Foul Deeds: A Rosalind Mystery by Linda Moore Page A

femur.”
    â€œThat’s major,” I said. “God, ski trips! Why? The only time I went on one, I got drunk and froze my hands.”
    â€œYeah, I’ve got some stories too. Anyway, Carol is very worried, so I’ve gotta go.”
    â€œOf course. Do you want me to drive you out?”
    â€œNo thanks Roz. I’ll take Ruby and leave her in the parking lot so whenever I get back, I can just drive myself in. But you could do me a favour and take Molly over to Sophie’s later tonight—she’s agreed to look after her for me.”
    â€œNot to worry. I’ll pick Molly up at your place after rehearsal,” I said.
    â€œI’ll be in touch,” he said and was gone before I could ask him anything else.

    When I got to rehearsal they had already begun to work. Hamlet was pressing Gertrude down on her chaise and forcing her to look at the two images: one of his father, which he carried with him, and the other of his wicked uncle, which was in a locket he tore from around Gertrude’s neck.
    â€œHyperion’s curls, the front of Jove himself…this was your husband. Look you now what follows. Here is your husband. Like a mildewed ear
.
”
What a strange image, I thought. “A mildewed ear,” as though Claudius were covered with a thin coating of fungus—Shakespeare’s theme of contamination emerging in a simple description.
    I ducked quickly into the green room and sat down beside Sophie, who was going over her lines.
    â€œSo McBride called you about Molly?” I said.
    â€œYeah, that’s fine. Terrible about his son, isn’t it. He seemed really worried.”
    â€œIt’s one of those situations,” I said. “You know—absentee dad. Whenever anything untoward happens, he’s overwhelmed with guilt on top of everything else.”
    â€œWhat’s Carol like?” she asked.
    â€œI’ve never met her. She’d moved out west before I met McBride. I met Alex a couple of summers ago when he came out for visit. Really great kid. Smart and funny, and nice, you know? I think she’s a good mom.”
    â€œWell, let’s keep our fingers crossed that he’s going to be okay.”
    â€œFor sure,” I said. “I’d better get back in there—see how they’re doing.”
    â€œSee you later. I don’t know if we’ll even get to this scene tonight.”
    â€œWell, in any case, why don’t you take a ride with me after rehearsal, and we can pick up Molly together and take her back to your place.”
    â€œThanks, Roz.”

    I went back into the Crypt proper. The Ghost of Old Hamlet had just passed through Gertrude’s chamber—
“Look how it steals away. My father in his habit as he lived!”
Then Hamlet was instructing Gertrude to be chaste,
“Do not spread the compost on the weeds to make them ranker
…
Go not to my uncle’s bed. Assume a virtue if you have it not.”
Upstage of them, the old espial Polonius lay dead, one arm protruding through the arras. Gertrude was being forced to see the truth and she wasn’t faring very well.
“Oh Hamlet, thou has cleft my heart in twain
.
”
    Gertrude’s plight got me ruminating once again on Daniel King’s mother, Greta, and her strange behaviour after the funeral. McBride had departed for Vancouver without telling me whether he had learned anything about Spiegle. Should I now pursue this on my own, I wondered.
    â€œI’ll lug the guts into the neighbor room. Mother goodnight.”
The scene was over and the cast took a break.
    Sophie was right. Ophelia’s mad scene would not be staged until the following evening. After good nights all around, she and I climbed into Old Solid to go get Molly at McBride’s.
    â€œEveryone seems tired,” I said, commenting on the evening’s energy.
    â€œYes, it’s difficult to keep up the intensity. Shakespeare doesn’t