Page 70 of A Midsummer Night's Ghost

“How about congratulations?” Clifford said, reaching out and clapping me on the shoulder far harder than an eighty-year-old who had just been stabbed by his now wife should be able to.

“Congratulations,” I parroted weakly.

It might have been the most insincere thing I’d ever said in my entire life.

“We’re ready for the curtain,” I said, too stunned to ask any questions.

But I did reach behind Sara and grab the cup that was still sitting there off the shelf. The replacement janitor obviously wasn’t top notch to have left it there this long. I ripped the lid off, dumped the contents in the rolling garbage can in the closet andtossed the cup in after. It was useless as evidence at this point and I didn’t want anyone drinking it.

“What the heck was that all about?” Clifford asked Sara, sounding more amused than anything else as I turned and exited the closet. “Always thought that girl was an odd bird.”

That made me bristle a little.

What was odd was a twenty-nine year old woman marrying an eighty-year old man and him not recognizing it for what it was, but hey, I wasn’t judging Clifford.

“Don’t be mean, pookie.”

Pookie?

Was this a cosmic joke?

Two pookies?

Shudders ran up my spine.

I didn’t have a whole lot of time to reflect on it though because it was time to get this show rolling.

Twenty minutes later, I was in the wings, staring at the stage.

“You have got to be kidding me,” I mumbled. “I am failing at all of this so much.”

There had already been a couple of forgotten lines, a missed cue, and a wardrobe malfunction when Sharon’s walker got caught in the hem on her tunic and tore it.

Now Mary’s ghost was onstage reciting all of her lines as Thisbe right over top of Grandma, who was alive and delivering the lines. Mary was all in, even if she was a ghost, using hand gestures and a stronger voice than had ever been present at rehearsals when she was alive.

I had been one hundred percent convinced I had sent Mary to the other side and now here she was giving the performance of her life.

Her life.

Lord help me.

Fortunately, no one but me could see her so presumably the audience was enjoying the play, such as it was.

We’d all seen Mary have a heart attack and by all accounts her life to that point had been uneventful. Why was she still hanging around?

There was a sudden slurping in my ear.

I turned to see Sara standing next to me, sucking down her slushie from her giant tumbler.

The hair on the back of my neck went up.

Was Sara actually a murderer?

No. There was no way. What reason would she have to kill James?

Besides, she had been eager to solve his murder when the cops didn’t even think it was a murder. She’d gone to talk to James’s brother.

She had also stabbed Clifford though.

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