“Certainly not,” replied Vivien, exchanging glances with Helga. “Does this mean you’ll take the role of Abby Brewster?”
“Is she the bossy sister or the fluttery one?” asked Maxine, narrowing her eyes.
“For pity’s sake, they’re both murderers,” said Helga. “What does it matter?”
“Of course she’s the bossy one,” said Vivien at the same time, then broke off a large piece of the scone she’d swiped and wagged it in front of Maxine’s face. “Typecasting, you know.” She popped the crumbly pastry into her mouth and grinned. “And if we ever doWizard of Oz, you know what role you’ll be playing.” She hummed the Wicked Witch of the West’s theme song.
Maxine barked a laugh, her eyes gleaming with humor and appreciation. “I’d play the hell out of that role, and you know it. All right, then, Vivien Leigh. I’ll be the bossy sister.” She thumped her cane again. “And they’re not technically murderers, you know, Helga.”
“What do you call feeding lonely old gentlemen arsenic in elderberry wine—without them knowing about it—if not a murder?” Helga said. Which wasn’t a surprise, as most of the time she was Officer van Hest of the Wicks Hollow Police Department.
The joy of watching their interplay was so comfortable and familiar that Vivien couldn’t hold back a huge grin. She was just so glad to be back in Wicks Hollow—even though there was a dearth of carry-out options and no delivery service except for pizza. (She’d asked about DoorDash and whether she could get an Uber home from the Roost, and Helga had gone into fits of laughter. “The only ride home you might get from the bar is if you get your pal the cop to pick you up,” Helga had hooted.)
Nonetheless, Vivien hoped, hoped,hopedeverything was going to work out with the theater so she could stay. At least with her temporary rental—off the beaten tourist path and a deal, since the lease went through the end of the year and not just for summer; plus it belonged to a friend of Orbra’s who’d done her a favor—Vivien’s cost of living would be less than a third of what it had been in Manhattan.
“Why can’t I play Elaine Harper?” grumbled Maxine. “I’d be perfect as Mortimer’s love interest. That boy Baxter isfine.”
Helga choked on her chai latte. “But you’refiftyyears older than he is—”
“Typecasting, remember?” Vivien interrupted swiftly and soothingly. “Even though it’s not spoken, we justknowAbby Brewster is the mastermind behind the whole scheme, and—”
“That’s age discrimination, you know,” Maxine shot back at Helga, her voice rising into a familiar screech. “And I’ve had enough discrimination in my life being a Black female scientist—you know, I was thinking, they coulda made thatHidden Figuresmovie about me—”
“You’reloco, Maxine. You’re a chemical engineer, not a computer whiz, and that movie was about space and mathematics,” said Juanita, but her friend just talked right over her as usual.
“—and why can’t Vivien be creative like that Lynda-Miranda Miguel person? He didn’t care about no ages or skin color or—”
“Maxine, you’re going to be absolutelybrilliantas Abby Brewster,” said Vivien, using her firm, capable PR/handler voice—the one she’d perfected dealing with some of the biggest Broadway stars back in New York, including Louise London. “And besides, Abby’s a much larger part than Elaine Harper. Everyone in Wicks Hollow is going to love seeing the town matriarch in one of the lead roles, you know.”
Maxine pursed her lips and considered the (figurative) carrot Vivien was dangling in front of her.
And so Vivien decided to put a little butter and brown sugar glaze on that carrot. “You know, you might be the oldest person to ever play Abby Brewster—that would probably get a lot of coverage for our little semi-amateur theater production here in Wicks Hollow. I’ll make sure to include that in the press releases.” One thing Vivien knew was that Maxine was not only open about her advanced age, she was proud of it.
“And besides…as Mortimer’s aunt, you probably get to give him at least one kiss on the cheek—that’s more than Elaine gets to do,” Vivien said with a sly grin.
“That’s more like it,” said Maxine. “All right, then, you’ve got yourself an Abby—she’s the bossy one, right?”
“Yes,” Juanita snapped. “Vivien said it was typecasting—didn’t you hear her?” She wiped her dimpled fingers on a napkin, showing off the screaming red fingernail polish that matched her lipstick—both of which clashed wildly with her flame-orange hair, which poofed into a mushroom-cloud-like shape over the crown of her head. She was wearing her normal attire of a flowing maxi-dress—this one tie-dyed in countless shades of blue. At least that didn’t clash.
Vivien was itching to cast Juanita as Mrs. Potts—it would be a different take, with her being Latina instead of properly British, but that was the joy of being in charge. Unfortunately, the rights toBeauty and the Beastwere a little out of reach for the first year of her production schedule. Maybe the Fairy Godmother in Rodgers and Hammerstein’sCinderella?
So many possibilities, but her plan was to have at least one production per season include locals from the town acting alongside whatever celebrities she could bring in for a short run. It would be a fun way to involve the community while keeping the productions high-quality.
“I get to be the other sister. Martha,” Juanita said.
“Martha—the fluttery one,” said Maxine dismissively. “Definite typecasting.”
“And what about the rest of the characters?” asked Orbra before Juanita could retort. The tea shop proprietress was a tall, large-boned Dutch woman of seventy who could still manage a tray with four teapots and a three-tier sandwich server balanced on one hand without breaking a sweat. Or a teapot. Hmm. Orbra would be an interesting Mrs. Potts too…or even the Witch inInto the Woods.
“Doug Horner’s going to play Teddy Brewster. And Vivien said Ricky could be in it, too,” said Juanita, eyeing a thumb-sized currant tart. “Just a small role, but since Clara died a few months back, you know he’s been a little lost with nothing to do.”
“Clara? Why, it’s been over a year since she died—” Of course Maxine had to argue.
Before Juanita could jump in and bicker back, Vivien spoke up. “That’s right—Ricky is going to be Mr. Gibbs. The Presbyterian who runs away before he drinks the elderberry wine.” She grinned. “I’ll have to get his full name for the program and press releases, but anyway, Orbra, it’s a semi-professional, semi-amateur production. I wanted Maxine and Juanita to be the Brewster sisters because everyone in town knows them—”
“Being expert murder-solvers and all,” Maxine said.
“Murder-solvers? I don’t think I’ve heard about this,” said Vivien, giving her friend the cop a curious look.
