The Princess and the Poison Read online

  Sometime later, I woke with a start. Florence had written me a note on the back of her Snow White script: Thanks for sharing the oasis. See you soon. -F

  I checked my watch. Oh God. I'd been gone for close to forty-five minutes. As I often did, I'd forgotten my cell phone, so my staff wouldn't have been able to reach me. I scrambled to my feet and almost fell back down. My left foot was asleep. I stood on my right foot and shook my left until I was able to walk and then hurried back into the main area of the park, where everything seemed fine. I hadn't been needed. But I made a mental note to avoid the "oasis," as Florence called it. I couldn't risk falling into a peaceful coma again.

  * * *

  Bradley knocked on my office door a little later that day. I called to him to come in, and he did, with a lot more confidence than the last time he'd visited me.

  "Hi, Bradley. Nice work today."

  "Thank you." But he didn't smile.

  It seemed like he wanted to say something, so I prompted, "Anything the matter?"

  "You won't like it."

  Uh-oh. "Sit down. Take your time."

  He took me at my word and didn't speak for at least a minute. Finally, he said, "You wanted me to tell you if I remembered anything else. About the murder, I mean."

  "That's right. What is it? What did you remember?"

  "It's not so much something I remembered but something I hadn't said before." He stopped, and I nodded at him to continue.

  "It was the morning of the Sleeping Beauty performance. I went to the restaurant."

  I had no idea where he was going with this, and I was growing impatient. "Yes?"

  "I knew it wasn't officially open yet, but I thought…Donna? The lady who runs it? The one you said is the main suspect?"

  My heart started beating erratically. "Donna. Yes. What about her?"

  "I was really thirsty, and I thought she might get me something even though she hadn't opened yet. Anyway, I don't think she saw me, but I saw her through the window."

  "Okaaay. And?"

  Bradley gulped, his Adam's apple bobbing. "She…was putting something into a cup of coffee. A pill."

  With all the strength I could muster, I squeaked out, "Go on." I felt so lightheaded I thought I might faint. Breathe, Ashling.

  "I went back to the theater right away so she wouldn't know I'd been there. But a few minutes later, she came over to the stage with a cup of coffee. For Katrina. A latte. You know, like Katrina always ordered. I…I think it was the same coffee. With the pill in it. I guess Donna didn't know Katrina didn't eat or drink on the day of a performance. So Donna took it away."

  I couldn't believe what I was hearing. "But, Bradley. Why are you only bringing this up now?"

  He rose from his chair and started pacing around the office. "I told you before. I didn't want anyone to get in trouble. And you said she was your friend. And that she was the main suspect. I didn't want her to get in even more trouble without knowing for sure what she was doing with the pill."

  "But now?"

  He gulped again. "There hasn't been an arrest yet. And I just thought it was time. You know. That the person was arrested. So I thought I should tell everything I know." He quickly added, "But it probably doesn't mean anything. Maybe it wasn't the same cup of coffee. Or…maybe it was sweetener! Yeah, maybe it was one of those artificial sweetener pills."

  I nodded, feeling sick. I'd had bad news before, but this ranked right up there. It wasn't a sweetener. "Okay. Thanks, Bradley."

  "I'm sure that's it. Sweetener. No need to tell the detectives or anything." He scurried outside, closing the door gently behind him. I stared at the closed door for at least ten minutes, utterly destroyed.

  I managed to finish out the day, even though I felt like throwing up half a dozen times. Then it was time to go home, but how could I go home to Donna and Charlie's house? To a home belonging to two murderers masquerading as my friends? The wolf in sheep's clothing had nothing on these two. Scott had talked about Occam's Razor—the simplest explanation was usually the truth. Donna, a diehard Katrina Irvine fan, got mad at the star for not being the person she'd imagined. They had a shouting match, angering Donna so much she wanted to kill Katrina. Charlie, a botanist, knew where to get curare and how to mix it up into a fatal potion. When Donna was over at the stage, she broke off the plastic cover and swiped the spindle with the paste. Katrina stuck herself during the play and died. Case closed.

  I sat in my car in my staff parking space with the engine off, contemplating what Bradley had told me. What was with the pill then? Was it possible Donna had tried to give Katrina poison-laced coffee first? Had the pill, whatever it was—cyanide, maybe?—been some kind of insurance? Did she think the curare might not work? Or maybe the pill had been her first choice, and she'd proceeded with the curare as backup when Katrina refused the coffee.

  On the other hand, was it possible Bradley lied? Was he protecting the killer? Or maybe he was the killer, and he was throwing this out to seal the case against Donna. But something deep in my gut told me Bradley was telling the truth.

  Had Donna and Charlie conspired to kill Katrina? Charlie worshiped the ground Donna walked on. If she wanted to kill someone, he would help her. I was sure of it.

  I started the Beetle and pulled out of the parking space. But I didn't drive to Donna and Charlie's house. I drove to my parents' house. I needed my mommy.

  * * *

  "No!" my mom cried as soon as I told her. She was in the middle of getting dinner ready. I'd smelled the spaghetti sauce as soon as I came in the door, and I tamped down the impulse to ask if I could stay. I had bigger fish to fry. Or pasta to cook, in this case.

  Mom almost dropped the plates she was carrying, and I gently took them from her and placed them on the table.

  I turned back to her. "Mom…"

  "I don't care if this Bradley person found Donna standing over Katrina's body, holding a syringe filled with curare. She didn't do it."

  "But she admitted arguing with Katrina…"

  My mom shook her head. "Means nothing. Nothing!"

  I'd forgotten how much my mom cared for Donna and Charlie. They'd all met at the first Alice in Wonderland tea I'd hosted a few years back, and they looked forward to seeing each other whenever the occasion presented itself. My mother shared Charlie's passion for gardening. And Donna and Mom loved to talk about clothes. Which was good, because God knows, I never wanted to talk about that.

  I sighed. "I…just don't know what to think. I really think Bradley was telling the truth."

  Mom paced in a couple of tight circles on the kitchen tiles. She'd spilled some spaghetti sauce on the floor, but she didn't seem to see it, even though she nearly stepped in it. "Then it was Donna's coffee. She put an aspirin in it, or something like that. Ask her, Ashling. There's a perfectly logical explanation, I'm sure of it. I'd bet my life on it."

  "I know you're right," I said, more confidently than I felt. "But then who did kill Katrina? I've talked to several people who may have wanted her dead, but I just can't figure it out. And there's the whole gigantic problem with the curare. Charlie really does seem the only logical person who could have gotten some."

  Mom took my hand and guided me to the kitchen table. We sat.

  "Sweetheart. I think the murder and your ongoing grief for Jamie are stressing you out. You're not thinking clearly. It's not Donna and Charlie. So who is it? Let's look at it this way. Who would profit from Katrina's death?"

  I let out a long breath. "From what I understand, she named several charities in her will. And her parents too. But they're wealthy. They don't need the money. And I'm pretty sure they've been nowhere near StoryWorld. Besides, it's hard to believe a parent would kill his or her own child."

  "Who would profit otherwise then? In other ways, I mean."

  "Well, Laura Tenniel from The Springdale Players took over for Katrina. So she got the parts Katrina would have had if Katrina were still alive. But it's an awfully flimsy motive."

&nb
sp; "Okay. What else?"

  "Her boyfriend's ex wants to get back with him. And now Katrina's out of the way."

  "That sounds promising. Sex is a strong motive. What about others?"

  "People were mad at her, that's for sure. Like her director, Julie, and Florence, one of her co-stars."

  "Anything more?"

  "She was sexually harassing Bradley. But I've pretty much eliminated him. And there were a couple of members of her entourage Katrina threatened to blackmail but never actually did! It makes no sense."

  Mom nodded thoughtfully. "But you still have other suspects. Keep at it, honey. It's not Donna. But be careful, okay?" She reached over to my chair and hugged me.

  I hadn't told Mom about the vandalism, let alone the fire. She didn't even know I wasn't living at my cottage. I thought about filling her in, but I knew it would only worry her. I needed to handle this on my own. How I longed to be six again, running from set to set at StoryWorld, waiting for Mom to take me home once she was done for the day. I'd always begged her to let me stay five more minutes and then five more and five more.

  As soon as Tim got back from his training for the Springdale Sprint, I gave him a hug, said good-bye to them both, and drove to Donna and Charlie's. I became mellower with each mile I covered. Of course Mom was right! Just because Bradley said Donna arrived a few minutes later to the theater with coffee didn't mean it was the same cup! Like Mom suggested, Donna probably had been self-medicating. I felt so relieved. I would just confirm with her, and everything would be fine.

  Once I got to the house, I asked Donna to go for a walk. She looked flushed and happy, probably a result of having a good time at the block party and indulging in a drink or two.

  "How are you?" Donna asked as soon as we were going, and I was struck by how idiotic I'd been. Even with all her troubles, she never failed to care about me. Donna was the kindest person I knew. She would never hurt anyone.

  "I'm fine. Listen, Donna, I just need to ask you something. Something stupid. And then I can let it go."

  "There are only stupid answers. No stupid questions." She squeezed my arm and smiled at the old cliché.

  "The morning of Sleeping Beauty. Did you not feel well or something? Did you have a headache?"

  "No. I don't think so. Why?"

  "Bradley came to see me today. He thinks he saw something. Look, I told you it was stupid, but he said he saw you put a pill into a cup of coffee. And then you brought Katrina's latte over to her right after. But it was your coffee, I'm sure. You put a pill into your own coffee? Because you weren't feeling well?"

  Donna stopped short, but I didn't realize until I was already several steps ahead.

  I turned back to her. "Donna?"

  She gestured to the curb, and we sat. Bile rose up in my throat. Did I want to hear this? Did I want to know this? I felt the same kind of dread as when Jamie's mother told me he'd had a stroke. That was followed by the worst news I'd gotten in my life, and I had an inkling Donna was about to tell me something equally horrible.

  She began crying. Not a good sign.

  I drew away from her, repulsed. "Oh God. No!"

  For a second, Donna's face melded into the wolf's from Little Red Riding Hood, her giant snout prominent beneath Grandmother's stocking cap. Blinking my eyes a few times, I cleared the image away.

  Donna shook her head. "I didn't kill her, Ashling. And I didn't try. I swear."

  "Then what? Donna, what? You put something in her coffee? Tell me you didn't."

  She nodded slightly. "I did."

  "What?" I gulped. "What was it?"

  "It was only a sleeping pill. I promise."

  "A sleeping pill?" I croaked. "What do you mean? I don't understand. Why?"

  "I wanted to show her up. That's all. She only drank decaffeinated coffee—remember how I told you? I wanted her to get sleepy and not be able to perform. All that would have happened is Laura would have taken over. It wouldn't have been bad for you or for StoryWorld."

  I couldn't agree with that. It would have been bad. Very bad.

  "But I know it was wrong." Donna looked thoroughly remorseful as the tears continued to stream down her face.

  "Donna," I said quietly.

  "I know. I know! I feel terrible."

  "You didn't tell me. Why?"

  Donna shook her head several times. "I felt so guilty. I felt horrible about it. I…I couldn't admit it. And then… Well, I don't know. I should have told you. I'm sorry."

  A dozen emotions ran through me, battling for my attention. Relief, anger, fear, sadness, disbelief, betrayal. Anger finally won out. I wanted to scream and wail. I wanted to destroy property. Yes, I even wanted to hit Donna. My best friend. But I didn't.

  "Yeah. You should have told me." I stood and headed back to the house, my hands curled into tight fists. Once there, I looked longingly at my Beetle and considered jumping inside, driving across town, and checking into a hotel. How could I possibly share the same living space—heck, even the same air—as The Master Betrayer formerly known as Donna? I finally decided to tough it out one more night. But I would be sure to make alternate plans beginning tomorrow.

  On the doorstep, I prayed I wouldn't run into Charlie. Did he know about the sleeping pill? A tiny part of me questioned if Donna had been telling the truth. Maybe they really had conspired to kill Katrina. I went back to the problem of the curare—who else would have been able to obtain it? Charlie could have. But did that mean he did?

  I walked in, aware of Charlie watching television in the den, and went straight to the guest room to bed, where I slept about as well as the title character in The Princess and the Pea.

  I sneaked out the front door the next morning at five, deliberately early so I wouldn't see Donna or Charlie. Heat was already gathering, and I cursed summer for all it was worth, this summer in particular. I'd never had a worse one, and it didn't look as though things would improve anytime soon.

  In the office, I lay my head on my desk and cried. Dinah jumped up beside me, rubbed against my face, and purred. I halfheartedly petted her.

  "It'll be okay, sweetie," I whispered to her, but I knew it was a lie. Nothing would be okay again.

  Once Dinah retired to her bed, I tried to medicate myself with a few miniature candy bars for breakfast, but even chocolate couldn't help me today.

  As soon as the sun was fully up, I roused myself and took my morning stroll, passing by Jack and the Beanstalk and The Crooked Man's House to stop at The Three Little Pigs. One of the pigs was rolling around in his food to the right of his straw house, and, for a brief second, I imagined it was early spring again, before Katrina had come anywhere near StoryWorld. Before her murder, before the vandalism and the fire, before Donna's betrayal. When life was nearly perfect, but I hadn't appreciated it.

  As a feeling of overwhelming fatigue came over me, I sat on a pink bench to watch the pigs. My friend who'd been rolling around in his food got up and approached the owner of the brick house. They greeted each other with their snouts touching, reminding me of Dinah's nose kisses.

  In an attempt to restore myself, I breathed in the fresh air, taking in the smell of hay, the musky scent of the animals, and the intoxicating aroma of gardenia wafting over from Mary's Garden. A slight breeze whistled through the nearby trees, and across the park, a chicken in Henny Penny clucked several times in a row.

  Getting up a few minutes later, I walked on through the park. Soon I arrived at the Sleeping Beauty set, where I gazed in at the snoozing princess. Taking my storybox key from my key ring, I turned the lock on the box and listened to the story. When I got to the point where the prince kissed the princess, I stalked away. Fairy tales—what a crock! Loved ones died, people murdered other people, and friends betrayed you. There was no such thing as happily ever after. Miserably ever after was more like it.

  "Hi, Ash," a voice said once I'd stopped at the Emerald City. I spun around. Donna.

  "Hello," I said, my tone icy.

  She bit h
er lip. "Ashling. When are you going to talk to me? When are you going to forgive me?"

  I shrugged. "I don't know. Honestly, I don't know if I can. You hurt me, Donna. And I can't believe you would actually do what you did."

  "It was a mistake. But I never intended to harm her. You know that, right? Right?"

  "I just wish you had told me what you were planning. I would have stopped you."

  "I know you would have. It was stupid. Just like the shouting match I had with her. There was something about that girl that made me go crazy. But tell me you know I didn't kill her!" She tugged at my arm.

  I heaved a sigh. "I know. But this is going to take a while. For me to get over it. I just don't know if I can forgive you."

  Suddenly Donna's eyes flashed, and she threw out, "Why not? You always forgave Jamie for everything!"

  She might as well have slapped me. I staggered backward and almost lost my balance. "What? What are you talking about?"

  "The times he stood you up. The way he snapped at you. I was there for some of it, remember. But you never got mad at him. You always forgave him."

  "That was only near the end. He was depressed. Because of his illness. You know that. He didn't mean it—"

  "And you must have realized by now how selfish it was of him to not take care of himself the way he was supposed to. It's like he had a death wish. But you forgave him for that too. He destroyed his parents' lives, his sister's, yours…"

  I couldn't believe the conversation had turned in this direction. She had never said any of these things before. I didn't know which one of them I should address, but I chose the last one.

  "I'm fine. I'm perfectly fine." I crossed my arms, vaguely aware my body language belied my words.

  "No, you're not. You've met this wonderful guy who's crazy about you. But you keep pushing him away. And the Ashling I know would never think I could have killed someone. You know me. How could you even think such a thing?"

  "I didn't. Not really. But you weren't truthful with me. First, you didn't tell me about the shouting match with Katrina and how much of a fan you were, and now there's this. And it wasn't selfish of him." I started crying. "He was so unhappy by then! He had the fear of death hanging over him at every moment. His whole life! So maybe he hastened it a little. I don't blame him. I understand. You're right. I forgive him."