Cait made the tough decision not to return to the ranch until Wally Dillon, or whoever was stalking her, was caught. The last thing she wanted was to inflict more suffering on Bo and his family.
The vineyard crew was gathering their equipment and trash bags when Cait returned to the house. The garage doors were open, and she pulled into the middle space. Marcus and Jim looked up from their work.
“Have a nice visit?” Jim asked as she stepped out.
Cait limped over to look at the bench they were staining. “It was fun. I got on a horse and rode with Bo on a trail behind their house.”
A faint smile crossed Marcus’s lips. “That’s why you’re walking funny.”
Cait groaned. “You think? Don’t you dare laugh.” Then she remembered Marcus had his horse at the ranch. “I should have asked to see your horse while I was there.”
“We’ll go to the ranch together sometime and I’ll introduce you to Spade.”
“Did I miss anything while I was inflicting pain on my body?”
“Well, let’s see. A bunch of bandits rode through searching for gold,” Jim quipped, “but I told them they were a century too late.” He winked.
Cait laughed.
“You looked like you could use some levity,” Jim said.
That’s not all I could use, she thought, thinking of a hot tub of water. “Do you know where June is?”
“Probably at the Elizabethan. Ray was looking for you, then he and June started squabbling but they left together.”
“I think they enjoy provoking each other.” She rubbed her lower back. “I better see what Ray wanted.”
The door at the Elizabethan was open. Cait found June in the green room, her ear pressed against the wall outside the costume room. When June saw her, she put her finger to her lips.
Cait stood quietly on the other side of the doorway and listened to a man’s voice reciting:
“O earth. What else?
“And shall I couple hell? O, fie! Hold, hold, my heart;
“And you, my sinews, grow not instant old,
“But bear me stiffly up. Remember thee!
“Ay, thou poor ghost, while memory holds a seat
“In this distracted globe. Remember thee!”
Cait heard heavy footsteps on the wooden floor inside the room. The door was cracked open and Cait chanced a peek inside.
A man, tall and lean with a rangy runner’s body, paced about the room, head down, hands behind his back, animated by the role he was rehearsing. His head shot up; he faced a mirror.
Cait ducked back and listened to his next disjointed words:
“. . . put an antic disposition on.” Then, “The time is out of joint! Oh cursed spite, that ever I was born to set it right . . . Nay, come, let’s go together.”
The door flung open and the man stalked out and tripped over the cat.
Cait gasped. She had no idea Velcro had followed her into the theater.
June grabbed the man’s arm to steady him.
Instead of being angry, the man reached down to pick up Velcro, but the cat scampered off. “I hope I didn’t hurt him.”
“He’s fine,” June said.
He looked up. “Mrs. Hart! What are you doing here?”
June grinned. “The same as you, Chip. I’m helping Cait with the festival.” She reached out for Cait. “Chip Fallon, meet Cait Pepper, Tasha’s niece.”
Chip smiled and extended his hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.” His unruly sandy hair hung over his ears, giving him a deceptively youthful look. His eyes were so green, she wondered if they were contacts.
As they shook hands, Cait said, “You’re our Hamlet, I hear.”
“I am indeed. It’s the greatest play ever written. Everyone loves a mystery. My life is on the line every time I play the part—a huge challenge, but one I welcome.”
Confused, she said, “I don’t understand.”
He posed with his hands on his hips. “Everyone knows Hamlet’s journey and ultimate fate. It’s my job to bring something different to it, some new experience for the audience. I read the text many times, which is what I was doing just now, and alter the emphasis on the words.”
Cait had seen the play many times, but her interest grew as she listened to Chip’s deep voice as he talked about preparing for the role. She thought him to be intelligent and philosophical, the qualities of Hamlet that were part of his undoing. “I hope you don’t mind that June and I were listening at the door.”
He laughed. “Not if you tell me what you thought about what you heard.”
“I wasn’t here long, but I thought I recognized part of a conversation with Hamlet’s ghost,” Cait said.
Chip raised his eyebrows. “Ah, you do know Shakespeare. That’s good if you’re going to run this festival.”
“I studied it a little in college, but Tasha would shake her head at how little I’ve retained. But Hamlet is one of my favorite plays.”
“Yours and many others.” Anger suddenly flashed across his face. “Tasha’s death was a tragedy.”
She nodded, amazed by the transformation on his face.
“I assume you and Tasha were close for her to leave you the theaters.”
Cait sighed. She hated the awkward moment of admitting she’d never met Tasha. “Unfortunately, no. I never met her.” I didn’t even know she existed until two months ago.
He narrowed his eyes, as if he didn’t believe her. “How is that possible?”
“It’s complicated, and I’d rather not go into it.” She sensed he wanted to ask why she’d never met Tasha, but was too much of a gentleman. She changed the subject. “You probably know Tasha was expected to be Hamlet’s associate artistic director at the Oregon Shakespeare Festival.”
He nodded. “I recommended her. I cared a great deal for Tasha and her talent, and apparently she felt the same about me. She asked me to be Hamlet at her festival. I couldn’t refuse.”
“Do you know if her replacement’s been found?”
Chip frowned, shifted his feet, and said, “No. Please excuse me. I need to rehearse before Ray Stoltz kicks me out.”
Cait wondered what caused his mood change. “We’ll get out of your way then.”
Ilia ran over with his camera held high. “Mr. Fallon, how about a picture?”
Chip looked at Ilia as if he had horns sprouting from his head.
Cait smiled. “This is Ilia Kubiak, a professional photographer and friend. He’s great at promoting the festival.”
Chip’s genial attitude returned. “Oh. Sure.” He relaxed against the doorframe and smiled into the camera.
Ilia snapped his picture, thanked him, and left.
Chip slipped back in the room and closed the door.
On their walk to the house, Cait said to June, “Chip’s an engaging man.”
“He has a rare talent for mixing explosive anger with brooding charm, but everyone likes him, particularly girls.” June hesitated. “But there is one exception.”
“Isn’t there always?”
“Chip’s name was on the same short list of candidates as Tasha for that associate artistic director’s job. Even though he recommended her. You noticed how quickly he changed the subject when you asked about it.”
Shortly after Cait had come to California, Kenneth Alt, one of the directors at the Oregon Shakespeare Festival, had given her three names on that list, but Chip Fallon’s name hadn’t been one of them. “Alt didn’t mention Chip.”
“He wouldn’t. He removed it from the list.”
Cait turned to June. “Why would he do that?”
“Chip has always wanted to direct, but Kenneth doesn’t like him and carries a lot of weight. Jealousy, I suppose. Both played Hamlet numerous times, and they’re both great actors. Each brings something new to the role. Yet every time they’re in the same room, sparks fly.” Her hands flew out as if to express fiery particles in the air.
“Then I hope they never meet here.”
“Amen. ‘Time is the old justice that examines all such offenders.’ ” She smiled. “As You Like It.”