Chapter 32

“Morning, Marty.”

I stood on the sidewalk outside the theater, squinting up at him in the bright morning sun. Marty was changing the marquee for the weekend’s lineup. We were sticking with Fred Astaire, featuring the out-of-season holiday movies Easter Parade (1948, Astaire and Judy Garland) and Holiday Inn (1942, Astaire and Bing Crosby).

“I’m not sure we have enough ‘a’s for The Band Wagon,” Marty called down to me. He was rummaging around in the cardboard box of letters that was probably older than either of us.

“Do your best,” I said. The Band Wagon (Astaire, Cyd Charisse, and a short red flapper dress that was soon to be my authenticated property) was our midnight movie.

“Name one time when I didn’t,” he challenged.

“That’s why I know you’ll prevail,” I told him. Then I spotted Abby coming around the corner opposite, walking briskly toward the café. I waved at her.

“I’m going to go grab a coffee,” I called to Marty, heading across the street. “I’ll pick up the cookie order and be back in a bit.”

“Yes, I’d love a triple mocha,” he yelled after me. “Thanks for asking.”

“Is this all right?” Abby asked when we met in front of the café. “You’re not too busy?” She glanced nervously in Marty’s direction.

I waved a hand. “Don’t mind him,” I said. “I’ll bring him a mocha and a brownie and he’ll be mine for the day. I hope you can come to The Band Wagon tonight.”

“I’ll try to,” she said. “I had such a good time last week with Desk Set.”

We chatted about the plans for that night’s event as we stood in line, placed our orders, and found a table. My usual, by the window, was just about to be nabbed by a couple of guys in suits when Chip, the server, waved them off.

“This one’s reserved,” he told them, motioning for Abby and me to come over.

“You didn’t have to do that,” I said when I got to the table.

“But you’re a regular, and I know how much you tip,” he said with a wink.

“I’d be a regular, too, if I worked right across the street,” Abby said. She’d gotten an almond croissant and broke off a piece as soon as we sat but didn’t eat it.

“Lisa, the owner, is a friend,” I said. “That’s her in the back.”

Lisa was in the rear of the shop, supervising something being done with a pastry bag. “She was at Desk Set, too, selling deserts from that big metal desk.”

“Oh, of course,” Abby said. “I thought she looked familiar.”

“I’ve been thinking about the day we all met, in Monica’s shop,” I said. “You, me, Monica, Kristy, Tommy, and S. I just realized that everyone except S was there the night of the Desk Set party, too.”

Abby blinked rapidly. “Kristy and I were with Monica, but I didn’t see Tommy.”

“Oh, but—” I stopped. I was sure Tommy had told me that night that he’d seen Monica and the women from her shop. He’d been angry that they hadn’t told me he was there. I shook my head. “That’s right. He didn’t show up until after everyone was gone.”

I wasn’t entirely sure why I didn’t choose to press her on the issue. Maybe because she was so clearly agitated already.

“Oh, good.” She tapped a finger to her head. “I’d hate to think I was slipping.” She glanced out the window. “It was right here, wasn’t it, where he died?”

“Yes.” It hadn’t even been a week. I looked outside, remembering Tommy as he’d staggered, stopped, and fallen.

I shook my head. Across the street, Marty had found all the “a”s he needed to complete the marquee and was headed down the ladder. Then a movement at the office window above the marquee caught my eye. When I looked closer I saw it was Trixie, waving at me. I held up one hand, discretely. She waved back, grinning.

“Here you go, ladies.” We both turned as Chip set our coffee orders on the table in front of us, along with the warmed slice of quiche I’d ordered. “Enjoy.”

“Thanks,” I said as he left. I reached for my coffee like the addict I was. It had been a late night on my stakeout with Hector, and I still hadn’t managed to buy a bag of beans for my own kitchen.

“Oh!” Abby yelped. She’d knocked over her latte, and it was spilling all over the table and into her lap.

“I’ve got it.” I put down my mug, threw my napkin down onto the spill and stood, already moving toward the counter to get more napkins. I grabbed some and got back to the table just as Chip also arrived, dry towel in hand.

“I’m so sorry,” Abby said. “I don’t know why I’m so nervous.”

“No worries,” Chip said smoothly. “It happens all the time. I’ll be right back with a new latte. Decaf, right?”

She nodded, and he took her empty mug and hustled away. I resolved to leave an even more generous tip than usual.

My phone pinged with a text as I sat down, but I ignored it. “Are you okay?” I asked Abby.

“I’m fine,” she said. But she didn’t look fine. She looked like a nervous wreck.

“Abby, what’s wrong?” I asked.

She looked at me, and I saw something wild in her eyes. “Nothing. I’m just…tired.”

My phone pinged again. I reached into my bag for it and flipped the ringer off before setting it face-down on the table. Something was going on with Abby and I didn’t know if it was related to the murders.

“Every woman I know who runs a business is tired,” I said. “They told me you had an emergency at your farm yesterday. I hope it wasn’t serious.”

She waved a hand. “Oh, there’s always an emergency at the farm.” She pushed my coffee toward me. “Go ahead. Don’t wait for me.”

I reached for the coffee as the phone vibrated with another text.

“I’m so sorry,” I said, picking it up. “Let me set it to—”

There were three messages visible on the screen.

 

COFFEE

DON’T DRINK!

SH PUT SOMTHG IN YR COFEE!!

 

I stared at the messages, then I looked up at the office window across the street. Trixie was jumping up and down and waving like a maniac. I held up the phone and nodded, and I could see her put her hand over her heart in relief. I’d gotten her warning.

I turned to Abby. “Sorry.” A million thoughts raced through my mind.

“Do you have to go?” Abby asked worriedly, glancing at the phone. “At least have your coffee first.”

Chip came back with her second latte. Had she spilled the first one on purpose? To get me away from the table? So she could slip something into my drink? Something like arsenic?

She took a sip of her drink as soon as the server left. “Oh, that’s so good.”

My instinct was to reach for mine as well. Which is apparently what she wanted. But why?

I couldn’t let her know I knew. I scrambled for any innocuous conversation that would give me time to think. “What’s it like to run a farm?” I asked her. “How long have you had it?”

She looked surprised, but started talking, which gave me a precious minute. Could Abby have killed S and Tommy? Could she have poisoned Kristy?

Owning a farm, she might have access to arsenic for pest control, and it’s possible she might use bee pollen in some of her concoctions. But why? Why would she have killed anyone?

Something in her tone of voice changed. I tuned back into her. She wasn’t looking at me. She was staring off into space, talking about her farm. About how it had been in her family for three generations. How she had planned to pass it on to her son.

Her son.

With those words it was as if a curtain went up in my mind. I saw it all, unspooling like a movie.

The urban legend was wrong. There was no vengeful father whose child had died while playing S’s first game.

There was a vengeful mother.

Abby had stopped speaking. She was watching me, every muscle in her body tensed.

“I’m so sorry,” I said. “I’m a million miles away. Do you mind if I just answer this one text?”

“Of course not.” The words fell like ice shards from her lips.

I sent a very brief text, then I met her eyes.

“Abby,” I said softly, “tell me about your son.”

A tremor went through her body.

“He didn’t die in a normal hit-and-run, did he?”

She froze, her eyes wide, staring at something beyond me.

“He was playing S’s game,” I said. “The old one, with the space monsters.”

She made a sound that was sharp and filled with pain.

“And S didn’t take any responsibility. Did his company even get charged with anything?”

She swallowed, her head twitching in one short negative shake.

“Then you saw that he was going to do it again. That he had a new game. And that more kids might die. Like those two in Pennsylvania, yesterday.”

Her jaw flexed but she still didn’t speak. She looked like one tiny nudge would shatter her into a million pieces.

“I noticed something,” I said. “When you saw S in the shop that day. Everyone else was looking at him like he was some sort of god. I thought you were, too. I noticed it and I thought you were starstruck. But you weren’t. You recognized him.”

I wasn’t sure if she would speak. I wasn’t sure if she could. But finally, after an agonizing pause, she did.

Her eyes flickered, still looking into the distance. “I thought it was fate,” she said. “Fate brought him to the store that day. Fate put him in front of me. Fate owed me, for putting my boy, my Lucas, in front of that car. Fate wanted me to make it right.”

I nodded. “S told you about his allergies,” I said softly. “You told me he gave you his medical history. You knew he was allergic to bees.”

She nodded, her face a mask of pain.

“How did you get the pollen into his drink?” I asked.

She blinked. “I didn’t. He put it in himself.”

I got it. “You gave him samples that day.”

“It was fate that I happened to have a CBD tincture to boost immune response,” she said, her voice robotic. “It has a high concentration of bee pollen. It’s very healthy, usually.”

“You just handed it to him,” I said, “knowing that whenever he decided to use it…”

She didn’t move a muscle.

“But you couldn’t have known he’d die so publicly. That the whole world would demand answers,” I said.

“There were only two people who could have figured it out,” she said. Then, for the first time since I’d brought up her son, she looked at me. “And I couldn’t let them say anything.” Her voice changed, becoming desperate. “Don’t you see? Not when Fate wanted me to—”

“It wasn’t fate that put arsenic in Tommy’s juice,” I said harshly. “You can’t tell me you just happened to have a bottle in your pocket—”

“Oh, but I did,” she said. “I told you there were only two people who could have figured out what I’d done. Monica and Kristy. I had three vials of arsenic that night when I met them for the midnight movie. One was for Monica, one for Kristy, and one for myself.”

My blood turned to ice at the thought of what she’d almost done.

“But then—” Abby swallowed. “Fate put Tommy in the theater with us.”

“You did see him,” I said.

She blinked. “That’s when I understood,” she said. “Fate was guiding them to me. And later, when Lillian hummed that tune at the séance, I knew I was right. I knew I was doing what Lucas wanted me to do.”

“You gave Tommy the bottle of arsenic.” I said. “The night of the midnight movie. What did you tell him it was?”

“An energy boost,” she said. “I told him to take it in the morning.”

And he had. He’d put it in his juice. The juice he’d drunk in front of the Palace while I’d watched him from the table where I now sat with his killer.

“Why?” I asked. “He didn’t have anything to do with the game that killed your son.”

“Other people have sons,” she said, her voice catching. “He was putting more of those games into the world. He had to be stopped. And I was the instrument of Fate who could stop him.”

“What about Kristy?” I demanded. “She was no threat to you, or to anyone. She was convinced Tommy killed S, and then killed himself.”

“Maybe at first,” Abby protested. “But then you started asking questions. You got her thinking.”

“Is that when you decided to kill me, too?” I asked. “Did that bottle you gave me the night of the séance—”

But we were interrupted before I could get her to admit it. Detective Jackson had gotten my text, and three police cars were racing up the street, lights and sirens blaring.

Abby heard them and looked at me, blinking. “Thank you,” she said. “I’m ready.” She took a long shuddering breath. “I miss my Lucas so much.”

Then she grabbed my coffee and drank it down.