All the Colors of Darkness

“Listen to us,” said Annie. “We sound like a couple of old women.

Next we’ll be complaining about rationing.”

“Now I definitely don’t remember that,” said Carol. They laughed.

The coffee and tea came, along with their tea cakes. “You’ve changed your hair since you were over at the house,” Carol went on. “It looks nice. It really suits you. Have you ever thought of going blond?”

“I don’t know if I could handle more fun,” said Annie. “Still, it’s a thought.” She blew on her coffee, then added a generous helping of cream. “Actually, it’s your husband I wanted to talk to you about.”

Carol Wyman frowned. “Derek? Why, what’s he done?”

“We don’t think he’s done anything,” Annie lied. “We just need to know a little more about his relationship with Mark Hardcastle and Laurence Silbert.”

“I thought that was all over. Your superintendent said so on the news.”

“Just tidying up a few loose ends,” said Annie, smiling. “Sometimes the job’s nothing but paperwork.”

“I know what you mean,” said Carol, pouring her pale green tea from the rose-colored pot. It smelled of mint and chamomile. “Mine’s just the same. And some of the doctors are real sticklers.”

“I don’t suppose you can read their writing, though, can you?” said Annie.

Carol laughed. “As a matter of fact,” she said, “it is a problem.”

“How long has your husband been directing plays for the theater?”

“Ages now,” said Carol. “I mean, not so much for the theater, but the Amateur Dramatic Society. They used to put on performances at the community center, even the church hall sometimes.”

“He seems very passionate about his work.”

“Oh, he is,” Carol said. “Sometimes I think he’s more passionate about his work than he is about me. No, that’s not fair. He’s a good husband. And a good father. It’s just that I think he sometimes takes too much on his plate. The teaching certainly wears him down and—”

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“I thought he liked it.”

“Well, he does. I mean, something like that, it gives you a chance to make a difference, doesn’t it? To inspire future generations.” She glanced around the room and leaned forward, lowering her voice.

“But a lot of them just don’t care. A lot of them don’t even bother turning up for school. It’s hard when you really care about something, to be constantly surrounded by people who mock it.”

“That’s what Derek feels?”

“Sometimes.”

“It must have made him a bit cynical about it all.”

“Well, he gets depressed sometimes, I can tell you that.” She took a sip of the steaming tea. “Mmm, that’s nice,” she said. “Just the ticket.”

“Why doesn’t he consider another line of work?”

“You try that at forty-two, when you’ve been a teacher for more than twenty years.”

“I see.”

“If he didn’t have his theater, I don’t know what he’d do. I think it’s the only thing that keeps him sane. He loves the new arrangement.

You know, it makes him feel just that bit more important to be working in a real theater rather than a village hall or something.”

“I know what you mean,” said Annie. “He must feel like a real professional.”

“Yes. And he works so hard. Anyway, what is it you want to know?”

“Has your husband ever mentioned going to the Red Rooster pub?”

“The Red Rooster? In Medburn? But that’s a chain pub. Derek is strictly a real ale man. Used to be a member of CAMRA and all. He wouldn’t be seen dead in a place like that. Why?”

“It doesn’t matter,” said Annie, even more curious now. “As I said, I’m just tidying up loose ends. You get swamped with information in a case like this, and you have to sort out the wheat from the chaff.”

“I suppose so,” said Carol slowly.

Annie could see that she was starting to lose her. Any more questions that implied Carol’s husband was up to something, or behaving 2 4 6 P E T E R

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out of character, and that would be the end of their pleasant little chat.

The door opened and an elderly couple stuck their heads around the door and decided the place would do. They said hello and settled down two tables away. “It must have been terrible for Derek when his brother died,” Annie said, making an abrupt turn, remembering the photograph in the Wymans’ living room.

“Oh, God, yes,” said Carol. “Derek simply adored Rick. Hero-worshipped him. He was just devastated, gutted. We all were.”