THE SPIRIT IN QUESTION

by Cynthia Kuhn

  “Hello, Detective,” I whispered.

  “Things seem to be going well, Professor.”

  I crossed my fingers for luck, and we watched the play continue. At first everything seemed fine, but during a quieter scene, I heard a strange tinny sound.

  I took a few steps toward the left, where it seemed to originate, and strained to listen. After another few lines of dialogue onstage, there it was again.

  I murmured to Lex that I’d be right back. He nodded.

  Moving as quickly as I could, I went out into the lobby, back through the hallway parallel to the auditorium, and down the stairs that led below stage. The sound rang out again, much louder. I could tell it came from the corner dressing room.

  I hurried down the hallway and threw open the door.

  Clara was near the mirror supervising Braxton, who was on his knees, pounding with a hammer at the bottom of the long crack in the wall that blossomed upward from the floor. The same one Clara had been scrutinizing during the tour. Small chunks of rubble lay around him.

  “What are you doing?” I cried.

  “Go away, Lila!” Clara came at me with her fingers bent forward like claws.

  I pushed her away. She stumbled backwards and sat down heavily on the floor next to the velvet chair.

  “This is family business!” she spat.

  I ignored her. “Braxton, stop!” He paused and looked dismayed as I went over toward him. I could hear Clara scrambling to get up, and I repeated his name, holding my hand out for the hammer. He handed it up to me with an air of defeat, his face reddening.

  “Hit her, Brax!” Clara shrieked.

  Once the hammer was safely in my palm, I whirled to face her. “Did you seriously tell him to hit me? What are you thinking?”

  She glared at me defiantly, her face drawn and tight. “Lila, this has nothing to do with you. Just go away.”

  “Tell me what’s going on,” I commanded. “Now.” I was so angry she’d told Braxton to hit me that my social niceties had gone out the window.

  “I’d like to know too,” I heard from behind me. Lex had followed me. Thank goodness.

  Clara walked over to Braxton and helped him up. The two of them faced us and clasped hands, not saying a word. For a second, they reminded me of the twins from The Shining.

  I shook my head to refocus.

  “What are you looking for?” Lex asked calmly.

  Clara and Braxton turned their heads to exchange glances.

  “You might as well say,” Lex told them. “You’ll be charged with vandalism at the very least. The other charges will depend upon how much you cooperate.”

  I didn’t know if that was really the case, but it sounded fitting.

  Clara flapped her hand at the detective. “Oh, all right.”

  We all waited for her to explain.

  She removed the ever-present crinkled-up tissue from her sleeve and patted her forehead with it. Then she smoothed her clothes for a bit. Apparently she wasn’t going to talk until she was good and ready.

  Lex didn’t say anything.

  Braxton shuffled his feet a little.

  “It’s the jewelry.” I blurted out, waving the hammer. “Right? Althea’s jewelry?”

  A flash of annoyance crossed Clara’s face.

  Well, if she wanted to be the one to say it first, she should have said it. She had plenty of time.

  Lex watched Clara closely until she admitted that I was right.

  “Why do you think it’s here?” I pressed.

  “Because she wrote in her journal that she hid it in the usual place,” Clara said, lifting her chin defiantly. “And we’ve looked everywhere else.”

  I couldn’t help but shoot a slightly triumphant look at Lex. Clara was confirming what we’d read in the page I had found. It was authentic.

  “You don’t think that would be in her home?”

  “No. I’ve read the journal so many times I’ve nearly memorized it. She never mentions her house, which makes sense since she practically lived here at the theater.”

  I wanted to know everything. “Where did you get ahold of the journal originally?”

  “It was on the velvet chair there right after she left town. But this,” she said exasperatedly, “is family business. That jewelry belongs to us. We’re just trying to get what we deserve.”

  Lex took a turn. “Why do you say that?”

  “Because Althea owes it to us. For raising her child. It wasn’t easy, you know. Or free.”

  Wow.

  She continued. “We’re going to sell the jewelry and use the money to help us buy the theater.”

  Lex didn’t comment on her plan. “Does Bella know what Althea wrote?”

  “No. We never let her read it. We felt it best to keep her away from anything related to her mother. That hussy.”

  “Really, Clara.” I didn’t bother to disguise my revulsion.

  “Well, this is all her fault. She had no morals whatsoever.”

  “Says the woman trying to rob her.”

  Clara sputtered at that and readjusted her hat.

  “Were you just going to smash the whole wall down?” Lex inquired coolly.

  I was horrified to see tears run down Clara’s face, dragging along black streaks of mascara like leaks from an oil can. “If we had to. Detective Archer, if we just had the money, we could fix it...and everything else. Don’t you think it pains me to make a single mark on this beautiful place? I’ve devoted my life to saving it!”

  Lex ignored her tears. “Why did you decide to hunt for it now, during the play? Surely there are less public times to hammer.”

  “After tonight, we won’t be allowed access. Chip just told us that.” She pulled the tissue from inside her sleeve again and dabbed at her eyes. “And everyone’s up there watching the play now, so this seemed like our best chance.”

  “Well, I’m going to ask you to come down to the station,” Lex said. “No big surprise there, I’m sure.”

  Clara’s shoulders sagged. She gestured toward the wall and began to weep. “Look what we did, Braxton.”

  He patted her arm, looking miserable as well and sighing deeply.

  She cried loudly for a moment, then held up a finger. “I will take responsibility for the wall. But let me be perfectly clear: we didn’t have anything to do with that dreadful shooting.”

  Lex pulled out his cell phone and pressed something.

  She waved until she caught his eye. “Please don’t parade us out in front of everyone, Detective Archer.”

  “I’ll do my best,” he said, talking to someone on the line, already making arrangements.

  Chapter 24

  The throbbing beat of the music stretched an entire block up the street. As I approached Tolliver’s Victorian house near campus, I wondered how his neighbors were feeling about the cast party. It was very late and it was very loud.

  Everyone inside the house appeared to be having an excellent time, anyway. The first floor was filled with dancing bodies and animated conversations. There was a general spirit of joyfulness. The cast deserved it after all their hard work.

  With some precise moves between dancers, I made my way to the kitchen where Zandra, Tolliver, Chip, and Bella were gathered around a large white granite island. The kitchen was more modern than the rest of the house, which had antique furniture and carpets that had seen better days.

  At that thought, something tickled the back of my mind, but I couldn’t quite grasp it.

  “Champagne?” Zandra held up a half-empty bottle. “We’re toasting Tolliver.”

  “Sure,” I said.

  She poured some of the yellow bubbling liquid into a slim flute and handed it to me.

  “Follow me, kids,” she said, charging toward the front of the house.

  I waited un
til everyone else had gone and followed Tolliver. He had evidently mastered the crutches because he moved along at a fantastic pace.

  She waved at the DJ across the room, making a patting motion with her hand, until he turned the music down. There were some protests, but once the group saw Tolliver, indignation was replaced with applause.

  The clapping sound swelled until it seemed as though it would bring the house down. Cries of “huzzah” and “bravo” could be heard, and some of the crew stomped their feet and whistled.

  Tolliver leaned on one crutch and held up the other in acknowledgment.

  “Thank you, all. You are so dear. But the congratulations should go to you.” He spoke for several minutes, praising the actors and crew members by name. At the end, he also gave me a shout out.

  No matter what else people said about him, they would have to admit that he was a gracious director.

  At the end of his speech, he thanked the company and said he was excited about our remaining performances.

  Just as he wrapped things up, cell phones around the room began to go off. Someone yelled, “It’s up! Jermaine Banister’s review is posted. Let me through!”

  With everything that was going on, I’d completely forgotten about the critic coming to see the play. I hoped that Tolliver’s euphoria wasn’t about to be crushed.

  The crowd parted and Parker appeared before Tolliver. He was holding his cell phone in one hand and scanning it feverishly. He used his finger to scroll up.

  “What does it say?” Tolliver stood perfectly still. A play of emotions crossed his face, ending with a resolutely stoic expression. “Just tell us.”

  “He loved it!” Parker pumped his fist in the air and the crowd cheered. Once they’d calmed down sufficiently, he went on. “Banister said it’s the most original show he’s seen in years. Oh, and that you have a brilliant mind.”

  Tolliver swallowed hard as Zandra threw her arms around him.

  “And he said we all did a great job too,” Parker informed the cast. “Except for when I tripped coming on stage that time.” He shrugged and flashed a grin. “My bad. Hey, at least I didn’t fall on my face!”

  The music was turned back up and the throng of people went back to their celebrating with renewed vigor.

  My head began to pound. The emotional rollercoaster I’d been on today was sinking in.

  I followed everyone back into the kitchen and listened for a few moments as they discussed the review. Tolliver leaned against the counter and let his crutches rest on either side of him.

  “Congratulations, Tolliver,” I said, walking over to give him a hug. “You did it.”

  He hugged me back, then held my shoulders with both hands as he looked into my eyes. “With your help. I couldn’t have done it without you, Lila.”

  “Pshaw,” I said as he let go.

  “Truly. Thank you.” He put his hands back on the counter and smiled at me.

  Zandra swept in and stood between us, jumping up and down a little. “Isn’t this so exciting? What a night. More of this to come, I hope.”

  Chip, standing on the other side of Tolliver, tilted his head slightly. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean,” Zandra said, “that whatever Tolliver writes could be produced by you. That we”—she swirled her champagne glass around the circle—“make a spectacular team! That there is more ahead for us.”

  Chip looked slightly pained. “Zandra, you know that whatever direction we go in with the Opera House, there will be a selection process for each season. I can’t promise anything.”

  She gave him a steely glare. “But—”

  “I can’t promise anything.”

  “What are you talking about?” Bella, who had just come from the other room, asked.

  “Nothing,” Zandra said, staring intently at Chip.

  “Is everything okay?” She looked back and forth between them.

  Chip didn’t break eye contact either. “Zandra suggested that the new arts center could produce more of Tolliver’s plays. I’m telling her that I can’t make any promises.”

  “Got it,” Zandra said curtly.

  Bella reached out and touched Zandra’s arm. “We don’t know what’s happening yet. But you and Tolliver will receive full consideration whatever direction we choose.”

  Zandra slowly dragged her eyes away from Chip and focused on Bella. “Thank you, Bella. We appreciate your...consideration.” She spat the last word out, as if it were supremely distasteful. It was clear that she felt Tolliver was being treated poorly.

  Bella lowered her eyes, perhaps to regroup from Zandra’s obvious hostility, then glanced at Chip, her lips curving up as they always did lately when she looked at him, before addressing her. “I’m sorry if that didn’t come out right. I mean in all sincerity that you and Tolliver—and Clara and Braxton—are very important in terms of our vision for the Opera House. We absolutely want your input as you go forward. And you will be at the top of our list with future productions.”

  Zandra seemed somewhat appeased. She inclined her head slowly toward Bella. “Thank you for saying that.”

  The mention of Clara and Braxton had brought me back to the dressing room incident. I told the group about what had happened.

  Bella paled and clutched at Chip. “Are you serious? I can’t believe it.”

  “I’m completely serious.”

  “They just...bashed the wall in?” She shook her head a little as if to refuse the truth, then pulled out her cell phone. “That doesn’t sound like them at all. I need to call Clara.”

  “I think they’re probably still talking to Detective Archer,” I said softly.

  “Still,” she said. “I need to try.”

  She walked to the other end of the kitchen and put the phone to her ear.

  “There’s treasure in the Opera House? I can’t believe it.” Chip looked at Zandra and laughed. “Gosh, I wonder why the spirits didn’t tell you. You’d think they would have picked up their Batphones and given you first dibs.”

  She gave him a dirty look. “Shut up, Chip.”

  He backed away, hands up in mock surrender.

  “Now now, ducklings,” Tolliver said. “Tonight we must celebrate! Let’s go join the others.”

  After awhile, I said my goodbyes and went out into the cool, fresh air.

  Chapter 25

  I woke the next morning to sunshine streaming in through a crack in the curtain. I’d had a longer dream about Althea and Bella in the dressing room, and it lingered tantalizingly, but the more I tried to assemble the fragments into a cohesive narrative, the faster they slipped away from me. All I could remember was what I’d dreamt before: mother and daughter looking into the mirror, Althea moving her hands in gestures I didn’t comprehend.

  Cady was curled up beside me, and when I petted her, she began purring. The peaceful start was exactly what I needed after the intensity of yesterday. I stretched and checked the alarm clock, which read almost nine a.m. I was usually wide awake at six, so that was a surprise.

  Luckily, I didn’t have classes today—just a long day of grading before tonight’s performance—so I could take things slow.

  The coffee was brewing, and I was just putting bread in the toaster when my cell phone chirped. I pulled it out of my robe pocket and squinted at the screen, then answered.

  “Hi Bella,” I said. “How are you?”

  We chatted for a bit about Clara and Braxton. She thanked me for letting her know about what had happened and filled me in on their mindset when they returned home, which was both humiliated and outraged, apparently.

  “They’re very angry with me,” she said sadly.

  “Why?”

  “Because they feel like I’m taking the Opera House away from them. No matter how many times I tell them that they’ll still be able to be a part of things, they don
’t believe me. They’ve been in charge for so long that it feels like they’re being rejected or replaced or something.”

  “They’ll come around,” I said. “Or I hope they will.”

  She was silent for a moment.

  “Thank you, Lila. I feel like you’re the only one who is giving Chip a chance, and that means so much to me.”

  I had my suspicions about Chip too but she was right that I hadn’t expressed them overtly. Which was kind of like giving him a chance.

  “I just want you to be safe.” This was a weird conversation. I felt very...maternal.

  “Again, thank you.”

  “Sure.”

  “Okay. See you at the meeting.”

  “What meeting?”

  “The one Tolliver called. Didn’t you get his text?”

  “Hold on.” I put her on speaker and opened up my messages. “Nope, nothing here.”

  “It’s in an hour at the Opera House,” she said. “I don’t know what it’s about. But I’m sure you’re supposed to be there.”

  “See you then.” I scrolled through my messages again after we hung up. Definitely not there. But I’d just head over. I left my script there last night anyway. I think I set it down in the dressing room when I’d been so surprised to find the Worthinghams removing the wall.

  Still couldn’t believe they did that.

  I fed Cady, showered and dressed, and walked quickly to the Opera House. The lobby was empty, so I went into the auditorium. It too was devoid of others—dark and quiet except for the ghost light up on the stage. Perhaps everyone was downstairs. I was a little late and they may have decided to go measure the damage to the dressing room.

  Suddenly, I heard a scream and a banging sound. I ran down the aisle, up the stage steps, and down the stairs toward the lower level. The only light on was at the end of the hallway, in the large dressing room.

  I burst into the room and found Zandra sitting calmly in the chair in front of the mirror, flipping through the notebook that held my copy of the script.

  “What happened? Are you okay?”