Macdeath (An Ivy Meadows Mystery Book 1) (23 page)

CHAPTER 50

The Taste of Fears

I sprinted toward backstage. As I opened the door, a sea of black-clad techies almost knocked me over. One of them wolf whistled. “Nice underwear!”

“What’s going on?” I said, struggling against the current of burly men.

“Free beer in the parking lot,” said one of the guys who hauled the cauldron into the air every night. “Closing night present from Edward.”

I pushed my way through to backstage and stood for a moment, bouncing on my bare heels. Which way to go? Where would Genevieve take Cody?

I ran toward the hiding space where Jason and I and Jason and Genevieve had...

Empty.

I scrambled toward the loading dock, threw open the door and peered outside.

No one.

As I stopped to listen, I heard a clang—the ring of something against metal. But where was it coming from? The floor was wooden. The set, wooden.

Another clang, followed by a skidding sound. I hadn’t heard this noise before, not during the entire run of the show. Why not?

“An outstanding view of the stage don’t you agree?” Genevieve’s voice. From above me.

Hoping to hell I was wrong, I hid myself in a curtain and looked up. Genevieve and Cody stood on the metal catwalk that ran above the stage, a good thirty-five feet up. Cody was dressed for the theater, from his suit and ties down to his shined shoes. He took a step forward and the heel of his dress shoe rang against the metal. I realized I’d never heard the noise before because no one was foolish enough to wear hard-soled shoes on the catwalk. I suddenly remembered the skidding sound and thought I might be sick.

“We’re high,” said Cody. He walked slowly along the narrow catwalk, swaying from side to side. I choked down the vomit rising fast in my throat.

“Yes,” said Genevieve. “This castle hath a pleasant seat; the air Nimbly and sweetly recommends itself Unto our gentle senses.” She placed a hand on the small of his back.

I froze. She wouldn’t. Not Cody.

To get to them, I’d have to make it to the ladder, climb up and get out to the middle of the catwalk. No way. I couldn’t get up there in time to stop Genevieve from doing whatever she wanted.

“Isn’t it a nice view?” she said.

“Yeah.” Cody turned to her and nearly threw himself off balance. Genevieve steadied him with an arm.

I was wrong. Genevieve was just giving Cody an ill-advised tour. I could breathe again.

I had started to step out of the curtain when I heard, “It’s even better if you go out there.” I looked up. Genevieve gestured to an area out over the stage, away from the catwalk.

I melted back into the shadows.

“How?” said my dear gullible brother.

“Just shimmy out on this metal beam.” She pointed at a pipe that was part of the lighting grid. It wasn’t meant to be climbed on. This was no tour.

“Like this.” She threw one leg over the beam, as if straddling a horse. She dismounted. “Now you try.”

Cody got on and held on tight with his hands, his thighs pressed against the metal.

Do something, Ivy!

“Now move yourself out over the stage. It’s easy.”

He started to inch out. I ran toward the ladder to the catwalk, as quietly as possible. I didn’t know what I was going to do, but I couldn’t do nothing.

“Only look up clear,” said Genevieve. Her voice was so low I could barely hear her, but I recognized Lady Macbeth’s lines. “To alter favour ever is to fear: Leave all the rest to me.” Then louder, to Cody. “Don’t worry. I’m right behind you.”

She wasn’t.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Matt come through the backstage door, probably looking for Cody. Yes. Now I knew what to do. I caught Matt’s eyes. His mouth twisted in a puzzled smile (the underwear, probably), but I held a finger to my lips before he said anything. I waved him over to my spot by the ladder. When he was near, I pointed to Cody and Genevieve high above us. Matt swallowed visibly.

I put my lips right next to his ear and whispered quieter than I’d thought possible. “You climb up to the catwalk this way,” I pointed at the ladder. “I’ll go to the other side of the stage and distract Genevieve. Just get yourself in between her and Cody. Push her off if you have to.”

His eyes widened. “You think it’s that serious?”

“I think she’s a murderer.”

He nodded, set his jaw, and began to climb the iron rungs set into the concrete block wall of the theater.

I crept around the back of the set, trying not to think about Cody high above me. I made it to the stage left wings and looked up. Cody was nearly four feet out on the beam, facing away from the catwalk. Matt had reached the top rung of the ladder. I couldn’t see his face, but I could tell he was waiting for me. I entered stage left.

“The raven himself is hoarse That croaks the fatal entrance of Duncan Under my battlements,” said crazy Genevieve.

“Hey, Genevieve,” I yelled, waving at her. “So nice of you to give Cody a tour.”

Startled by the shout from down below, Cody whipped his head around. Off balance, his body leaned, too far, out into space. One of his arms shot out like he was a bronco rider trying desperately to stay on his mount. Shit! I hadn’t thought this through.

“Hold on, Cody,” I yelled. “With both hands. Both hands!”

He put both hands on the beams and steadied himself. He looked down at me. “You’re in your underwear.” I nearly smiled. He was okay. For now.

Genevieve had turned to watch Cody, but didn’t give any indication of seeing Matt, who had plastered himself against a shadow on the wall. “So,” I said loudly, to draw back her attention. “I wanted to tell you there’s no hard feelings about Jason.” She listened to my lie as Matt crept onto the catwalk. His Keds made no sound.

“Macbeth and I were destined to be together,” she said with a shrug. Not enough of a distraction: she started to turn back to Cody.

“Then what was up with Simon?” I said frantically. She turned back. “Was it leftover feelings, from when you were both in Flagstaff?”

“Flagstaff.” Genevieve looked out beyond the stage, as if she could see her past in the darkness. This might work.

“
A Midsummer Night’s Dream
?” I guessed, remembering the photo of Simon with the donkey ears. “When was that exactly?” I tried to channel Uncle Bob, get her talking.

“Ten...yes, ten years ago.” She stopped.

Damn. I tried again, with a more open-ended question. “What was it like?” Lame, but my mind was on other things, like Matt, who crept closer to Cody’s beam.

“God, what a summer.” She was Genevieve now, not Lady Macbeth. “Simon was beautiful and talented and famous. He had just won an Emmy for a TV production of
All’s Well
. He was our star.”

Cody spied Matt. He opened his mouth, but shut it again quickly when Matt gave him the quiet sign.

“He was your ‘star,’ too, right?” I had to keep her going.

“I was his fairy queen and he was my Bottom.” She drifted a few steps toward me along the metal walkway, keeping her eyes on the past. Behind her, Matt knelt on the catwalk, as close as he could to Cody. “Onstage he was rude, raunchy, and always grabbing at me. Offstage, he was charming, chivalrous, and always grabbing at me.” Genevieve’s voice grew dreamier. “The perfect man.”

Matt inched out so one knee was on the beam. He stretched one arm out like a wing for balance, and the other one toward Cody, touching his back with his fingertips.

Cody started to twist around, his body tilting toward the open air.

“No!” said Matt.

Genevieve turned to them. I held my breath.

“It’s okay, Cody. No need to turn around. You can feel my hand, right?” Matt ignored Genevieve, so Cody did too. “Just push yourself back toward me, okay?” Matt said. Cody nodded.

I couldn’t see Genevieve’s face well, but thought I saw her mouth purse in disappointment. She turned back to me and I definitely saw her raise an eyebrow as if to say, “Oh well.”

“But what happened?” I knew we weren’t in the clear yet, so I soldiered on. “What happened with Simon?”

“Alcohol clouded his judgment. When I learned he was sober, I thought we had a chance.” Her voice hardened. “He said it wasn’t the alcohol, though he did apologize for his behavior. ‘Making amends,’ he called it.”

I’m sorry I caused you pain
. Simon’s note. It had been written to Genevieve.

Clang! Cody was off the beam and onto the catwalk, his hard-soled shoes ringing as he and Matt walked quickly to the stage right ladder.

“Ah. I see,” said Genevieve, watching them. She walked leisurely toward the ladder on my side of the stage, seemingly unfazed by Matt and Cody’s escape.

They all climbed down slowly, large spiders on the concrete walls: Cody and Matt on one side of the stage, Genevieve on the other. Me, I was stuck in the middle, in an emotional web. I wanted to run to my baby brother and I wanted to get Genevieve, to make sure she went to jail for a long, long time.

I made a decision and ran toward Matt and Cody. “Get out,” I said in a stage whisper. I pointed to the closest exit, the loading dock. Matt would keep Cody safe.

“But—” said my brother, who had just reached the floor.

“It’ll be okay.” Matt jumped down. “Let’s go.” He grabbed Cody by the hand as they ran toward the door. “Olive knows what she’s doing.”

I ran back toward Genevieve, who was still picking her way down the ladder. I hoped Matt was right.

CHAPTER 51

The Sticking Place

Genevieve touched down and turned to me. She was still in costume, that skimpy red leotard, with her dagger slung from a jeweled belt around her hips. She gazed at me levelly, then flicked her eyes up and down my underwear-clad body. She smiled.

“So...” I began, not knowing where I was going next. I was afraid to confront her about Cody. I didn’t want her following him. I didn’t even want her thinking about him. And I needed a confession. I decided to try Uncle Bob’s buddy-buddy approach. “Simon. What a bastard, huh?”

No reaction, except for taking a few steps toward me.

“I can’t believe he dumped you.”

Her eyes turned cold.

“Twice,” I added. I couldn’t help myself.

Genevieve walked toward me, her eyes little black holes.

“I’d certainly feel like killing him,” I said.

Genevieve’s eyes got smaller than I’d thought possible. Something felt wrong. Was I out of my league?

“I’m not petty enough to kill Simon,” said Genevieve.

Shit. Did I have it wrong again?

“For revenge.” Genevieve continued her slow, spider-like advance toward me. “You are such a fool.”

All at once, I realized I was a fool, I was out of my league, and yes, something was very wrong. I remembered the techies rushing out to the parking lot in hopes of free beer: no witnesses backstage. I remembered that when I arrived onstage, Genevieve spoke the line about Duncan’s fatal entrance, the one Lady Macbeth says when the king walks into the Macbeths’ trap. And I realized Cody’s escape was too easy. Much too easy.

It was me she wanted.

“A morphine injection, right?” I wasn’t backing down.

“And a Rohypnol in his coffee so he wouldn’t struggle.” Genevieve drew nearer and nearer.

“But why?”

“I was protecting you,” said Genevieve.

My disbelief must’ve showed on my face, because she said, “It was obvious he was after you, that you’d have to go through the pain that I...” She swallowed and held her head high. “You should be grateful.”

Don’t say it, don’t say it, don’t say it.

I said it. “You’ve got to be kidding.” I clapped a hand over my mouth in case it wanted to say anything else stupid.

She advanced on me. “But of course, I mostly did it for Macbeth.”

My mouth managed to speak through my hand: “Huh?”

“Simon was stealing my dear husband’s thunder. Everyone talked about Simon, wrote about Simon, ‘the Shakespearean legend,’” she snorted. Her voice rose. “It was not his show. Duncan dies. The king dies! He dies early on so we can triumph—”

“But you don’t triumph.” I willed myself to stay put, to stand up to her, even though she was now just inches away. “You both end up dead in the play. You kill yourself.”

“No!” she roared in my face. I stumbled backward. Off balance, I fell onto the hard wooden stage.

“Not this time,” she continued, standing above me. “We win. I win.”

Unsheathing her dagger, she held it high above her head. This couldn’t be for real. She must be acting.

She began, “Come you spirits that tend on mortal thoughts...”

Lady Macbeth’s monologue. She was acting. Phew.

I stood up, brushed myself off, and headed stage right. In a second, I was down again, a bright light filling my head and pain like hot daggers stabbing through my leg. What the hell? I stared up at Genevieve, trying to piece together what had just happened.

“Unsex me...”

“Genevieve,” I yelled her name, trying to pull her back to reality. It seemed to work. She looked at me, clear-eyed. “What the hell was—”

“Martial arts training,” she said. “It’s turned out to be very useful. I just dislocated your knee.”

I tried to stand, but pain flashed red in my eyes as my leg gave out.

“I am sorry about this.” Genevieve raised the knife again, in a sacrificial goddess sort of way. “If you’d only known your place, stayed away from us. But no, you wormed your way into our world. Your knowledge seals your fate, as it did your kinsman’s.”

“So you did poison Uncle Bob.”

“Blood will have blood.”

“This won’t work.” I tried to think through the pain taking over my consciousness. “What happened to Simon looked like an accident, but this will look like—”

“Self defense,” she said, “once I put your prints on this dagger. You came at me like a crazy woman, I’ll say, when all I had done was give your brother a backstage tour. No one trusts you after your last wild accusation. They all think Simon’s death unhinged you. I’ll just confirm that belief.”

She closed her eyes for a moment. When she opened them, I swear her eyes had changed, that I could see some ancient darkness in them.

That I could see the curse of
Macbeth.

Genevieve took a deep breath and drew the knife across her breast, slicing open the thin material of her costume and the white skin underneath. Blood bloomed black against her red leotard. She dipped her dagger into it and stooped to reach me. “I’ll gild the faces of the grooms withal; for it must seem their guilt,” she said, smearing her blood on my face.

“Shit! Genevieve!”

“I’m not Genevieve,” she said in a calm voice as her blood dripped onto the stage. “I’m Lady Macbeth.”

I knew then that I couldn’t pull her back to the present. She had lost it. And I was dead. Hoping the pain was distracting her, I scooted backwards, pushing myself stage right. Ow. The passage to the greenroom was that way. Maybe I could yell loud enough to attract some attention. Matt must have told someone what was going on. Another scoot. Ow. Shit, my knee hurt. I couldn’t see anyone offstage, just the ropes and pulleys that anchored the flats and the cauldron in the fly space.

“Unsex me here...” Genevieve continued her monologue, slicing a bit of skin above her heart.

I managed another couple of scoots. Ow, ow, ow.

Genevieve stopped me with a stomp to my stomach. I gasped like a soon-to-be-gutted-with-a-jeweled-dagger fish out of water. You’d think all this action would’ve winded her, too, but no, she kept going, like someone possessed. Like Lady Macbeth.

“And fill me, from the crown to the toes, top-full of direst cruelty...” she intoned.

What would stop Lady Macbeth?

“Double, double, toil, and trouble.” I chanted the supposedly real spell.

Genevieve halted. Had it worked?

“Make thick my blood,” she said after a moment, her eyes still full of that terrifying darkness. “Stop up the access and passage to remorse...”

Hoping to buy some more time, I continued, “Fire burn and cauldron bubble...” Cauldron.
Cauldron.
I pushed past the pain, turned onto my good side and lunged toward the rope that held the cauldron high above the stage.

I yanked it, too late, just as Genevieve grabbed me by the hair. She dragged me back toward the stage and pulled me up, forcing my weight onto my knees. Pain. Oh God, I thought I was going to pass out. A black hole opened up in my vision. It loomed, big and dark behind Genevieve. The blackness got bigger and bigger and then, bam! It hit Genevieve, knocking her off her feet. She fell across me, unconscious, the dagger skittering out of her hand.

The black witches’ cauldron hung, swaying, inches above my head. I had released it from the flyspace. I hadn’t been too late.

“Ivy!” shouted a voice from somewhere behind me. Jason ran to me, and unceremoniously pushed the limp Genevieve off of me. He knelt down and cradled me in his arms, his breath in my ear. “You’re all right now.”

Relief flowed over me. I was all right, and Jason was here. Wait. “Aren’t you and Genevieve...”

“Shhh!” He shook his head and pulled my face to his chest, so I couldn’t speak. I did anyway. “How did you know I was here?” I mumbled into his chest, then managed to push my face away. “And what took you so long? Where were you?”

Edward appeared from the shadows, brushing invisible dirt from the knees of his pants. “We were in the...ahh...area,” said Edward.

Everything clicked into place: Jason’s mysterious absences, his reluctance to make our relationship public, his evasion regarding his whereabouts on opening night—and the fact that his zipper was only halfway up. I looked at him. He wouldn’t meet my eyes but at least had the good grace to blush.

“Omigod,” I said. “You’re not an introverted actor. You’re gay.”

“Bisexual,” Jason said.

“This is what you’ve been trying to hide from me? You let me wonder if you’d murdered someone just because
you’re gay
?”

“
Bisexual
. And this is my career, Ivy. I’m a leading man.”

“Hello? This is the theater,” I said.

“And there’s my dad.” Jason swallowed.

“Wait.” My adrenaline rush over, my brain returned along with the pain. I gritted my teeth. “Were you ‘in the area’ when Genevieve attacked me? Nearly killed me? And you’re just showing up now?”

“They don’t use that one spot between the flats any longer,” said Linda, emerging from the shadows. “They were probably in the techie bathroom. Hard to hear from in there. Especially when you’re concentrating on, ah, something else.”

The two men stared at her. “I’m a stage manager,” she said. “It’s my business to know your business.” Linda kneeled down beside me. “But I should have been paying attention to
your
business, Ivy. Should have known something was up before your brother and his friend came flying through the stage door. I’m sorry. I knew something wasn’t right, but I couldn’t put all the pieces together. It took a good detective to do that.”

A good detective. My uncle would be proud.