Spellcrossed by Barbara Ashford Read Free Book Online Page B

name is…Lurch. He’s an idiot.”
    “Please tell me I’m going to live through this.”
    “Of course you will. You’re a survivor.”
    “Yeah. And tomorrow night, I’ll find out if I’m going to be voted off the tribe.”
    “Don’t be silly. Who could they find to replace you? Especially for that pittance they call a salary. When this season is over, Maggie, you put your foot down. Hard. Preferably on Long’s neck. Chris will represent you at the trial.”
    “When are you going to stop shacking up with that nice man and accept his offer to make you a respectable married woman?”
    “When you stop referring to an adult relationship as ‘shacking up.’ Now go to your funeral. And call me afterward and let me know how it went.”
    Janet and I waited at the theatre until 10:45. When no one showed up, we got into my car and drove in silence to Doreen’s house.
    It turned out to be a rambling country cottage that looked like it had last been painted during the Nixon administration. But there were about a dozen cars out front. At least, some of the cast had shown up.
    Janet and I hurried to the backyard where the service would be held. As we rounded the corner of the house, I stopped short.
    Dozens of people milled about on the lawn. Sixty…seventy…too many to count. Children and adults, board and staff, cast members and strangers.
    I gratefully accepted the tissue Janet brandished and followed her through the maze of dog poop that littered the patchy grass. A chorus of howls, yips, and barks accompanied us, along with the occasional clang of metal as a dog hurled itself against the wire mesh of its run.
    “Maybe they don’t like strangers,” I said, nervously assessing the sturdiness of the mesh.
    “Maybe she’s breeding a pack of Cujos.”
    Reminded of the pet cemetery, I scanned the lawn. Failing to find any gravestones, I concluded her other animals must be buried somewhere in the field behind the house.
    The focal point of the gathering was a rickety, octagonal gazebo that was decidedly off-kilter. A good gust ofwind would knock it down. Which might not be a bad thing since Long was standing inside it.
    I wormed my way through the crowd, but stopped a few feet from the Leaning Tower of Zebo. “I thought we agreed that Reinhard would lead the service.”
    Frowning at a hole in the roof, Long said, “I’m just going to make a few introductory remarks.”
    I resisted the urge to tell him to keep it short, nodded to Bernie, Frannie, and Bea who were representing the board, and made my way toward the staff.
    “Shouldn’t you be standing with the board?” I asked Janet.
    “No. I want to be able to yawn inconspicuously if Long gets windy.”
    The faces of some of the professional actors were as sullen as the sky, but they were all there. So were the Mackenzies, of course, and most of the commuters, looking harried but dutiful. Plus a few parents who had obviously ferried carloads of kids. Only the men on my staff were missing.
    “Where are the guys?” I whispered.
    “Pallbearers,” Janet whispered back.
    “Pallbearers?”
    “Well, SOMEONE has to carry the coffin!” As always, Mei-Yin’s whisper was loud enough to make heads swivel in our direction.
    Long waved his hands and called, “May I have everyone’s attention?” A wave of shushing ensued until the crowd fell silent.
    “For those of you whom I have not met, my name is Longford Martindale, president of the board of directors of the Crossroads Theatre. I just wanted to thank you for coming this morning. Especially the actors. I know how hard you’ve all been working and to sacrifice even an hour of free time shows how deeply you cared about Arthur and how much you wanted to support Doreen. I have been impressed by your performances in rehearsals, but today, I am moved by your compassion and generosity of spirit.”
    Several actors preened—naturally, those who’d been conspicuously short on compassion and generosity last night. I had