Act V (34 page)

“
And Dorsey?” She swallowed,
wishing she didn’t have to ask this question. “Is he dead
too?”

“
No,” Brice squeezed her
hand. “But I’ll kill him myself if he comes near you
again.”

She didn’t understand. “But I saw
Michaels shoot him. I saw him fall. He didn’t move again after
that.”

“
That’s because he was
passed out. When we brought him in, his blood alcohol was over .21.
Michaels never even scratched him. Dorsey must have fallen before
Michaels got off the shot. It just seemed to happen all at the same
time.”

“
You know why he was killing
all those people?”

“
We’ve got a pretty good
idea, but why don’t you tell me what you know if you’re up to
it.”

“
He did it
to cover up his stepfather’s murder. He must have been planning it
all for a long time. He was going to rape me, and then strangle me
like Desdemona in
Othello
. He was going to blame
Dorsey, make it look like Dorsey was jealous of you and me. But
Dorsey woke up and I got away when Michaels went to check on
him.”

“
We found the note he was
planning to use to frame Timmons and pretty much figured out the
rest. You know they’ll want to talk to you when you’re
able.”

“
That’s okay, as long as
you’re with me.”

“
Glynnis,” his face was
grim. He didn’t want to bring up this memory, but he had to know if
she needed further medical attention or maybe counseling. “Did he
rape you?”

“
No, he would have if Dorsey
hadn’t started stumbling around in his trophy room when he did.”
She suppressed a chill and felt tears burn her eyes.

Brice gently warmed her by squeezing
her hand and tucking the covers in all around. “I guess we owe
Dorsey for that, even if it was an accident. It’s going to be okay
you know.”

She knew it would, in time.

“
Glynn, about going home
tomorrow. I don’t think going to your house is such a good idea.
You’ll need some help getting around for a few days. You should
just come back to my place.”

“
Is that an
invitation?”

“
It’s more like an
order.”

He kissed her gently and she returned
the kiss. “Brice, I’d love to go back to your place, but…and I know
how this sounds, especially after what we’ve been through, but my
mother won’t understand why I’m living with you now. My life isn’t
in danger anymore. I have to go back to my house. Besides, I don’t
think you’d be able to keep Mama from taking care of me if you
tried.”

“
Okay, but I’m moving into
the guest room, at least for a few days.”

“
But, my mother…”

“
We’ll just have to settle
her doubts then. Do you think she’d let me stay if I beg you to
marry me? I’ll get down on my knees if you want, but this hospital
floor…”

“
You really want to marry
me?”

“
If your mother will let
us.”

“
She’ll want to plan a big
wedding.”

“
Whatever makes her happy…Is
that a yes?”

“
It is if you still want to
after you’ve put up with me as a patient for a few days….Are you
sure? It’s not just the emotional stress and the pressure of the
moment?”

“
I love you, Glynnis. I
would have asked you two days ago. I had elaborate plans to take
you out and propose to you several days ago. But then you went to
meet Dorsey that afternoon, and it all broke loose.”

“
I have such good timing.”
She closed her eyes and considered. “I’ll marry you under one
condition.”

He raised an eyebrow but didn’t
speak.

“
You have to promise to give
me that elaborate proposal anyway…maybe when I’m not so
sleepy.”

Act V

If we shadows have
offended,
Think but this, and all is mended,
That you have but slumber'd here
While these visions did appear…
…Else the Puck a liar call;
So, good night unto you all.
Give me your hands, if we be friends,
And Robin shall restore amends.

~~A Midsummer Night’s
Dream~~Act V, Scene I~~

William
Shakespeare

Chapter 30

Puck, who in real life was
a twenty-five year old actor named Langley Hand, danced off the
stage with a flourish. The whole cast ran back on and took a bow.
The final scene of
A Midsummer Night’s
Dream
closed to a standing ovation. It was
opening night.

Actors wandered through the crowd with
pillowcases accepting donations. Glynnis spoke with a few of her
regulars who welcomed her back, happy to see that she was in good
health and directing again. Except for a little tenderness, her
shoulder was mended and her arm was usable. The MS symptoms were
precarious, but not unmanageable. She attended physical therapy
sessions for her arm twice a week and was expected to have a full
recovery. The emotional scars would take longer.

Regardless of what Brice had said about
him being responsible for the man’s death, she still dreamed about
Dylan Michaels, his cold eyes, his logical reasoning, his attempted
rape. Strangely, she had also dreamed about the moment the cutlass
had impaled his stomach, spraying blood over both of them, the life
in his eyes fading quickly. He’d had enough life left in him to
shoot her before Brice shot him. Brice had told her over and over
that he had killed Michaels with his shot, which technically was
true, but she had seen his life force fade out before either gun
had gone off. She had wanted to kill him, wanted to put an end to
his miserable existence, but wanting to and doing were different.
Yes, it was self-defense but she had killed him, even if Brice had
pulled the trigger and that would probably haunt her
forever.

Still the dreams were just dreams, not
premonitions. Michaels was dead and Brice had been there to hold
her every time she’d woken up screaming. She didn’t dream about it
every night now, and that was something.

Now, with cast members and play-goers
milling around her, she felt more at ease than she had in a very
long time. Addy, Laney and their daughters were there, packing up
their lawn chairs. “You are some kind of director,” Addy told her.
“See if you can do something about getting that partner of mine
straightened out. He wouldn’t know a good play if it bit
him.”

“
I’ll do what I can, Addy.
Have I said thanks for everything you did to help me?” She turned
to Laney. “Is it okay if I kiss him?”

Laney laughed, a strong, joyful laugh,
“You’ll make his day.”

Glynnis hugged him fiercely and gave
him a kiss on the cheek. “Thanks.”

*****

Her mother and father approached to
congratulate her. “Glynnis, it was beautiful,” her father said.
“I’ll never get all that fairy stuff, but it was a great
play.”

Her mother smiled, “We’re so proud of
you.” She glanced past Glynnis’ shoulder. “I think you have a fan
waiting for you.”

“
Aren’t you the famous
director, Glynnis Nuckolls?” a cheerful voice said from behind her.
“May I have your autograph?” She turned toward Brice and he lifted
his shirt. “You could sign my chest.” He waggled his
eyebrows.

Glynnis grabbed his shirt and jerked it
downward. “Put your clothes on before somebody sees you and decides
to take you home.”

“
Your play was a
hit.”

“
Thank you. I’m glad you
enjoyed it.”

“
I’ll never get all that
fairy stuff, but…”

“
You sound like my
father.”

He grinned. “Come on, I have to show
you something.”

He tugged her good arm and she pulled
away. “Brice, I need to help clean up and get everything ready for
tomorrow.”

“
Your cast has it covered.”
He pointed to several of the cast members who nodded and shooed
them away.

“
Okay, what is
it.”

“
It’s a
surprise.”

It wasn’t a surprise for long. He led
her onto the footbridge overlooking the stage and the falls, and
dropped to one knee. Reaching into his pocket, he brought out a
small, velvet box and presented it to her. “I’ve been holding onto
this for what seems like forever now,” he told her with a voice
that barely spoke above the roar of the falls. “Maybe it’s time to
finally give it to you. Glynnis Marie Nuckolls, will you be my
wife?”

She opened the box and
found a teardrop diamond in a silver setting. They had already
started planning the wedding, were already picking out china, but
this was the sweetest proposal she could imagine. “Yes. I love you,
Brice. Yes, yes, yes!” She pulled him to his feet and kissed him
hard enough to make her toes curl. When she was finished, she heard
applause coming from below. The whole cast and crew, along with her
folks, and many of the audience members were cheering them on.
“Did
everybody
know you were planning to do this tonight before I
did?”

He shrugged, “Everybody except for the
psychic apparently.”

She kissed him again.

~~~~~

About Ansley Adams

Ansley has been a published writer
since 1997. She has been a fan of mystery, romance, and suspense
for as long as she can remember. She has no psychic abilities but
her superpower is writing novels while balancing multiple dogs and
a laptop.

Connect with Ansley at:

https://twitter.com/AnsleyAdams2

http://aadamsmysteries.wix.com/ansleyadamsmysteries

https://www.facebook.com/AnsleyAdamsmysteries

[email protected]

http://aadamsmysteries.wordpress.com/

~~~~~

Please enjoy this exerpt
from:

Truth or Dare: The First
Gayla Prinzel Mystery

Ansley Adams

Truth or Dare: The First
Gayla Prinzel Mystery

By Ansley Adams

Smashwords
Edition

Copyright 2013

Ansley Adams

Smashwords Edition, License
Notes

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the hard work of this author.

Prologue

It had to be there, had to.
His job—no his wellbeing, would depend upon it. He lifted every bit
of trash, every doodad. By God, it looked like his Great Aunt
Hannah’s house with all of her infernal junk, every shelf was
loaded with miniature figurines, souvenir gators from Florida, a
mini Hollywood sign from Los Angeles, a glass maple leaf from
Toronto. The old broad had been a regular world traveler. Junk,
junk, junk. He lifted every piece and carefully set it back down in
place to avoid leaving the impression that the place had been
searched. He looked beneath each one for a key or any clue and
almost choked on the dust. Nothing. Then he walked on tiptoe, on
cat’s feet across the floor to the pantry shelves. He searched
inside the shelves, under cans of food, under boxes of rice. And
what was with the cat food? The old biddy had at least three dozen
cans of cat food stored here and almost no real people food, yet
there were no cats to be found. Was she feeding every cat in the
neighborhood, or maybe eating this crap herself?

He slammed the pantry door
shut and lumbered down the basement steps. Surely there would be
some sign of it hidden there. Boxes and newspapers filled the
shelves and floors. Didn’t this woman ever throw anything away? He
scoured each shelf and pile. Crazy old bat!

The laundry room was also a
bust. He raced up to the second floor, then the third floor/attic
and having no luck returned to the living room. She was still
there, staring at him with cold, blue, cataract eyes. Not that he
expected anything else. The green, naugahyde couch slumped in the
middle almost to the floor. A metal rod protruded from below one
arm. A cigarette burn marred the other. Aging, lace doilies covered
the three back cushions. Sprawled across the three seats, her head
resting on a pillow was Mrs. Gertrude Raynell Parker, owner of this
three-story Victorian. She glared at him as he entered the room,
but Malachi knew she wasn’t really seeing him. Her eyes had gone
blank the moment he’d bashed her head in with a fireplace poker.
Her head had twisted awkwardly to the side and she’d fallen without
another word. It was her own damned fault, she was supposed to be
off playing bridge at the senior center with a bunch of other old
women like she did every week. She was not supposed to be here
waiting to surprise him when he picked the lock and walked right in
like he owned the place. She had risen up from the couch and
started screaming. What could he do? He hadn’t really wanted to
kill the old lady and he knew he’d catch hell for it, not because
she was dead, but because it would call attention from the
authorities. But she had seen him and he had panicked. He had to
admit though, watching the life go out of her eyes, like the
flickering of a candle that has burned too far into the wax to go
on, had been fascinating. One minute she had been alive and the
next, she wasn’t. He had settled her back onto her couch and now
she looked as if she were sleeping except for the wide-open eyes
and the caved-in skull. He put the image away in the back of his
mind to consider later. For now, he still had much work to
do.