I didn’t realize anyone was listening until two heavy hands landed on our shoulders, fingernails digging in like claws, and Rex boomed, “Darlings, you have the envy of your fellows to contend with. Such is the price of success. And as if that’s not enough, you also run the risk of falling in the path of Tiffany’s insane stalker.” There was a faint trace of menace in his voice when he added with a smile, “If you two survive until opening night, it will be a miracle.”
the yellow brick road
There were plenty of police on duty around the theatre after Geoff’s death, so no one saw anything of the mysterious stalker and no death threats arrived. Inspector Humphries seemed convinced that the stalker had been scared off, at least temporarily. But I still wasn’t sure it was an outside job. There were so many odd things going on in the theatre that I suspected anyone could be behind it.
Rex and Hannah had been avoiding each other since I’d seen them having that snatched conversation. But I felt Rex’s eyes on me a lot of the time, as if he was watching my every move. Hannah had stopped trying to hide how much she hated Tiffany: she just spent her time glaring at the star from the wings. Peregrine on the other hand seemed utterly besotted. He couldn’t praise Tiffany enough.
“He seems to be really obsessed with her,” I said to Graham at one rehearsal. “Do you reckon he might be her stalker?”
“No… It wouldn’t make sense,” he objected.
“But you said yourself stalking is a bonkers thing to do. Peregrine’s worried about money, isn’t he, according to Rex and that lot? Might that be enough to unhinge him?”
Neither of us could come up with a good answer to that question.
Then there were Timothy, Rex and Brad to keep an eye on. Not to mention Walter Roberts who played the part of the Wizard and Uncle Henry. OK, so they were each old enough to be Tiffany’s dad but they’d all been at the receiving end of her smile: any one of them might be secretly in love with her.
Christmas was looming. The shops were full of tinselly displays and tinnily piped carols, and the high street’s fairy lights had been officially switched on by the mayor. It was late November and we had about two weeks to go before opening night.
Graham and I were kept pretty busy watching everyone while rehearsals progressed. Once the actors had learnt their lines and knew their moves, Peregrine started working on the finer details like pace and rhythm. It was then that things began to get tricky.
We were practising the bit where the tornado has blown the farmhouse over the rainbow (a neat piece of theatrical engineering involving a load of wires and pulleys). In the blackout we’d all rushed on to the stage to take our places before it landed with a thud, squishing the Wicked Witch of the East flat as a cowpat. The “Ding Dong the Witch is Dead” routine went smoothly. To Peregrine’s enormous relief the singing–dancing Munchkins had stopped trying to outdo each other and were working nicely as a team.
But during “Follow the Yellow Brick Road” we got into difficulties.
“The pace is a little slow,” said Peregrine, cutting in after the first verse. “The piece needs a lift at this point. Tiffany, darling, your performance is exquisite but I wonder if you’d mind speeding up just a fraction?”
Tiffany nodded obediently. Everyone took their places for the beginning of the number and then Tiffany did it exactly the way she’d done it before.
Peregrine interrupted halfway through. “That’s lovely, darling. But we need to shift it along here with just a touch more energy. A little more zest, please, OK?”
“Of course,” she said. Everyone got into position. And then she did it again. And again it was just the same as before.
After his seventh interruption Peregrine gave up because each time Tiffany made us go back to the beginning of the song, and took ages and ages to get going again. She stood there taking deep breaths, composing herself. She said she was feeling the part, getting into character.
I’d read somewhere that lots of actors have weird routines to ward off bad luck. They’re a really superstitious bunch. They wear lucky socks, or turn around three times before they go on, or walk through the stage door backwards with their fingers crossed. Tiffany had this funny habit of glancing up and twitching her little finger just before she started singing. It was quite interesting to start with, but as the day wore on even I was beginning to find watching Tiffany tedious.
The rest of the cast were getting short-tempered and some of the kids were tired and starting to make mistakes.
About an hour before home time the Mayor of Munchkinland lost it completely, tying his feet in knots and tripping over Glinda’s skirt. Tiffany ground to a halt. Peregrine sighed and said, “Let’s just skip ahead to the last verse shall we?”
It was only for a moment. I don’t think anyone else even noticed. Peregrine certainly didn’t. But in a tiny flash I saw more fear in Tiffany’s eyes than I’d seen when Geoff had dropped dead and she knew for certain her stalker wanted to kill her. Something had really terrified her.
Then she threw one of her zillion-volt smiles at Peregrine and said smoothly, “I’d prefer to go back to the beginning, Peregrine. I do so want to get the flow of the piece right. It’s terribly important, don’t you agree?”
He was powerless to resist – he went all still and frozen like a rabbit caught in the headlights. “Oh yes,” he said, nodding so fervently that the hair brushed across his bald patch came adrift and hung down the side of his face like a shower curtain.
This time we managed to get through the whole song – at Tiffany’s pace – but by the end of it we were exhausted.
“We’re never going to get to the Emerald City at this rate,” Graham complained as we left.
I was so wiped out that I forgot my lunchbox. We were halfway to the bus stop before I remembered and we had to turn back.
Empty theatres are spooky places. It must be to do with all that highly charged emotion seeping into the walls with every performance. You could almost believe they’re haunted.
I was glad Graham was with me when Maggie let us in through the stage door. We had to go along the echoing corridors past the kids’ dressing rooms and then the grown-ups’ ones, where someone was having a shower and singing their head off. We couldn’t quite make out where the noise was coming from but it was tuneless. Awful.
“They sound worse than you do,” said Graham, flashing one of his blink-and-you-miss-it grins.
“Thanks a lot.”
We walked on, the caterwauling following us as we climbed a flight of stairs and on to the stage. My lunchbox was at the back where I’d left it. As I retrieved it, I heard a faint click high above me and peered up.
Directly overhead was the grid from which hundreds of massive theatre lights were suspended. During rehearsals when they were switched on you were blinded if you so much as glanced heavenwards. But now they were off and when I looked up I glimpsed a shadowy figure.
Like I said, empty theatres are spooky places. For a moment I thought it was the stalker and I was so terrified I dropped my lunchbox. But when the figure called down to us I realized it was only Jason.
“What are you two doing here?” he demanded rudely.
“I forgot this,” I replied, picking the box back up and waving it about as proof. The distant sound of the terrible singing echoed eerily across the stage.
“Oh right,” he snapped angrily. “You had better go now. Go on, get out. You shouldn’t be here after hours. Health and safety would have a fit.”
We turned to leave but before I entirely disappeared into the wings I peeked over my shoulder. Jason hadn’t moved. He was watching to make sure we left.
I couldn’t see his expression, but I couldn’t help wondering why he was so keen to see the back of us.
lethal confection
The next day, Graham and I arrived at the theatre at the same time as a massive bunch of flowers and the biggest box of chocolates I’d ever seen. The man delivering them didn’t seem to have arms that
were quite long enough to carry both packages. Maggie pressed the buzzer and the stage door swung open to admit us.
“You kids going in?” gasped the struggling delivery man.
“Yes.”
“Do us a favour and take these, will you? They’re for Miss Webb.”
“Sure,” I said brightly. “I’ll take the chocolates. Graham can carry the flowers, can’t you, Graham?”
The opportunity to call at Tiffany’s dressing room – maybe even get a peek inside – was too good to miss. Two minutes later we were handing over the gifts to the sweetly smiling actress. She flung her door wide open and told us to come in. Squeezing between the bodyguards stationed in the corridor, we obeyed.
I was slightly unnerved by the smiling. I mean, she’d pretty much ignored me and Graham right the way through rehearsals even though we were the ones who did the flying scene with her. Maybe she was just in a better mood. Or maybe it was the flowers that did it. She took them from Graham, saying, “Lilies! How wonderful. You know some people don’t like these – they associate them with funerals. But I think they’re beautiful. I love them so much. Aren’t they gorgeous?” Peering into the middle of the bunch she pulled a card out and opened it. “From your biggest fan,” she read aloud. “I wonder who that could be?”
“A secret admirer?” I suggested.
“I suppose so. I’ve certainly got plenty of those.” She put the lilies in the sink, filled it with water and then beckoned me over. “Chocolates, too! Must be an early Christmas present. I wonder if they’re from the same person?”
She opened the card that was stuck on the box. “Sweets to the sweet. How lovely!” Sitting down, she started to pull off the lid. “My favourites!” she said with a dazzling smile at us both. “I usually go for the soft centres but I fancy a toffee for a change.” Popping it into her mouth she held the box out towards us. “I’ll eat them all if you don’t help me, and that would be terrible for my figure. You’d better save me. Go on, take one.”
Graham reached into the box and lifted out a strawberry-shaped one. I picked one in the shape of an orange segment. I was watching Graham, and for some reason the hairs on the back of my neck suddenly stood bolt upright. He lifted the chocolate to his lips and opened his mouth, but just before he put it in I lashed out at him, smacking his hand away so hard that he yelped and both our sweets fell to the floor.
“What did you do that for?” he asked, startled.
“I don’t know,” I replied. I’d reacted instinctively and it was taking my brain a few minutes to catch up with my body. “Something’s not right.”
Tiffany’s eyes widened. “What do you mean, not right?” She’d already swallowed her toffee. There was a tremble of fear in her voice.
“You don’t think there’s anything wrong with them, do you?” Graham asked, turning the box over. “Are they past their sell-by date? Even if they are, the risk of contamination is very low. Hardly anyone gets food poisoning from chocolates.”
“Food poisoning?” echoed Tiffany. “I don’t understand…”
“Poisoning.” I turned the word over thoughtfully. Tea… Geoff… A crazed stalker… Lilies… Funeral flowers… It all seemed to fit.
“You don’t think…?” gasped Tiffany. “No, it’s impossible! You can’t really believe they’ve been tampered with?”
“I don’t know. But there’s no name on those cards, is there? How do you know they’re from a fan? They might be from whoever’s been stalking you.”
I thought Tiffany was going to pass out. She shut her eyes and leaned back in her chair. Graham firmly replaced the lid on the box. I opened the dressing room door and her minders came bounding into the room ready to repel attackers.
They called the police and the chocolates were taken away for tests. To be honest, it seemed a bit overcautious because Tiffany had eaten hers and she was fine. Even so, when Inspector Humphries came in to talk to us we carefully avoided telling him how close Graham and I had come to eating any. If there was something wrong with them he’d tell our mums, they’d freak out and we’d have to stop doing the show. We were far too interested in what was going on for that to happen, so we kept quiet and Tiffany did the same.
After we’d all talked to the inspector, Tiffany was so upset that she had to lie down. Graham and I walked up to the stage and joined the rest of the cast, who were standing in small groups muttering. Word had quickly got around about the suspicious chocolates and the whole place was buzzing with rumours. I sidled nonchalantly up to where Rex and Timothy were talking to Brad.
“Will Tiffany pull out, do you think?” Timothy asked Rex.
“No idea, darling. But I hope Peregrine’s got her properly covered.”
“What do you mean?” asked Brad.
“Look at it this way,” explained Rex. “If he’s got her insured and she cops it at least the company won’t go under.”
At that point Rex noticed me listening and they fell silent. But it gave me something else to think about. Exactly how rocky were the finances of the Purple Parrot Theatre Company? Was it really in danger of collapse? And how far would Peregrine be prepared to go to save it?
We couldn’t start rehearsing without Tiffany and she was in a state of shock. But just when it looked like Peregrine would have to give up on the idea of working that day and send us home, our leading lady stepped on to the stage. “I’m not going to let it get to me,” she said.
“Bravo!” cried Cynthia. “That’s the spirit.”
“Besides,” Tiffany carried on, “we don’t know for sure the chocolates were poisoned. Until we do, I refuse to worry about it.” There she stood – brave, defiant and vulnerable. You couldn’t help admiring her. And the men couldn’t help wanting to protect her. Even Graham looked a bit misty eyed. She was the perfect plucky heroine.
So why did I feel uneasy?
I thought about it all morning while we rehearsed our flying monkey scene. It was my favourite bit of the whole show, even though the costumes Cynthia helped Jason clamp us into (singing “Come Fly with Me” under her breath) were a bit hot and itchy. I mean, synthetic fur’s never going to be comfortable, unless you’re a stuffed toy. But climbing up onto a tower in the wings and then swooping off in a great arc across the stage was brilliant. Graham thought it was fun too and the other kids were positively green with envy. When we landed we had to scare off Dorothy’s dog, Toto, who obliged by yapping very loudly, and then grab her and fly back. Tiffany was wearing a harness too so, despite Graham’s gloomy predictions about us getting irreversible muscle strain, it was really easy.
As Jason disconnected us from our harnesses I sneaked a look at Tiffany’s profile. I couldn’t put it into words: it was too vague. But there was definitely something odd about her. It was to do with what I’d noticed when she was giving the TV interview – the way that you couldn’t quite see the gap between when she was being normal and when she was acting. I found it a bit disturbing but when I mentioned it to Graham later he just shrugged and said, “First you thought Hannah was behaving strangely and now it’s Tiffany? Maybe they’re both stressed. It’s a scientifically proven fact that people react with unpredictable emotions when they’re under pressure.”
Yet Tiffany didn’t seem unpredictable when she was on stage – if anything she was just the opposite. When Cynthia (humming “You’re the Cream in my Coffee”) brought Tiffany her cappuccino, she sighed admiringly.
“Your voice is wonderful,” Cynthia said, handing her the cup. “I’m terribly jealous. You never change, you never stumble, you never falter. You’re so consistent. How on earth do you do it?”
Hannah was close by and her eyes narrowed shrewdly as she waited for Tiffany to respond.
For a second Tiffany looked outraged, almost as if Cynthia had insulted her. But then she did one of those gleaming smiles, which hit Cynthia like a thunderbolt.
“Hard work,” Tiffany said. “That’s all it is. I’m a professional. I never stop practising.”
/> If Tiffany was under terrible pressure like Graham thought then it was certainly greater by the end of the day, when the results came back from the lab. All the soft-centred chocolates – the ones she’d said were her favourites – had been injected with a lethal dose of poison. If Graham had eaten the strawberry one he wouldn’t be with us any more, he’d be in hospital. Or the mortuary: dead on a slab in a fridge right next to Geoff. And I’d be there with both of them. It made me feel quite dizzy but Graham seemed a lot less bothered about it than I was.
“The reality is that we avoid death several times a day,” he said with one of his blink-and-you-miss-it grins as we left the theatre. “Every time you cross the road you risk fatal injury. There’s no point fretting about what might have happened.”
The story was all over the evening news. We watched it at my house and Mum’s reaction made me glad we hadn’t told Inspector Humphries about our near-death experience. She tutted and gasped her way through the item, making it hard for me and Graham to hear the details.
The police were trying to find the person who had tampered with the chocolates, but they hadn’t got very far. It seemed that the stalker – dressed in the wizard outfit – had taken both the flowers and chocolates to the office of a local delivery firm. They’d paid in cash so they couldn’t be traced.
“Didn’t you think it was odd to be given items by someone in costume?” demanded the reporter.
“Fancy dress, I thought it was,” the receptionist shrugged. “It’s the party season; it’s not unusual this time of year. We get all sorts in here.”
“Putting poison into chocolates!” my mum exclaimed. “What will that stalker try next?”
“It’s very often the case that killers have their own characteristic way of despatching their victims,” Graham told her. “As long as poisoning remains his favourite method, Tiffany’s relatively safe. She’ll just have to watch what she eats.”
Dying to be Famous Page 4