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ago.” I tilted my head. “How many of these darling people are there?”
    â€œSix.”
    â€œAnd they’re steadfastly against change?”
    â€œThree of them are. And that makes for a stalemate on every subject, meaning nothing gets done.”
    What made me think of Washington, DC, all of a sudden?
    I asked, “Where does your grandmother stand?”
    â€œShe thinks the New Vic is just fine as it is, even if attendance has fallen off terribly.”
    â€œI can understand your frustration,” I said, rolling my eyes.
    He narrowed his. “It was Grandmother who booked your mother—something about a one-woman show? And I assume it has something to do with Shakespeare.”
    â€œYes to both,” I said, but offered no more details, not wanting Mother to be tossed out by the artistic director on her artistic rear before curtain time.
    He nodded. “Well, it’s something anyway. Got to have some damn thing onstage for this weekend.”
    Such enthusiasm.
    Realizing at last that he might have been just a touch rude, he said, “I’m sure it will be fine.”
    â€œWell, I promise it’ll be memorable,” I said with a smile. Especially if I mixed up the hats.
    Mother was rushing along the corridor toward us.
    â€œYoung man!” she said, flushed and out of breath. “Young man, would there happen to be a hospital here in Old York?”
    Alarmed, I said, “Mother, aren’t you well?”
    â€œTickety boo, dear.” Her eyes returned to Chad. “ Have you a hospital?”
    â€œNo, no . . . but there’s one in the next town over.”
    Mother put hands on hips. “All right. Well, what do you use in the village for a morgue? Perhaps there’s a funeral home.”
    Chad, frowning, asked what I was thinking: “What in the world do you need a morgue for?”
    Mother flapped her arms like a goose before takeoff. “Not me, my good man . . . Millie! She seemed to be taking an onstage bow and then just went all the way down. I do believe she’s dropped dead.”
    Â 
    A Trash ‘n’ Treasures Tip
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    Before purchasing an antique in a foreign country, research similar items from several different sources to determine a realistic price. Then don’t forget to haggle. Mother knows how to ask, “Is that your best price?” in Danish, Swedish, German, French, Spanish, and Japanese. (If she knew Chinese, that Ming dynasty vase might not be a sore spot.)

Chapter Three
    Death Is a Fearful Thing
    A fter Mother made the pronouncement to Chad and me that Millicent Marlowe had taken her final encore, the three of us hurried into the auditorium.
    This was my first time inside the rather small theater, and my immediate impression was one of gloom. Mother always referred to any theater as “she,” much the way a captain speaks of his ship. Well, this lady really needed a makeover, including a new wardrobe. A little perfume to cover the musty smell wouldn’t hurt, either.
    As I headed down the center aisle with its red, threadbare carpet, I could see Millie’s slumped form up on the stage, on her back.
    A man knelt over her, holding one of her limp hands, almost as if he were proposing. Perhaps forty, he wore a denim work shirt and paint-splattered jeans, his average features distinguished by a pair of aviator-style glasses and a receding hairline.
    Chad leapt up onto the apron of the stage in an almost theatrical flourish, which Mother and I did not imitate, taking the more sensible route of the short flight of stairs on the left.
    The kneeling man looked up at Chad. “I’m . . . I’m afraid she’s gone.”
    â€œWhat on earth happened, Fred?” Chad asked, a slight tremble in his voice. “Were you here with her?”
    Fred released Millie’s hand, stood, gestured to Mother, as she and I approached. “Your grandmother was introducing me to Mrs. Borne when she