Ellen Hart Presents Malice Domestic 15: Mystery Most Theatrical. Karen Cantwell
Dewey Beach and Fenwick Island,” Rollie said. “Uncle Fred left it to Marian and me as Benjy’s trustees. I think Benjy should’ve inherited it outright.”
“Fred probably wanted us to spend time together,” Marian said. She recalled their last dinner here, Fred stumbling into his chair, her hands too slow to cushion the blow, his wince morphing into a smile as he glanced around and whispered, “My family.”
Marian stared at her clasped hands. Her only family now slept upstairs.
Bill scraped the last green beans onto his plate. “As his widow, don’t you inherit the house, Marian?”
Rollie smirked. “My uncle owned it before he married her.”
“We spent every summer there,” Marian said.
“We can spend holidays in Europe with the money we’d get.” Rollie flourished his fork like a conductor.
“Memories are more precious than money,” Marian said. “For both me and Benjy.”
“Three-year-olds don’t know the value of money.”
“Then he won’t care about the developer’s money.” Marian spooned mushroom sauce on her chicken. “And he’s almost four.”
* * * *
“Ophelia could use a face lift,” Sally murmured.
“Hush.” I focused on Polonius, who was telling King Claudius that Ophelia’s rejection was the cause of Hamlet’s madness:
POLONIUS: And he, repulsed—a short tale to make—
Fell into a sadness, then into a fast,
Thence to a watch, thence into a weakness,
Thence to a lightness, and, by this declension,
Into the madness wherein now he raves,
And all we mourn for.
KING CLAUDIUS: Do you think ‘tis this?
QUEEN GERTRUDE: It may be, very likely.
I glanced at the seat Fred once filled. Very likely indeed.
* * * *
Marian’s house: “For some must watch”
“Marian, I haven’t seen you all week.”
Sally waddled across the street to Marian’s house, the last home before the road petered out at a clump of pines. Built back when “cul-de-sac” was a French word, the houses along the road varied. Marian’s home had smooth brick and a painted carport, while Sally’s yellow siding accented her lawn’s dandelions.
Sally crunched first her dandelions and then Marian’s smooth grass to reach the garden bed where Marian dug between azaleas.
“You’re really attacking that weed.”
“You have to pull out the roots or it comes back.” Marian twisted her trowel. “He’s so patronizing! You wouldn’t believe how badly Rollie treats people. Even Benjy.”
Sally crouched, her cheek nearly colliding with a rusting azalea bloom. “Rollie’s not the warmest man, but I’m sure he loves his son. And he’s Fred’s nephew. He’s grieving, too.”
Marian snipped the offending azalea. “The only time Rollie wanted to see Fred was when he needed money.” She peeled off oversized gloves with “Fred” sewn on the wristband. “Fred loved him anyway. He saw the best in everyone. Even Rollie.”
“Maybe you should, too.”
“I’ll try, for Benjy’s sake.” Marian brushed dirt from her jeans. “Would you like some tea? I’ll make a fresh batch. I need to check a chicken thigh in the oven anyway.”
“Want me to check it for you? I saw Rollie leaving the other day and he mentioned you left a pot on the stove.”
“The stove is usually where pots sit when they’re cooking. He’s only buddying up to you to get at me. Come in.”
Marian led her past the entry’s row of photographs. Sally glanced at the living room, where a deep couch with floral pillows faced a striped chair with an inviting ottoman. End tables held Shakespeare plays, Eliot poems, and mason jars stuffed with smug hydrangeas.
More hydrangeas decorated the kitchen, where a tile backsplash featured sketches of rosemary, tarragon, and oregano. While Marian loaded a battered teakettle, Sally browsed a baker’s rack stuffed with cookbooks, a bowl of seashells, and a prosperous bonsai. She picked up a photograph of a man in a denim shirt, his grinning face all ears and chin.
“Great picture of Fred. Camping trip?”
Marian beamed. “Our last one.” The beam faded. “I’d have killed anyone who hurt Fred. But how do you kill cancer?”
Marian lifted the sugar bowl lid. Metal gleamed and she pulled out a silver watch she hadn’t seen since Rollie stopped by to discuss the beach house. She rubbed granules from the engraving: “To Marian, with all my love, Fred.”
“What’s your watch doing in the sugar bowl?” Sally asked. Her expression softened. “How are you feeling, Marian?”
“Fine. I didn’t put this watch there. But I know who did.”
Sally returned the photo gently to the baker’s rack. “I know you miss Fred. You two were incredibly close.”
“I can’t even mourn properly without being made to look senile. People assume that when you get gray hair, you lose your wits.”
* * * *
POLONIUS: [Aside] Though this be madness, yet there is method in ‘t.
Will you walk out of the air, my lord?
HAMLET: Into my grave.
LORD POLONIUS: Indeed, that is out o’ the air.
* * * *
Rollie and Marian’s house: “A dull and muddy-mettled rascal”
For Benjy’s fourth birthday, Marian brought a green dump truck, which she clasped like a talisman as she rang the bell.
“I told you, you don’t have to ring the bell. You’re family.” Alicia waved chocolate-splattered fingers. “The boys are out back.” Her shirt gaped, revealing a bruise along her collarbone.
In the back yard, parents clustered in the shade of the patio while their boys raced across the grass, screaming at odd moments, Benjy’s smile wide as he led the pack. Marian’s echoing smile faded when she saw an orange dog piñata swaying from the limb of a birch tree.
“Rollie, a dog piñata?”
“Benjy keeps asking for a dog. Now he’s got one.”
“That’s not funny. He’ll have to hit it.”
“It’s about time he manned up. My father taught me early to toughen up.” Rollie rubbed a puckered spot on his elbow.
“Your father’s gone,” Marian said. “You don’t have to prove yourself anymore.”
Rollie swatted her words aside and slumped away, like a defeated batter.
“Rollie didn’t get that promotion, did he?” Marian sighed. “He’s still trying to prove himself to his father. I always wondered if something happened with his father, something to do with cigarettes. Something…awful.”
Alicia stared at the grass.
Marian continued, “What father tells his son he’ll never amount to anything? Fred always said his sister could’ve done better.” She paused. “Some women settle for less than they deserve.”
Alicia