Ellen Hart Presents Malice Domestic 15: Mystery Most Theatrical. Karen Cantwell
she marched up to Alicia. “You think I’m good with Benjy, don’t you?”
Alicia’s eyelids flipped up in surprise. “Of course. He loves you very much.”
“Don’t forget that.” Marian turned, hovered her arm, and then swept it wide, knocking a bowl of potato chips onto the patio.
Rollie rushed over. “Marian? Are you all right?” As Rollie simpered, Marian faced the audience with a dazed expression.
She allowed Rollie to lead her to a cushioned chair scraped out from the living room. She let him serve her another cup of weak tea before opening pastel bath soaps, and chirpy birthday cards, some with the wrong age. Nobody here even knew how long she’d been alive.
Marian watched Benjy sprint across the yard, his wooly curls flapping.
* * * *
HAMLET: Madam, how like you this play?
QUEEN GERTRUDE: The lady protests too much, methinks.
HAMLET: O, but she’ll keep her word.
KING CLAUDIUS: Have you heard the argument? Is there no offence in ‘t?
HAMLET: No, no, they do but jest, poison in jest; no offence
i’ th’ world.
* * * *
Marian’s house: “This plague for thy dowry”
In July, Rollie petitioned for guardianship. A few days before the August hearing, Alicia brought Benjy to Marian’s for a negotiated sleepover.
As Benjy grabbed their hands, Marian faced Alicia over the swing set of their arms. “Remember, you promised to tell the judge I’m a good nana.”
Marian swung her arm wide, making Benjy squeal in delight. “I’ll let Rollie have guardianship, and that blasted beach house, if you both tell the judge I should still see Benjy. That’s our deal.”
Alicia nodded. Benjy dangled from their arms, the deep blue of his shirt echoing the bruise on his wrist.
Marian leaned toward Alicia. “Everything will be fine. I promise.” She enfolded Benjy in a hug, and whispered, “Doubt truth to be a liar, but never doubt I love.” She leaned back. “I love you, sweet boy.”
He kissed her, a wet smack that tingled her cheek.
As soon as Alicia left, Benjy ran to the back yard, grabbed his plastic trowel, and headed for a clump of blue-helmeted plants. Marian pulled him back.
“Stay away from those. Let’s dig up dandelions.”
* * * *
After thunderous applause, the curtain swished shut, and we gathered our things. “What did you think of the play?” I asked.
“It’s about a crazy prince who kills his uncle for stealing the throne and a bunch of other people die, too.” Sally hauled herself to her feet and caught her breath. “Game of Thrones did it better.”
“I think you missed the brilliance of Hamlet’s plan.”
* * * *
Marian’s house: “Mistress of her choice”
The day after the guardianship decree, Rollie came for the beach house paperwork. Kneeling amid the monkshood, Marian yelled for him to come to the back yard. Amid tall, happy plants stood a wrought iron table, set with a plump blue and white teapot and matching mugs. In the woods, orange-tipped leaves warned of summer’s end.
Rollie tromped to the back yard and stared at the tea set, and Benjy’s damaged yellow truck in the center of the table. “Marian, you really are batty.”
Marian ripped out a weed, its roots shaking in protest. She took off her gloves. “Sit, Rollie. Have some tea.” She filled both large mugs and handed him one.
Rollie perched on a wrought iron chair. “I don’t have time for tea parties. Where are the papers?”
Marian slid the sugar bowl toward him, her silver watch glinting in the sun. “First, have some tea. Let’s be civilized.”
After a tentative sip to test the temperature, Rollie downed the tea in one gulp before slapping his mug on the table. “All right, I’ve had my damn tea. Now, where are the papers?”
Marian leaned back, her own tea untouched. “You swore that I’m incompetent. You got the court to declare that I don’t know what I’m doing.”
Rollie flung up his hands. “Having tea parties at your age proves the point, doesn’t it?” His hands dropped to his side, as if weighted.
“I agree. It will help immensely. I’ll still get to see Benjy.”
“What do you mean?” His skin paled under drops of sweat. “What did you do, Marian?”
She tapped a wrought iron swirl on the table. “Such a stupid mistake, using monkshood in the tea—though I like its other name, wolf’s-bane, better. The bane of predators. It’s poisonous.”
“Marian, you didn’t.”
Marian stroked her chin. “Let’s see. First, tingling and numbness, starting with the hands and feet. Excessive sweating, too. The face is pale and there’s a tendency to faint—but you’re sitting, so no need to worry about that.” She crooked one finger into her mug handle. “The mind’s unaffected, so we can chat, at least for a while. Death can come quickly.”
Rollie’s skin was nearly translucent. “You’ll never get away with it.”
“Of course I will. I’m a grieving old woman who’s not responsible for her actions. You said so yourself. Swore to it. And the court agreed. Fortunately, I’ll recover, once I get over Fred’s death.” She paused. “Yours, too.”
Rollie staggered to his feet, toppling his chair, and reached for Marian with claw-fingered hands. Marian tilted away and Rollie tumbled into the wolf’s-bane, its blue helmets cradling his head.
As Rollie writhed among the plants, Marian picked up the yellow truck and kissed its injured side.
“For you, Benjy,” she whispered. “From Spider-Nana.”
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