Page 70 of Potion Sickness

“Under the porch,” he says. “At the Community Center. There’s a gap by the third post where the lattice is broken.”

“And the rest of it?” Englebert says.

“What do you mean? There isn’t a rest of it.”

“Bandit.”

“There’s a small rest of it.”

* * *

We get there right before seven, which means the parking lot is already filling, and this means we’ll have to conduct our investigation with an audience.

Hannah lies flat on the grass with a flashlight and puts her arm into the gap. She passes things out one at a time. Emma receives each item and records it on the clipboard.

The wooden dagger. A brass candlestick from the props table, the mate of one that has been standing alone for weeks. Three hairpins. A saltshaker from the Community Center kitchen, still full of salt. A small bottle, stoppered, dark glass, about half-full.

“Don’t touch that one too much,” Addie says when the bottle comes out. She’s crouched next to Hannah with her hands on her knees.

“Why?”

“It’s a potion. I can smell it. Ms. Annabel says if I find a bottle and I don’t know what’s in it, I don’t pick it up, I don’t open it, I don’t smell it close, and I go get a grown-up.”

“What kind of potion is it?” I ask.

“I’m not sure,” She sits back on her heels. “It smells sweet, but also sour. And sort of like mud, but that might just be the mud.”

“Where’d you get it?” Hannah asks Bandit.

“A bag.”

“Whose bag?”

“A bag,” he says. “It was open. It was on a chair. There were a bunch of bags on a bunch of chairs.”

* * *

Vivian looks at the collection of items, then at the raccoon.

“So, there’s no thief,” she says.

“There’s a thief,” Englebert says. “He’s sitting right here.”

“I told you. I just found this stuff.”

“The thief is being modest.”

“More importantly,” Dana says. “There’s no curse.”

Englebert inspects each recovered item, stopping at the dagger.

“You took the blade,” he says, “from a production, in its final fortnight.”

“It was shiny.”

“It was a prop.”

“Everything’s a prop to you,” Bandit says.