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Authors: Victoria Hamilton

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“Look East” was sweet, threaded through with Sonora’s lovely voice as Pamina, who is saved from suicide by their hopeful refrain. It earned them a standing ovation from at least some of the crowd. Okay, so it was Hannah’s parents and grandparents, along with Emerald and Lizzie’s schoolmates, who gave the standing O, but it was no less touching for that. Hannah turned her wheelchair and with Alcina and Lizzie did a little bow at the end as Pamina began her next part.

And then there was Janice Grover’s turn as Queen of the Night. What can I say about it that is accurate but not cruel? Her aria is a pivotal moment in the story, when all comes to a head. It kind of did, only not in the way anyone could hope. I have a feeling she rehearsed her part so much that she damaged her vocal cords, which resulted in a screeching, squawking, sad attempt at the climax of the aria. I was
literally on the edge of my seat, gripping so hard my fingers hurt, I felt so bad for my friend, who struggled gallantly not giving up. This time besides the laughter there was heckling, which I would have understood among the children in the audience but was unforgivable from the adults. The worst among them were my guests in the front of the audience.

When the laughter died, as Janice coughed and struggled on with the singing, Cleta’s voice rang out, as she said, “Now I know what a hippo would sound like singing
opera.”

Chapter Seven

J
ANICE STOPPED ABRUPTLY,
no doubt having heard the woman. Simon Grover, sitting just behind Cleta, struggled to his feet and looked down on her. “Madam, you have insulted my wife. Not by your cruel remark, which, from what I have heard about you is merely the nastiness that you constantly spew, but by interrupting her heartfelt performance. Please keep your mouth shut and let her finish.”

In a movie this would have been followed by a slow clap, swelling into thunderous approval. All he got was a few smiles and murmurs of assent. However, when I looked at Janice, standing in front of the curtains, hands clasped to her generous bosom, gratitude shone in her eyes. I felt shivers down my arms and tears prickled behind my lids. She relentlessly made fun of her husband, but in that one act of gallantry, unexpected as it was, I thought he had gained enough hubby points for a lifetime of devotion. It was one of those moments when I was grateful to know them all and to be a part of their community.

Cleta turned and gave him a loud raspberry, spoiling the moment. Any remark I made would just prolong the moment, so I stayed silent. Janice soldiered on and the opera stumbled and staggered to an end. Papageno and Papagena were united, as were Pamina and Tamino, and all was well in the operatic world.

We adjourned to the ballroom, which I had hastily turned into a kind of reception room once I realized there would be far more folks attending than I had anticipated. A long table held a couple of punch bowls, one with a wine punch and the other containing fruit punch. Pish had purchased a couple of cases of inexpensive champagne-type wine, bubbly and cheerful, which had been chilled just right. We served sparkling cider to those who abstained and to the kids.

Juniper circulated with trays of goodies. It had been several months since the party in October that went so horribly wrong, but I still kept a close eye on everything. No smoking pit debacle this time, and nobody who hadn’t been invited. I drifted from group to group, listening to conversations.

Lush, Pish, and his friend Stoddart were sitting with Hannah. “Merry, darling, there you are!” Pish said, grabbing my hand and pulling me down to sit in the chair next to him. “You must tell this angelic creature that she should sing again. I want Hannah to become a permanent member of the Autumn Vale Community Players, but she resists.”

She stared at me, alarmed. “I’m not a singer. I thought I was going to faint and then when people applauded I didn’t know if I wanted to smile or hide!”

“Darling child, the inimitable Barbra
herself
has
awful
stage fright,” he declared, in full Pish mode. When he spoke in italics I knew he was excited and pleased. Stoddart looked on, an amused and indulgent smile on his lips. “
Barbra
, of all people!” Pish continued. “You know, I was at the concert in Central Park in sixty-seven when she forgot the words. Poor dear girl.”

Hannah looked blank, and I wanted to laugh. “Barbra Streisand,” I murmured to her, and her clouded expression cleared as understanding dawned. “She famously forgot the words to a song at a concert in Central Park in 1967 and got stage fright from the experience.”

“I’ve heard Adele is afraid onstage, too,” Hannah said.

It was Pish’s turn to look puzzled, and I offered, “You know, the English girl who you thought sounded a little like Dusty Springfield. She did ‘Skyfall,’ one of the more recent Bond songs.” Now his clouded expression cleared. I felt like a generation gap bridge. I stood. “I have to circulate,” I said as Hannah’s parents and grandparents approached. Her grandmother sat in my vacated chair and proceeded to clutch Pish’s sleeve as she spoke earnestly about what sounded like the beginning of a long list of every opera performance she had seen in her life.

The Legion, minus Lush, was sitting in a line along one wall, presenting a solid front of disapproval at the influx of townies. Vanessa, who introduced herself as a countess whenever she had the chance, kept her chin up and used the professional glazed look I had seen on some stars who wished to appear aloof and mysterious. It must be left over from her days as a noir film actress, I thought, though she hadn’t been in a film in many years.

Barbara Beakman, a sour look on
her
face, glanced around the room, then whispered to Patsy, who sat next to her. Juniper brought a tray to them and leaned over, letting them see the selection. Barbara picked up one item, took a bite, and then threw it back down on the tray, making a choking motion and clutching her throat. I darted over, only to have her stop just then with a malicious sneer on her face.

Juniper’s face was red. “That was so fricking
rude
, you old buzzard—”

“How is everyone?” I asked, interrupting an outburst that I knew was going to be far worse than calling Barbara a
buzzard. I snatched the tray from Juniper. There was a disgusting lump of half-chewed something on the tray, and I tamped down fury at the woman’s over-the-top theatrics.

“We’d be better if you didn’t try to feed us junk like that!” Mrs. Beakman stated. “It was spicy. You ought to know better than to feed old people spicy foods. You trying to poison us?”

Her loud voice carried even over Pish’s music selection for the evening, a medley of light opera playing on the sound system. Some folks were beginning to take notice. “Not yet,” I muttered under my breath, before saying more loudly, “Of course not, Mrs. Beakman. How about I get you a digestive biscuit or scone? Nice and bland. Perfect for a
delicate
constitution such as your own.”

If she suspected sarcasm, she didn’t show it. “I’m not hungry,” she said, folding her arms over her stomach, under her shelf of bosom.

Juniper, still trembling with anger, said, “Then why did you take—”

“Why don’t you take that tray to the kitchen, dump it, and bring out fresh food,” I said, widening my eyes and glaring at her, pushing the tray back into her hands. “Binny’s in there; she can help.”

Cleta, seated next to Barbara on the other side, was watching the whole scene with amusement. As Juniper retreated mumbling under her breath, a spark of fury lit in my stomach. I was tired of bending over backward for this crew, so I straightened, took a deep breath and said, “Miss Sanson, I have to ask: why did you feel it necessary to insult one of the singers so viciously?”

“I don’t think it is vicious to merely point out the truth.”

Ah, yes, the fallback for every tactless, rude, spiteful person on earth.
But I was just being honest!
A few people gathered, but I didn’t care. I was angry at Barbara for her disgusting little charade, but
more
angry at Cleta for what she had said to my friend Janice, who had been nothing but
kind and welcoming to me in Autumn Vale. I took a deep breath; to speak, or not to speak?

I glanced across the room to where Janice was sitting with Simon. He was holding her hand as they spoke to another townie who sat with them. It seemed that Cleta’s awful behavior had strengthened a marriage that I knew had gone though some severe tests lately. But just because flowers will grow in poop, doesn’t make the poop any more fragrant. My anger had gone cold. I stared down at the woman, who I could tell was waiting with glee for my answer. I had a revelation in that moment; she thrived on the fury she created in others, feeding on it, gloating over it. She indeed
was
of the reptilian/human race that feeds on fear and negativity.

“It’s really sad that you think you were being honest. You weren’t. There was nothing honest in what you said. It was an opinion, and you’re entitled to that, but it was an opinion born of spite and hate. What you said told every single person here more about
you
than it did about Janice.” I turned, walked away, and enjoyed the rest of the evening talking to folks who really mattered to me.

A few days passed. I ignored Cleta and Barbara and the rest, though I made sure they had everything their little hearts desired. In fact, I was considering throwing them
all
out, except for Lush, but to prevent legal entanglements I figured I’d better let them stay the extra month they had all paid for in advance. Cleta would be just the type to sue me, and I certainly could not afford that, while she had buckets of money to blow on lawyers. They all did, and four lawsuits would break my spirit as well as the bank. I had been careful to carry enough liability insurance to cover any accidents that might befall my guests, and I would be careful to follow every legality for the same reason, fear of rich people’s lawyers.

Priorities reasserted themselves. Something was bugging Shilo, but she insisted there was nothing wrong between her and Jack.

“I love him so much,” she said as she helped me with dinner preparations one day. “I just feel like . . . I keep waiting for the other shoe to drop, you know? Like when is he going to figure out I’m not right for him?”

I reassured her that she was perfect for Jack, who adored her, and she seemed a little better.

I had already planned a cards-and-tea afternoon for my ladies and folks from Gogi’s retirement home. I considered canceling, knowing that the Legion was bound to make some trouble, but when I talked to Gogi about it she urged me to go ahead and not let the Legion spoil the
fun
. Yes, she said
fun
. It would be a send-off, I told my friend, because I would only have to deal with them all for another couple of weeks. I wasn’t going to tell them they were leaving until
after
the cards afternoon; the last thing I needed was the Legion in a snit.

You may be wondering, by now, what was going on with Lauda. She was still in town, that much I knew, but she had stayed under the radar and hadn’t bothered us. I kind of forgot about her; however, I did hear of one very odd occurrence.

The day that Cleta offended half the town and tried to have Isadore charged with harassment, Gordy and Zeke, my intrepid handyfellows, were hanging around outside of Binny’s Bakery. They share an apartment upstairs from the bakery, so that isn’t odd itself, but what they saw was.

Cleta wobbled past them down the street. As polite as Gordy always is, he offered to guide her to wherever she wanted to go. He was worried enough that even though she told him to buzz off—Zeke claimed she said something even ruder—he followed her without her noticing. He said she looked lost, glancing around as if she was looking for something.

Or some
one
, as it turned out.

Not surprisingly everyone in Autumn Vale knew Lauda
to see her, and he saw Cleta and her niece in earnest conversation. Given the kerfuffle at the castle, it was such a bewildering sight that he crept closer and hid behind a garbage bin. She apparently was telling Lauda off in no uncertain terms and yelled that as of that moment, Lauda was no longer in her will.

Cleta then stormed off,
stormed
being a relative term, I suppose, for an eighty-year-old woman with health issues. Lauda did not follow, as far as Gordy saw. It was after that that Cleta had the run-in with Isadore.
Did anything change hands?
I asked, remembering the money she had purportedly drawn out of the bank, any envelope or papers? Gordy didn’t see anything like that but couldn’t swear it hadn’t happened. It was none of my business, I figured, and they’d all be out of my hair soon enough.

In planning the cards-and-tea afternoon, there was one thorny issue that I had to consult Pish about, and that was Isadore. On the one hand, she appeared to depend on our invitations and Pish’s attempts at befriending her for what contact she had with society, apart from Helen Johnson and Hannah. However, there was the matter of her run-in with Cleta to worry about.

“I’ll take charge of her,” Pish said. “You can seat her with Hannah. They’ll only play Crazy Eights, or something like that, not bridge or cribbage like the other ladies will want.”

I agreed and issued the invitation. I respected how Isadore helped at the library for no money, and her stalwart refusal to give up. Anyone who stood up for Hannah was aces in my book.

The luncheon-and-cards day arrived. We had decided on a Sunday afternoon, the timing long enough after church for those who went to services. Zeke was at the castle without his usual partner, Gordy, who was working for his uncle on the farm. Planting season meant a lot of work for locals and imported workers, seven days a week while the
fields were dry. Zeke would normally have been working at Gordy’s uncle’s farm, too, but had taken the day to help me. I appreciated it. I think his motivation truly was Hannah; he took excellent care to help her parents get her mobility wheelchair out of the van and into the castle via the pantry hall, the only accessible door. Hannah’s parents drove off to go shopping. They’d be back between three and four to pick up their daughter. Zeke headed back outside to work on some of the gardening I was trying to get done.

Jack had insisted on attending, and I was afraid it was because he had heard how Cleta had mistreated Shilo. In fact, I now had Juniper taking care of her room, because Cleta, oddly enough, had some respect for Juniper, who had told Barbara where to get off. Also, Juniper was a manic perfectionist when it came to cleaning, so Cleta’s obsessive need to have her towels perfect and bathroom spotless found a soul mate in Juniper’s obsessive need to clean and tidy every surface.

BOOK: Death of an English Muffin
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