Macdeath (An Ivy Meadows Mystery Book 1) (18 page)

CHAPTER 35

Wrought with Things Forgotten

Backstage areas have lots of places to hide, if you know where to look. Jason seemed to know all of them. “C’mon,” he said, grabbing my hand. “Secrets deserve dark places.”

A bunch of unused flats created a makeshift wall at one end of the backstage area. Jason led me behind them to a rectangular-shaped space between the flat-created wall and the real concrete block wall, about six feet wide and three deep. My heart pounded in my ears. Work lights shed gray pools of light around the area, but the space itself was deep in shadow. No one would notice it, or anyone in it, unless they were really looking. I cleared my throat, set my jaw, and tried to look tough. “Tell me about your old girlfriend. You know, the one who’s dead.”

“Girlfriend?” Jason’s brow furrowed in concentration.

“How many dead girlfriends do you have?” was on the tip of my tongue and nearly out of my mouth when his eyes widened with understanding. His face crumpled, just sort of caved in on itself. He looked the way I felt whenever I thought about Cody’s accident.

Jason, his face still struggling under the weight of some emotion, slid down the wall, and sat on the dusty floor, his back against the cement block wall.

“Danielle,” he said.

He didn’t ask how I knew. Theater folk tend to gossip during the run of a show.

It was so quiet I could hear us breathe. I sat down next to Jason, close, our thighs touching. I couldn’t help myself.

“It was a couple of years ago,” he began. “I’d been seeing this girl, Danielle, for a few months. It was good for awhile, but she started getting needy. She always wanted to know where I was, what I was doing, who I was with. You know.”

I did know. I kinda wanted to know his whereabouts, too. I stayed quiet.

“So I broke up with her,” said Jason. “I was going to be going away soon anyway. Had a summer theater gig in Montana. She was devastated. Heartbroken. She kept calling, hanging around the theater, trying to talk to me. I hated it, felt like I was being ambushed. I wouldn’t take her calls. She used to park outside my apartment, too, so I didn’t think too much about it when I saw her sitting in her car outside one night. I didn’t even acknowledge her. The next morning, I heard sirens outside my window, saw red and blue revolving lights through my curtains.”

He swallowed. “I walked outside. An ambulance and a police car were parked near Danielle’s. One of the policemen said, ‘Are you Jason?’ When I nodded, he said, ‘Sorry, man.’ He told me Danielle was dead. Overdosed on her roommate’s sleeping pills. She’d killed herself right in front of my house. I asked how he knew my name. He handed me a note she’d pinned to herself. It said, ‘Tell Jason I was pregnant.’”

I don’t know what I’d been expecting, but it wasn’t this. I laced my fingers through Jason’s and squeezed his hand. His eyes saw me, but looked beyond me at the same time. He slumped against the wall.

What in the world had I been thinking? Jason couldn’t hurt anyone. He had to talk to Edward, he was the director. And the allergy thing—all he had said to Edward was that it wasn’t peanuts. That didn’t mean he lied to me earlier. He was still pretty out of it then. Probably didn’t have all the information yet.

The concrete wall felt cold against my back. I’d been dodging his calls because of this? I felt awful. So awful that I took a deep breath and told him my secret.

CHAPTER 36

From the Memory, a Rooted Sorrow

“Cody—the guy I was with at Encanto—he’s my brother.” The breath I’d taken felt thick with dust.

“I didn’t know you had a brother.” From the corner of my eye, I could see that Jason had turned his head to look at me. I didn’t look back.

Hardly anyone knew I had a brother. I never talked about Cody. Not to anyone. Cody and the accident were locked tight in a box in my mind.

A warmth crept up my neck. I was already ashamed of myself. Locks were for secrets. That wasn’t fair to my brother.

“Cody is three years younger than me. He lives here in Phoenix.” I bit my lip and unlocked that box. “In a group home.”

I felt Jason’s body lean into mine.

“We grew up in Spokane.” I stopped, turning to look at Jason. “It’s in Washington.” I could tell by the look in his eyes that he recognized a feint. His eyes held mine, silently telling me it was okay to go on.

“We all used to live there. Uncle Bob, too.” I could see the impossibly blue skies, hear the river, smell the pine trees. “People think of rain when they hear ‘Washington,’ but Spokane’s different than Seattle. Drier, but the weather can be really extreme. It snows a lot in the winter.”

Uncle Bob used to come over and make snow forts with us. Once, when Dad was out of town, Uncle Bob was shoveling our walk and decided to dig a maze for us, squiggly paths all through the front yard, with snow walls taller than Cody. We ran through it whooping with delight, banging into dead ends and falling down laughing. Our faces streamed with tears from the laughter and the brilliant winter sunlight, the water freezing on our faces in the cold.

I shivered. The chill from the concrete floor penetrated through my shorts. The cinder block wall was cold and unforgiving. I hugged myself.

Jason watched my eyes, waiting, but patient.

“It gets really cold, too,” I said. “All the little lakes and ponds freeze up, and we’d go ice-skating on them.”

I must have shivered again, because Jason put his arm around me and pulled me close. His warmth felt good but inadequate, like half a blanket.

“One day when I was eleven, me and my friends were all going to the park. There was a big duck pond there, where all the kids went to ice skate and hang out.”

The pond had these big goldfish. Not koi, just plain goldfish that grew bigger and bigger over the years. Sometimes in the winter you could see a school of them beneath your feet, circling in the unfrozen water far below the ice.

“Cody begged to go along, but I didn’t want him to. I was...too cool, I guess. My mom made me take him, though, and promise to watch over him.”

Instead, I acted like he wasn’t there, like I didn’t have a little brother. Dissed by me and my friends, Cody skated away to the other side of the pond. He stayed there, practicing hockey-style speed stops, spraying imaginary foes with arcs of ice.

I heard him shout just once, more of a yelp, really. I looked over to see what he was yelling about this time. But he was gone, a jagged hole in the ice where he’d been a moment before.

I raced toward him, skates scraping over the rough ice. A patch of snow caught me, and I flew, landing with a hard crack as my chin hit ice. I tasted blood, felt the sting of cold on my cheek, but it was Cody who filled my eyes and mind and soul. I could see him, foggy beneath the surface of the water. His yellow hair floated gently around his head like a halo. He wasn’t even moving, just sinking slowly beneath the icy water, eyes closed.

I guess it was because of the cold that he didn’t try to swim, the shock of it or something, but it was also the cold that somehow saved his life, slowing down his bodily functions so he basically came back from the dead. Except for his brain. It never came completely back.

“And Cody fell through the ice?” Jason asked in a gentle voice.

Hadn’t I said that? No, I guess not.

“He...” My throat closed up. I couldn’t even swallow. I nodded.

Jason pulled me onto his lap, curling his arms protectively around me. I buried my face in the safety of his chest.

“I didn’t watch over him,” I whispered. “I promised, but I didn’t.”

CHAPTER 37

Dwell in Doubtful Joy

Jason held me while I wept like my eleven-year-old self. I couldn’t tell if I cried for Cody, for myself, or for the accusing silence that had blanketed my family ever since. I just knew Jason had given me a safe place to cry, curled up against his chest. When I finally lifted my face to him, he kissed my eyelids, soft kisses that mingled with my tears. Our lips found each other. Kisses that started out gentle turned hungry, and soon I was glad for the secret place we’d found.

Afterward, Jason admitted he’d already chosen our rendezvous spot after scoping out the backstage area.

“I wanted to seduce you right here in the theater. I thought it would be hot,” he said. “I never imagined we’d talk about...”

He stopped, probably because I kissed him. I couldn’t help myself. If there was a Cloud Ten, I was on it. I felt buoyant, like I’d left my secret history at the bottom of that icy pond and floated up toward the light. I had told someone about Cody, and he hadn’t judged me.

Now, I hummed to myself as I used the theater shower. I couldn’t place the tune but knew it was something happy. As I soaped up, trying to keep my hair dry, my mind circled back to Jason. I hummed again. My body hummed, too, with the memory of our recent lovemaking.

One shadow in my sunny day: Jason asked we keep our real relationship to ourselves. He wanted to keep things light and playful in front of others. “I don’t want everyone saying it’s just a backstage romance,” he said, “when it’s so much more.”

So much more. That’s what I chose to focus on.

I stepped out of the shower and dried quickly, shivering in the air-conditioned room. I wrapped a towel around me and listened at the door. Hearing no one, I sprinted the few doors down to our dressing room. I found myself singing out loud: “Zip a dee doo dah.” That was the tune I’d been humming. My mom used to sing it when she was happy, a long time ago.

I ran into our dressing room and flipped on the lights, grateful no one had seen (or heard) me. Candy hadn’t arrived yet. I saw a piece of paper folded with my name on the front, propped up against my makeup kit on the dressing room counter. I shut the door and grabbed the note, humming again. Jason was so sweet. Yeah, it was annoying we needed to pretend we were just flirting, but the sneaking around was exciting and it led to romantic things like little notes in my dressing room. I felt all warm and gooey as I unfolded the paper and read:

“I am in blood

Stepp’d in so far, that, should I wade no more,

Returning were as tedious as go o’er.”

I dropped the note. It felt hot, like it was burning me. I wondered for a moment if it was poisoned, if someone could poison a note.

Candy opened the door. “Naked as a jay bird!” she sang out. I looked down and realized I’d dropped my towel along with the note. I picked up both, keeping the note out of sight from Candy, who began stripping out of the blue scrubs she wore at the nursing home.

In the play, Macbeth delivers the line about being stepp’d in blood after he’s killed Duncan and Banquo. He realizes he is too covered in blood to stop killing.

Duncan and Banquo. Simon and Uncle Bob. Did the person who wrote the note kill my friend and poison my uncle? Or was I reading too much into the one line? One thing I was sure of: the note was a warning. Macbeth doesn’t stop killing. He goes on to murder innocent people, Macduff’s wife and children. Did that mean I was next? Or someone else? I’d been playing at this “investigation” like it was another play, with me in the role of detective. I felt foolish, guilty, and sick to my stomach. I put my head between my knees.

Candy came over and rubbed my back. “You okay, darling?”

“Just a little queasy,” I said, bringing my head up. I wished I could trust her enough to show her the note. “Probably something I ate.”

“Better hope so,” she said with a wink.

I started to roll my eyes, then realized that Jason and I hadn’t used protection this last time. My stomach felt even worse.

“Still and all, better get ready,” Candy said, tossing her panties on a chair.

When her head was turned, I shoved the note deep into my duffel bag. I caught a glimpse of my cell phone, which displayed a new message from the City of Phoenix. Huh. I picked up my phone and listened.

“Ivy, er...Olive, it’s Detective Pinkstaff.”

I sat up straight in my chair.

“First of all, Bob says you better not be at that god...Sorry...that GD theater, since you said you’d quit.”

I hadn’t actually said I would quit, not out loud. I’d kinda hoped Uncle Bob had forgotten about wanting me to quit or that it was his pain medication talking. Still, I hadn’t been completely honest with my uncle and I felt guilty about it.

“And secondly,” Pinkstaff cleared his throat, “you were right about the makeup. It was tampered with. Give me a call.”

I was right. I wasn’t poor deluded Olive, I was right. Then the sobering truth hit me. I was right. Someone had deliberately poisoned Simon’s makeup. Someone had killed Simon. I suddenly realized all this time I had hoped it wasn’t true. Now I knew it was true, and if this note was any indication, the killer was on to me.

I wished I hadn’t deceived Uncle Bob. I couldn’t show him the note. He’d have Pinkstaff haul my ass out of this theater ASAP. Not only would I not catch the bastard who murdered Simon and drugged Uncle Bob, but that would be the end of my career. Quitting during closing week was unforgivable. No, I was going to have to handle this on my own. But what did that mean?

Candy must have been watching me, because she said, in a serious voice, “Ivy, hon, you okay?”

I decided to go with the “not feeling well” idea. “It was the clinic,” I said. “They want me to call.” I left it at that. It was a lie, but one I could get out of later by saying I had something innocuous.

I sat still for a moment. My brain squealed with the effort of thinking so hard. Okay, so I was right, someone did kill Simon. With relief, I ruled out Jason, since he was also poisoned. Plus I wanted to rule him out. I didn’t believe he could kill anyone, especially after seeing his true self this evening. No, not a suspect.

“Darlin’,” Candy said, “you best get your head out of the clouds and onto the moors, or into the circus, in this case.” She was already in costume and wig cap, and was putting on makeup.

I stepped into my footless tights. Uncle Bob had said that everyone had opportunity, but who had motive? Linda. She seemed to have a darn good motive, what with Simon stealing the love of her life. And she was hiding the makeup afterwards. Pretty suspicious.

“You did hear we’re giving Edward his present tonight, right?” said Candy, pulling on her wig. Like many casts, we had all chipped in to buy our director a thank you gift. “We’re all meeting at intermission on the loading dock.”

Edward. He certainly hated Simon, thought he was ruining his play. And of course there was the Simon-Pamela thing.

I pulled on my leotard.

But could Edward kill someone? I remembered the secretive phone conversation, the sound of his voice during our “little talk,” the hard glint in his eyes when he told me about Jason’s dead girlfriend. I added him to the list. Edward and Linda.

“See ya in the circus,” Candy said as she left the dressing room, ready for the show. She left the door open, probably to hurry me along. I saw Genevieve catch up with her and whisper something into her ear. Genevieve. Could she have done it? No motive I could see, but she was certainly a bit unhinged. I decided to keep an eye on her, just in case.

Better start doing my makeup, or I’d be late. I reached for my foundation, then stopped. Could the killer have poisoned it, too? I decided to skip it and just use powder, eye makeup, and lipstick. Those seemed like they’d be harder to tamper with. I hoped so.

Bill stuck his head in the dressing room. “Better hurry up,” he said, smiling with his bleached teeth. “Or I’ll get you, my pretty.” He trotted off toward backstage.

Arghh. Bill was always quoting
The Wizard of Oz
to me, trying to make some witchy connection, I guess. Nearly every day when he came in from the heat, he’d catch sight of me and say, “I’m melting!” He was probably quoting
The Wizard of Oz
because he couldn’t quote
Macbeth
. I wasn’t sure he’d even read the whole thing.

He was so clueless that several times someone had to clap a hand over his mouth to keep him from saying “Macbeth” out loud in the theater. He said it on opening night when he wasn’t even in the show.

Omigod. Bill. I hadn’t even considered him before. He was an idiot, but an ambitious, vain one. Having to tell everyone he hadn’t been cast—on TV yet—must have stung. Oh, he was definitely a suspect. I added Riley to the list, too. The Big Gulp incident was most likely innocent, but I couldn’t ignore it.

I pulled on my wig cap and bobby-pinned my wig atop my head.

What to do now? The makeup proved foul play, but how could I prove who had tampered with it? The play closed Saturday night. After that we’d all be scattered. Theater people took out-of-town and traveling gigs all the time. It’d be easy for a killer to slip out of town without looking suspicious.

I couldn’t let that happen. Not just for Simon, but for poor poisoned Jason. For Uncle Bob and his smashed-up car. For me, too, when I thought about it. That note had made it clear I was in trouble. The sooner this murderer was caught, the less likely I’d wind up dead or poisoned. But I wasn’t a cop, not even a PI. What could I do?

I could act.

I’d seen tons of cop shows, watched hours of BBC mysteries. I knew those characters.

“Places in five.” Linda’s voice crackled over the speaker in the corner of the room.

I got down to business. I painted my eyes a sparkly gold, drew on dark eyebrows, and decided to pull a Poirot.