Page 17 of A Midsummer Night’s Ghost (Murder By Design #8)

SEVENTEEN

It wasn’t a hard enough blow to knock me unconscious.

But it did send me sprawling onto the stage, landing on my knees and my palms, the cell phone I had in fact been used to record Sara spinning across the stage.

She wasn’t the only actress.

There was a gasp from the audience. Then even more frantic cries.

I tried to stand up but I got knocked down again. This time when I hit the stage I saw Ryan above me. “Wh?—

Then excruciating pain shot through my ankle as I got clipped with a stage light falling from the rafters above.

I realized immediately if Ryan hadn’t managed to shove me that would have landed on my head. In shock and pain, I collapsed back onto the stage floor, moaning.

A man appeared in front of me, staring down at me in concern.

Oh, my God. I knew this guy. It was the coroner from when James had died.

I was dead.

I had died at the hands of a bad actress in front of my parents and my grandmother and my boyfriend.

“Why?” I begged God and the universe and the coroner. “I didn’t even get to see my engagement ring!” Then because I was me and I had to qualify everything, even dead, I added, “If there is one.”

“What ring?” the coroner asked, lifted the bottom of my pants to look at my ankle.

I almost passed out from the pain.

Should death hurt this bad? I blinked and turned my head. That hurt too. Maybe I was still alive.

Grandma leaned over me. “Should we keep going with the play? She’s okay?”

Jake’s face appeared next to the other two. He looked worried, but not horrified. He took my hand and squeezed it.

“She may have broken her ankle. She certainly has a significant laceration. She’ll probably need stitches.”

“Does that mean I’m not dead?” I asked.

“Of course you’re not dead, Margaret.”

“Then why is the coroner here?” I groaned.

“This guy?” Grandma asked, thumbing her finger at the man tending to my ankle. “He came with your mother.”

That had me sitting straight up. I realized the entire audience was staring at the stage, murmuring and looking uncertain what to do. Though some people had their phones up and were recording my suffering. Nothing was sacred anymore.

My mother was marching right up the stairs on the side of the stage. The cast of the play were staring at me wide-eyed, though Mary’s ghost continued to act out her lines.

Maybe I was in hell. Maybe I was actually dead.

“We should sue the senior center,” Grandma said. “That light just fell out of nowhere.”

I was pretty damn certain it was Sara Murphy who had made that happen. “I’m not suing anyone. Quick, grab my phone.”

An old nursery rhyme from childhood popped into my head.

Call the doctor. Call the nurse. Call the lady with the alligator purse.

I needed them all right now.

But Clifford was holding my phone. What the heck?

“Bailey, are you okay?” my mother demanded. “Dave, how is she?”

“Mom, why is the coroner at Grandma’s play with you?” I had a sneaking suspicion why but I wanted confirmation.

“We’re dating. He came with me.”

“That was really nice of you,” I told Dave, the coroner. I was impressed.

He shrugged, looking a little sheepish. “It seemed important to your mother so sure, why not? But we need to get you off for an X-ray and some stitches.”

“Thanks, Dave.” I looked at Jake and said, “Clifford has my phone.”

“You kids, always so worried about your darn phones,” Grandma said.

“Can you get it and tell the audience the play will resume in five minutes?”

“We’re finishing the play?” Grandma asked.

“The show must go on,” I told her, channeling my inner actress. “I don’t want to disappoint anyone.”

“This show has been really entertaining so far,” Jake said, giving me a smile.

It didn’t reach his eyes though. He looked worried about me.

I was a little worried about me too. The pain was making it difficult to think. But he did go and retrieve my phone from Clifford, who didn’t appear to be an accomplice in my attempted murder. Or his own.

But there was honestly no telling at this point.

My father appeared and he looked worried as well. “You okay, Ginger?”

I hated that nickname but because he looked genuinely concerned it actually dredged up nostalgia for me. It reminded me of being a little girl and crawling into his lap.

“Dave says I’m going to live,” I told him.

“Who the hell is Dave?”

“Me,” the coroner said.

“He’s dating Mom.”

My father’s cheeks turned redder than usual. My mother looked smug.

Jake smoothed my hair back and kissed my forehead before leaning up and picking me up in the most incredible display of strength and sexiness yet.

The whole auditorium suddenly started clapping.

“This could be romantic.” I flung my arms around his neck. “Except I’m trying not to throw up.”

I also didn’t know where the hell Sara had gone but I felt safe with Jake.

“I wouldn’t even care if you did,” he said.

And I believed him.

Five hours later I was comfortably ensconced on our sofa in our newly redone and serene living room. Jake had propped my ankle on pillows and gently placed an ice pack on it. I had refused the painkillers but I was given four ibuprofen at the hospital, which had dulled the pain. I had six stitches from the laceration and the verdict was a sprain.

Considering it was the same ankle I had sprained when I got hit (intentionally) by a car in the fall, it wasn’t surprising that I’d reinjured it in my fall. The light had caused the cut, not the sprain, according to the general consensus of Dave, the ER doctor, Jake, and my opinionated mother.

My father had no opinion, had just offered me a drink when he had driven Grandma home after the play.

She was sitting across from me now in an easy chair watching The Bachelor with me.

“I don’t think this man is ready to get married,” she said, pointing to the screen. “He doesn’t even wear socks with his shoes.”

I had no idea how that made a man marriage worthy or not but it reminded me of the bombshell earlier today. “Sara Murphy told me that she and Clifford are married.”

“What? That’s absurd.”

My thoughts exactly. “He didn’t deny it and I saw them kissing in the janitor’s closet.” Which now that I thought about it, was extra disgusting because James had died in there.

“That little hussy.”

I wasn’t normally a fan of calling other women names but in this case it might be warranted. “I think Clifford was cheating on Mary.”

“That bastard. He deserved to be filleted like a fish. There’s too much competition for these men as it is. None of my friends need to compete with hot-to-trot thirty-year olds.”

“I wouldn’t call Sara Murphy hot-to-trot,” Jake said, bringing me a smoothie for my dinner.

My stomach was still upset so he’d blended up fruit and a protein shake.

“You better not,” I said. “But we should warn Clifford. I mean, Sara told me straight to my face that her plan was to kill Mary in a really horrific way.”

“Is there a good way to be killed?” Jake asked.

“Don’t joke around,” Grandma said. “But listen, I agree we should tell Clifford. Not that he’ll listen.”

“Why wouldn’t he listen to that?” I asked.

Grandma gestured to her chest. “Because of Sara.”

Jake actually let out a laugh and then stopped himself mid-chuckle.

“I’ll call him,” Grandma said. “We go way back.”

What followed was a convoluted conversation with Clifford on her cell on speaker that made me wonder if I was in fact on painkillers and completely high.

It went like this after they exchanged pleasantries and he asked about my injury:

Grandma: “That little Sara told my Bailey she is only with you for the money.”

Clifford: “I’m no idiot. Of course she’s with me for the money. Which is why I gave her a hundred grand and locked up the rest of my money with a prenup that she signed, but that she thought was a life insurance policy on me. She signs contracts without reading them, can you believe it?”

Grandma: “These kids today. They’ll read anything on their phone but hand them a legal document and they just sign their life away.”

Clifford: “It’s bananas. That’s why I put my money into a trust too for the grandkids. They’ll spend it all on crypto and trying to be social media influencers if they just get a big wad of cash.”

Grandma: “Bailey makes a living picking out kitchen cabinets for people. Who needs help with that?”

Clifford: “Indecisive generation.”

I glanced over at Jake and tried really, really hard not to roll my eyes.

Grandma: “Anyhoo. Turns out Sara tried to poison Mary and then couldn’t pull it off.”

Clifford: “Mary had a heart attack, God rest her soul.”

Grandma: “I know, because Sara couldn’t pull it off. But she wanted her claws in you.”

Clifford: “They’re in me. But at least I’ll die happy.”

Grandma: “What if she tries to kill you?”

Clifford: “At least I’ll die happy.”

Jake just shook his head.

Grandma: “I’ll be at your funeral.”

Clifford: “Oh, listen, I need to go. Sara’s choking on her slushie.”

The call went dead.

I stiffened and looked over at them. “She’s choking on her slushie ? That’s…weird.”

Grandma shrugged. “Everything is weird.”