Spellcrossed by Barbara Ashford Read Free Book Online Page A

want to rest with the others.”
    Another unwilling picture, this one of Stephen King’s
Pet Sematary
.
    Now who’s being ghoulish?
    “We could have a little gathering in the picnic area,” I ventured.
    “But this is a formal occasion,” Hal protested.
    Before I could suggest an alternative, Doreen said, “We’ll hold the service at my house.”
    Praying we could fit a funeral into our overcrowded schedule, I nodded.

    I left Janet and Long to break the bad news to the parents who were beginning to filter into the theatre while I hurried to the green room to speak to the cast. As soon as I opened the door, the murmur of conversation ceased. Icouldn’t help noting that the pros clustered together on the far side of the room, while the Mackenzies huddled near the kitchenette with the orphans. The community theatre actors were in the middle, squeezed onto the sofa and chairs and crowded around the central table.
    Even in grief, my cast remained divided.
    As I searched for inspirational words to recognize Arthur’s loss, address their concerns, and pull this cast together, Kimberlee demanded, “Are we postponing the opening?”
    Thrown off stride, I fumbled to get back on script. “While Arthur’s death is a terrible loss, we will still open as planned. Fifi will be taking over the role of Sandy.”
    “Are you kidding?” Bill exclaimed.
    “Well, who else is there?” Debra demanded.
    Heartened by her support, I flashed a grateful smile. Then she added, “Even if she is a weird little mutt and pees at the drop of a hat.”
    I silenced the titters with a stern look. “I know it’s been a long night, but there’s one more thing before I let you go. We’re holding a memorial service for Arthur at Doreen’s house. Tomorrow at eleven o’clock.”
    Most of the children brightened. Otis nodded. Bill said, “But we’re not expected to go or anything, right?”
    I’d merely planned to encourage a good turnout, but Bill’s look of disbelief pissed me off.
    “Arthur was a member of this cast. I realize that the commuters may have scheduling conflicts, but I hope you’ll make every effort to attend. I expect all cast members living at the Bough to be there to support Doreen and show your respect for Arthur. Reinhard will e-mail directions tomorrow morning. Frannie will have copies at the Bough. Those who’d like to carpool, please meet at the theatre at 10:30. Are there any more questions?”
    Silence greeted my speech. And no wonder. The moment had called for warm and supportive and I’d given them cold and bitchy. Hoping to mend things, I groped for the inspirational words that had eluded me earlier.
    “Arthur’s death has been a shock. But we have a terrific show and if we pull together, we’ll have a wonderful opening night. One that will make us—and Arthur—proud.”
    Chelsea heaved a dramatic sigh. Kimberlee muttered something to Bill. Debra stifled a yawn.
    So much for inspiration. Before Arthur’s death, I had a divided cast. Now, I had a divided, resentful cast.
    Maggie Graham. Hapless Professional.

CHAPTER 7
TOMORROW
    I SPENT THE NEXT MORNING checking in with Doreen, touching base with the staff on funeral arrangements, helping Janet organize the luncheon we’d decided to hold at the Bates mansion, and fielding a gazillion phone calls from parents and board members. After my third conversation with Long, I dialed my mother’s number.
    “Are you serious?” she exclaimed after I told her about Arthur. “He just dropped dead? Onstage? In front of the entire cast?”
    “I’m very serious.”
    There was a long silence. Then: “It could be worse. It could have happened opening night.”
    “That’s the silver lining?”
    “You said yourself he was a thousand years old!”
    “I know, but—”
    “How are you handling it?”
    When I told her about the funeral and my dreadful “be there or else” ultimatum, she sighed.
    “I know. I screwed up.”
    “You were upset. And that…whatever his