THE SPIRIT IN QUESTION

by Cynthia Kuhn

  “Got it. Anything else?”

  When I said no, he shut the notepad and tucked it back into his pocket. “That’s helpful. Thanks, Lila.”

  “Do I need to stay any longer?”

  “No. It’s late. I’ll call you tomorrow, okay?”

  I nodded and watched him walk away.

  Bella greeted him as she came down the stairs, then joined me in the aisle. “Wow. That was something, wasn’t it?”

  “I know, right?”

  She smiled, which surprised me, considering that her guardian had just been descended upon by police. But the source of her happiness became immediately clear. “It really felt as though I was talking to my mother. There was this burst of love that went right through me.”

  “Wow.”

  “I know it sounds odd. But I felt her presence. I swear.” Her smile faltered. “Though I can’t believe Jean Claude accused Clara of killing him. There’s no way she’s a killer.”

  “Well, maybe it wasn’t Jean Claude. Maybe it was just Zandra,” I suggested.

  “That’s true. It wasn’t clear there at the end, was it?”

  “No, it wasn’t.”

  She turned back to the stage, observing the activity. Two police had sat down at the table and were talking to Clara and Braxton. Two more were on the stage, chatting with Zandra and Tolliver. Lex was examining the crystal ball on the table, which wasn’t glowing at all now.

  Chip was nowhere to be seen.

  Bella touched my arm softly. “Want to join me? I just need to sit down for a minute.”

  “Sure.”

  We sank into the shabby red seats and sat in comfortable silence. The discussions onstage concluded and, eventually, we were the only ones left in the quiet theater.

  “Do you think the ghosts really did return Clara’s pistol?”

  I gave her a look.

  “I know, it sounds absurd. But did you see anyone carrying a gun when we got there?”

  “No,” I admitted.

  She thought for a moment. “And we were all holding hands in the circle the whole time, right?”

  “True.”

  “So wouldn’t we have noticed if one of us let go?”

  She had a point.

  “Plus the alternative is that one of us is guilty, and I don’t even know how to begin processing that,” she said. “I trust every single person who was here.”

  I didn’t know whom I trusted anymore. Including Bella, even though she had never given me a reason not to trust her. As far as I knew.

  I snapped my fingers. “We should check out the table.” I pointed to the stage. “Maybe it’s rigged.”

  She gave me a small smile. “I’m so tired. I’ll wait here.”

  I trudged up the stairs and crawled under the table. I felt around every corner of it, but there was nothing unusual—no flaps, doors, or bumpy spots where a secret compartment might be housed. Using the flashlight on my phone, I scrutinized it again until I was sure.

  Dejected, I returned to Bella.

  “It was a good idea,” she said to comfort me.

  “Thanks. And now I think I’ll call it a night.”

  “I appreciate your sleuthing efforts, anyway.”

  “You’re very kind. And congratulations again on your engagement, Bella. I hope this doesn’t put a damper on things.”

  “Thank you. I appreciate that. And I hope you believe that Clara is innocent. I know that with every fiber of my being.”

  I hoped she was right.

  The pistol seemed to suggest otherwise, though.

  Chapter 23

  Lex called the next morning, as promised. Clara had been questioned and although they didn’t feel they had enough to charge her for anything, they weren’t forgetting about her, either. Fingerprint results would take awhile but even if her prints were on the pistol, it wouldn’t prove anything because it was her gun.

  I pointed out that perhaps it was her plan all along to claim the gun was stolen, use it as a weapon, make it appear in public, then insist she was being framed.

  In which case she was kind of an evil genius.

  Lex said he appreciated my theory but didn’t think she was capable of that.

  I said it was always the ones you didn’t think were capable who were the most capable.

  He said I read too many mysteries.

  I said there is no such thing as too many mysteries.

  And that was the end of that conversation.

  After we said goodbye, I mused over various possibilities as I washed my coffee cup. One thing I knew for sure: both Clara and Chip wanted to get control of the Opera House.

  But how would shooting Jean Claude accomplish that?

  As I rinsed the mug and set it upside down on the rack next to the sink, it occurred to me that perhaps he was not the primary target but someone who got in the way.

  Or maybe he was chosen because he was so famous and his death would receive a lot of attention.

  Creating a sense of peril might be useful for Chip. If he could generate enough negative publicity that made people not want to go to the theater, it might lower its value. Then the chancellor could be more easily persuaded to dump the property. We all knew that bad publicity was one of his least favorite things.

  Yet the same could be true for Clara. If she generated enough negative publicity, perhaps Chip wouldn’t want to buy the property in the first place.

  And of course Tolliver had something at stake as well: the success of his play, which would be helped by publicity. Then again, he wouldn’t throw himself through a trap door and suffer a broken leg in order to sell tickets...would he?

  I dried my hands on a flowered towel and folded it, pushing my speculations further.

  Bella was engaged to Chip, so she might be in on whatever he was up to.

  Zandra was Tolliver’s companion, so she might be in on his plan.

  And Braxton was married to Clara. He’d do whatever she wanted, no question, though somehow it was difficult to think of him as actively guilty. He was more like a casualty swept up in the tsunami of her relentless determination.

  Then there was Gavin Frinkle. He was all about the hype, hoping the Spirit Wranglers episode would promote the theater, provide support for his forthcoming book, and pave the way for a parapsychology department.

  The actors would also benefit from having participated in a production at a well-known site.

  So would the wranglers, come to think of it.

  Did everyone have a motive for shining a spotlight on the theater?

  I hung the towel across the bar and froze as a realization struck me: if murdering Jean Claude was indeed intended to draw attention, we were all still very much in danger.

  * * *

  After class, I dropped off an exam to be copied. Glynnis Klein, who ran the front office, told me that she was coming to the opening performance. She wore a dotted A-line dress paired with a bright fuzzy cardigan; the sweater clip had a tiny row of cats across the front. She always found the best things during her vintage store pilgrimages.

  “Thank you, Glynnis. I’m glad.”

  “So am I,” she said. “The students are so excited. I can’t wait to see them onstage. Plus, I gather that the plotline is very...unique.” She pushed up her cat-eye glasses and winked at me. “Tolliver’s artistic vision has captured the imagination of more than a few faculty members as well. I’d describe the general mood as anticipatory.”

  “You’ve heard them discussing it?”

  “You’d be surprised what they say when they’re picking up their mail.” She gestured to the row of wooden boxes perpendicular to the front office door. The divider created the sense that you were in a room of sorts and faculty were a bit more outspoken than they might otherwise be accordingly. I’d heard a few choice comment
aries from the other side more than once.

  “It’s nice that they’re supporting him by going,” she went on.

  I didn’t want to tarnish her shiny view by explaining that a few people were likely going for the opposite reason, to have something to snark about privately—some colleagues had a habit of putting others down to make themselves feel better. So I didn’t. “I’m very happy that you’ll be joining us.”

  “I know that helping out with the play has taken up quite a bit of your time.” She smiled at me. “It’s kind of you. And I hope you know that the students really like working with you.”

  I blushed. “That’s nice to hear. I enjoy working with them too.” Which was always true. Some of the faculty could be challenging, but there was no need to advertise that all over town. In general, I was fond of my colleagues, and the speed bumps we hit from time to time were usually temporary. So far, anyway.

  “Did you need anything else?”

  “No.” I thanked her for the forthcoming copies and for coming to the play. “If you like, I could give you a tour backstage. It’s a lovely old theater. There might be some vintage costumes tucked away somewhere.”

  She beamed. “I’d adore that. Thanks, Lila. I wouldn’t want to intrude on opening night, but I will take you up on it another time.” She gave a cheery wave and began typing on her computer keyboard at light speed. Not for the first time, I sent a little thank you to the universe for bringing her to our department.

  When I arrived at the theater, everything was in chaos. Luciana was wheeling a cart full of gloves around, urging cast members to hurry. Someone was pounding on one of the backdrops, and Tolliver was clomping around the stage on his crutches, shouting instructions at several crew members who were adjusting the furniture angles.

  I said hello and he paused long enough to ask me to check the mattresses. I agreed and headed below stage. As always, the temperature drop hit me with a vengeance, and I pulled my velvet coat closed.

  Students were running about in various states of costume. A row of actors were applying makeup at a long mirror in one of the side rooms. At the end of the hall, I knocked on the door of the corner dressing room. Parker was pacing back and forth. His face was pale and there were beads of perspiration on his forehead. He was wringing his hands anxiously.

  “Are you okay?”

  His grimace in return suggested otherwise. His eyes remained focused on his own image.

  I smiled encouragingly. “You’ve got this. Just stay in the moment.”

  He gave me a thumbs-up sign and I left him to his pacing, continuing on to the prop room to make sure everything was in order. The room was empty but the lights were on. I was relieved to see that the mattresses were lined up properly beneath the trap door. The rolling steps that Andrew would use to emerge as Poe were also at the ready. I eyeballed the trap door to confirm that the lock was in place. In doing so, I flashed back to the thump we’d heard at the séance. Our table had been set up directly over the trap door, so pretty much anything could have been struck against the wood to create the sound. The only problem was: everyone in attendance had been sitting around the table, as far as I knew. Had it been a true signal from the beyond? Or had Zandra teamed up with someone to create the sound effects? If so, who?

  Or had she simply stomped on the wood? I couldn’t imagine how. I’d been holding her hand and it didn’t feel as though she’d moved in any way.

  It was all very confusing. Was she capable of truly channeling spirits? I didn’t know where I stood on the matter. I hadn’t seen any ghosts, but that didn’t mean I was going to say they didn’t exist. Plus, if Zandra wasn’t an authentic medium, why would she pose as one?

  Too many questions and not enough answers.

  The sound of students running upstairs brought me back to the business at hand. I cast one more glance around the prop room, then went up to join them.

  The audience was far more responsive than I ever could have dreamed. They laughed and gasped in all the right places, and by the time the curtain went down for intermission, it seemed that the play was on the way to being a triumph.

  Backstage, I congratulated the actors and crew gathered there. They were giddy with adrenaline. Tolliver was presiding, leaning on his crutches, a huge smile on his face as he listened to the animated students. Zandra was fluttering around him, saying something I couldn’t hear. I had almost reached him when I noticed Chip and Bella approaching from the other side, Clara and Braxton trailing behind them. We all reached Tolliver at the same time and praised the first act.

  “Thank you, darlings,” he said, readjusting his position so that he was facing the circle we formed around him. “I am delighted that the audience is recognizing positive aspects in the work.”

  Zandra clicked her tongue. “It’s more than recognizing, Tolly. They love it! You’re a success!”

  “Please don’t say another word,” Tolliver said, “It’s bad luck to forecast the reception.”

  She made a dismissive gesture and looked at the rest of us. “I told you he was a genius.”

  “I’m enjoying it,” Chip said. “And I have news.” He glanced at Bella, who appeared apprehensive about what he was going to say next.

  “I’m sorry—” she said to Clara, who stood perfectly still.

  Chip cut her off. “Chancellor Wellington has agreed to sell the theater to me. The papers have been drawn up, and we can close tomorrow.”

  Clara gasped, her hand going up to her pearls.

  Braxton steadied her with a hand on either side of her back.

  Clara took one step toward Chip, trembling with fury. “You are a heartless, horrible man.”

  “Now hold on there a minute—” he began.

  “I will not!” I wouldn’t have been surprised if she took a swing at him. She had the air of a cobra about to strike.

  Zandra swiveled her gaze back and forth between them. “When will you break ground?”

  Chip rubbed his chin. “I admit, I’ve been stubborn about making my entertainment complex idea a reality. But Bella has been talking to me for months about preserving the theater instead, and there’s so much more to consider than I had initially realized. Besides, this theater rightly belongs to her, as the descendent of Malcolm and Althea Gaines—”

  “Or Camden Drake and Althea Gaines,” Zandra interjected. When we all stared at her, she laughed. “Well, you know it’s a strong possibility. Let’s not pretend otherwise.”

  “In any case,” Chip proceeded, with a pointed look at Zandra, “Althea is her mother and she owned the theater with Malcolm. So by rights, it should have gone to Bella and would have, if Malcolm hadn’t given it away.”

  He looked down at Bella, who blushed and returned his gaze, eyes shining.

  “We’re going to be married, and I don’t know if I could live with myself if I tore down her family inheritance. I know Bella would rather that we do everything we can to preserve it.”

  Clara twisted her pearls. “Are you saying that you’re not going to destroy our beloved Opera House?”

  He put his palms up in a wait-please gesture. “I’m not saying anything definitive yet. I have investors, and I’ll need to do some strenuous tap dancing—maybe even some hardcore faction-building—with them in order to pull this off. Bella and I need to discuss this further as well. It doesn’t make sense to carry the cost of repairing the theater if we can’t make a profit when all is said and done. That’s just good business.”

  “But we might be able to save it,” Bella said quietly. She addressed Clara and Braxton. “We like the idea of developing an arts center, widening the range of ways to use the Opera House, and we want to hear your ideas too. You’ve done so much for me, and I told Chip that you know more than anyone how to take care of this place.”

  Clara clamped her mouth shut, but Braxton winked at Bella.

  �
�At this point, all I know is that I’ll be acquiring the theater. We close tomorrow, so this will be the last night the Historical Society and university agreement holds. I feel it only fair to let you know that.”

  “You mean we won’t be able to keep an eye on things anymore?” Clara asked, her eyes narrowed.

  “Well, you’ll be able to do that from afar,” he said. “Through Bella.”

  “That’s an enormous mistake,” Clara snapped. “Colossal.”

  Chip turned to Tolliver. “You’ll be able to finish the run of the play, of course.”

  “Thank you, Chip. And now I need to get back to it, if you’ll excuse me.” He aimed his crutches to the side and moved out of the group. Zandra, after a moment, followed him. He paused and said, over his shoulder, “I’ll be interested to see what happens next, and I hope you’ll consider staging my future work here.”

  “Typical,” said Clara. “He’s already sucking up.”

  Chip laughed. “Well, either way, I hope there will be many more performances to come. Perhaps fixing up the theater so that it isn’t in danger of crumbling into pieces will still allow us to bring more culture to Stonedale.”

  “You have to stop saying that,” Clara retorted. “We have culture here already.”

  “Aw, you know what I mean.” Chip flashed a big smile. Clara didn’t return it.

  The actors and crew were bustling around us. It was almost time for the second act to begin.

  “Let’s take our seats, shall we?” I gestured to the house and everyone left without a fuss.

  “We’re leaving,” I heard Clara say to Braxton.

  He didn’t reply but patted her arm as they walked toward the door that led to the hallway.

  Poor Braxton. He was about to get an earful.

  The curtain rose and the play went on. Again, it was flowing smoothly.

  Tolliver had asked me to watch from the back of the house, to keep an eye on sound. In a theater this old, there were sometimes acoustical issues. As I moved up the aisle, I was delighted to see Lex leaning against the wall near the lobby. A slow smile spread across his face as I approached. That set my heart a-thumping, but I did my best to look nonchalant as I slid into the space next to him.