Foul Deeds: A Rosalind Mystery (29 page)

“So. The day after tomorrow we'll talk to her again. Friday morning?” Arbuckle said. “In the meantime, I'm going to have another go at Spiegle.”

As everyone was making their way out of the station, I turned to the detective, “May I observe your next interview with Spiegle?”

“I was hoping you would.”

It was Wednesday, the night of the first
Hamlet
preview. I was obsessing over the interviews and the evidence, but I wanted Sophie to know I was thinking about her. I called her before I left work to see if she felt ready.

“Oh, definitely. Time for an audience. I'm up for it.”

“I'll be there,” I said. “I don't know how much use I'll be at this point. Everyone has so much to think about and remember.”

“Well, if you've got any acting or text notes for me, I'll be happy to get them afterwards, and I'm sure that goes for the others as well, Roz. I'm thrilled that you're coming tonight.”

“How are the lights?”

“Margot's still working like a demon, but it's coming.”

We talked about Margot's determination to do a good job, and Sophie told me she'd had to put in a couple of all-nighters, but I realized this aspect of the production was not something Sophie needed to be worrying about at this point.

“Well, I can't wait. I'll see you soon,” I said.

I left the office and walked along Barrington, towards home, reviewing in my mind the interviews with Greta. It was so difficult to tell whether she was completely in control or in genuine denial about Carl's presence in her life. We didn't know with absolute certainty it had been Spiegle that her father had brought home. But the coincidence of him being from Zurich and the apparent involvement between them that McBride had witnessed at the King house pointed to this. And the previous day Carl had acknowledged that he knew her when they were kids. I was standing at Barrington and Duke ruminating, waiting for the light, when I heard a familiar beep.

It was McBride, coming up Duke Street in Ruby Sube. He turned the corner and stopped in front of the Delta Barrington to wait for me as I crossed the street. I bent down and looked in the passenger window.

“Hop in, I'll take you up the hill.” He took several items off the passenger seat and put them on the floor in the back.

“Good,” I said, getting into the car. “I'm exhausted. I think I'm getting a sore throat and I have to get to the preview soon.” I looked in the back seat. McBride's characteristic debris was everywhere, but there was no dog. “Where's Molly?”

“Probably sitting at the door waiting for me to come home and take her for a walk. How's work?”

“The interviews have begun. It's slow going. No revelations yet, except for the rosehip tonic. Greta revealed that she made some the day Peter died and I think it's relevant, somehow. She's still not talking about Carl, but don't worry, I'll let you know when there's a breakthrough. Where were you?” I said, digging in my bag for a throat lozenge.

“Crikey, I just spent two hours in the passport office.” The light changed and he turned up Cogswell towards Brunswick.

“Why…what are you, a masochist?”

“Well, my passport's expired. I have to get it renewed.”

“What for? Are you planning on going somewhere?”

“Well, yes.”

“Where?”

“Well…can you keep this to yourself?”

“Duh. You know me.”

“Sophie and I are getting hitched.”

I stopped digging in my purse and looked at him with my mouth open. I was having trouble breathing. “What?”

“Yeah.”

“No, you're not.”

“Yeah, we are. On the Solstice. The night
Hamlet
closes.”

“What? No, you're not. That's ridiculous! It's crazy!”

“No, it's not ridiculous. It's great. It's a great, wonderful thing. We're getting married at midnight and the next morning we're blowing this popstand and going to Cuba for two weeks.”

“McBride! For heaven's sake!”

“Roz. Why are you crying?”

“I'm not—I'm—why are you telling me this! What am I supposed to do with this information! God, McBride, you're so…distracting! I've got a lot on my mind right now, you know. Stop laughing at me. It's not funny.”

“Sorry. It's just not quite the response I expected. Here's your house.”

“Thanks for the ride.” I opened the door, still blubbering.

“See you at the opening. Wait! Don't forget your bag.”

He drove away and I stood on the doorstep blowing my nose. I was completely overcome with emotion. What an idiot I am!

It took me forever to find my keys but when I finally let myself into the house, I put down my bag and went immediately to the hall phone and dialed McBride's number, hoping he wouldn't be in his door yet. I left a message.

“It's me. God! Sorry about all that. I must be really messed up. I was just so overcome with…anyway…enough about me. Congratulations McBride!”

I hung up, went into the kitchen and reached up into the cupboard for the last of the Scotch. I poured the shot into a little glass. “Here's looking at you, kid,” I said to the cat as I knocked the drink back.

The preview ended at 10:40. Not a bad length for
Hamlet
, I thought. The show had grown enormously. There were a few line confusions, but for the most part the text was solid and clear. The entrances and exits still needed more alacrity—both actors and technical cues. But that would come with practice. The preview audience had responded warmly, and I was sure that was what the cast had really needed—the opportunity to have someone there to tell the story to.

I walked over to Michael's little tucked-away stage-management table from which he called all the sound and light cues.

“Everything's good, Michael,” I said. “The lights are going to be fine. The music's fantastic and the costumes are beautiful.”

“Was I quiet enough calling the cues? Could you hear me?”

“No, I didn't hear a thing. You were really quiet and your timing on the cues is good too. I can't believe how much you've all done since I saw it on Friday.”

“Oh, I know. They've worked hard. So this must be strange for you Roz—your work on
Hamlet
is done. Do you feel good about it?”

“I feel great, but you're right—I'm really going to miss the rehearsals.”

“Well, I wanted to talk to you about something.” He explained to me that they were forming another independent co-op in the new year to produce Sam Shepard's
Fool for Love
. “Sophie's going to be in it…so we want you to come on board to help us out with that.”

“Are you serious? I'm definitely interested. I'll take a look at it.”

“I have a copy right here. Why don't you borrow it?” As he reached into his knapsack to get the play, I could tell that he was pleased and excited.

“Thanks, Michael. I'll get it back to you as soon as I read it.”

”You'll love it. And it's a lot shorter than
Hamlet
,” he said laughing. “Oops, I'd better get backstage and give them tomorrow's call before they all disappear.”

“I'll come backstage with you.”

“You're off and running!” I said to everyone. “It's powerful—and beautiful. Shakespeare would be proud.” I gave Tom a much-deserved hug. “I even cried.”

“You always cry, Roz. I've seen you cry in rehearsal,” George said, putting his arms around the two of us.

“I do? I always think of myself as being tough and cynical.”

“Are you kidding?” George said. “We know you're a total softie.”

“Even you got to me, George, with your perfectly delivered ‘flights of angels' line.”

“Really?” He looked chuffed.

Sophie came out of the little curtained area they had improvised into a separate dressing room for the two women in the cast.

“Oh my god,” she said. “It was just so good to have an audience. It's like you start hearing the play in a completely new way. You can feel it landing on people.”

“And that will get even stronger,” I said. “It's amazing how much the audience teaches you about the play, isn't it?”

Sophie looked at me. “Are you okay?”

“Why?”

“I don't know. You look…like something's on your mind. Is it an acting note?”

“No no, not at all. It's all there, Sophie. It's great work.”

“Well, what then?”

“What are you doing—are you going out?”

“God no. No going out until after it's open. But tea, maybe. Do you want to come back for a chai?”

“Perfect.”

We got into Old Solid and talked about the performance all the way across town to the North End. As we were walking upstairs to Sophie's apartment, I realized I hadn't been there since the day she was abducted.

“How's your place?” I said.

“You'll see. It's pretty much back in order.”

“Yeah, McBride mentioned he was coming over the other night to help you put the bed together.”

“I know. The bed frame was actually in pieces. It was crazy.” She opened the door.

The apartment had been restored to its familiar Bohemian
charm.

“I'll put the kettle on.”

“So, how are you, Sophie? Are you going through feelings of violation or side effects from everything that happened to you?” I said, watching her and leaning on her kitchen door.

“I've been so distracted by
Hamlet
, I haven't had time to dwell on it. I mean, you hear about trauma and things coming back on people for years. I hope that doesn't happen. Once was enough.” She poured the water over the tea and the familiar spicy aroma filled the kitchen.

“So,” I said.

“So?”

“Do you have some news for me?” I observed her closely as she took her attention away from the tea things and looked up at me with a little grin. She raised her eyebrows.

“He told you.”

“Yup—earlier today.”

Now she was beaming. “So what do you think?”

“I seem to recall warning you about this very thing not so long ago.”

“Listen Roz, I took that warning seriously. And I'm not going into this lightly. But with everything that just happened—me thinking I was going to die down there in that freezing excavation site, and then really seeing what a good guy McBride is, discovering how much we cared about each other…We're bonded. It's really happening. Suddenly life is short, my eyes are open—and this feels right.”

“When McBride told me today, I was really taken by surprise—shocked actually. I thought maybe it was a little impulsive. I care about you Sophie and I don't want you to get hurt, or disillusioned. But you know what? Everything you've just said makes sense. So, I'm there, I'm with you, and you're right—life is short. So congrats!” I hugged her and actually managed to refrain from crying.

As we clinked our teacups in a toast she said, “Keep it under wraps. We're going to announce it at the opening night party and completely surprise everyone!” She got that familiar mischievous look on her face and rubbed her hands together in anticipation of telling everyone. I told myself I would get used to the idea, and resolved to keep any reservations to myself. Who was I to spoil their happiness? Besides, they were grown-ups. I changed the subject.

“So Michael told me about this
Fool for Love
idea. What's that all about?”

“Oh it's such a cool play, Roz. It's about these two completely obsessed lovers, May and Eddie, who are actually half-brother and sister. I would play May, who is determined to start a new life on her own. But Eddie always tracks her down. And their father, the Old Man, is ever-present, but he's really a ghost.”

“Not another ghost!” I said.

“—
and then May's date, Martin, arrives and it all gets pretty crazy and pretty funny too. The whole thing takes place in a motel room in the Mojave Desert and we're thinking about doing it in this little storefront on Agricola Street, so the audience is kind of compressed into the motel room with them. And you'll love the language—gorgeous writing. It's very mythic too—brother and sister—like Isis and Osiris. Symbols. Magic realism. Passion, fire, horses—lots to think about. So there you go! Will you do it? Maybe you could actually direct it, rather than just working on the text.”

“You think?”

“I think you'd be a wonderful director, and we'll really need one.”

“I'll think about it Sophie—that would be amazing.”

I didn't stay any longer. I was exhausted and I knew that Sophie always tried to get to bed early when she was performing. I was exhilarated by this notion of working on
Fool for Love
, possibly as a director, and was thinking about Sophie's description of the play as I drove home. I could feel the idea of the play drawing me in and I felt compelled to read it immediately. So when I got home, I fed the cat and changed into my coziest pyjamas. I put the old chenille robe on over them and pulled on my sheepskin slippers. On the book cover was a compelling, sexy photo of a man and woman touching tongues. Sitting in the kitchen next to the radiator, I devoured the whole play in less than an hour. When I finished reading it, my brain was on fire. All my worlds were colliding.

The Spiegle interview had been set
for eleven o'clock. I spent the earlier part of the morning pouring over some of the notes Peter King had been compiling on the Aqua Laben deal that Spiegle was connected with.

At 10:45 I walked over to the police station. I took my place in the observation room and watched as they brought Spiegle in. McFadden was next—slowly hauling his sizable girth into the small room. He sat at the end of the table and heaved a sigh as though he were extremely hard done by. His dramatic entrance made me smile.