Author's Note: As always, thank you to all of you who are reading and following this story. Just knowing that you're reading it is super encouraging to me! I would especially like to thank Cherylann Rivers, max2013, EvergreenDreamweaver, and BMSH for your reviews on the last chapter, as well as everyone else who has reviewed earlier chapters. All of your comments and feedback are helping me to be a (hopefully) better writer.

Chapter XIII

Joe's first reaction was to stop when he heard the scream, but he realized he needed to go straight ahead to get to whoever was in trouble. One block down, he saw a girl running toward him and as she did, she shrieked again.

Joe skidded his motorbike to a stop. "Clarissa?" he said, recognizing her.

Clarissa rushed right at him and grabbed him in an embrace. "Joe, they – He's dead, I know he's dead – It – It could've been me – He was – I didn't – They –" Her words died away in an unintelligible jumble of tears and meaningless sounds.

"Pull yourself together, Clarissa," Joe told her. "What happened?"

Clarissa might have tried again to sob the story out, but Joe couldn't tell for sure. He decided from her incoherent words that someone else must be in serious trouble. Trying to extricate himself from Clarissa's grasp, he began running in the direction she had come from.

"No!" she gasped. "It's too dangerous! They – they've killed him." To Joe's astonishment, she burst into a frenzy of giggles.

"Who's been killed?" Joe demanded, but by now Clarissa's laughter and tears were combined into what seemed to be genuine hysteria.

One fortunate side effect of Clarissa's bizarre reaction was that she now let go of Joe. He had a momentary misgiving about leaving her by herself, but he reminded himself that there was evidently someone who really needed help.

He dashed down the street and rounded the corner that Clarissa had emerged from a moment before. It was a residential area and there was already a small crowd gathering. Joe pushed through and saw the object of their interest: a man's body lying in a pool of blood on the sidewalk.

Joe's stomach turned at the sight and he didn't have much doubt that man was dead. Nonetheless, he bent down to check for a pulse. There was none. It was then that he realized the man was Simeon Margot.

"Has anyone called the police?" he asked the crowd.

"I just did," a woman replied. "They should be here any minute."

Joe nodded and looked down at the body again. He saw that there was a paper pinned to Margot's shirt with the message written in black marker and plainly visible:

Banquo

Safe in a ditch he bides,
With twenty trenched gashes on his head

The thought that he'd better get back to Clarissa fast flashed through his brain. "Stay here and wait for the police," Joe said, rushing back to where he had left Clarissa.

Fortunately, she had stayed there. She was sitting down on the sidewalk, sobbing. Joe saw a wadded piece of paper lying next to her and picked it up. Another message like the one pinned to her stepfather's body was written on it:

Fleance

Fleance is 'scaped

"Clarissa," he said, kneeling down next to her. "Are you all right?"

Clarissa looked up at him. Despite her tears, she seemed more aware of what was going on now. "Is – is he dead?"

Joe nodded. "Are you hurt at all?"

Taking a long, shuddering sigh, Clarissa shook her head. "No – just scared to death. I – I don't think they meant to kill me. They shoved that note in my hand and let me run away."

"What did they look like and what happened exactly?" Joe asked.

"I didn't see their faces," Clarissa admitted. "They were wearing dark hoods that covered up their faces. Simeon was walking me home, and they jumped out at us with daggers. There were three of them."

HBHBHBHBHB

It was almost nine o'clock and completely dark by the time Joe and Iola walked back to where Joe had parked his motorcycle several hours earlier. When Joe had called her to tell her what had happened, Iola had walked down to the scene of the murder to meet him. To Joe's frustration, Olaf was the officer who had responded to the call, and he had insisted on getting complete statements from both Joe and Iola, although neither of them was able to tell him very much.

"I don't see how that guy is still on the police force," Iola said. "He has no tact and goes around randomly accusing people. I hope he doesn't blame Clarissa for this."

Joe rolled his eyes. "I wouldn't be surprised. And, to be honest, it wouldn't be the worst accusation he made. At least it would be someone who actually has opportunity and motive."

"Joe, you know as well as I do that Clarissa didn't do it," Iola told him.

"Well, I sure hope she didn't," Joe replied, although he had to admit to himself that he wasn't completely convinced. "It's weird, though. I thought Margot and Donahue were mortal enemies, but now it seems like they both had at least one enemy in common."

"I didn't know they were enemies," Iola said. "In fact, Clarissa said that they were in some conspiracy together. Who told you they didn't get along?"

"I don't remember," Joe started to say, but just then something clicked in his brain. "Wait, it was that kid at the rehearsal. Terry something."

"Terry Shanth?" Iola asked. "But he's one of Evan's best friends. He couldn't be behind this."

"We could at least check him out," Joe insisted. "Does he live very far away?"

"Not too far," Iola told him. "Isn't it getting kind of late to bother him?"

"At this point, I don't really care," Joe replied. "We've got to stop Macbeth before he strikes again. After all, if he keeps to the script of the play, the next people he'll hit will be a woman and her little kids."

HBHBHBHBHB

"That was a sneaky trick," Tony complained. "I thought she would give us something that would at least tell us something. What does 'Beware, Macduff' even mean, anyway?"

"It's from Macbeth," Frank replied. "I guess that goes without saying at this point. I don't get the comma, though. When the apparition says that, it's talking to Macbeth and warning him about Macduff. The comma makes it sound like it's warning Macduff about something."

"So what?" Chet asked. "Who's Macduff?"

"He's the guy who defeated Macbeth." Frank spoke more slowly as he neared the end of his sentence. "Oh, man. We've got to get home right away."

He threw the car into gear and pulled out into the street so fast that the tires squealed. Tony, who was in the back seat and hadn't had time to buckle, went sprawling across the seat.

"What's the hurry, Frank?" he asked.

"I think I just figured out who Macduff is," Frank told him, "and if I'm right –"

"Wait, you mean you're Macduff?" Chet stared at Frank in horror. "But, hold it. If Macduff took down Macbeth, and you're Macduff, then this guy can't really kill you or he'll goof the story."

"No, no, no," Frank told him. "I'm not Macduff. Dad is. And in the play Macbeth had Macduff's wife and children killed."

"Seriously?" Tony asked, eyes widening. "We'd better find your mom and Joe in a hurry."

"Chet, call Joe, will you," Frank requested.

"Sure thing." Chet took out his phone and swiped to dial Joe's number. He waited until the voicemail message came up. "No answer. Do you think –"

"Hold on," Tony said. "I thought you said someone else was supposed to get killed next. The banker."

"Banquo," Frank corrected him. "You're right. Although, maybe he already did. Helena said – Where's my brain? Tony, call the police and tell them to raid that place and pick up Helena. She's obviously in on it."

"Right." Tony dialed the number and began excitedly explaining the situation to the officer who answered.

A few minutes later, Frank parked the car in the driveway to his house. He was more than a little concerned when he noticed Joe's motorcycle was gone from the garage. The three boys rushed in the house through the front door.

"Mom?" Frank called. "Mom, are you here?"

Laura came running down the stairs, alarmed at the urgency in Frank's tone. "I'm right here. Is something wrong, Frank?"

"Maybe," Frank replied ambiguously. "Is Joe home? I saw his motorbike was gone."

"He left about half an hour ago," Laura told him. "He didn't say where he was going."

"Is Dad home?" Frank asked.

"I'm right here, Frank," Fenton said, appearing at the top of the stairs. "What's wrong?"

Frank began explaining the afternoon's events, with Tony and Chet adding in details throughout. When he had finished, Fenton frowned.

"I think you might be onto something," he said. "It fits with my theory about this case. I –"

He was interrupted by his smartphone ringing. Mechanically, he looked at the screen, but what he saw made him instantly alert. "It's Collig," he announced to the room in general before answering the call.

Everyone held their breaths, more the a little concerned that Collig's unexpected call indicated bad news. However, when they saw Fenton's face relax a little, they all decided that the news at least wasn't about Joe.

"When did this happen?" Fenton asked. He nodded. "Okay. What was he doing there? – Good. How long do you think it will take? – Yeah, I know. Thanks, Ezra."

"What was that about?" Laura inquired as he ended the call.

"Frank's clairvoyant was right," Fenton replied. "There's been another murder – Simeon Margot. There was a note identifying him as Banquo. Clarissa was with him when he was attacked, but she was allowed to escape with a note casting her as Fleance."

Frank took in a long breath. "That means Macduff's family is next. We'd better try calling Joe again."

"Hold on," Fenton told him. "Joe's fine. He happened on the scene and is giving Olaf a statement. Iola's there, too, and they're going to come right home as soon as they're finished."

"That's a relief," Laura said. "Fenton, as soon as Joe gets here, we – we'd better talk to the boys."

"Right," Fenton agreed. "But first the two of us better talk something over. Come on."

He and Laura went back upstairs, leaving Frank, Chet, Tony, and Aunt Gertrude, who had come when she'd heard the commotion, standing in the living room in complete confusion. They all fell silent, and the silence was awkward.

Finally, Chet said, "Say, Frank, mind if Tony and I wait around here for Iola and Joe? I mean, it makes more sense than one of you guys having to give her a ride home."

"Yeah, sure," Frank replied absently.

His parents' behavior had him completely confused. He'd never seen either of them act so strangely or secretively before. It simply made no sense.

While he was trying to think through the whole thing, Tony and Chet made themselves comfortable in the easy chairs in the living room. Aunt Gertrude remained uncharacteristically quiet, which allowed Frank the silence to think.

"Frank, isn't it about time that Joe got here?" Aunt Gertrude asked, breaking into Frank's thoughts a long while later.

Frank looked up at the clock and saw that it was after nine. Wordlessly, he picked up his phone and called Joe's.

"Hey, Frank!" Tony shouted from the living room. "I think I figured out why Joe didn't answer his phone earlier." He appeared in the doorway holding up Joe's phone. "It was in the couch."

"He must have forgotten it when he rushed out of here earlier," Aunt Gertrude surmised.

"Well, that explains that, at least," Frank said, relieved that something had a logical explanation, at any rate. "I'll call Chief Collig, then."

Collig answered within two rings. "Hi, Frank. I figured you'd be calling before too long. My men went to the address of this Helena Markovich that you had Tony give us, but there wasn't a sign of her. None of the neighbors knew anything about her either."

"I'm not really surprised," Frank replied. "Actually, though, I was wondering if Olaf still has Joe and Iola tied up."

"Olaf's still at the scene," Collig told him. "I'll radio him and find out." There was about half a minute's delay, and then Collig's voice came back over the line. "Frank? Olaf says he let them go five, ten minutes ago. He should know exactly, but –" Collig sighed. "Anyway, they should be back to your house any minute."

"Okay, thanks, Chief," Frank said, and hung up.

He repeated what Collig had told him to the others and they all sat down in the living room to wait. Frank found himself watching the pendulum on the antique swing back and forth, its ticking sounding louder than usual. It seemed to be an ominous countdown to some doom.