“ ‘Secret, and self-contained, and solitary as an oyster,’ ” Richard said.
“That Shakespeare had something to say about everything, didn’t he?” Aunt Maggie said, coming up to us.
“Actually, that wasn’t the Bard. It was Charles Dickens in A Christmas Carol. Stave One, if I’m not mistaken.”
Aunt Maggie raised one eyebrow. “Since when do you quote Dickens?”
“Since he decided to direct this play,” I explained. As a Shakespeare professor at Boston College, Richard didn’t know all the Bard’s work by heart, but he came close, and was usually more than willing to share that knowledge. “You see, it’s an old theater superstition that it’s bad luck to quote Mac—”
“Don’t say it!” Richard nearly shouted.
“Sorry. It’s bad luck to quote that Scottish play, or even to say its name.”
“The Scottish play?” Aunt Maggie asked.
Richard was still looking at me in alarm, and short of spelling it out, there wasn’t any way I could think of to tell Aunt Maggie that we weren’t supposed to say Macbeth. “I’ll tell you which one I mean later. Anyway, just to make sure he doesn’t accidentally quote from that play, he’s sworn off quoting Shakespeare for the duration.”
“Hence the use of Dickens, in honor of our production,” Richard added.
Aunt Maggie shook her head. “Richard, did you ever think of just saying things like normal people?”
“Did you ever think of wearing shirts that don’t tell people what’s on your mind?”
“Fat chance,” she said with a snort.
“My sentiments exactly.”
She looked as if she wanted to say more, but she must have decided it wouldn’t do any good, so she changed the subject. “Are you two going to tell me what’s going on around here? It’s Seth, isn’t it?”
I hesitated, but decided it wasn’t going to be a secret much longer anyway. Keeping my voice low so that nobody else could hear, I said, “Yes, ma’am. He’s dead.”
She nodded, her suspicions confirmed. “What happened? Florence says he had a bad heart. Was that it?”
“I don’t think it was a heart attack,” I said, but before I could say more, Mark stepped out of the door from the hall. “Is Mr. Murdstone’s family here?” he said.
David stepped forward. “Deputy Pope, I believe you know my brother Jake and my wife Florence.”
Mark nodded in acknowledgment. “I’m afraid I’ve got bad news for you,” he said.
The two men stiffened and Florence gasped. I’ve known other women to gasp for effect, but with her it sounded genuine.
“Is Daddy …?” Jake couldn’t finish the question.
Mark nodded.
“Was it his heart?” David wanted to know. “Chief Norton said something about an accident, but my father does have a bad heart.”
Mark hesitated, then said, “I’m not sure. Once the medical examiner gets here, I may be able to tell you more.”
“Can I see him?” Jake asked.
“Not yet, but I’ll tell you when you can. If y’all will excuse me, I need to notify the proper authorities.” Closing the hall door quietly but firmly, he went back toward Seth’s body.
Though we should have given them some privacy, I don’t think anybody could resist watching the Murdstones. Florence grabbed hold of David, who was staring straight ahead, then reached out and pulled Jake into the embrace, too. Jake started to cry, deep sobs that must have hurt him.
That’s when I turned away, rubbing my tummy again.
“I guess he broke it to them as best he could,” Aunt Maggie allowed, “but he should have gotten them alone first.”
“It wouldn’t have made any difference,” I said.
“Well, I think—” Aunt Maggie started to say; then she stopped. “I guess you know what you’re talking about.”
Junior’s father, Chief Andy Norton, had been the one to tell me when my parents were killed in a car accident. I’d been visiting my grandfather Paw, and Chief Norton had asked Paw out onto the porch to tell him, giving Paw a chance to recover before they told me. But it hadn’t really mattered. I’d known from the expression on Chief Norton’s face that something was bad wrong.
“Sometimes being alone is worse,” said a voice from behind us. It was Tim Topper, who was playing Bob Cratchit, and like me, he had reason to know. His mother had been murdered when he was just a little boy, so Chief Norton had come to visit him, too. Since Tim’s father had been long gone, Tim was left to be raised by his aunt and uncle.
I looked down at my tummy, feeling the baby’s kicks. Suddenly I was terrified that something would happen to me or Richard before our child could grow up—that some police officer would be wearing that same expression to give that awful news someday.
Richard somehow knew I was close to tears before I did myself, and he wrapped his arms around me. “It’s okay, Laura,” he murmured.
“It’s just the damn hormones,” I said angrily. “I didn’t even hardly know Seth.”
“I know,” Richard said, rubbing my back. “Let’s sit down.” He led me to as quiet a corner as he could find, and made me put my feet up while Aunt Maggie got me one of the bottles of cold water I’d brought to rehearsal.
Part of me appreciated the attention, while part of me hated the feelings of weakness that pregnancy caused. The rest of me was watching the other people in the auditorium. They were probably starting to realize that Seth Murdstone hadn’t died of a heart attack or from an accident—that he’d been murdered. I couldn’t help thinking that there was a good chance that the murderer was in the room with us.