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  After a while she settled into a rhythm that kept her a little ahead of what was happening on stage. Which gave her a chance to study Roseann's script a little more closely, and compare it to Rebecca's. It was very clear which of Rebecca's pages were new. The old ones were marked on, erased over, words scratched out and replaced, even some punctures that looked like tooth marks. At first glance, there didn't seem to be any difference between the pages Roseann had right and those she missed. Both were new, only slightly dogeared. Roseann clearly took care of her script.

  Something was a little off, though. She looked more closely, holding both pages 35 side-by-side. No difference in the paper or the handling, but there was something...

  The print. The letters on Roseann's page was just a little darker, hardly noticeable unless you knew you were looking for something.

  She puzzled over it, but not for long. Clearly, someone had substituted different pages for the real ones, and Roseann had faithfully learned them perfectly. No one else had had script trouble. So Roseann was the one being targeted. And it wasn't a prank like the missing flashlights, attributable to roving bands of adolescents. Or like Sherry's threatening note, which could have been a joke—though in fact it was a little hard to understand what was funny about it.

  This was definite, malicious mischief, perpetrated by someone who had access to the scripts (and therefore probably someone in or around Demeter Ascending), and who wanted to make Roseann look bad.

  Who was it who had had the scripts run off?

  Rebecca.

  It seemed unlikely that Rebecca would do this, unless her directing duties gave her a great deal of leisure and boredom.

  Stoner was willing to bet that wasn't the case.

  Sherry and Roseann had both been targeted.

  Her first impulse was to take Roseann aside and talk to her, try to find out who might have had access to the script. Maybe there was someone in the company that Roseann had sensed had it in for her. But she couldn't do that without giving away her own interest in the matter, and blowing her cover. After all, Roseann was as viable a suspect as anyone right now. Just because something had been done to her was no proof it hadn't been done by her.

  As usual, the best thing she could do was sit back and wait.

  If there was one thing Stoner hated, it was sitting back and waiting.

  Chapter Five

  The first of the serious incidents happened that evening.

  They were in the barn, hanging the lights. Long, heavy metal pipes were suspended from the highest beams on massive chains. Electric cords as thick as garden hoses were wrapped around the pipes and attached to a main electrical board at the back of the barn. The pipes could be reached only by climbing a tall, A-shaped ladder with round rungs. Then the lighting instruments themselves, each weighing at least fifteen pounds not including the cumbersome attaching cords, had to be hauled up the ladder and fastened to the pipes with heavy clamps.

  Of all the things a person could do with her spare time, Stoner thought, this was the absolute bottom of her list.

  Boneset was the official Goddess of Hanging Lights. She wore a heavy leather belt, from which dangled an assortment of wrenches and pliers and wire cutters on lengths of cord, low on her slim hips. Grabbing a clamp in one hand and a skein of string in her teeth, she started up the ladder.

  Near the top Boneset seemed to hesitate, a questioning expression on her face. Then she shrugged off whatever was bothering her and went on. She attached the clamp, checked her alignment, and came back down for the light.

  Barb handed it to her.

  She clambered back up.

  With a sudden rifle-shot "crack," the third rung from the top gave way beneath her. Boneset teetered for a moment, struggling to catch her balance, trying to hang onto the light.

  "Drop it!" Barb ordered.

  The instrument plummeted to the ground and shattered. Glass exploded in all directions.

  Everyone jumped back.

  Stoner saw Boneset grab for the ladder sides and miss. She threw herself forward. The woman tumbled down. Stoner broke her fall with one shoulder as they both collapsed amid the crunch of broken glass.

  Gwen was the first to reach them. "Are you all right?"

  Stoner nodded. "Boneset?"

  "Shaken up," the woman said.

  Barb helped her to her feet.

  "Shit," Boneset said, "I'm getting too old for this kind of thing." She looked at Stoner. "Thanks for catching me. It was an insane thing to do, but I'm glad you did it. I'd have been road kill by now. Not a pretty sight."

  "No problem," Stoner said. She felt shaky, and things hurt.

  Boneset came over closer to her. "Are you sure you're okay?"

  "Yeah, really."

  The woman pointed to the floor. "Is that your blood, or mine?"

  Blood? Stoner looked down. Yep, it was blood, all right. Not a lot of blood. Just a few spatters. But definitely blood.

  "It's yours," Gwen said.

  She sat up and inspected herself. Stream-lets of red trickled across her right palm and the soft part of her forearm. Bits of glass glistened below the surface of her skin.

  "First aid kit," someone called, and handed Gwen the blue metal box.

  "Anything seem broken?" Rebecca asked.

  Stoner shook her head. Something told her this hadn't been an accident.

  She wanted to get a look at the ladder.

  Gwen took her by the unbloodied arm and helped her to stand. "Come on," she said, "let's clean you up."

  She got to her feet. Sparkles of glass covered her clothes. She should probably go up to the inn and change, before it ground into her. But she didn't want to leave that ladder...

  "Sherry's going to have a fit," Boneset said. ''You know how she is."

  Stoner glanced up. "How is she?"

  "Like one of those overprotective collies. You know, the kind that bark their heads off every time a kid makes a potentially dangerous move? She's usually right on top of us when we do this stuff, standing in the middle of the room, barking. You feel nervous or anything?"

  "A little," Stoner said. "How about you?"

  ''You have to be kidding," Boneset said with a laugh. "Soon as we're finished here, I'm heading for a hot tub and calming tea. Want some?"

  It wasn't a bad idea. Aunt Hermione usually recommended a warm bath and chamomile tea for a case of the nerves. "Sure."

  "Are you going to sit down?" Gwen asked. "Or do you prefer to stand there and bleed?"

  Actually, standing there and bleeding seemed like a good plan. She knew what Gwen was leading up to, and that involved picking the glass out of her hand with a pair of tweezers, and that didn't sound like a whole lot of fun. "Where is Sherry?" she asked, hoping to divert Gwen's attention. Which, of course, was a ridiculous waste of time, since Gwen in her care-taking mode had the tenacity of a pit bull.

  “Working," Rebecca said. "Problems with one of the suppliers, she said." She shrugged. "The last shipment of carrots wasn't up to standards or something."

  "It was the paper towels," Barb corrected. "They sent paper towels with drawings of geese with blue ribbons."

  Stoner couldn't blame Sherry for being upset. She hated that phony-Colonial cutesy New England motif herself. To say nothing of the fact that the ink in painted paper towels presented an ecological nightmare.

  "Sit, please," Gwen said.

  Two women were sweeping up glass, setting the dented light instrument aside. Two more hauled the offending ladder into the back of the barn, out of sight, where anything could happen to it. "Where are you going with that?" Stoner heard herself demand.

  "We still have to hang the lights," Barb said. "There's another ladder. Why do you ask?"

  She thought fast. "Well, don't throw it out or anything. I might be able to fix it."

  "Hah!" said Boneset. "The Goddess Herself couldn't fix that mother so I'd get on it again."

  "Indulge her," Gwen said. "It's kind of a hobby." She turned back to
Stoner. "Sit."

  She sat.

  Gwen took her hand.

  "Maybe we should wait on this," Stoner mumbled. "I want to look at that broken rung before anyone fiddles with it."

  "Nobody's going to fiddle with it." With her free hand, Gwen rummaged through the first aid kit and came up with tweezers and first aid cream.

  Stoner tried to pull away. "I mean it. If someone tampered with that rung, they're going to want to destroy the evidence before anyone sees it."

  "If someone tampered with the rung," Gwen said, grasping her firmly by the wrist, "they're not going to try to cover their tracks with ten witnesses." She pressed Stoner's arm against her own lap. "Stop wiggling."

  ''You're not going to dig, are you?" Stoner said in a small voice.

  "Not unless you keep stalling, in which case you'll clot, and all these nice, lightly embedded bits of glass will become firmly entrenched. Then I won't just dig, I'll have to excavate."

  Stoner closed her eyes and clenched her teeth and tried to think of something else. Okay, who was here tonight, and who was missing? The actors, but Sherry had suggested they do an extra line run-through, once she finished dealing with...

  A tiny stab of pain bit her hand. "Ow," she said.

  "Sorry."

  "Boneset probably got glass in her, too. Why don't you go torture her?" “

  Boneset didn't hit the floor. She landed on you." Gwen looked up at her, and rested her hand against the side of Stoner's face. "I know you hate this."

  The softness of her touch, the softness of her voice brought tears to Stoner's eyes. "It's okay," she said brusquely. ''I'm fine."

  Gwen smiled. "Sure, you are, toughie." She brushed her hand through Stoner's hair. "You have glass chips in your hair. They look like stars in mahogany."

  As usual, Gwen's tenderness reached her and made a warm place around her heart, and reduced her to a child. She wanted to curl up in Gwen's arms for the next fifteen years. She shoved it down. "I ought to shower and change," she said. "But I need to look at that ladder."

  "All right," Gwen said with a little indulgent laugh. "You can be the big, strong, independent type for now. But later I get to give you a bath."

  She knew her face had turned the color of strawberries. She was glad no one could see the flood of heat that flowed over the pit of her stomach and the insides of her thighs. "Okay," she squeaked, and looked up to see Rebecca standing near her—maybe within hearing distance, maybe not. She turned a shade redder.

  "Is there anything I can do to help?" Rebecca asked, and added, "Now, that is, not later."

  She'd heard, all right. "Yes," Stoner said. "Take me out and shoot me."

  Rebecca ignored that and sat down beside her. "Listen," she said hesitantly, "I don't know how to approach this, but..."

  Another pin prick of pain shot through her hand. "Spit it out," Stoner said, and winced. "Any diversion is welcome."

  "I was talking with Roseann after dinner," Rebecca said hesitantly. She toyed with the simple silver chain she was wearing around her wrist. "She happened to say she knows your aunt."

  "Aunt Hermione."

  Rebecca nodded. "She says you have a reputation for being good at... well, puzzling things out."

  Uh-oh. What did she mean, "puzzling things out?" If Roseann had mentioned her trouble-shooting reputation, it wouldn't take Rebecca long to figure out what was up. They weren't ready to have anyone know what they were really doing there.

  "Puzzling things out?" Stoner said noncommittally.

  "Right. She said if I needed to talk something over, you might be a good person to do it with."

  Gwen glanced up from her work. "She's absolutely right."

  "Well, the problem is..." she twisted the bracelet around one finger. "I think there's something funny going on here. Nothing I can really define, just a funny feeling. I don't want to say anything to the rest of the company, because I don't want to make them nervous or hurt anyone's feelings or anything." She laughed a little. "Maybe I'm just being paranoid."

  "Maybe," Stoner said. "Maybe not."

  "That ladder thing makes me nervous," Rebecca said. "I know Barb checked all the equipment yesterday. She always does that the day before we hang the lights. It's dangerous..."

  "I'd noticed," Stoner said, and suppressed a grimace at a bee-sting of pain. If she were left-handed, she could do that herself. It didn't hurt so much when you did it yourself, when you were in control.

  "And the thing about Roseann's script. Obviously, someone changed some of the pages. They must have had access to the script. And to Div's computer discs and a printer."

  "Foul play," Gwen said.

  "That's what I think. But it doesn't make any sense. The company's been together for years. Sure, we have our problems and our personality clashes. You should have been around for the Rita-Marcy wars. But nothing like this has ever happened before." She looked down at the floor. "The thing that really bothers me is, there's only one new member of the company."

  "Roseann," Stoner said. She winced at another pang.

  "Yeah. You have no idea how much I want it not to be Roseann."

  Stoner's heart went out to her. "There are other guests at The Cottage, you know. There are the hikers, and the Crones..."

  ''You think that's possible?" Rebecca asked, and looked at her hopefully.

  "Entirely possible."

  "But why would anyone do that?"

  "I know it sounds crazy, but sometimes people like to make trouble just to make trouble."

  Rebecca nodded grimly. "I've known a few."

  "So have I." But this much trouble? Boneset, or anyone, could have been killed. That was a lot of trouble just for the sake of trouble. If this was merely for thrills, they were dealing with a sick mind.

  "The thing is, I don't want the company to think I suspect anyone. Partly because I don't, really. But I also don't want people getting nervous. We have enough problems as it is." She frowned. "I'm really bugged about that ladder."

  "I think," Gwen said, "Stoner should take a look at it, if she can do it without attracting attention." She pried another splinter of glass from the soft place at the base of Stoner's thumb. "That way no one would think you're suspicious."

  "Sure," Rebecca said. "But don't you think they'd wonder why Stoner was so interested?"

  "I don't know about you," Gwen said, "but when something hurts me, I certainly want to give it the once-over."

  Good old Gwen. Always quick to see an opportunity and capitalize on it.

  "Great," Rebecca said, and stood up. "Well, I'm glad you're okay," she said loudly. "Let me know if you need anything." She went back to the group.

  Gwen yanked one last piece of glass from her hand. "That's done," she said, and spread some first aid cream over the nicks and scratches. "Can you keep from getting dirt in that, or do I have to bandage it?"

  "I'll be careful." She let herself breathe normally again, and felt a little sick. "I'm such a baby."

  ''You're not a baby," Gwen said. "When things hurt, they hurt."

  Stoner wiggled her hand to try to get some circulation in it. "Most people wouldn't half faint over a little thing like that."

  "You aren't most people," Gwen said. "For which I'm extremely grateful." She packed up the first aid kit and snapped the lid. "Besides, I've never seen pain keep you from putting yourself in harm's way."

  The ladder was old, the wood grayed and a little splintery. But it was as stable and solid as the day it came off the assembly line. Stoner set it upright, shook it, climbed up a few rungs, bounced up and down. It felt secure. She went up further, testing each rung. No problem. When the broken rung was at eye level, and about as high as she ever wanted to go on any ladder no matter how sturdy, she stopped and looked it over.

  It hadn't been cut. That would have made it too easy, a nice, smooth, obviously-man-made cut halfway through the wood. The way things happened on television. Something anyone with a double-digit IQ could see.

  But n
ot in real life, Stoner thought. Things are never tidy in real life. Not my real life, at least.

  Okay, time for problem-solving technique #1: stare at it until something occurs to you.

  She stared at it.

  Something occurred to her.

  The rung had shattered into splinters, leaving nice, bristled ends where the break had happened. Just as you might expect.

  She climbed up another step into insane and life-threatening territory, and inspected the top of the broken rung. And found what she was looking for. A slight, crescent-moon indentation right at the edge of the break. As if someone had hit the rung with a hammer. A very large, very heavy hammer, from the looks of it. Sledge hammer, probably. Carefully done, it would crack the rung to the point of weakness without necessarily breaking it in a visible way.

  It would take real skill to do it, she thought. And a lot of practice, plus some luck. But it could work. Anyone climbing up to that level, especially carrying something as heavy as a lighting instrument, was bound to provide the last small bit of stress.

  It meant this accident was no accident.

  She looked down at the floor a hundred miles away, and felt a little sick. Someone wanted to do real harm. A prankster—even one on the sick side—would have broken a lower rung. No way you could fall from this height without risking life and limb.

  Not only intentional, but directed at a member of the light crew. The chances of anyone climbing that high were remote, unless they were going to the top. And who would be going to the top but one of the tech women hanging lights?

  Stoner leaned back and looked up and down the length of the barn. There was no hay loft, no tool or storage area off the floor. Nothing up there but the pipes and the lights.

  Did that mean Boneset was the target? Anyone knowing the company would know Boneset was the Goddess of Hanging Lights.