“Bravo!” Our usher and several others nearby applauded.
“Bah, humbug!” said Josh, not only competitive but contrarian tonight.
The drama students all found this delightful and applauded some more.
“I take it this means that Professor Waterston has learned his lines,” our usher said.
“If he forgets any it’s not from want of rehearsal,” I said, handing over my contribution.
“Thank you, madam,” he said, with a bow. “Enjoy the performance. And I look forward to seeing you the day after tomorrow.”
“On Christmas Day?”
“Your mother has very kindly invited those of us who cannot go home for the holiday to share in your Christmas dinner. Christmas orphans, she calls us.”
“Lovely,” I said. And since I wasn’t hosting the dinner and had every intention of dodging all attempts to suck me into cooking, I meant it.
The lobby was decorated with whole forests of greenery festooned with red ribbons and flickering faux candles, and with all the ushers and ticket takers dressed in Victorian costumes, the effect was quite splendid. In a far corner, a costumed string quartet was playing a lively version of “Good King Wenceslas.”
“Meg, dear!” Mother was standing just inside the door, also dressed in period costume, though her red velvet gown was much more elaborate than those worn by the women ushers. “Come have tea. And some hot cider for the boys.”
“Gamma in play, too?” Jamie asked
Josh just trotted past her to the stand where volunteers—mostly women from St. Clotilda’s Guild and the New Life Ladies’ Auxiliary, resplendent in hoopskirted Victorian dresses in jewel tones—were selling hot tea, coffee, and cider to benefit the cleanup and renovation of the churches of Caerphilly, according to the signs posted nearby. I had a feeling this would be only the first of many benefits.
“Nice to see you,” said a familiar voice.
Chapter 36
I had to do a double take before recognizing Robyn, also in a Victorian gown, although I recognized hers as one borrowed from the drama department’s wardrobe collection.
Riddick Hedges was also there in costume, which was unfortunate, because unlike Michael and the other men from the drama department, he had no idea how to carry it off well. He was squirming as if the whole outfit was profoundly uncomfortable, and if I’d been casting David Copperfield he’d have been a shoo-in for Uriah Heep. It was perhaps a measure of his discomfort that he was not only willing but eager to fetch pitchers of water to refill the urns, haul away bags of trash, or perform any other chore that allowed him to disappear from view. In between errands he appeared to be attempting to fade into the wallpaper along one side of the lobby. No doubt he was unaware that he was standing directly beneath one of the dozen ornate Victorian mistletoe balls that dotted the room. I suspected he’d be mortified if anyone pointed this out.
I shelled out for tea for me and cider for the boys. Josh bolted his and had to be told to drink his second helping more slowly. Jamie was already sipping so slowly that I suspected he thought he’d be taken home to bed when his cup was empty.
“Take your time,” Mother told me. “Rose Noire and your father are saving seats for all of us.”
“Unfortunately, no one from Henry’s department will be here tonight,” Minerva said.
“Are they still trying to locate Jerome Lightfoot?”
“And not having much luck,” Minerva said. “It’s beginning to look as if after killing poor Mr. Vess he went straight home, packed his suitcases and took off. They’ve got a bulletin out on his car.”
“I hope they catch him soon,” I said. “Actually, I hope some other county catches him soon.”
“I confess, I agree.” Minerva shook her head. “I’d purely love to hear that he’s been spotted a good long ways from here and locked up in someone else’s jail. I had words with that man, more than once—if I’d known what kind of man he is! A cold-blooded killer!”
“Actually, I’m not sure cold-blooded could ever describe Mr. Lightfoot,” one of the other Baptist ladies said. “I’ve never seen him when he wasn’t in a temper over something.”
“A hot-tempered killer, then,” Minerva said. “And running around loose, and him knowing full well that I’m one of the people who’s been trying to get him fired. Makes me feel all funny.”
“Sit down, Minerva, dear,” Mother said. “And have some tea.”
“I can’t blame you one bit,” the Baptist lady said.
“I don’t see how any of us will sleep tonight,” exclaimed an Episcopalian.