I Only Read Murder by Ian Ferguson and Will Ferguson

Author:Ian Ferguson and Will Ferguson
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: HarperCollinsPublishers
Published: 2022-05-05T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Seventeen

Condemned to Love

Two days to the murder . . .

The play staggered on like a wounded water buffalo looking for a place to die. Usually a play’s opening night rushes toward you. But not here. Not in Happy Rock. Time slowed down in these parts.

Day in and day out, and the exact same performance at the end of it! Miranda was amazed at so much effort exerted to so little effect. Onstage, the power drills had ceased, only to be replaced by the overpowering smell of paint, slapped on while the cast performed to a dwindling but die-hard audience. The paint had since dried. A second coat had been applied. It had dried. Then the sanding started . . . the power sanding.

Burt had decided to “vamp up” the set in honor of the tenth anniversary, and these “touch-ups” had taken longer than it would have to build an entirely new set from scratch. Would have been easier just to stage it in Edgar’s bookstore, she figured, rather than re-create it onstage.

Meanwhile, back at Bea’s B&B, with its peeling front porch and purportedly “English” garden, the housekeeping still hadn’t improved. Miranda tried to help Bea along, considerately heaping her laundry in one large pile on the floor rather than spreading it around the room, but still. She had mentioned it to Bea over breakfast.

Bea evaded the issue, however, choosing to focus on the blue box. Again.

“It’s right near the door, dear. It’s where the recycling goes.”

Ned cheerfully shoveled another pancake onto Miranda’s plate.

“Fresh off the griddle.”

“These are gluten-free, correct?”

“Um. Sure.” Ned had absolutely no idea what gluten was.

“I was thinking,” said Miranda, delicately dabbing a wad of pancake into a puddle of organic syrup (or so Bea said). “After rehearsals tonight, why not treat ourselves to a good ol’ Pastor Fran Friday! It’s been ages.”

Ned and Bea exchanged looks. “It’s Tuesday.”

“But Pastor Fran Friday can be any day of the week! That’s the beauty of it. You said so yourself! Ned can bring the popcorn. I’ll make a big jug of—”

“No!” It was Bea. “We can’t because . . .” She looked to Ned for help.

“Because . . . ,” he said. “Because . . .”

He threw it back to Bea.

“The VCR is broken!” she said.

“Yes!” said Ned, beaming. “It’s broken. The, ah, flange. It needs a new flange.”

A shrug from Miranda. “So ask Tanvir. He owns a hardware store.” “It’s, ah, it’s an electronic flange,” said Ned. “Would need a whole new software update for it to work.”

“VCRs have software? Who knew? That’s a shame. I could use a break.”

“Rehearsals not going well?” asked Bea with a kindly look.

“Let me put it this way. Hours and hours of work, and we are right where we started. Owen McCune is still not off book. And opening night is rapidly approaching.” Under her breath, she added, “Though not rapidly enough.”

“But Susan is,” said Bea.

“Susan?”

“She’s off book, so she can help. She keeps an eye on everything from the wings, sees what’s happening, knows when to jump in.

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