A Midsummer Eve's Nightmare (11 page)

“So, what did they hope to accomplish by last night’s escapade?”

Richard shrugged. “Just scare her, I guess. A makeup kit isn’t much of a murder weapon—just like sugar pills weren’t either—or falling flats or glass in her face powder. They all seem to add up to scare tactics.”

“Or some kind of a warning. That must be why they used her case. A bank of lights would have been far handier and delivered a more forceful message. But if they just wanted to get Erin’s attention, this was perfect,” Elizabeth agreed.

“So who would want to do that?”

They sat frowning in concentration, tossing out ideas as they occurred: Dirk—scare her enough to run off and marry him? Erin’s father—scare her into leaving the career he doesn’t approve of? Some guy who likes her, but she ignores—trying to get her attention? Some nut— no rational reason at all? Someone from her past—something they didn’t know anything about at all?

They stopped. Elizabeth shook her head. “Wait! We’re sidetracked again. About Tori—if she was inconvenient once, she might be again. We need to get her away from here.”

“I couldn’t agree more. But Officer Lempson wouldn’t.”

“Okay, then. Let’s help the villain.”

Richard’s dark eyebrows shot up. “What?”

“Well, at least for the day. If he wants Tori out of the way, let’s take her away from Ashland—shopping in Medford or a picnic in the mountains or something.”

“Good idea.” Richard reached for some tourist information leaflets on the marble-topped dresser. “Erin, too?”

“Sure, if she’s free.” Elizabeth had long ago abandoned the idea of spending her honeymoon locked in a world of just herself and her husband. This was turning into a real
Busman’s Honeymoon
. Lucky she was enough of a Dorothy L. Sayers fan to appreciate at least that much of the situation.

“A veritable plethora of choices.” Richard held out several Chamber of Commerce brochures. “Take your pick—hot air balloon rides, jet boat river trips, skiing—oops, sorry, wrong season—llama hikes. . .”

“Llama hikes?”

“That’s what the lady wrote.” He showed her a picture of a gentle-looking, long-necked llama with a young woman in a bright red jacket and an even brighter smile standing beside it.

“‘Guided llama walks with lunch provided in a high mountain setting above Ashland,’” he read.

Elizabeth shook her head. “Sounds interesting, but I don’t think so. Anything less exotic on offer?”

“Well, how about a nice drive? Applegate Valley Loop, 100 miles; Mount Ashland, 48 miles; Upper Rogue River/Crater and Diamond lakes, 120 miles. . .”

“Something closer to home.”

“Ah, how’s this? ‘Explore Historic Jacksonville.’” He held out a brochure with a many-gabled, much-gingerbreaded Victorian house on the front.

“Sold. Let’s go.” Elizabeth pulled a pair of khaki slacks and a blue silk shirt out of the closet.

All the way to her sister’s apartment Elizabeth worried that Tori might be offended by their mother-henning her. She tried to word their invitation in an off-handed manner so as not to sound like a desperate attempt at a rescue mission. But Victoria accepted with such alacrity and openness Elizabeth could see that she needn’t have worried. When Tori ran off to get a sweatshirt in case her pink shorts and white t-shirt were too cool for the changeable weather, Richard extended the invitation to Erin as well.

“Love to,” she responded. “But it’s
Enemy of The People
this afternoon. I’m doing Sally’s bit as an extra. Ironic, isn’t it? I’m just a townsperson, but ‘there are no small roles, only small actors,’ as my favorite high school drama teacher Elva Reid reminded us almost daily.” She twirled a strand of blond hair falling over her shoulder.

Elizabeth was amazed at how innocent and untroubled Erin looked—one would think her completely untouched by the threats and mysteries that whirled around her. Elizabeth hated to shatter Erin’s peace with an unhappy suggestion, but felt she must. “Erin, are you sure it’s all right to leave you alone?”

“I’ll be fine. Dirk’s coming over pretty soon, anyway. I think we’ll walk down to the deli for lunch. I love those seats out back by the creek.”

Elizabeth knew the spot. Picturesque, yes. But the picnic tables next to the steep rocky bank rolling down to the tumbling creek below. . . with Dirk. “Erin—” She groped for the right words.

Richard supplied them for her. “Fine. Tell Dirk I said he was to take especially good care of you.” Richard’s tone was light, but his eyes bore a no-nonsense intensity.

“I will.” Erin gave a jerk of a nod.

Elizabeth wanted to add something like,
and stay in public places,
but just then Victoria returned with a pink shirt over her shoulders and her luxurious black hair, loosened from its usual braid, falling almost to her waist. There was a knock at the door just as Richard was about to open it for them to go out.

“Oh, good. Here’s Dirk now,” Erin said.

But instead it was Gregg. The last thing Elizabeth wanted was to include a suspect on their outing, but there was nothing she could do when Tori cried, “Oh, what good timing! Come to Jacksonville with us, Gregg. You don’t have a matinee today, do you?”

No, he didn’t, so it was settled.

They drove a few miles up the highway, then turned west along an old stage road. The town of Jacksonville looked as if it had changed little since the days when it was regularly visited by the stagecoach. The shiny brochure told them it had developed overnight with the discovery of gold in 1851, and, fortunately, never sank into ghost town status. The wave of frantic gold-seekers was followed by solid farmers and merchants with their families, so the historic buildings had been maintained in excellent condition.

Elizabeth was just thinking what it must have been like to have arrived in this picturesque town on a stagecoach a century earlier when a coach pulled by four matching bay horses rolled down the street in front of them, complete with a western-garbed driver. “Oh, let’s ride the stage,” she cried.

They were joined by a family with two cap-pistol-packing little boys: Barret and Jared— one to hang out the window on each side and shoot down every person in the street. The rolling stage lumbered along California Street past historic churches and houses, the U. S. Hotel where, Elizabeth read from her leaflet, President Rutherford B. Hayes had stayed at its grand opening in 1880. Barret shot a pigeon sitting on the hotel’s white, bunting-draped balcony. Not to be outdone, Jared aimed two dead-eyed blasts at the flags of the Beekman Bank across the street, where more than $30 million in gold had once passed over the counter of Oregon’s first bank.

With a fusillade of random shots that must have left their victims strewn on the sidewalk behind them, (Barret and Jared’s long-suffering mother had obviously long ago wisely abandoned any attempt to repress them) they then turned up Oregon Street past the turn-of-the- century railroad station, now serving as the information center. They left it riddled with holes from both gunslingers, Jared having clambered over the other passengers’ sandaled feet in his cowboy boots to join his brother at the same window. Then they swayed and lurched back down the street past the old Chinatown area and the Britt Gardens, grounds of the pioneer horticulturist Peter Britt which now served as the setting for the annual Britt Music Festival.

Just as they stepped off the stagecoach, a group of musicians who were rehearsing for the evening performance began “Summer” from Vivaldi’s
Four Seasons
. In true testimony to the truth that music, indeed, has power to calm the savage beast, Barret and Jared holstered their guns. Barret, the older of the two, pushed back his red felt cowboy hat to let the sun glisten on his towheaded mop and stood transfixed at the soaring notes played by a fragile-looking young violinist with flowing red hair.

“There’s hope for the human race,” Richard commented as he took Elizabeth’s elbow and led her into the garden. “I think classical music has just made a conquest.”

“Or long red hair has. ‘If music be the food of love, play on,’” Gregg quoted.

Tori laughed and put her arm through Gregg’s, squeezing tightly. Elizabeth frowned, but what could she do? She knew that her own closeness with Richard set an example she didn’t want her sister imitating with Gregg, and yet the situation was inescapable. She must get Tori aside and talk to her, though. She couldn’t have Tori thinking the love affair had her approval.

For some time they strolled under heavily laden apple trees, one of the things for which the area was famous, then moved on to the rose gardens, bright with color and heavy with sweet scent, while all the time the glorious baroque tones of Vivaldi followed them. Elizabeth paused to marvel at a particularly deep red Mr. Lincoln, one of the most perfumed roses in the garden, just as the violin soared through a brilliant passage. She sighed. “This has to be what heaven’s like.”

Her remark set the stage but it was Richard’s that triggered the quoting duel among the four Shakespearean buffs: “Then ‘The will of heaven be done in this and all things!’
Henry VIII.”

“‘The will of heaven be done, and the king’s pleasure,’” Elizabeth followed with a laugh and a curtsey to Richard.

“‘Heaven has an end in all,’” Tori joined in. “But I don’t remember what it’s from.”

Elizabeth took another turn, “‘Heaven is above all yet; there sits a judge that no king can corrupt.’ Henry VIII again.”

There was an awkward silence in the game as they all looked at Gregg. “Er, well, all I can think of is Richard III, ‘march on, join bravely. . . if not to heaven, then hand in hand to hell.’”

Richard was quick not to let the atmosphere become too heavy, “Ah, but with Richard II, I say, ‘My comfort is that heaven will take our souls.’”

Gregg gave half a smile. “Okay. From
Winter’s Tale,
‘Do as the heavens have done, forget your evil; with them forgive yourself.’” He swallowed abruptly. “If only I could.” This time no one stepped into the silence. “Sorry about spoiling the game.” He turned away.

Tori started to follow, but Elizabeth laid her hand on her sister’s arm. “Let Richard.”

A vine-covered arbor with a small seat was only a few steps away. Richard’s voice was clearer, at least to Elizabeth’s ears, so she heard his questions, if not Gregg’s answers. “You know, Gregg, Shakespeare wasn’t preaching. He was just reflecting what was seen as Truth in his day. But literary or philosophical generalizations aren’t enough, are they? You were quite right to get personal. If the heavens have forgiven you, forgiving yourself is the next step.”

After a pause the musicians began the trilling arpeggios of Vivaldi’s “Autumn.” Elizabeth and Tori moved closer to the arbor, but Elizabeth still couldn’t make out Gregg’s reply. She turned to Victoria just in time to see a single tear trickle down her smooth cheek. Elizabeth took her sister’s hand. Inside the arbor, Richard continued. “You needn’t answer me on any of this, Gregg. It’s your own search. You’re the only person you have to satisfy. But ask yourself: would I rather live as if heaven were a reality or not? Think what your life would be like either way.

“Lewis, Muggeridge, Wilberforce, the people we were talking about the other day, were their lives the kind you would want to live before they found faith or afterward?”

Elizabeth tugged at Tori’s hand. “We really shouldn’t be listening, you know.”

Tori nodded and dabbed at her eyes. “I know.” She followed her sister with a dragging step. “It’s just that I care so desperately.”

Elizabeth led the way to a bench beside a bank of shiny, dark green rhododendron bushes. “That’s what has me so worried. Believe me, Tori, I do understand your attraction. He’s charming, brilliant, talented, handsome, fun—” Elizabeth didn’t go on. That was exactly the problem. A man who could get by on his charm, just skate along on the surface and break hearts along the way. He had done so before by his own testimony. He even admitted he was to blame. . .

“Yes, those things are all part of it. But it doesn’t really get at what he’s like inside. He’s so gentle. He’s been hurt so deeply. He needs me.”

“No!” Elizabeth’s response was so sharp Tori jumped. “You don’t even think of marrying anyone because he needs you, young lady. You find someone you can join with as two complete people—that will make one marriage. You don’t marry someone to change him or prop him up—that would only make half a marriage.”

Tori looked at her wide-eyed as if she were afraid to answer. Elizabeth took a breath. As long as she was into this, she might as well go ahead. “You’re going to hate me for saying this, Tori, but I may regret it the rest of my life if I don’t talk straight to you.

“I don’t think you know nearly enough about this man—but the part that really worries me is the part you do know: Number one, if you don’t share your faith you can’t really share your life on its deepest level. Number two, he’s an actor—a brilliant one—and that’s fine, but he’s already admitted that it was the theatre life that broke up his first marriage. You don’t want to go back into that. Which brings me to number three. I won’t go into the rights and wrongs of divorce, but it is a complication. Please think about it.”

Tori’s voice was barely above a whisper. “I know. I’ve thought of all that. But you see—I do love him.”

Elizabeth sighed. “I know. But I’m not done yet. There’s worse. You do realize, don’t you, that he may have killed Sally?”

Now it was Tori’s turn to shout, “No!” She jumped up, her hands over her face and began running.

“Whoa! Easy there.” Tori ran right into Gregg who wrapped his arms around her and held her until she was breathing calmly. As Elizabeth watched, a single thought struck her— that was the same tenderness and steadfastness with which Richard would have held her in similar circumstances. Surely such qualities must come from the same inner integrity. For Tori’s sake she desperately hoped that they did. She turned away and walked across the garden to Richard.

Gregg was the first to speak. “Richard and I are starving, how about you ladies?”

They all agreed readily and walked to a bright yellow and white Victorian house that had been turned into a cozy restaurant. They all ordered pocket sandwiches stuffed with white turkey meat and a variety of crisp vegetables served with tangy pickles.