs burned. I trudged through the thick air as fast as I could, blinking my stinging eyes and coughing into my sleeve.
When I finally arrived at the hospital, I shoved through the glass doors and gasped for clean air. I couldn’t imagine how the firefighters were faring, deeper in the heavy smog.
Hopefully Caroline’s cookies would still taste okay. I had a feeling they were infused with soot. I could probably sell them for double the price as “wood-fired” in a swanky Portland pastry house.
I stopped at the reception desk and a plump woman directed me to Caroline’s room
I’m not a fan of hospitals. When Dad got sick, we spent a lot of time here. The smell of medicine, latex, and looming death brings those memories to the forefront. I prefer them hidden; only escaping in my dreams.
I knocked lightly on the door. “Hello, Caroline? It’s Jules. Can I come in?”
Her voice sounded weak in response. I was used to hearing her deep, throaty stage voice. “Yes, come in,” she whispered, as if the muscles in her larynx had forgotten how to fire. “Juliet, how sweet. Sit.” Caroline lay flat on the adjustable hospital bed.
No wonder her voice sounded different. Her skin reminded me of cottage cheese—pale and patchy. A bandage with rust-colored stains was wrapped tight around her head. Her eyes had lost their usual spark.
“How are you?” I asked, sitting in the armchair next to the bed. “Can I get you anything?”
I could tell she was in pain. Each word that formed on her lips was followed by a grimace.
“Water.” She tilted her neck toward a glass of water and straw on the bedside table.
“Don’t move. I’ve got it.” I held the glass so she could sip without sitting up.
“I brought you some treats from the bakeshop, but I’m guessing you’re not hungry yet?”
Caroline inched her head from side to side. “No, thank you.” She swallowed with difficulty. “Nancy might get her wish—I’ll lose weight. Maybe I can look as good as you.”
“Stop. You’re going to be fine. You’ll be back on your feet and on the stage in no time.” I kept my voice upbeat, but I could see she was in bad shape.
She gave a half smile.
“What happened? Do you remember anything?”
“Not much. Lance told me one of the costume assistants lost the bodice for my gown. He went to help her hunt it down. I hung toward the back. You know what it’s like behind the curtain—sets were being pushed around.” She paused to rest her voice. “I didn’t want to be in the way and I didn’t want to step out of the costume I was wearing. I figured, worst-case scenario, if they couldn’t find the bodice, I’d leave the first-act costume on.”
I offered her the water.
She took another sip. “The next thing I knew everything went dark. I don’t remember being hit. When I woke up here, the doctor told me a sandbag knocked me out. He said I’m lucky to be alive.”
“You are. I saw what hit you, and I’d say it’s nothing short of a miracle that you’re here.” I squeezed her hand and smiled. “I’m glad.”
“Me too.” She gave a little cackle and grimaced.
A nurse on the sound system announced the visiting hours would end in ten minutes.
“Caroline, I know you wanted to talk to me about something last night. Are you up for that now, or should I come back later?”
She reached for the bed’s remote control and pushed the button to move her into a more upright position. “Everything’s a little foggy.”
“I’m sure that’s normal.”
“The doctor said it might take a while to regain my short-term memory. I may not remember everything from last night.”
“Do you think you wanted to talk to me about Nancy’s murder or about my mom?”
Caroline’s face scrunched up as if she was trying to force herself to remember.
“Don’t worry about it if you can’t,” I cautioned.
“No, it’s right here.” She tapped her forehead. “But it’s like I can’t get there. I think it was about Nancy’s murder?” She looked dejected. “I’m not sure.”
“It’s okay. It can wait.”
“I remember wanting to talk to you and not the Professor, but I can’t remember why.”
I decided to probe a bit more. “I found a photo in your dressing room. It’s of Richard and Nancy from a while ago—maybe twenty years. I’m pretty sure you gave a copy of the same photo to Sterling, the new kid in town. Does that bring anything back?”
Caroline closed her eyes and struggled to remember.
Enough, Jules,
I told myself. Caroline was obviously in pain. I didn’t want to make it worse for her.
“I’m sorry, it’s all muddled.” She sighed.
“No, no, it’s fine. I haven’t had a chance to talk to Sterling yet anyway. He’ll know.”
“Nancy’s still murdered and whoever did this is still out there. I might know who the killer is and can’t tell anyone.”
“It’s my fault. I shouldn’t have pushed you. You’re going to hear this soon from Thomas or the Professor, but it sounds like they may have caught the killer—Richard Lord.”
Caroline squinted.
“Did you think of something?”
She shook her head. “No, but Richard Lord. That doesn’t seem right.”
I rubbed her arm. “Don’t worry about it. You rest up. I’m sure your memory will come back soon.”
As I made my way to the door, she called, “Wait,” in a stronger voice.
“What is it?” I turned around.
“That picture. I keep seeing it in my mind. I think it’s important, but I’m not sure why. Will you let me know if you talk to Sterling?”
I nodded.
“Juliet, one more thing.”
I waited.
“Who’s taking my role?”
“Sorry, I don’t know. Maybe your understudy?”
“Did Lance ask you?”
“Me? No, why would he?”
Caroline didn’t answer. She must be out of it. Why would she think I could take over a role like Lady Macbeth? More importantly, why would I want to?
As I walked down the hospital’s polished corridor, I wondered if Caroline had confirmed that Richard was the murderer. An old photo of him and Nancy wouldn’t prove that he’d murdered her, but it might be a tangible sign that Nancy knew his secret from the past.
Bracing myself for a smoky walk home, I repositioned my T-shirt over my mouth. The thing I couldn’t get out of my head was what Sterling’s connection to the photo was. Why had Caroline given an old photo of Richard and Nancy to Sterling? Nothing made sense. I didn’t like Richard Lord. He certainly could have killed Nancy, but I had a nagging feeling that I was missing something critical.
My cell phone jarred me awake the next morning. With my eyes closed, I fumbled for it on the nightstand.
“Hello?”
“Buenos días.”
I sat upright in bed. “Carlos?”
“Mi querida.”
“What time is it?”
“In Oregon?”
The way he emphasized the
e
in Oregon made it sound like an exotic location.
“Yeah.”
“Four o’clock. You said you work early to Torte, sí?
“Yes.” I rubbed crust from the corner of my eyelids. “Why are you calling?”
“I had to hear your voice, my love.”
“Carlos, please—don’t.”
“Julieta, you cannot stay angry with me forever, no?”
“I’m not angry. I’ve told you a hundred times. I’m disappointed, but I’m not angry.” That was a lie. I was angry.
“It is the same.”
“No it isn’t.”
Is it?
My brain couldn’t process the thought, especially as I tried to steady my heart rate.
“No es importante.”
“Why are you calling?”
“I am calling for you,
mi amor
. You understand that I am nothing without you. I miss the smell of your hair and sugar on your skin.”
I took the phone away from my ear and rested it on my heart. This is what I wanted to hear, and yet it didn’t erase the ache.
Closing my eyes, I returned the phone to my ear and inhaled through my nose. Carlos waited on the other end of the line. I imagined him standing outside his family’s restaurant on tight streets, with music and fresh markets. I could picture his dangerous, seductive smile, how he might wink with his dark eyes at strangers passing by.