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Deadly Nightshade
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M. Lacrimosa
M. Lacrimosa
Thespian

Feb-1-2021 18:51

He stared directly into her emerald green eyes as he set her plate in front of her. By God, she was beautiful. Her smile was almost everything to him, just seeing her smile would turn a bad day completely around. Her pale skin was as soft as her voice which he compared to summer rains.

A pity, he thought to himself, that she has to die, for in her salad, disguised as lettuce leaves were the leaves of a plant, unknown to her, called the deadly nightshade. It was as nightmarish as it sounds.

Almost cherry-like, but similar instructors to the tomato, he disguised the fruit as blueberries. The dressing on the salad was made from the root of the plant, which he harvested at the end of the vegetation period, when the toxins would be the highest.

He watched with a false, realistic smile as she bit into her salad, closing her eyes to savor the sweet flavor of the toxic fruit. Symptoms wouldn't start immediately, but they wouldn't take long.

Once her symptoms started, she knew she'd been poisoned. First came the sweats and hallucinations, then the shortness of breath and trouble breathing, followed by paralysis and moments later, death.

After she had died, he got up and went outside through the back door into the cool night air. He inhaled deeply, the fresh air filling his lungs, then exhaled. He grabbed his shovel from the tool shed, and stabbed the ground.


Replies

Joseph Zeo
Joseph Zeo
Tale Spinner

Feb-4-2021 01:34


*****

The sun was crawling down the horizon so Joseph knew the Opera had just started. He had no intention of sitting through a long singing show, not when Joseph was practically tone death. He still had two hours before meeting up with Marc. He looked at the address of Isabella Valente and the keys her mother passed to him. A visit to the missing person’s own home may reap some clues.

The young lady did well for herself. The small home was on a secluded plot of land, but not too far from the actions of the city. It was already getting dark. Joseph unlocked the front door and flicked on the light switch. Fortunately, the electricity was still running. Can’t say the same in another few weeks if Valante is not found, Joseph thought.

Isabella had elegant taste with her furnishings, and everything were neat and in its proper place. Photos of her performing on stage was next to her family photo. Everything were picture perfect. A meticulous search in the living room and kitchen turned up nothing. Joseph proceed to the bedroom. A sturdy music stand stood in a corner with a violin in the case next to it. The music sheets were circled and marked with neat hand writings. Joseph went through every piece of paper. Nothing out of the ordinary.

“Big wardrobe,” Joseph muttered under his breath as he opened the giant closet next to the bed. Isabella has many dresses, which Joseph really cared less about. He still do not understand why any one person need more than a few sets of clothing. Everyone’s only granted one body.

Nothing, Joseph signed. He took a last look at the room and turned off the ceiling lamp. Joseph paused. He turned the light back on. He went back to the closet again, opened it, closed it and looked around. Something didn’t add up. The cabinet should be much roomier than what the interior showed.

Joseph Zeo
Joseph Zeo
Tale Spinner

Feb-4-2021 01:35

Joseph opened the closet again and reached in. After fiddling with the boards a bit, Joseph managed to slide open a hidden compartment. There was another violin case. “Must be a precious instrument to be so well hidden”, Joseph remarked as he opened the case to take a look.

Handcuffs? Isabella didn’t look like the law enforcement type. The cuffs were lined with fine leather. Two pairs of them. Then there was a few riding crops, and a cat o’nine tails. It suddenly dawned on Joseph what he was looking at.

After returning everything to its original place, Joseph quickly left Isabella’s turf to head back to the theatre. This “hobby” of Isabella’s may or may not be related to her disappearance, but Joseph doubted that they were mutually exclusive. “Wait until Marc hear this,” Joseph muttered as he stepped on the gas pedal.

Guy Mauve
Guy Mauve

Feb-4-2021 11:29


A beautiful buxom woman was getting helped out of her 16th century Tudor era costume by two stage assistants when Guy Mauve walked into the dressing room.

“Heavens! It’s a man.” One of the young girls assisting the woman shrieked.

The buxom woman turned around to look and then retorted. “Relax you silly girl is just Guy.” Then she added curtly. “That’s Mr. Mauve to you!”

“Natalia?” Guy interrupted. “You have a minute?”

“We should be on vocal rest you know.” Natalia spoke sharply. “Especially after that D6 at the end of Act I. Sometimes I feel Opera composers hate women. They give us the most difficult parts to play!”

Guy chuckled at that. Natalia Milanov was a powerhouse of a soprano in the world of Opera who does her native Croatia proud. The role of Anna Bolena is possibly the most demanding in the whole of Opera for a Soprano, especially with that high D at the end of Act I being so far away from the normal human vocal register that it’s a monumental effort to hit and hold.

Natalia wore her robe, shooed the two girls out the room and sat with a drink in her hand. “Tell me.”

“An alcoholic beverage? On the day of a performance?” Guy tutted.

“Be brief Mauve.” Natalia was not about to entertain him.

“Remember what I told you about Isabella? And the guy we both were seeing? Tony?”

“Yes, the business man. What of it?”

“I think something might have happened to her. I always had uneasy feelings around Tony the few times we went out.”

“But you chose to overlook?”

“Well yes, we both did. Something didn’t feel right about him but-”

“He’s rich? Yes, people tend to think less when everything is paid for.” Natalia cut him off.

“Well.” Guy was startled by her sharp perception. “Yes and-”

“The sex was good? Well people would risk it all for that.”

“But the thing is I believe there was real risk involved. The police questioned you too?”


Guy Mauve
Guy Mauve

Feb-4-2021 11:30


Natalia stood and started dressing for the evening as she spoke. “They have. What I tell you Guy is this. I am many years your senior, a Soprano approaching forty and I have seen it all. Powerful men want toys that shine, that are in the limelight... toys that other powerful men would envy them for. But if like Isabella all you are after is money and good sex, nothing good can come out of it.”

“You’re right.” Guy frowned. “That poor girl.”

Natalia finished dressing and turned to Guy. “Now we don’t know what happen to Isabella, it is a matter for the police now. We could only take care ourselves to learn from her mistakes. I have seen many a Soprano have her life ruined by the wrong type of man. We must look out for ourselves and our talents.” She paused a while then added. “Are you coming with us for dinner tonight? We’re going to L’Aiglon.”

“Not tonight.” Guy shook his head. “I’m going back home. I need some peace and quiet after tonight. A hot bath and lots of water to recharge.”

“Well, I’m hungry, so good bye.”

“What if Tony calls?” Guy asked as Natalia was leaving.

“Oh honey, love them or leave them, just don’t get stuck with the tab.”


Molly Maltese
Molly Maltese
Old Shoe

Feb-6-2021 12:51

Molly suddenly found herself being shuttled along by the elbow, Marc talking a mile a minute.

"I-" she began, but Marc cut her off with "three girls are missing."

"Who-" she tried again, but he continued "one of them is... was a violinist here. Mauve is hiding something."

"How-" Molly tried once more, but Marc was off on a tangent about an Isabella, a Margaret, a love triangle, coverups, a secret relationship between two men, something about the opera underworld, and Molly's head was positively spinning.

By the time Marc took a breath and Molly, rather redfaced and irritated at this. point managed a "now you look here", he was gone.

Blinking, she saw him steps away at a payphone, curtly giving instructions into the mouthpiece.

"Well I never!" she hissed, putting her hands on her hips. Of all the nerve! No surprise and delight, no embraces, no visible excitement at being reunited with a friend of years past. Indeed, Marc seemed to have picked up exactly where they left off - the trouble was, Molly had no clue what on earth was afoot.

Marc hung up the phone and Molly strode toward him, her fists balled. "Now look here you insufferable -"

Just then, a familiar car pulled up. Zeo!

"Well at least someone reasonable is here." Molly murmured to herself, as Marc motioned for her to get into the backseat as he took the front. Carefully, she rearranged her evening gown, hoping not to wrinkle the deep green chiffon on the cool leather.

Marc began to debrief Zeo, but Molly cut him off firmly this time. "Joseph, DARLING, it is simply LOVELY to see you again."

Joseph twisted in his seat, a slight smile twisting the corner of his mouth as he regarded his old compatriot.

"Well, it's a surprise to see you Molly. I take it you were enjoying a night at the opera?" He asked, glancing over her evening wear and jewels.

Molly Maltese
Molly Maltese
Old Shoe

Feb-6-2021 12:57

"There's no time for this!" Marc barked, and rattled off the address of Guy Mauve's home to Zeo. "We need to find out what Mauve knows, away from... possible interruptions." He filled Zeo in on what he had learned.

Molly attempted to pout, but her curiosity won out as she leaned forward in her seat, listening intently to Marc's recount, and Joseph's report of what he had learned at Cornell, and later at Isabella's home.

Molly blushed a little as he described the various objects he'd discovered. "Oh my..." she said to herself, Isabella sounded like a very... adventurous sort of gal indeed.

By the time Zeo had finished his recounting, they were nearing the address Marc had provided. Zeo pulled to the side of the street and cut the lights.

"What happens now?" Molly breathed, looking out at the dark street. She had a feeling she knew. After all, Marc wasn't the most delicate person every when it came to prying information out of suspects. She looked down at her wardrobe ruefully. She might be quite overdressed for this occasion.

Jane Brailsford
Jane Brailsford

Feb-6-2021 23:39

Jane was Finished. And yet, was still not what anyone would typically think of as a Lady, especially not here in the rebellious colony. Coming from Europe, having grown up in a house older than the country she found herself in, older even than the city she was currently exploring, made one feel rather...peculiar.

Nevertheless, she was in New York, New York for the first time, unleashed on the world. Her pale face paired with her modest frock and utterly forgettable hat ensured that most glances would slide right off her, and that, in the rare chance she was noticed, that she was utterly undescribable later.

When Jane had first realized that she was too late to make contact with Miss Isabella Valente, she had cursed the headwinds that had delayed the ship. Now, as she stood off to the side of the Met building, which, in Jane's opinion was nothing compared to Teatro di San Carlo or La Scala, both in terms of architecture and competency of the performers, she felt resigned. Her fist assignment, foiled by WIND of all things.

She had, however been warned of the distinct possibility that she would be too late to help Miss Isabella, and been given instruction to find and dispatch whoever was responsible, not only for Miss Isabelle, but for those who had been sent before Jane.

Jane had watched with interest as a car whipped up and stopped just past the Met, and the mis-matched couple she had observed earlier investigating Miss Isabelle's death slid in. She had memorized the sleek, stunning woman and the rather surly, excitable man already, so Jane focused on the driver. It was dark, and Jane could not get a good look at the man, but she thought she would be able to recognize his profile.

It was time to meet her contact. Then she would track down these non-stealthy investigators.

Guy Mauve
Guy Mauve

Feb-7-2021 11:31


**Meanwhile in Guy Mauve's New York apartment**

After soaking in a hot scented luxurious bath and enjoying a long cold shower, Guy Mauve wore his favourite silk robe and relaxed in his living room to tuck into small spread of mini sandwiches prepared by the part-time maid earlier in the afternoon before she left.

He then relaxed, together with a hot steaming cup of his favourite tea, with the current novel he was reading, ‘Murder at the Vicarage’ by an up-and-coming author by the name of Agatha Christie.

After a while he put the book down and day dreamed then thought about the events of the day: The disappearance of Isabella Valente, the interview with policemen, his conversation with that private detective... marc something... and finally his heart to heart with Natalia. His thoughts were then suddenly interrupted -to his surprise- by a knock on the door.


M. Lacrimosa
M. Lacrimosa
Thespian

Feb-7-2021 20:15

"Guy Mauve," Marc stated, as Guy pulled the door open. "These are my partners, Molly Maltese, and Joseph Zeo. We have some more follow up questions. May we come in?"

Marc didn't wait for an answer before making his way inside.

"Marc? Is it?" Guy asked. "Look, I've already told you everything."

"As I recall," Marc said, "I asked you for names, and you changed the subject to that peppermint tea if yours."

A deafening silence filled the room.

"Guy," Joseph started. " Two other young women and a young boy, who is possibly connected, are missing. You're our only lead."

"First off," Guy objected, "I certainly do not approve of any of you barging into my home like that."

"Then help us."

Guy sat back on his couch and sighed.

"If you know something," Joseph said. "we need you to tell us."

Guy smiled, shaking his head.

"His name is Tony."

"Does Tony have a last name?" Marc asked.

"Valencia. Tony Valencia. He is, truthfully, the last person to see Isabella alive."

"What do you mean?" Marc asked. "Margaret Goodman said you were."

"She doesn't know everything. She can suspect me all she wants," Guy said. "Doesn't mean I'm guilty.".

A good point, Marc thought.

"If I remember correctly," Marc said flipping through his notepad. "You didn't necessarily approve of some of the men she saw. But yet you both had the same taste in men." Marc stated.

Marc fought the hypnosis urge once more. It was an efficient, yet, not exactly an ethical way of obtaining information.

"Mr. Mauve, at this point you're our only suspect. I suggest you help us if you'd like to keep your career in opera." Marc said.


Joseph Zeo
Joseph Zeo
Tale Spinner

Feb-8-2021 09:12

There was this solid determination in Guy in proving that he was not the culprit, but at the same time, he smelled of agony. Joseph was sure an up and rising talent like Mauve would not be flustered simply because an assortment of PI paid him a visit in the middle of the night. Something else was frustrating him. Valencia… that name sounded familiar. A name that seem to be the source of Mauve’s torment. Then it dawned on Joseph.

“Antonio Valencia?” Joseph broke in, “isn’t he the son of that old Italian shipping tycoon who owns several docks and shipyards in our state?”

Guy shrugged, “I don’t know much of his family’s establishments, but we know he can afford to show everyone a good time. He always calls himself a businessman.” Again, his lips stopped talking but his mind seem to continue to describe so much more.

The air was becoming stuffy in the cozily furnished sitting room. Molly carried a smirk that suggested she may know more about the Valencia family. Marc simply looked ready to pounce. If he was not restrained, he would go bang down on Tony’s door right that instance.

Suddenly everyone’s head turned as they heard a heavy knock on the front door. Guy glanced at his Art Deco clock on the wall. It was past midnight. Apparently he usually don’t have visitors at this late hours. Not to mention twice in a night.

Marc quietly moved his hand towards his trusted revolver. Joseph stood in a blind spot from the door ensuring first strike if the need arise. Molly simply raised an elbow and continued to laze on the Victorian chaise lounge.

Guy opened the door. “Inspector?” Guy blurted out, followed by a look of despondency and shock. Nothing good would come out of this.

“Mr. Guy Mauve, you are now the prime suspect for the disappearances of Isabella Valente and Antonio Valencia, possibly a few others. You need to come with us to the station now.”

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