Final Act by Dianne Yetman (best free ebook reader .TXT) 📕

“Well, I certainly didn’t realize you felt that way but I’m not surprised.  It’s that small town valley upbringing of yours.  Really, as a Librarian, I expect you would be more discerning.”

Alexis was about to rebut but changed her mind.

“Now where was I?  Oh yes.  So Eleanor, given all your experience in the theatre, can you recommend a good acting coach?”

“My background is in set design, not in acting, however if the two of you are serious, I do have a couple of suggestions.  First, ask Mary Jane to circulate her play among the local agents.  I can recommend some very good ones who would give a qualified assessment of her work.  Second, I recommend you contact Natasha Leigh, an excellent drama coach, she’s busy but you might be lucky enough to find a spot in one of her classes.”

Not giving Susan the chance to reply, she looked at her watch, made her excuses and exited with the speed of an atheist who had walked into a room of Baptists.

“That went well, don’t you think?”

“It went down as well as an over done egg.  Really Susan, how could you have embarrassed me, yourself and Eleanor like that?  It’s time you curbed that tongue of yours.”

“As soon as you get help to deal with that repressed personality of yours, I’ll see to my tongue.”

Ever the pragmatist, Alexis said, “Okay, let’s calm down, this isn’t getting us anywhere.  Why don’t we discuss it more this evening over pre-dinner drinks?”

“Splendid.  I’m going to hit the stores while you read. I want to wear something bold to this new avant-garde restaurant.”

Chapter 8

Hanya, having waited her turn to express her condolences to Catherine, moved towards the tables of food.  Not that she was hungry but she figured it was the best spot to observe others without being noticed. And she wouldn’t have to insert herself into conversational groups, with this lavish spread, every guest was sure to hit the tables and then she would have her opportunity to drop her little bombshell.

Two long buffet tables were full to the brim, one with 5 on 5 Avocado Dip, Alaskan Cream Cheese Hot Pot, Asian Chicken Salad, spiral sliced Black Forest Ham, tiny, triangular sandwiches, fresh vegetable and green salads, crystal bowls filled with five different condiments, and trays of fresh fruit and cheeses.  The other, which ultimately proved to be the most popular, displayed a variety of sweets succulent enough to tempt a diabetic.  There were cheese cake squares, carrot cake, caramel squares, brown sugar and peanut butter cake, Nanaimo bars, Butterscotch Berry Tart, caramelized Pear Tart, and Deep Dutch apple pie.

Uniformed waiters circled the room with trays of wine, sparkling water, larger, and spirits.  Two large silver urns of tea and coffee, tall containers of juice and water, bone china and fluted glassware stood on the large oak sideboard next to the tall, narrow, French casement windows for those who preferred a non-alcoholic drink.  It too was attracting a lot of visitors.

She scanned the room and she wondered which one of the nodding, smiling, circulating mourners had killed both Camira and Jeffrey.  The killer was in this room, of that she was certain.

There’s Charlotte, drinking like she’s at the wedding in Cana and heard the host was about to run out of wine.  What was it Camira had said about her?  Issues, yeah that was it, anger and jealousy issues.  Fancied herself at the height of her powers when the sad truth of it, she was beginning to fade.  Couldn’t say that about her appearance, however.

She continued her scan and her eyes rested on Henry Ward, and Andrew Wilkins, who were in deep conversation, both of them looking a bit anxious.  Strange liaison, she thought, but then again, maybe not.  Camira had told her something about the two of them.  What was it? It was shortly after she had landed her role as Maggie. The memory, like a fickle butterfly, flitted through her mind, landing for mere seconds before disappearing again, leaving two words behind – conspiracy, jinxed. She sighed. Oh well, like Grandma always said, leave it steep, and you’ll have your brew.

She moved on and observed the two attractive, middle-aged women.  They have to be the ones Kate told me about.  I can’t think of anyone else who would fit the description of being in their mid-fifties, one reserved, the other not; one a red head and the other tall with a black/grey mix of sculpted hair.  Yes, it has to be them, let me think, what were their names, Susan, Alexander? No, Alexis, that was it.  They got mixed up in a case Kate and Roger were investigation and came close to ending up on slabs themselves.  An intriguing mix of people, she thought they resembled assorted liquorice with all the different colours, shapes, sizes; no doubt some were soft and chewy, others tough, and of course, mustn’t forget the kind that leave an after taste.

She looked over at Kate, Roger, and Withers standing quietly in the corner sipping on their cups of tea. She studied Kate and sadness filled her heart.  It’s got to be tough for her, after all, she has to consider me a suspect. What’s that saying?  Always look closely at the person who discovers the body, especially one who had crawled up on the bed and lay down by the victim.  Neatly explains the presence of my DNA on Camira.

Hanya smiled at Kate, decided one pastry wouldn’t hurt and walked over to the dessert table.  She managed to pop a pastry into her mouth before reaching out to shake the proffered hand of the solemn looking young United Church minister who had just buried Jeffrey.  She told herself to make nice, after all, she too was serious and solemn when she first wore a collar.

Catherine, the widow, tried to sit up straighter in the wing chair which was placed a bit left