The Impersonator by Mary Miley

the Little Darlings playing in Oregon in the next couple of months were slim to none, and by autumn we’d both be Somewhere Else. Even so, it seemed I had strayed from the approved script once again.
    “What are two-a-days?” asked Caroline.
    “Sorry, that’s just vaudeville talk for Big Time. It means the good theaters where you only have to perform twice a day. Usually a matinee and an evening show, or sometimes two evening shows. Playing Small Time can mean four or five or even six.”
    Aunt Victoria stood, signifying the end of luncheon. “Well, I see there will be no dull conversations at mealtime in this house! Jessie, why don’t you take your grandmother for a turn in the garden? I’ll join you in a jiffy.”
    “Yes, Jessie, you remember the garden,” said Ross, taking off his eyeglasses and wiping the lenses with his handkerchief. “One of your favorite places to take a book.”
    Without his cheaters in the way, Ross’s eyes rivaled Valentino’s for dreamy beauty. A girl would die for those long sooty lashes that curled at the tips. I was not, however, so distracted that I missed his trap.
    “I don’t remember being much of a reader,” I replied. “The garden does look lovely—I caught a glimpse of it from my bedroom window—but you had only the trellised roses along the chimneys when I was here, isn’t that right, Aunt Victoria?”
    “Exactly so,” she agreed. “I had the wall built shortly after you left—that alone took six months, then it took three more years before the plantings were finished. Not that I could ever call a garden finished. Gardens are works in progress, your uncle Charles used to say.” At the mention of her late husband, she gave a sigh. “Dear me, I do miss him.”
    “The trustees told me, of course, that Uncle Charles had passed away. I am so sorry. They said it was about a year after I left.”
    “On December 9, 1918, at 2:14 P.M. , his spirit left him for a far better world,” she said, placing one hand on her bosom in the dramatic fashion of an old-time actress preparing to recite. “He’d been ill for so many years, it was hardly what you could call a surprise, but … well, I find one is usually surprised at death even when one expects it.”
    Grandmother and I exchanged a long glance. Death had certainly surprised us a few short hours ago. I wondered what had become of the corpse by now. Poor girl. I could only imagine her family’s grief.
    “Would you like a turn in the garden, Grandmother?”
    “I believe I would.”
    I was headed upstairs to fetch her shawl when I heard a hiss. There, lurking in an alcove below the staircase was Oliver, gesturing wildly. Mindful of his warning that we not be seen talking alone, I looked about to make sure we were unobserved.
    “What is it? Whatever is the matter? You needn’t worry about the Little Darlings showing up in Portland, and I don’t know what I said wrong in the parlor when the boys walked in.”
    “Who told you that?” he demanded. “Who told you about putting your thumb in the glass mark?”
    “My thumb? Uh, you did, of course. You told me about the green glass floats and how they were made in Japan. Don’t you remember?”
    “Yes, yes, but not the thumb!” he rasped. “I never told you that. I couldn’t have told you. I didn’t remember it myself until you came out with it. I’d completely forgotten that Jessie used to say that.”
    “Well, I wouldn’t make something like that up out of whole cloth. Are you sure you didn’t tell me?”
    “Of course I’m sure,” he said, eyeing me warily.
    “Stop looking at me like that! I’m not Jessie!”
    “Then how did you know?”
    “Coincidence. It’s a natural progression of thought. Pick up the glass ball and your thumb fits in the sealing mark. Anyone would say it. Calm down, you’re overreacting.”
    Oliver pulled out a handkerchief and dabbed his brow. “Maybe.” Then his face took on a crafty look, and his puffy eyes narrowed to