Daisy caught up to her and tapped her arm. “Glenda, can we talk?”
When Glenda turned toward her, her face was flushed but there were no tears in her eyes. It was possible she was still angry from whatever she and Ward had been arguing about. “I’ d like to talk to you about Margaret,” Daisy said honestly.
Shaking her head, Glenda held up a hand. “I don’t want to talk about Margaret. I’m not even going to Vanna’s house. Everything’s still too raw.”
“Yes, I suppose it is,” Daisy concurred with empathy. “I’m trying to find out a few facts that might help the police. If you don’t want to talk here or today, maybe another time and place?”
Glenda looked around the area as if she wanted to run away.
“Why don’t you stop in at the tea garden sometime before rehearsal? I heard the play is still going on.”
“From what I know, it is,” Glenda said as if she didn’t agree with that. “Many of the cast and Rowan believe we can pay tribute to Margaret by making this the best production it can be. That means a lot more rehearsals than we’ve been having. It means new lines to be learned. I’d like to rewrite a few of the scenes. Margaret wouldn’t let me make the changes, but now I’m going to do that.”
“You’re the playwright so I imagine what you say goes.”
“If Rowan doesn’t want to manage the cast and crew and everything that has to be done, he’ll have to appoint someone. I’m hoping he appoints me. Ward and Keisha are experienced in theater mechanics, so to speak, but I think I’m the one who can pull this together.”
Seeing that almost everyone was leaving, Daisy nodded. “We can talk more about this soon, tea and scones on me.”
Glenda slowly smiled. “Maybe.”
Daisy turned and started back to meet Jonas. Rowan hadn’t wanted to have a gathering at the house where Margaret was murdered, so the reception after the funeral was to be held at Vanna’s house. It was small but would be adequate for an occasion like this.
As Daisy kept her eyes on the mausoleum, she knew she wanted to recover from the panicky feeling she got whenever she was in a small space. She didn’t like the condition hanging over her. She wanted to feel normal again.
Jonas stood under the canopy as if he didn’t want to be near the mausoleum either. He’d only worn a suit coat, and she imagined he must be cold. Even in her raspberry-colored dress coat with a scarf around her neck, she was chilled. It was as if those chills came from the inside, though, not outside. She wasn’t sure.
Once more at Jonas’s side, she said, “I’m going into the mausoleum alone.”
“Why don’t I come with you?”
She shook her head. “Alone, Jonas. I have to do this alone. I don’t want you standing right outside like a guard. Why don’t you go sit in your car? It’s cold out here.”
But he could be as stubborn as she could. “I’m going to wait right here for you. Do whatever you need to do, then come back to me.”
She appreciated his sentiment and kissed him on the cheek to show it. But then she walked toward the mausoleum, determination in her step. The granite or concrete or whatever it was, was so cold, not only to the eye but to the touch. It held the cold and seemed to radiate it. Crossing the threshold, she shut the wooden door. Standing perfectly still, she took in a breath and let it out. Then she took in another, deeper, and let that one out. After the third, she felt calmer. She didn’t know what she intended to do in here. Maybe just feel the space. Maybe she needed to prove she had enough courage that she wouldn’t panic while she was in here.
She studied each crypt, all of which held a brass plate with the name of a family member and also engraved with a quote from a text or the Bible. When she came to Margaret’s, the newest one, she stopped. It didn’t have a name yet, nor did it have a quote. However, she saw a slip of paper on the ground floor. It was half buried as if someone had dropped it and then stepped on it. Pulling it from the ground, she brushed it off. As she opened it, she saw words were written on it. The acts of this life are the destiny of the next. Eastern proverb.
Was Rowan going to put that quote on a brass plate that would be screwed into the crypt? Had Margaret picked it out herself and maybe included it in her will? Daisy studied the crypt a few moments longer, then she walked to the left until she reached the wall. Turning, she walked to the right. Nothing happened to her. A panic attack didn’t overtake her. She was perfectly fine.
Maybe not perfectly fine. Her heart was racing. Her palms felt sweaty even in the cold. There was no point standing in here becoming chilled to the bone. She didn’t like this place because it was a mausoleum. Perhaps the next time she was in an enclosed space, she’d escape a panic attack. She was so grateful one didn’t happen now.
After she opened the door, she felt a whole lot better. As she stepped outside, her heart settled into a regular rhythm. A gust of wind blew as if cleansing her from her experience inside. She ducked her nose down into her scarf.
Jonas had stayed exactly where he’d been under the canopy. He was pacing back and forth, but she imagined that was to keep warm. He spotted her, and their gazes met. She walked in a straight line toward him. Without a word he
