Friends, Romans, countrymen, lend me your ears. I come to bury Caesar, not to praise him. The evil that men do lives after them; the good is oft interred with their bones. So let it be with Caesar—’”
“Cut!” Stacey shouted. She was dressed in her petticoats and bustle dress for her part as Calpurnia. “Cut! Say it with a little more feeling. This is the big eulogy of the play. You have to give it everything you have. This is your big moment. Don’t waste it on a half-hearted speech. You are beseeching the people to have sympathy for Caesar and to remember all he has done for them.”
The shoulders of the actor playing Mark Antony sagged. “I thought I was doing that.”
“Not very well.” Stacey tapped her script. “The performance is in three hours. We all have to be on point.”
On the stage, Mayor Loyal as Julius Caesar lay in a wooden coffin. He sat up. “Can we take a break? I need to visit the little boy’s room.”
Stacey threw up her hands. “Fine. Take ten minutes, everyone. Just ten minutes. It’s not like opening night is tonight. It does not hurt to go over your lines a few more times.”
The cast scrambled from the stage like mice fleeing the light before Stacey could change her mind. My father in his costume shuffled off with the rest of them. My cousin dropped her script on the table in the corner of the stage and sat on a chair. “You’re late.”
“Do you have eyes in the back of your head?”
She stood up and turned around. “No, but I can hear. There was a distinct sound of dog toenails on the floor.”
I looked down at Huckleberry. He wasn’t great when it came to being an undercover sidekick.
“It doesn’t matter. The play seems to be coming apart at the seams. I’m hoping the old adage is true that a bad dress rehearsal makes for a great opening night. I don’t know what I will do if this fails. I put so much into it.”
“Even your half of Bellamy Farm,” I said. It might not be the best time to bring up her selling her half of the farm to Crocker, but I was tired of playing games with her or anyone else in Cherry Glen.
She stared at me. “How did you know that?”
“I went down to the town planning office to see why Crocker had such an interest in Bellamy Farm. That’s where I learned that your portion of Bellamy Farm belongs to Crocker.”
She folded her arms across her chest. “What are you going to do about it? Are you going to tell Uncle Sully? And break his heart?”
“How would it be me breaking his heart? I’m not the one who sold the farm.”
“It was mine to sell. I inherited it from my father.” Her mouth drew into a stubborn line, but her hands fidgeted. “Look, I was going to tell you. I even followed you out to the orchard once when I knew Uncle Sully was here rehearsing. But when I saw you, I realized I didn’t owe you that conversation.” Her eyes narrowed at me.
I remembered the menacing shadow in the cherry orchard, the twig breaking beneath someone’s rushing feet. That was Stacey?
“But don’t you think Dad deserves that conversation? You should tell him.”
Dad shuffled onto the stage. “No one needs to tell me. I heard everything.” He stared at Stacey as if seeing her for the very first time.
Stacey paled. “I’m sorry, Uncle.”
He shook his head. “It was yours to sell.”
I stared at him. “You are going to let her off the hook? Just like that?”
He frowned. “I did a lot of thinking when I was in jail last night, and I came to the conclusion that I need to change some things. I have been holding on to the farm too tightly but not making it any better. You two are the new generation. If you want to sell it, sell it. If you want to make it into something new, you can do that too.” He cleared his throat as if he might cry. “I don’t want to risk the time I have left with either of you fighting over the farm.”
I bit my lip. There was so much I wanted to say about him giving Stacey a pass, and I knew this dispute with my cousin wasn’t over. Huckleberry sat on my foot as if to tell me I had his full support. At that moment, my phone chimed with an incoming text, and Stacey narrowed her eyes.
“Turn that thing off and leave it backstage. I don’t want any distractions while you’re running the ticket booth.”
I grumbled and dropped it on a table behind the curtain before I excused myself and walked away.
I found Mayor Loyal in the dressing room in the back of the theater, reading over the script.
I knocked on the doorframe.
He looked up from the script, and our eyes met in the mirror. “Ah, Miss Bellamy, it’s nice to see you here. You must be most relieved that the killer has been arrested. Sorry for that mess of thinking you did it.” He shrugged. “And then your father. You have to admit the evidence against him was damning. I hope Sully will understand.”
I bit my lip to hold back a smart retort and took one small step inside the room. Huckleberry remained outside the room. “I know the police have arrested Wes, who shot Crocker, but I don’t know if they got their culprit yet.”
“What? What do you mean? The culprit, as you put it, is sitting in jail right now. Chief Randy assures me the streets of Cherry Glen are safe again.”
“That may not be the complete truth.” I told him what Wes told me and my theory that he was the intended victim for the person who put bullets into the gun.
The mayor laughed. “Oh, you have quite an imagination, don’t you, Shiloh? Too much time in LA, playing at movies. Why would anyone want to hurt me? I’m the town mayor.”
“Someone put real bullets in that gun knowing it would be used against you on stage. That’s a conspiracy to murder.”
“Conspiracy to murder.” He laughed. “You have been in California too long,” he said again. “Things like that might happen in the big city, but not in Cherry Glen. Wes Sumner killed Jefferson Crocker. Everyone knows that.”
“But he didn’t put the bullets in the gun,” I argued. “I believe he was telling the truth in this case.”
“Because killers always tell the truth,” the mayor said with a chuckle. “I would not have thought someone from the big city would be so naïve.”
“I’m just trying to tell you that you might be in danger.”
He laughed again and picked up his script, signaling the conversation was over.
“I should get back to the ticket booth,” I said.
“That’s a good place for you, Shiloh. Stick to ticket sales, and leave the detective work to the police.” He waved me away.
I was fuming when I stomped out of the dressing room. Huckleberry hurried after me. Here I was, trying to protect the mayor and tell him he was in danger, and he belittled me.
Just outside the room, I heard feet moving backstage. I stood in the dark for a moment. Had someone been eavesdropping on my conversation with the mayor? It could have just as easily been a stagehand who was in a hurry to get back to work before Stacey yelled at him. Shaking my head, I went to the box office.
Minnie waited for me outside the ticket booth. “Finally.” She put her hands on her hips. “Where have you been? I thought I was going to have to run the concessions stand and the ticket booth all by myself.”
“I’m here.” I wasn’t in the mood to argue with Minnie.
She sniffed. “Well then, I’ll get back to my snacks.”
What about an apology? I wondered. Minnie had accused me of murder on more than one occasion, but I seriously doubted I would ever hear an “I’m sorry” from her.
Huckleberry waddled into the booth and curled up on the pillow I had brought him to sleep on during the performance.
There was a line of people outside the theater ready to come in for the show. Stacey’s opening night was going to be a great success.
And I wondered if it was just the cover the real murderer needed to make a clean getaway.