Page 69 of A Midsummer Night's Ghost

“Want a sip?” Sara shook her giant pink tumbler in my direction.

“Yes, actually, thanks.” Normally I’m not a fan of sharing food or drink with people, but I wanted to avoid coughing. Once I cough, it never seems to stop, and I couldn’t be hacking in the wings, nor did I want to delay the start of this debacle masquerading as Shakespeare.

I took the tumbler from her expecting it would be water or boba. When a blast of cold sugary sweetness hit my palate my eyes nearly crossed.

“Whoa. That’s sweet.” I was still puckering a little.

“I like it sweet.” She sailed on down the hallway.

I watched her go, frowning. What was that flavor…

Then I realized exactly what it was. Blue slushie.

Just like the cup in the janitor’s room.

Did that mean Sara was just in the janitor’s closet for some random reason and left her drink behind? Or did she poison James? I didn’t even have confirmation there was poison in that cup I found because no one had it tested.

It also just occurred to me then that if I had thought there was poison in there, I shouldn’t have just left it on the shelf.

My investigation skills were rusty. Or more likely, I’d never had them.

Clifford came out of the makeshift dressing area.

“Clifford, where are you going? We’re almost ready to start.”

“Just got to hit the head real quick. My prostate isn’t what it used to be.”

File that under too much information.

“Try not to take too long.” I peeked my head into the dressing area and debated if I had time to go to the janitor’s closet and toss that drink if it was still there. It was clear there wasn’t going to be any investigation and if there was, they would probably still conclude it was a suicide. So I didn’t want to risk anyone else being parched and taking a sip of that drink. Was that likely? Probably not. But I didn’t want to take that chance.

I checked my phone to see what time it was. Five minutes to curtain.

Then I went backstage and looked out at the audience. It was more people than I was expecting, which added to my anxiety. This was probably going to go down as one of my top ten most embarrassing life events.

It wasn’t the cast’s fault. It was mine, for not knowing what I was doing and being ill prepared to direct them. But ultimately it was Sara’s for choosing such a difficult piece and for disappearing in the face of a tragedy like Mary’s death. We could have canceled the show, but the cast had worked hard on it.

Biting my lip, I decided to make a run for the janitor’s closet and alleviate at least one source of anxiety—the potentially deadly slushie.

What I saw when I opened the janitor’s closet, was so shocking I almost pulled a Sara Murphy and passed out before throwing up.

Because what I was seeing was Sara Murphy, in the janitor’s closet, kissing Clifford.

Not a granddaughterly cheek peck.

Not a good-to-see-you kiss.

But a dark closet passionate precursor to naked kiss.

Clifford’s hand was gripping her backside and I didn’t think it was for stability.

Sara didn’t jump away from Clifford. She just blinked at the sudden light from the hallway, her sunglasses no longer on. She smiled at me brightly.

“Whoops. You caught us.”

Then to compound my complete and total shock she lifted her left hand and announced, “Cliffie and I got married!”

My jaw dropped like a cartoon character. I had no idea what to say so I said, “I don’t know what to say.”

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