Cornucopia (2 page)

Alex was distracted by his current project—some bank manager had fled to Switzerland taking several pension funds with him—but he resurfaced long enough to enjoy dinner and to listen to my story about the falling scenery. He had taken an interest in the play when asked by the drama coach to design a webpage for the project. Usually Alex does just-the-facts kind of web design for business friends, but on this occasion he had gone all out with the spooky effects, like lightning and blood seeping out of the stones of the castle, and the page had reached cult status with the kids in town.

“But no one was hurt?”

“No. It was a near thing though. I don’t think it could have killed anyone, but it could have led to concussions or even some broken bones. The canvas isn’t heavy but the frame is.”

“You’re sure the rope just came untied?”

“Well, it wasn’t cut, and the cleat thing hadn’t torn loose or anything.”

“Hmm,” he said, and I could see I was losing him to the pension funds. “Good spaghetti. Did you add something new?”

“Scale of dragon and tooth of wolf,” I said, checking my theory.

“Well, it was great. I better get back to work. It’s almost morning in Europe.”

“Okay. Love you.” I would get his attention with cookies later.

“Love you too,” he said, giving me a quick kiss and heading for his office.

The play had taken so much time that I hadn’t given any thought to what jack-o’-lantern designs I wanted to try. Usually I like faces, but I had seen a pumpkin in a magazine carved in an elaborate rope pattern and decided that I would attempt something runic. I fetched one of my art books and grabbed one of the Full Moon pumpkins I had kept back and started penning in a design.

Long ago I had learned that coping saw blades work better than kitchen knives when it comes to making subtle curves in the harder-fleshed squashes. I break the blade into about thirds and then duct-tape one end to make a kind of handle.

After setting aside some of the seed, which I had washed and left to dry in a natural-color coffee filter (the white filters have been bleached with a chemical that can harm seeds), I reached into the small opening in the bottom of the pumpkin and began scraping with the sharp edge of a measuring cup. This is where many people go wrong. They don’t spend the time making sure to remove all the strings and slimy goop that will catch fire and rot. Scorched pumpkin smells great but it doesn’t look especially good.

Jacky and I had a bumper crop of pumpkins this year. Of course, we always do. My grandmother had often said that gardens need love as much as fertilizer and our pumpkin patch got plenty of both. Jacky also helped with keeping the peace along the border. We had to fight off bindweed incursions from the neighbor’s yard. Those ropey jackals of the plant kingdom travel in packs, attacking anything that is slower growing and even strangling the fruit right off the vine if they are allowed to catch hold when the blossoms are young.

The cats were curious about my activity, though they have seen me carving pumpkins plenty of times before. They watched intently from the back of the sofa as I scraped and sawed, but refused to play with the seed I tossed on the floor.

Around seven there was a scratch at the door and Blue ambled over, where she stood with tail wagging.

The
Jeffersons
were fairly new neighbors from two doors down and they had a two-year-old child, and a half-witted retriever named Harlow whom they took for a walk every night after dinner. Harlow was fond of Blue and liked to stop in for a quick sniff and a cookie snack while either Ted or Janie Jefferson waited politely on the sidewalk. I am not quite sure how this nightly visitation got started, but Janie had told me that Harlow has sat on the porch and howled until forcibly dragged away on nights when we weren’t home, so in the interest of neighborly goodwill and the cats’ peace of mind, I make sure to leave out a cookie even when we are away.

Blue likes Harlow and loves cookies so she is all for this evening ritual. The cats are less enthused with the canine company. In fact, it would be safe to say that Aphrodite is categorically unenthused about Harlow’s visits and Apollo always does his best to follow her lead since he knows quite well who is the brains in their partnership. If she hisses, he hisses, though with much less sincerity.

Alex, hearing the nightly feline heckles of protest from the non-dog children, came out of his office and also began looking for cookies and pets. I live in a house filled with creatures of habit.

The night was clear and cold, the stars brilliant enough to show up the moon, and there was just enough wind to rustle the leaves along the street in a furtive manner. The half-moon was bright enough to make the fence throw out a sharp shadow.

I waved to Ted and gave Harlow a pat with my forearm since my hands were sticky with pumpkin, which did not in any way detract from the deliciousness of her duck and sweet potato cookie. By the time I had shut the door on our nightly visitor I was ready for a fire, Alex, and a cup of tea.

“Great jack-o’-lantern,” Alex said through a mouthful of pumpkin cookie.

“Those cookies will be even better with some ginger-peach tea.”

Delbert
Biggers
had not taken his ouster as drama coach with grace and dignity. In fact, one could get burned by the sparks flying off the ax he was grinding and people had taken to avoiding him. Unfortunately he was in line ahead of me at Daddy’s Donuts so there was nothing to do but wait for his tirade to end or abandon all hope of an apple fritter and decent coffee.

I had never understood why he was so popular with the parents. He was supercilious, a wizened gnome colored an unhealthy shade of old walnuts with a fringe of white hair that began behind his earlobes and straggled down his neck. He had a lovely voice, but tended to quote Restoration-era poets and sneered at his students whenever they questioned any decision or direction he gave them. The kids called him a jerk—usually with some grammatically questionable adjectives and adverbs tacked on.

Daddy finally had to be directly rude to the drama coach and once reminded of the long line behind him,
Biggers
grudgingly stepped aside. I was careful not to meet his eye as I placed my order though I could feel his hard stare and smell the stale pipe smoke that clung to his jacket while I waited.

It was also odd to see him wearing loafers. Usually he favored cowboy boots.

Armed with sugar, fat, and caffeine, Blue and I were at last ready to start the day. We wasted no time lingering in the vicinity of the aggrieved coach.

Since the sun was out I had taken my bike with the sidecar to work. The nice days were on the wane and soon the weather would be bad enough that I would have to leave Blue at home with Alex. She loves going with me, but the cold bothers her joints and there is little shelter in my official vehicle which is really just an electric golf cart.

I gave out few tickets that day. It was a Wednesday so we had few visitors. There would be more on Friday when the Halloween festivities were being held, but since we like tourists, only the most blatant of offenders would be written up for parking violations.

Blue and I lunched in Courthouse Park, enjoying the final fall of the leaves from the nearly bare trees. This is a wonderful time of year. The weather is crisp but not brutally cold, the colors are rich, and I love the smell of the wood fires which begin to appear both in fireplaces and in people’s yards as they burn up their piles of leaves and trimmings leftover from tidying their backyards.

The houses are also decorated, some lavishly, some not, but nearly all have at least one restrained token of the season, a pumpkin on the porch or some Indian corn hung on the door in place of the summer wreaths.

Around three I traded in my official vehicle for my bike and Blue and I headed for the auditorium.

I rode past the church and waved at Father
McIlhenny
but didn’t stop. He would want me to step inside to see the latest renovations, and since it is rude to drop into God’s house and not say a few words to your host, and the father was a grand-champion prayer once he got going, I knew I could end up being there for quite some time. I would stop in after Halloween. For the time being,
Birnam
wood waited.

Rehearsal was underway when I arrived. Lady Macbeth was pacing the stage while the doctor and lady-in-waiting looked on in horror.

Wash your hands, put on your nightgown;

look
not so pale.—I tell you yet again,
Banquo’s

buried
; he cannot come out
on's
grave.

I shuddered. This really was a creepy play and
Wallander’s
casting, while a bit odd, was turning out to be effective.

Mom and Aunt Dot were there doing final fittings of costumes. I suspect that it was less because anything needed alteration than that they were also very taken with the play.

I got down to business on the
Birnam
wood set and made myself pay more attention to my painting, but ended up distracted by bits of dust and debris falling down into my paints while I was working. Annoyed, I looked overhead to see what was causing the drifting detritus. Nothing obvious was there except part of the catwalk which swayed slightly as the next scene’s canvas was lowered from its lofty storage place.

A minute later when an exceptionally large bit of dark leaf fell in my sienna red I got up and went to find a broom. I couldn’t imagine how so much dirt had gotten up on the catwalk, unless someone completely thoughtless had gone up there with dirty shoes, but I was going to clean up.

I’m not great with heights, but I was managing fine by not allowing myself to peer past the boards of the narrow walkway, which were covered in muddy shoe prints which were slightly blurred but not so unclear that I couldn’t see that the toe was pointed and that the shoe or boot had a thick heel. There were also some piles of ash, like someone had been standing up there smoking.
Only not cigarettes.
It was pipe ash.

The two things taken together made me think of Coach
Biggers
, but it seemed unlikely that he would have been monitoring the play. It would have been an act of masochism which wasn’t in character;
Biggers
enjoyed torturing others, but not
himself
. And someone would have mentioned seeing him since we all had to come and go through the front hall. The side doors were locked because of the wet canvases being kept in the wings. Two sets had been ruined by careless students, so for the time being, everyone came and went by the main arch guarded by the cement lions.

Putting the matter out of mind, I finished sweeping up the mess and then started for the ladder. I hadn’t set foot on the rungs when I saw Mr.
Wallander
go dashing by. Stage lighting can do funny things to the complexion but he looked absolutely green and the noises I heard from the small bathroom a moment later confirmed that he was very sick indeed.

“Oh dear,” Mom said. “I hope it isn’t flu.”

The kids were also looking worried.

The coach reappeared a couple minutes later, looking shaken but less pale, and Mom thoughtfully offered him a bottle of water.

“It’s better than coffee,” she murmured.

“Thank you.” His voice was weak.

I could hear
Banquo
whisper to Lady Macbeth: “This play is supposed to be cursed, you know.”

“Not cursed,” I corrected, turning my head. “Just bad luck to anyone who says the name aloud. It’s why everyone calls it
the Scottish play
.”

“Yeah?
Well, I guess someone said something, ’cause this is two bad things that have happened.”

So it was, and I didn’t want for there to be a third.

My instincts were aroused and I went quickly to his desk, which had been pulled to far stage left where it was sitting half-hidden by the curtains. I saw a half-drunk cup of coffee and some of the same dirt and leaf mold on the desk. It would have been a remarkable trick to have managed to drop something into the cup from the catwalk, but there was
a sheen
of something oily on the surface. Not stopping to question my reasons for acting, or what the Chief might say when I requested some tests run on the beverage, I picked up the cup and then went to fetch my things.

“Come on, Blue,” I said. “We have
work
to do.”

Birnam
wood would have to wait. I wanted to find out what kind of emetic had been slipped into Thomas
Wallander’s
coffee.