Murder, Served Simply by Isabella Alan Read Free Book Online

coming from the audience. But I had to see for myself. I propelled myself forward.
    Deputy Anderson, Mitchell’s young, gawky officer, stood over Eve. I gripped the edge of the stage with my free hand and watched as the sheriff knelt beside the motionless body in Amish dress.
    I looked down at Eve, and then up at the sheriff. Mitchell’s gaze met mine, and he shook his head ever so slightly just once. There was no doubt about it. This rising star, this former Amish girl, was dead. I sucked in air as my body began to shake. I had just spoken to her at the dinner an hour ago. How could a bright, vibrant light be so quickly extinguished?
    The sheriff waved over another deputy I hadn’t even known was there. The two men spoke into their radios in hushed voices, which were impossible to hear over the noise from the crowd.
    The actors and stagehands poured onto the stage. The heavy stage makeup on the actors’ faces amplified their horror. The British man, who played the male lead and had been onstage when Eve fell, clenched his fists. “The structure wasn’t reliable. How dare you let us perform under these conditions? Poor Eve.” He choked on her name and bit his fist.
    Something about his reaction seemed off. The fist biting was a little much, as if he were still playing a part.
    Director Wade Brooklyn ran onto the stage. Hedropped to his knees next to the lifeless girl. “My star! My star!”
    Mitchell grabbed Wade’s hand before he could touch Eve. “Sir, do not touch her.”
    â€œShe was so talented, so beautiful. She was destined for a long career on the stage. She could have made it on Broadway, in Hollywood, anywhere. She just had that
it
factor. I will never again work with such raw talent.”
    There was a sharp intake of breath on the other side of the stage at the director’s comments. A second girl, whom I recognized as the one in English dress during the progressive dinner, was now dressed as an Amish girl. She twisted her onstage prayer cap in her hands. A tear slid down her cheek. “That could have been me.”
    The British actor galloped across the stage and put his arm around the girl.
    I frowned. “That could have been me” seemed like an odd statement to make on seeing a fellow actress die onstage. Yes, there were tears streaming down her face, but were those tears for Eve or for this girl’s supposed close call? Had I even heard her correctly? It was difficult to hear anything over the shouts and cries of the audience. I spun around and searched the crowd for my parents. They stood in the middle of their row. Ryan appeared stricken, and my mother had her face buried in my father’s broad shoulder. The same combination of disbelief and horror was registered on the faces of everyone sitting and standing around them.
    Deputy Anderson stepped onto the stage and peered at the swing Eve fell from. He picked up the heavy ropethat had been used to raise and lower the swing. “Sheriff, look.”
    Mitchell slapped his forehead. “Anderson, drop that right now.”
    As if he had been shot, Deputy Anderson dropped the piece of rope onto the stage. It landed with a thud. The severed end pointed at me. It had a clean cut halfway through it. The remainder was torn.
    â€œThe rope was cut,” Willow said loudly in a rare moment of silence, so that her voice projected across the barn.
    I turned. I hadn’t even realized that she’d been standing there next to me.
    â€œClose the curtain!” Mitchell ordered.
    No one moved.
    He pointed at Anderson. “Close the curtain.”
    The deputy sprinted to the ropes. Slowly the curtain came together, and with one final pull, Anderson, the actors, Mitchell, and Eve’s body disappeared behind a blue velvet sheet.
    Pandemonium erupted as the playgoers pushed out of their rows in their haste to escape the barn. There was a mad rush for the one exit through the front of the barn.