𝙼𝚒𝚜𝚜 𝙾𝚝𝚒𝚜 𝚁𝚎𝚐𝚛𝚎𝚝𝚜 | ONC 2024

𝙲𝚑𝚊𝚙𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚃𝚠𝚎𝚕𝚟𝚎

Dappled sunlight streamed through the leaves of the old willow tree that grew at the center of the park. The foliage gleamed in a thousand shades of green and gold in the early morning light, shining as a beacon of peace and calm in the bustling city that was New York.

So old was this willow, that the trunk was the circumference of an ancient Roman column, and the countless thick branches reached out in every direction, casting a vast circle of shadow across the grassy ground.

From one of these thick branches hung a rope.

And from this rope hung the body of Camilla Otis.

༺ ○ ༻

“Terrible, it's just terrible,” Gloria Davenport sighed. Sorrow shone in her eyes as she sipped from her wine glass.

“To be hanged and publicly displayed in such a hideous gray frock?” Penelope scoffed. “At least Darla was wrong about the black and white horizontal stripes, but yes, I agree. Terrible. This is the image of Camilla Otis that will be immortalized.”

“Oh, Penelope, you really are such a wicked thing!” Gloria scolded. “That's not what I meant at all! Though…you're not wrong, I suppose.”

She tilted her head and studied the deceased Camilla where her limp body still hung from the willow tree. Penelope Fitzgerald, Darla Vanderbilt, and Karen Dwindle mimicked her stance and expression, their wine glasses held gracefully by manicured fingers.

Yes, it was tragic. Both Camilla's death, and the fact that she would forever be remembered in the cheap, ill-fitting gray dress she'd been made to wear while incarcerated.

The four ladies had gathered in the park to pay their respects. (The wine was to help them cope, of course.) Gloria had telephoned the others. She'd found out about Camilla's fate through her husband Karl. Karl had found out because the police had called him, since he'd offered legal representation to Camilla. The whole morning had been a grotesque version of the children's game Messenger.

Now it was noon. The peaceful location of Camilla's untimely death had become a swarming, crowded crime scene. Yellow caution tape and stern police officers kept the looky-loos at bay. Forensics was making note of and photographing every square inch of the area. Officers Marlowe and Spade stood next to Camilla's hanging body like protective guardians, their faces grave and posture tense.

“I wonder if Weston knows,” Darla commented. “You would think he'd be here.”

“He knows,” Penelope stated. “I saw him this morning.”

“You did?” Darla asked, her eyebrows elevating in surprise. “Where?”

Penelope averted her eyes. “In passing.”

“I don't believe for an instant that Camilla took her own life,” Gloria declared. “Someone did this to her. Oh, so awful. She was still so young and beautiful. So much to live for.” She sipped her wine, pensive, then murmured to herself, “I never thought I'd outlive her.”

“Of course she didn't off herself,” Penelope declared. “She was far too selfish. No one loved Camilla Otis more than Camilla Otis.”

“Penelope, that is an absolutely disgraceful thing to say!” Darla exclaimed. “True, certainly, but given the circumstances, well… Just try to show a bit of decorum, will you?”

Penelope rolled her eyes, but sipped her wine in disgruntled silence.

Darla turned to Gloria. “So, Marcella has been arrested?”

“She has,” Gloria confirmed with a remorseful nod. “Karl told me. Apparently, Marcella was responsible for Karen Sterling's death.”

“My goodness,” Darla said. “I can't believe it.”