Читать книгу Ellen Hart Presents Malice Domestic 15: Mystery Most Theatrical - Karen Cantwell - Страница 15

Newly-widowed Marian may be along in years, but she’s shrewd enough to find answers in a senior production of Hamlet.

I’d so looked forward to seeing Hamlet, and now I didn’t want to be here. Fred should be sitting next to me, instead of my sweaty neighbor, Sally. Fred and I had loved coming to Sunset Manor’s performances, watching the resident thespians prove that age was no barrier to creating art. We’d even imagined ourselves joining the theater group when we moved to Sunset in a few years.

During Macbeth, I’d leaned into Fred’s chamois shirt, sniffed the bits of grass on his neck, and enjoyed the mischievous glint in his eye. Now, I was rubbing shoulders with Sally’s damp housedress, inhaling her odd vinegary odor, and watching her fan herself with the playbook.

“I haven’t read Hamlet since high school,” Sally said. “I didn’t even read it in high school, actually.”

“You didn’t have to come. I’d have been fine by myself.”

Sweat pooled in her neck creases as she turned to gawk at me. “Marian, I’m glad to be here! Something different to do. And I’m curious about this Sunset Manor retirement community you talk about.”

Curious meant nosy. Even when her husband was alive, Sally poked in everybody’s business, but in the two years since his death, she spent all day staring out from her window or porch swing, watching neighborhood comings and goings.

After losing Fred three months ago, I knew how it felt to be alone, so I’d invited her. Not that I needed the company. There were plenty of pleasant people here, robust, smiling people who shared my hair color.

“I didn’t realize how nice this place was.” Sally glanced around the auditorium, her gaze settling on one of the men, who wasn’t nearly as handsome as Fred. “Are you really moving here?”

“I’m thinking about it.” I’d already started the paperwork to escape the house where Fred once was, and now was no more.

Sally swiveled to inspect a pigtailed girl leaning on her grandmother’s shoulder. “Cute little girl.”

“Did I show you my latest photos of Benjy?” The first picture I pulled up showed us from the back. I imagined it from Sally’s perspective. A balding man in crisp khakis nestled a hand at his wife’s waist, while an intelligent older woman bent a helmet of flyaway hair to a beautiful boy’s auburn curls. From behind, we were a perfect family.

Right after that snapshot, I’d told Rollie to stop calling Sunset Manor “assisted living.”

Rollie had snorted. “Aunt Marian, please. It’s where old people live. Who cares what I call it?” Rollie’s shirt bore the crest of a fancy country club. I suspected he visited golf courses just to get the shirts.

In the next picture, I held Benjy as he grinned, one ear poking through woolly curls. Benjy was adorable, as always, but my denim dress made me look like a couch.

“Sweet boy,” Sally said as I scrolled to a photo of Benjy with his parents, with Alicia’s hand on Benjy’s shoulder while Rollie barely touched arms with his son. “Rollie looks like Fred in that picture.”

Rollie did have his uncle’s large ears and prominent chin, as did Benjy. I loved those ears. But Rollie’s thin lips and close-set eyes gave him a sour look, while Benjy’s eyes were wide and trusting. Whenever I asked, “Who’s the best nana?” he’d wrap his arms around my neck and say, “You are.” I might only be his great-aunt, by marriage, but with both his grandmothers dead, I stole the nickname.

The lights dimmed. I turned off my phone and the audience rustled into place.

Sally whispered, “So old people play all the parts?”

I bit my lip. She was barely ten years younger than me. “All the actors live at Sunset.”

Stage lights brightened, revealing a cardboard castle and a weathered man in a guard’s outfit. He shouted, “Who’s there?”

A second guard entered. “Nay, answer me: stand and unfold yourself.”

* * * *

Rollie and Alicia’s house: “A plentiful lack of wit”

Marian eased a dusty Taurus into the driveway of a Colonial just shy of a cul-de-sac lollipop, and grabbed the roses gathered from her garden. The petals hovered on the cusp of full bloom, and dirt still clung to the stems. The sugary scent tickled Marian’s nose as Alicia led her to the dining room where Marian put the roses in a crystal vase, pinching a thorn that attacked the buds of her fingers as it died. She set the vase of defanged roses on the table and rubbed her fingers in satisfaction. Benjy’s hands would be safe.

As if he’d heard her thoughts, Benjy thundered across the room in Spider-Man pajamas, squealing at the painful pitch children wield.

“Nana Marian!” He leaped onto Marian, who took the blow with a gasp before wrapping him in a hug. As soon as she released him, Benjy reached for the roses.

Rollie plopped the vase on the sideboard. “Flowers are for girls.”

Benjy whimpered. Rollie advanced a step. The whimper jumped an octave.

“Your uncle planted that rosebush.” Marian pulled Benjy to her.

“They’re in the way. I want to see our guests.”

“What are your friends’ names?”

“Alicia, put Benjy to bed,” Rollie yelled. “They’ll be here any minute.”

“I’ll do it,” Marian said, tucking Benjy’s tag into his shirt. “We have our bedtime routine.”

They trotted upstairs to Benjy’s room, where the carpet was spotless and the dresser was dust-free. The one spot of clutter was a bookshelf crammed with Dr. Seuss books, a gold piggy bank, and a variety of plastic trucks and stuffed animals. One brave dolphin had plummeted onto the carpet, lying in the middle of a vacuum mark like a swimmer staying in its lane.

Benjy scooted under the covers. Marian tucked in the sheets and tousled his bunny-soft hair with small curls just like Fred’s. She remembered walking up to Fred in the garden store, saying, “Your hair looks like curly parsley.” Fred’s face crinkled. “That’s the best pickup line I’ve ever gotten.” Even after cancer balded him, Marian still thought of Fred with those curls.

After three rounds of “You Are My Sunshine,” Benjy reached under his bed, pulled out a yellow truck, and stretched it toward her. “For Spider-Nana.”

Marian took the dump truck, its flapping bed blocked by a bulge. “What happened?”

He buried his face in his pillow.

“Benjy, what’s wrong?”

The pillow muffled his answer. “Daddy broke it. I was a bad boy.”

Marian combed his hair with shaky fingers. “You’re not a bad boy. You’re the best boy in the world.” She lifted him to her. “You’re Spider-Boy. And Spider-Nana won’t let anything happen to her precious Spider-Boy.”

Once Benjy fell asleep, Marian raced to the dining room and confronted Rollie, who was uncorking a Pinot Noir. “You smashed his truck.”

Rollie inspected the cork. “He’s my son. Don’t tell me what to do.”

The doorbell rang, and Marian said, “What are your friends’ names? You haven’t told me anything about them.”

Rollie disappeared, reappearing with a stylish couple wearing shades of tan, the woman’s turquoise necklace bright against the neutral palette.

“Marian, these are the friends I told you about.”

“I like your necklace,” Marian said. “I didn’t catch your names?”

The pair tossed each other a smile. “Bill and Cindy,” the man said.

Rollie shook his head. “My aunt forgets things sometimes.”

“I didn’t forget. You never told me their names.”

Rollie patted her shoulder. “Dear Marian.”

After wine and conversation about the warm weather and a new movie, Alicia brought out the food, refusing Marian’s offer to help. Alicia’s pink tee and white jeans draped her skeletal frame as she trotted back and forth.

When Alicia put down a platter of chicken and mushrooms, Rollie announced, “Poulet de Normandie.”

“Norman chicken?” Marian said. Rollie scowled. Bill chuckled.

While platters circled the table, Bill reminisced about college. “Rollie took dibs on everything. I got stuck with the bottom drawers and the top bunk.”

“Just watching out for number one. But I took care of you, too.”

“That econ exam.” Rollie and Bill exchanged an amused glance.

Bill lifted his wine glass. “We had fun, didn’t we, buddy?”

Rollie released a rare grin. “Those were great days.” Alicia’s shoulders relaxed and she took her first bite of chicken.

Rollie leaned toward Bill, his eyes crinkling. “I’m about to get a promotion.”

“You’ll be a big shot, huh? I knew you when.” Both men chuckled, the women smiled, and Bill took a large helping of potatoes.

Silverware clinked. Cindy said, “This chicken is delicious. You’ve outdone yourself, Alicia.”

“Thank you.” Alicia stared at her food. Beneath the scaffold of her ribs, her waist seemed barely wider than the green bean she pushed around her plate.

“What’s its name again?” Bill asked. “Something French.”

“Poulet de Normandie.” Rollie rolled the words around before spitting them out.

“Now that you’re a big shot, I guess you have to eat French food.” Bill pointed his knife at his plate. “It’s good, though.”

“Norman’s thigh is especially tender,” Marian said.

“Pass the green beans?” Cindy said.

As Alicia handed her the platter, a drop of sauce spilled. Alicia wiped it quickly with a napkin as Rollie glared.

Cindy said. “We have spills all the time at our house.”

“Not in this house,” Rollie said.

“Do you have children?” Marian asked.

“Jeffrey’s four, just a few months older than Benjy,” Cindy said. “They play together.”

“Marian, don’t be jealous.” Rollie turned to Bill. “She adores Benjy, especially since Uncle Fred died. They never had kids of their own.”

“I’m sorry for your loss,” Cindy said to Marian.

“Thank you.” An unchewed new potato scratched Marian’s throat as it went down. “This is my first summer without him.” She clasped her hands under the table.

Rollie leaned back. “Since we’re on the subject of Benjy, let’s talk about the beach house. A developer contacted me about buying it. Bill’s a real estate lawyer. He knows how much we could get for that house.”

“It’s near Ocean City, right?” Bill asked. Though he was skinny, he had a turkey neck, as if all the looseness had gathered in one place.

“Between Dewey Beach and Fenwick Island,” Rollie said. “Uncle Fred left it to Marian and me as Benjy’s trustees. I think Benjy should’ve inherited it outright.”

“Fred probably wanted us to spend time together,” Marian said. She recalled their last dinner here, Fred stumbling into his chair, her hands too slow to cushion the blow, his wince morphing into a smile as he glanced around and whispered, “My family.”

Marian stared at her clasped hands. Her only family now slept upstairs.

Bill scraped the last green beans onto his plate. “As his widow, don’t you inherit the house, Marian?”

Rollie smirked. “My uncle owned it before he married her.”

“We spent every summer there,” Marian said.

“We can spend holidays in Europe with the money we’d get.” Rollie flourished his fork like a conductor.

“Memories are more precious than money,” Marian said. “For both me and Benjy.”

“Three-year-olds don’t know the value of money.”

“Then he won’t care about the developer’s money.” Marian spooned mushroom sauce on her chicken. “And he’s almost four.”

* * * *

“Ophelia could use a face lift,” Sally murmured.

“Hush.” I focused on Polonius, who was telling King Claudius that Ophelia’s rejection was the cause of Hamlet’s madness:

POLONIUS: And he, repulsed—a short tale to make—

Fell into a sadness, then into a fast,

Thence to a watch, thence into a weakness,

Thence to a lightness, and, by this declension,

Into the madness wherein now he raves,

And all we mourn for.

KING CLAUDIUS: Do you think ‘tis this?

QUEEN GERTRUDE: It may be, very likely.

I glanced at the seat Fred once filled. Very likely indeed.

* * * *

Marian’s house: “For some must watch”

“Marian, I haven’t seen you all week.”

Sally waddled across the street to Marian’s house, the last home before the road petered out at a clump of pines. Built back when “cul-de-sac” was a French word, the houses along the road varied. Marian’s home had smooth brick and a painted carport, while Sally’s yellow siding accented her lawn’s dandelions.

Sally crunched first her dandelions and then Marian’s smooth grass to reach the garden bed where Marian dug between azaleas.

“You’re really attacking that weed.”

“You have to pull out the roots or it comes back.” Marian twisted her trowel. “He’s so patronizing! You wouldn’t believe how badly Rollie treats people. Even Benjy.”

Sally crouched, her cheek nearly colliding with a rusting azalea bloom. “Rollie’s not the warmest man, but I’m sure he loves his son. And he’s Fred’s nephew. He’s grieving, too.”

Marian snipped the offending azalea. “The only time Rollie wanted to see Fred was when he needed money.” She peeled off oversized gloves with “Fred” sewn on the wristband. “Fred loved him anyway. He saw the best in everyone. Even Rollie.”

“Maybe you should, too.”

“I’ll try, for Benjy’s sake.” Marian brushed dirt from her jeans. “Would you like some tea? I’ll make a fresh batch. I need to check a chicken thigh in the oven anyway.”

“Want me to check it for you? I saw Rollie leaving the other day and he mentioned you left a pot on the stove.”

“The stove is usually where pots sit when they’re cooking. He’s only buddying up to you to get at me. Come in.”

Marian led her past the entry’s row of photographs. Sally glanced at the living room, where a deep couch with floral pillows faced a striped chair with an inviting ottoman. End tables held Shakespeare plays, Eliot poems, and mason jars stuffed with smug hydrangeas.

More hydrangeas decorated the kitchen, where a tile backsplash featured sketches of rosemary, tarragon, and oregano. While Marian loaded a battered teakettle, Sally browsed a baker’s rack stuffed with cookbooks, a bowl of seashells, and a prosperous bonsai. She picked up a photograph of a man in a denim shirt, his grinning face all ears and chin.

“Great picture of Fred. Camping trip?”

Marian beamed. “Our last one.” The beam faded. “I’d have killed anyone who hurt Fred. But how do you kill cancer?”

Marian lifted the sugar bowl lid. Metal gleamed and she pulled out a silver watch she hadn’t seen since Rollie stopped by to discuss the beach house. She rubbed granules from the engraving: “To Marian, with all my love, Fred.”

“What’s your watch doing in the sugar bowl?” Sally asked. Her expression softened. “How are you feeling, Marian?”

“Fine. I didn’t put this watch there. But I know who did.”

Sally returned the photo gently to the baker’s rack. “I know you miss Fred. You two were incredibly close.”

“I can’t even mourn properly without being made to look senile. People assume that when you get gray hair, you lose your wits.”

* * * *

POLONIUS: [Aside] Though this be madness, yet there is method in ‘t.

Will you walk out of the air, my lord?

HAMLET: Into my grave.

LORD POLONIUS: Indeed, that is out o’ the air.

* * * *

Rollie and Marian’s house: “A dull and muddy-mettled rascal”

For Benjy’s fourth birthday, Marian brought a green dump truck, which she clasped like a talisman as she rang the bell.

“I told you, you don’t have to ring the bell. You’re family.” Alicia waved chocolate-splattered fingers. “The boys are out back.” Her shirt gaped, revealing a bruise along her collarbone.

In the back yard, parents clustered in the shade of the patio while their boys raced across the grass, screaming at odd moments, Benjy’s smile wide as he led the pack. Marian’s echoing smile faded when she saw an orange dog piñata swaying from the limb of a birch tree.

“Rollie, a dog piñata?”

“Benjy keeps asking for a dog. Now he’s got one.”

“That’s not funny. He’ll have to hit it.”

“It’s about time he manned up. My father taught me early to toughen up.” Rollie rubbed a puckered spot on his elbow.

“Your father’s gone,” Marian said. “You don’t have to prove yourself anymore.”

Rollie swatted her words aside and slumped away, like a defeated batter.

“Rollie didn’t get that promotion, did he?” Marian sighed. “He’s still trying to prove himself to his father. I always wondered if something happened with his father, something to do with cigarettes. Something…awful.”

Alicia stared at the grass.

Marian continued, “What father tells his son he’ll never amount to anything? Fred always said his sister could’ve done better.” She paused. “Some women settle for less than they deserve.”

Alicia lifted her head. “Well, they’re all gone now. The rest of us just have to make it through each day.” She handed Marian a slice of chocolate cake.

Marian eyed the nearly empty cake dish. “What time did the party start?”

Alicia inspected the grass again. “One o’clock.”

Marian whirled as Rollie walked up. “You said the party started at two.”

He took the last piece of cake, a smile fluttering on his lips.

“Nana Marian!” Benjy barreled into her and clamped his arms around her knees. Marian scratched his head. “Hello, birthday buddy!”

She held up the package, wrapped in a crowd of shiny Spider-Men.

“Gift opening is later.” Rollie snatched the present. “Benjy, play with your guests.” Rollie tipped back his Orioles cap. “Marian, how about if we host your birthday party next week?”

“I’m too old for birthday parties. Numbers don’t matter as much at my age.”

“You deserve a party. Besides, it was important to Uncle Fred that we keep in touch.” He added, “We’ll make it a casual picnic next Saturday. Come early to see Benjy before Jeffrey comes to play. We’ll start at four, so be here at three.”

“Three o’clock. You’re sure this time?” At Rollie’s nod, Marian said, “I’ll be there. I’m glad Benjy has a play date.”

Rollie paused. “The developer upped his offer for the beach house.”

“Memories are more important than money. You should know, now that you’re a father.” She nodded toward Benjy, who was laughing with a smaller boy.

Rollie released a puff of exasperated air. “That house is sitting vacant most of the time. We could at least rent it out, make some money.”

“I’m going down later this summer. And you, Alicia, and Benjy will come for a week or two, I hope. But you’re right, it’s a good idea to rent it out the rest of the time, so it’s lived in. And watched over.”

Rollie jerked his head back. “Did you actually say I’m right?”

They exchanged a look bordering on a smile before Rollie called the boys to the piñata. His baseball cap slid down, nearly landing on his sunglasses. He tipped it back and handed the bat to Benjy.

“Go ahead, son. You get the first hit.”

“Don’t wanna!”

“You need to learn to hit. Remember that Orioles game I took you to? Swing like that.”

Benjy’s face scrunched. The bat slid from his fingers.

Rollie grabbed the bat and gave it to a chunky boy who clenched his jaw and stepped into the swing, sending bits of orange onto the grass. A flurry of blows followed, crumbling the paper dog and releasing a spray of candy chased by all the boys except Benjy, who ran to Marian.

Marian wiped his nose with a pinch of her fingers. “Alicia, you have to do something.”

Alicia darted a glance at Rollie, who was cheerleading the candy chase. She spoke in near-perfect imitation of him. “Don’t tell me what to do.”

* * * *

Sally’s elbow jabbed my ribs.

“Ouch! Sally, I’m trying to watch the play.”

“It’s boring. The prince is crazy.”

“Is he really?” I pointed to Hamlet, who was talking with the actors about to perform for the king:

HAMLET: Gentlemen, you are welcome to Elsinore. Your hands,

Come then: the appurtenance of welcome is fashion

And ceremony: let me comply with you in this garb,

Lest my extent to the players, which, I tell you,

Must show fairly outward, should more appear like

Entertainment than yours. You are welcome: but my

uncle-father and aunt-mother are deceived.

GUILDENSTERN: In what, my dear lord?

HAMLET: I am but mad north-north-west: when the wind is

southerly I know a hawk from a handsaw.

I whispered, “See? Hamlet knows what he’s doing.” Sally paid no attention.

* * * *

Rollie and Alicia’s house: “Some quantity of barren spectators”

At three o’clock, Marian trotted up Rollie’s sidewalk as the windy warning of a distant storm swayed the lawn’s lone sapling. She scratched her head, spiking sweaty strands at odd angles, and rang the bell.

Rollie opened the door. “Marian, we were worried. You’re an hour late for your own party.”

She checked her silver watch. “I’m right on time. Three o’clock.”

Rollie rubbed her back as she stepped inside, his sweaty hand bunching her blouse. “The party started at two.” He gestured toward a gathering of onlookers with hoisted wine glasses.

“You said come at three.”

“All right, Marian. We’re just glad you’re safe. No smoking, Joe,” he told a man lifting a cigarette.

Rollie rubbed a puckered dot on his elbow before giving Marian a quick kiss on the cheek. “Happy birthday.”

She stared at his chin, so like Fred’s. “Thank you.”

Rollie ushered Marian through the crowd. She plucked dirt off her khaki skirt as they angled past a wreath of women in linen dresses, the yellow linen telling the lavender, “You wouldn’t think they could mess up Mozart.”

Rollie steered Marian around a cluster of laughing men to the makeshift bar, where a row of bottles faced an army of glasses. Rollie engaged a bottle and glass in a skirmish, and handed Marian a glass of white wine. “Nice watch.”

“You’ve seen it before.”

Two middle-aged women ambled up as thunder rumbled in the distance.

“These women are from my office,” Rollie said. “This is my Aunt Marian, the birthday girl. Doesn’t she look lovely?”

The taller woman took in Marian’s denim shirt and flyaway hair with a swift glance. “Wonderful,” she said in the tone Sally had recently adopted.

That tone followed Marian like a mist as she nibbled cucumber sandwich triangles and listened to debates about whether the storm would head their way. When she started to slice a piece of Brie, a squat woman in a sundress offered to do it for her. When Marian headed to the powder room, Cindy said, “I’ll wait outside.”

“I know how to use a bathroom.”

As Marian left the powder room, a man approached with a somber expression. “Excuse me, ma’am?” His shirt tented his belly. “Fred and I used to go fishing at Deep Creek Lake. We lost touch a while ago, but he was a decent man and I’m sure sorry he’s gone.”

Marian smiled and accepted his outstretched hand. “Thank you for remembering him.” Their hands clasped for a moment before he shuffled away.

She stared at the hardwood floor, covering her sniffles with a cupped palm. A ceramic cup intruded into view.

“I got you tea.” Rollie’s voice. “Wartberry or something.”

“Whortleberry. I can get my own tea.”

“I’m trying to be nice.”

Marian took the cup and sipped the watery tea until Rollie walked away. Then she tucked the cup behind an empty glass and headed onto the lawn where Benjy and Jeffrey were crashing trucks. Benjy revved his green truck, holding one blistered thumb in the air. A mark ran, ruler-straight, between the puckered burn and the undamaged skin below.

Marian stomped toward Rollie, who hid behind a fog of men. She veered toward Alicia. “What happened to Benjy’s thumb?”

Alicia turned away.

Marian stared at Benjy, ignoring a guffawing man, and a woman spilling wine on her foot. She zoomed a finger over her thumb, and thought about a desperate prince.

She watched Benjy a long time.

Finally, she marched up to Alicia. “You think I’m good with Benjy, don’t you?”

Alicia’s eyelids flipped up in surprise. “Of course. He loves you very much.”

“Don’t forget that.” Marian turned, hovered her arm, and then swept it wide, knocking a bowl of potato chips onto the patio.

Rollie rushed over. “Marian? Are you all right?” As Rollie simpered, Marian faced the audience with a dazed expression.

She allowed Rollie to lead her to a cushioned chair scraped out from the living room. She let him serve her another cup of weak tea before opening pastel bath soaps, and chirpy birthday cards, some with the wrong age. Nobody here even knew how long she’d been alive.

Marian watched Benjy sprint across the yard, his wooly curls flapping.

* * * *

HAMLET: Madam, how like you this play?

QUEEN GERTRUDE: The lady protests too much, methinks.

HAMLET: O, but she’ll keep her word.

KING CLAUDIUS: Have you heard the argument? Is there no offence in ‘t?

HAMLET: No, no, they do but jest, poison in jest; no offence

i’ th’ world.

* * * *

Marian’s house: “This plague for thy dowry”

In July, Rollie petitioned for guardianship. A few days before the August hearing, Alicia brought Benjy to Marian’s for a negotiated sleepover.

As Benjy grabbed their hands, Marian faced Alicia over the swing set of their arms. “Remember, you promised to tell the judge I’m a good nana.”

Marian swung her arm wide, making Benjy squeal in delight. “I’ll let Rollie have guardianship, and that blasted beach house, if you both tell the judge I should still see Benjy. That’s our deal.”

Alicia nodded. Benjy dangled from their arms, the deep blue of his shirt echoing the bruise on his wrist.

Marian leaned toward Alicia. “Everything will be fine. I promise.” She enfolded Benjy in a hug, and whispered, “Doubt truth to be a liar, but never doubt I love.” She leaned back. “I love you, sweet boy.”

He kissed her, a wet smack that tingled her cheek.

As soon as Alicia left, Benjy ran to the back yard, grabbed his plastic trowel, and headed for a clump of blue-helmeted plants. Marian pulled him back.

“Stay away from those. Let’s dig up dandelions.”

* * * *

After thunderous applause, the curtain swished shut, and we gathered our things. “What did you think of the play?” I asked.

“It’s about a crazy prince who kills his uncle for stealing the throne and a bunch of other people die, too.” Sally hauled herself to her feet and caught her breath. “Game of Thrones did it better.”

“I think you missed the brilliance of Hamlet’s plan.”

* * * *

Marian’s house: “Mistress of her choice”

The day after the guardianship decree, Rollie came for the beach house paperwork. Kneeling amid the monkshood, Marian yelled for him to come to the back yard. Amid tall, happy plants stood a wrought iron table, set with a plump blue and white teapot and matching mugs. In the woods, orange-tipped leaves warned of summer’s end.

Rollie tromped to the back yard and stared at the tea set, and Benjy’s damaged yellow truck in the center of the table. “Marian, you really are batty.”

Marian ripped out a weed, its roots shaking in protest. She took off her gloves. “Sit, Rollie. Have some tea.” She filled both large mugs and handed him one.

Rollie perched on a wrought iron chair. “I don’t have time for tea parties. Where are the papers?”

Marian slid the sugar bowl toward him, her silver watch glinting in the sun. “First, have some tea. Let’s be civilized.”

After a tentative sip to test the temperature, Rollie downed the tea in one gulp before slapping his mug on the table. “All right, I’ve had my damn tea. Now, where are the papers?”

Marian leaned back, her own tea untouched. “You swore that I’m incompetent. You got the court to declare that I don’t know what I’m doing.”

Rollie flung up his hands. “Having tea parties at your age proves the point, doesn’t it?” His hands dropped to his side, as if weighted.

“I agree. It will help immensely. I’ll still get to see Benjy.”

“What do you mean?” His skin paled under drops of sweat. “What did you do, Marian?”

She tapped a wrought iron swirl on the table. “Such a stupid mistake, using monkshood in the tea—though I like its other name, wolf’s-bane, better. The bane of predators. It’s poisonous.”

“Marian, you didn’t.”

Marian stroked her chin. “Let’s see. First, tingling and numbness, starting with the hands and feet. Excessive sweating, too. The face is pale and there’s a tendency to faint—but you’re sitting, so no need to worry about that.” She crooked one finger into her mug handle. “The mind’s unaffected, so we can chat, at least for a while. Death can come quickly.”

Rollie’s skin was nearly translucent. “You’ll never get away with it.”

“Of course I will. I’m a grieving old woman who’s not responsible for her actions. You said so yourself. Swore to it. And the court agreed. Fortunately, I’ll recover, once I get over Fred’s death.” She paused. “Yours, too.”

Rollie staggered to his feet, toppling his chair, and reached for Marian with claw-fingered hands. Marian tilted away and Rollie tumbled into the wolf’s-bane, its blue helmets cradling his head.

As Rollie writhed among the plants, Marian picked up the yellow truck and kissed its injured side.

“For you, Benjy,” she whispered. “From Spider-Nana.”