Cornucopia (3 page)

I discussed the matter with Blue on our way to the station. “Discuss” sounds better than saying I was audibly groping for other explanations while Blue stared thoughtfully and occasionally wagged her tail. However I describe it, a chat with Blue is usually a good nerve tonic because I can be completely open with her, knowing she will always keep my confidences, and I was pretty clear about my suspicions by the time we reached the station.

As I expected the Chief appeared only minutes after I filled out the request form for lab work on the coffee. We don’t have a lot of call for that kind of testing, especially when there isn’t an official crime scene, and the Chief runs a tight fiscal ship.

The station was nearly empty and the Chief relaxed enough to sit on the edge of my desk while we talked.

“What’s up, Boston?” The voice was neutral. This was work, not pleasure. He was not, however, reading me the riot act.

“Chief, I think we may have someone trying to.…” But here I stopped, choosing my words carefully.

“What? Sabotage the play?” he guessed. The Chief had only been on the job a few weeks when we’d had our first Halloween killing. There had been a second murder the year after at the pumpkin carving contest and he is very sensitive to the community’s moods and gossip. He also knows me and how I think.

“Not the play.
At least, not yet.
And maybe we can keep that from happening.”

“What then?”

“I think someone is trying to hurt the new drama coach.”

“
Wallander
?”
The Chief frowned. “But everyone seems to like him. I’ve heard nothing but praise from the parents and the other staff at the high school.”

“Not everyone likes him. Not the old drama coach, Delbert
Biggers
.” Then I explained about the boot prints and the ash up on the catwalk where I suspected that the day before someone had dropped a piece of heavy scenery on
Wallander’s
head. “It isn’t conclusive, of course, but I am betting that
it’s
ipecac and not random bad luck that just made
Wallander
sick.”

The Chief grunted and then nodded briskly.

“Get it tested. We need to know. And
Wallander
needs to be warned. You want me to do it?”

“It might be best. No one takes me seriously.
And, Chief?”

“Yes?”

“I have a bad feeling about tomorrow night.”

His posture got rigid.

“Why?”

“It’s the dress rehearsal. If someone wanted to take out the coach so that he could be asked to ride to the rescue in his place….”

“Then his last chance would be tomorrow night,” the Chief finished. “You don’t think
Biggers
can be warned away? Wouldn’t he cool his jets if he knew we suspected him?”

“Maybe.
Temporarily.
But I don’t know that he’s completely rational. What if he just waits for us to turn our backs and then tries again? He hasn’t had time to think up a good plan yet, but give him time.”

“I suppose it would be better to catch him in the act. Okay, Boston, what do you suggest to stop this? You have some idea, don’t you?”

So, I told him what I was thinking.

It meant Mom and Aunt Dot had to do some last-minute sewing, but Bryce and Gordon were kitted out as Scottish soldiers and milling around with the extras. Mr.
Wallander
had felt that some graphic sword fights before the dig duel with Macbeth would appeal to the audience and had enlisted several of the football players to fill in as casualties of war, so there were lots of large bodies in long wigs and kilts wandering around in the wings.

The Chief had opted to stay up in the catwalk and ostensibly supervise the students handling the lights, which had to be manually changed between acts since there were not enough to dedicate individual lights for each scene, and in some cases, filters had to be added.

If there was a lot of plaid there was even more anxiety filling up the auditorium and Blue and I did our best to keep everyone calm as things began to “get real.”

Wallander
had, of course, been warned of the threat, but the Chief and I had agreed that we wouldn’t share our suspicions with the rest of the cast who were already half-hysterical with opening-night jitters. I was praying for a good, calm rehearsal. Maybe that would soothe some of the troubled souls.

There were a surprising number of people in the audience and of course all the prop, makeup, and lighting people. I would have been happier if Mom and Aunt Dot had stayed home, but Mom was the wardrobe mistress and Aunt Dot a dresser, so there was nothing to do but try to keep an eye on them. I was also rather surprised to see Tara Lee, lavishly
minked
in what I hoped was faux fur and diamonded in what I knew were not rhinestones. A few of the other Lit Wits were there as well and I remembered that they were throwing some kind of rehearsal party after. I waved to Lawrence and Agatha, but kept moving.

I did my best to keep an eye on the crowd. Alex was at the door, making sure that Delbert
Biggers
didn’t slip in unseen, but I was still feeling nervous and on edge. The side doors were locked, but
Biggers
might still have a key, and while I had confidence in Officer Bryce keeping an eye on his assigned entrance, I did not place any such confidence in Dale Gordon.

One possible threat had been taken care of. There was a large trapdoor in the center of the stage, but since it was not needed, Bryce had nailed it shut. I was still doubtful that
Biggers
planned to injure any of the students, but if he was unhinged enough to attack the new drama coach, he might be desperate enough to hurt the kids.

Finally the lights dimmed. The curtain lifted and the play began. I took up a place stage left, a few feet away from Thomas
Wallander
, and tried to keep from twitching.

Lightning, quite bright and followed with realistic thunder, shattered the quiet. The three witches appeared, floating out like ghosts made of billowing shadows.

When shall we three meet again?

In thunder, lightning, or in rain?

And they were off. In spite of myself, once again the play sucked me in. Surrounded by costumed actors and effects, I was ready to believe that I was standing on a blasted heath in Scotland. And I knew Coach
Wallander
was feeling it too. His lips moved to the dialogue but his expression was rapt as he watched the players.

Fair is foul, and foul is fair:

Hover through the fog and filthy air.

The witches faded away. The lights faded too and one canvas was pulled up while another was lowered down in near silence. King Duncan entered stage right.

What bloody man is that? He can report,

A flash of yellow near my feet.
I looked down at the aged planks and saw what I belatedly recognized was a second small trapdoor. It was much less obvious than the large one in the center of the stage and visible only because there was someone below with a powerful flashlight.
Wallander
was standing where he habitually did, which was half on and half off the door.

My brain ran through the play with a haste that would have horrified the Bard. Finding no reason for there to be anyone below stage, I reached out an urgent hand and jerked
Wallander
away. We both fell as the trap banged open like something on a gallows.

Blue, thinking that I meant to keep the drama coach on the floor, promptly sat on him and began licking his face.

“Dale!” I gasped at Althea’s gaping husband who was seated in a folding chair beside the side door. In case he didn’t get my meaning, I pointed at the square hole and the retreating flashlight.

For once, Gordon did not stop to argue but got a lumbering start and jumped straight through the trapdoor. It was a tight fit and I said a prayer that he didn’t break anything.

I couldn’t hear much above the renewed thunder and stamping soldiers, but I thought maybe there were two echoes of footsteps running away.

“Up, Blue,” I said, recalled to the coach’s plight by his hands and feet flailing on the floor. Free of the weight,
Wallander
drew in a wheezing breath and rolled onto his hands and knees.

A moment later the Chief appeared, having made record time down the old iron ladder and he also dropped down into the trap. I got to my own hands and knees and crawled to the edge of the hole, trying to see what was happening. There wasn’t enough light to tell anything definite, just a few lines of green spotlight shining through the ill-fitting boards of the old stage, nor could I hear anything above the actors’ voices.

What seemed an eternity later, the Chief and Gordon reappeared with a handcuffed Delbert
Biggers
being dragged between them. By then Bryce had joined us and Delbert was hauled out of the hole and then out of the building with no one else being the wiser.

Wallander
might have wanted to discuss the matter with me, but there was a show to put on.

“Thank you,” he whispered, rubbing his chest, and then took up a position about two feet from where he normally stood. Duncan exited. The scenery changed again and the witches returned.

Where hast thou been, Sister?

Halloween arrived. Blue, who knew exactly what day it was, thanks to the vendors setting up booths around Courthouse Park who offered her samples of their goodies while I was on patrol, gave me to understand that a small snack of harvest cake and soft pretzels would be good before we went to the theater. Sometimes she and Alex are two minds with but a single thought.

The news hadn’t gotten out yet, but Delbert
Biggers
was leaving town. It was that or a charge of attempted murder. I wish I could have been there when the Chief gave him the ultimatum, but I probably would have just cramped his style. No one is the least bit intimidated by me and
Biggers
might not have taken the Chief’s threat seriously had I been there.

Instead of going to the station to see
Biggers
get his comeuppance, Alex, Blue,
Wallander
, and I had stayed for the Lit Wits’ rehearsal party, which was rather grander than expected what with Tara Lee catering it. The drama coach did not mention to anyone what had happened, probably to protect the kids from the knowledge of how loony their old coach had been. After all, he didn’t want to start any rumors about trouble with the
Scottish play
the night before it opened.

“Want some cider?” Alex asked me. I was standing at the crossroads of footpaths through the park. They were lined with grinning jack-o’-lanterns and smelled like the world’s biggest pumpkin pie. I was a little sad that I wasn’t competing.

“Is there time?” I asked.

“If we sip while we walk,” he said, taking my hand in his and giving it a squeeze.

“Okay then. It wouldn’t feel like Halloween without some cider.”

“By the way, did I mention that Aunt Mary Elizabeth has offered us her cabin for Thanksgiving?”

We had taken up Aunt Mary Elizabeth’s offer of her cabin for Thanksgiving. Last year’s beast of a feast had left me gun-shy since I was pretty sure that Tara Lee would try to rope me into participating again if I were within calling distance. I’d tried to get enthused about a large Thanksgiving ever since the last one, but the moths got at that idea right away and chewed big holes in it. Mom and Aunt Bea love that sort of thing, but Alex and I wanted a small banquet with just the
Jackmans
for company.

Also, though I love my nephew, Reggie, I see quite enough of his father at work and I really didn’t mind not spending the day with Althea in my face. My cousin is one of those people who feel they can accomplish most things through criticism dressed up as “honesty.” I didn’t need that while cooking. She also writes ear-
abradingly
awful poetry and inflicts it on her hostages at family events where they can’t escape. I’ve tried—everyone has tried—talking her out of reading these commemorative verses, but it is a lost cause, especially now that she thinks she is doing it for her son. Dodging her is the only way to save on the nerves’ wear and tear.