Cornered now, I floundered at what to say. “Um, do you like the beach?”
She beamed at me. “Red hair, pale skin. I don’t do the beach much, but I can handle an evening walk. Would that work?”
“Sounds great, Cassidy.”
“Great! Well…” She smiled mischievously.
“Well, what?”
“Ask me.” She was clearly enjoying this.
“Cassidy, will you take a ride to the beach with me later?”
“Let me think…” She rolled her eyes up like she was thinking hard and tapped her lip with her finger. “Yes, I would.”
Papa Angelos patted me on the shoulder and kissed my cheek. “Now we have a nice girl. See how easy that was? Always listen to your Papa Angelos, Midas Lucas. Now finish the plates; the family will be here soon.”
The rest of the dinner went smoothly. We all ate too much, and Cassidy had a good time tricking people with her secret Greek knowledge. Fortunately nobody said anything inappropriate. At the end of the evening we left Demeter’s feeling full. Joshua and Sierra were quiet. Something was going on between those two, and I was trying not to pry. If Cassidy noticed anything, she didn’t say a word.
She was too busy having fun with my family. It was like she was one of us. How different she was than before! I had a sneaking suspicion that I was seeing the real Cassidy now. This was how she used to be before her sister disappeared. Before the compulsive painting took over her life. And I liked her. After trying unsuccessfully to help Papa clean up, we left the noisy diner and headed to the interstate.
We drove to quiet Dauphin Island to check out the beach. As far as beaches go, it wasn’t that impressive. The best Gulf Coast beaches were in Gulf Shores and beyond. Personally, I preferred Pensacola Beach, but Cassidy loved this island. We walked the sand together and didn’t talk much about anything. She didn’t bring up Sara, and I didn’t bring up Mike. They were history. Was Cassidy my future? Maybe. I didn’t know yet, and I suspected she didn’t know either. But here we were. I never intended to move this fast. If at all. In fact, after Sara left I swore I’d give up on dating and relationships.
We saw a shooting star, and Cassidy made a wish.
“I’m not sure that’s how that works,” I said. “Aren’t you supposed to wish upon the first star of the evening?”
“This is the way I’ve always done it. I think I’ll stick with what I know.” She crossed her arms defiantly and playfully punched my arm.
She said she felt cold—it was November, after all—so I held her to keep her warm. At least that’s what I told her. I just liked having her close to me. She wore a sweet, innocent-smelling perfume, or maybe that was her shampoo? Whatever it was, I liked it. When the star shower ended, she turned around in my arms and stared up at me. We were so close now. The desire to kiss her grew by the second.
As if she read my mind she said, “What if you kiss me and it’s forever? What if you kiss me and it’s not forever?” That was her nerves talking, but I understood. If we kissed we’d cross a line. Maybe one we couldn’t step back from. “Maybe you shouldn’t kiss me yet because I’m not sure I want to know how this ends. Right now, at this moment, we’re still just Midas and Cassidy, two friends.”
I stared down at her and asked myself the same questions. What if this was a life-changing moment? What if I missed it? I couldn’t do that.
“And, Midas, what if we…” Before she could finish, I kissed her. I held her face in my hands, touching her lips softly with my thumbs. I looked down at her, wondering what she would say or do. Should I quit? Should I continue? What happens next?
Her arms were around my neck, and she was kissing me back. Her hands were in my hair, and before I knew it we were together in the cold sand. After a few more kisses we stopped, both of us laughing at our impetuosity.
“I am really enjoying this, Midas, but I think we’d better call it a night.”
“Sounds good to me.” I reached down and helped her up, kissing her again. “To be continued—after our investigation is over.”
“Is that a rule or something?”
“It is. I hope that’s okay.”
“I like it. And to be honest, I think slower is better. Now take me home, Midas Lucas Demopolis.”
“Okay, Cassidy Wright. Hey, what’s your middle name?”
“I’ll never tell. It’s atrocious. And it’s not on my driver’s license, so no need to peek there.”
“You know I can find out easily enough. I’m a master at research.”
“I bet you have to be. I hate to change the subject, but do you think we’ll figure out who the woman in the painting is?”
“I know that theater. I’ve seen it. That can’t be a coincidence. I think she wants to be found. Just like Aurelia. Remember? You said they wanted to be seen—they wanted to be remembered? I think this is the same thing.” We turned onto Cadillac Drive and headed toward the bridge.
“Interesting. So that’s what I’m doing, giving these people a voice.”
“I’d say yes. That’s what I believe.”
“Thanks for not thinking I was just another crazy. I’ll never understand why you stopped me on the sidewalk that night.” She stared out the passenger window into the dark waters as she spoke.
I didn’t understand it either, except that perhaps it was meant to be. That some invisible force was leading us, nudging us toward one another. But who, and why? Right now I didn’t care. For the first time in a long time, I felt happy.
I hoped it lasted.
Chapter Five—Cassidy
I woke up with a screaming headache. Who opened the blinds in here? The room was unbearably bright, blindingly so. I couldn’t see a darn thing this morning. Someone was running around my bed—a child, it sounded like—and she was calling my name.
Wake up, get up, time to play.
Wake up, get up, time to play!
Wake up, sleepyhead, don’t waste the day!
It was one of those dopey songs Kylie liked to sing; I think this particular one had been featured on that dumb dinosaur show. I was tempted to throw a pillow at her, but reality filtered in and the dream changed. I sat up in the bed and unwound myself from the twisted sheets. Then I remembered—Kylie was gone! She’d been missing for four years. How could she be here now?
“Kylie?” I whispered as I slid to the edge of the bed. What was the matter with my head? I hadn’t had much to drink yesterday except a few glasses of wine in the late afternoon. Oh, and the one at dinner. I shouldn’t have a hangover from that. What was going on? As my hands fell in my lap I realized I wasn’t looking at my own hands. These were smaller with neat nails and no sign of paint.
And these weren’t my pajamas. I wore a stiff dress with a high neck and full, leg of mutton sleeves. The waist had been so tightly cinched it was difficult to breathe if I slumped my frame at all. No, I wasn’t me. I was someone else! And I wasn’t in my room any longer. I stood on a shiny wooden stage, the sounds of applause rolling like an ocean wave.
*****
And in the glow of their love, I would perform! Mind you, it was only the cast, the production crew and a few specially invited individuals here for our last dress rehearsal, but it was perfect nonetheless…
Martin stood behind me; his bow poised on his violin. I couldn’t glance back at him to see his face. Now was the time to appear fearless! And I was too afraid to turn around. If I did I was sure I’d run off the stage and never return.
“Time to shine, Estella, my sweet songbird. Show them what I taught you.”
“Yes, Martin,” I whispered as I stepped into the spotlight at the center of the stage. My body trembled with fear. The world spun about me, threatening to toss me to the ground if I focused on any one thing too steadily, but I refused to faint. I would sing. This was my chance!
It is my turn at last!
Music from the orchestra pit rose in perfect precision, and I felt the tension rise. How easy this had been at rehearsal, when there
had not been a sea of faces staring back at me! But the place was full now. I made sure that my sister and her fiancé received an invitation for this special event—the last dress rehearsal was for the crew and invited guests only—but I had no idea if they had deigned to attend. Knowing that they might be here did not bring me comfort, for certainly Anna hoped I would fail, that I would open my mouth and nothing would come out. Or even worse, that I would croak like an old frog. Why had I invited her? With a stubborn breath, I pushed the fear away. This was my chance to show the world that of all the Winters sisters, I was the best, the most talented. This would prove what I had always suspected. Anna be damned! After all, I’d paid the price—and it had been high. And what after this? What else would he require? I couldn’t think about it. I had to focus on this moment, on this performance.
I pushed out the notes. First a C and then an A, and then my voice climbed the scale. Each note flowed from my belly and out my throat, one at a time in perfect tune. By the time we’d gotten through the first few passages, my confidence rose and I’d looked into a few faces directly, boldly, joyfully. This was indeed my moment!
Before I knew it, the opening of Fortunato’s Spring ended. I let the adoration of the audience wash over me as I disappeared behind the falling crimson curtain. Oh, to stay there forever! This was exactly how I had imagined it. And tonight would be even better! But would it be worth it? I glanced at my accompanist, who gave me a look of complete satisfaction—and something else. He tilted his head and whipped his bow across his chest quickly before he disappeared off stage. I swallowed as I watched him. Someone gripped my wrist and scolded me.
“Come, Estella. You have only a few minutes to change. But you sang beautifully! I knew you could do it! They’ll shut their mouths now, won’t they? And I bet Martin approves. Here we are. Let’s get you out of this. Time for the green frock!” Birdie, the wardrobe mistress and my sometimes understudy, chattered away as I stared at myself in the mirror. Mary, her silent assistant, worked quickly, hooking and unhooking, tying and untying all the pieces of my gown. I heard the music change. Fortunato, played by Edgar Silver, would search for Lady Spring now. Silver was a mediocre actor at best, but he could sing like no other.
“Time to go now!” Birdie clapped her hands at me, but I couldn’t stop staring at the woman who stared back. Clad in spring green, she had a woman’s shape with an hourglass figure. Her dark hair was piled atop her head, and elegant curls poked out from her temples. The birdlike young Mary slid a pin into Lady Spring’s hair, the top of which featured a bird. The tip pierced my scalp.
“Ow! Stupid girl!” I swatted at her.
“Now, Estella! You have no time!” Birdie tugged at me, and I scurried toward the stage. The pinprick on my scalp still hurt, but I couldn’t stop now. I, Estella Winters, was the undeniable star of this show. At least for tonight. Tomorrow everything might be different, especially if the truth of my crimes emerged. But tonight?
Tonight was all mine.
*****
I snapped out of the vision and flew to the blank canvas that leaned against my bedroom wall. With purpose, I set it on the easel and immediately began to sketch the woman’s figure. This painting would be very like the one I’d left on Sierra’s wall, but I had much more detail now. With a pencil, I scribbled on the canvas, adding as much as I could remember. By the time I was finished, my hand ached and I had a serious need for some coffee. I glanced at the clock. It was ten. I’d been at this for at least three hours now.
Fifteen minutes later I was sitting on the floor drinking coffee and snapping pictures of my latest work of art. I sent copies to Midas and Sierra and sent them the name Estella Winters.
Sierra immediately texted back: OMG, I’m on it!!!
Midas sent back a quick message: See you at noon. This is getting interesting.
I sent back smiley faces to both, but I wasn’t feeling too smiley. This was worrisome.
Unlike Aurelia Davis, Estella Winters would not end up the heroine of this story or a victim reaching out over time to pass on a message. I knew this because I now knew her. Estella wasn’t an innocent.
And if Estella Winters haunted the Crescent Theater, it might be because she hadn’t gotten her full fifteen minutes of fame during her lifetime.
What was she willing to do to get it now?
Chapter Six—Midas
“Hi, come on in. You must be Norman. I’m Midas Demopolis, and this is Joshua McBride; he will be investigating the Crescent with me. This is his wife and our all-around brilliant researcher, Sierra McBride. Welcome to Gulf Coast Paranormal. I hope you didn’t have a difficult time finding the place.”
“No. Your directions were great. Funny how I’ve passed by here a hundred times and never noticed it. I guess you have to know what you’re looking for.” Norman Mayhew pushed his gold-rimmed glasses up to the top of his nose. He was a tall man with pale skin and even paler hair. He reminded me of some character on television back in the ’80s. I think he was called Max…somebody. I’d think of it later. I never was one for trivia.
“Very pleased to meet you, sir.” Sierra smiled and extended her hand, which Norman shook enthusiastically.
“This is Jack. He’s helping us in the technical department.”
“What’s up?” Jack said, leaning back in the chair with his hands behind his head. I’d forgotten how much of an attitude this guy had. Jack wasn’t a kid—he was older than I was by a couple of years—but he still had the same old chip on his shoulder. At least in his regular life. Once an investigation began, he was always the first one to explore and often had great insight. I’d met him a few years back when Sara and I assisted with an investigation in Pensacola. Exploring the old Navy base had been a treat. I’d love to get back in there someday.
“And this is our newest member of GCP, Cassidy Wright. She’s not just an investigator but also an artist.”
“I see. Where have I heard that name before? Cassidy Wright, Cassidy Wright…Oh yes. Now I remember. It was when you had that art exhibit a few years ago, at the Dauphin Street Fine Arts Consortium. That’s where I met you. Such a talented artist. You haven’t given up on your art, have you?” Norman’s expression showed his passion for all things artistic.
“No. I just found a new way to use it. What I do for Gulf Coast Paranormal involves painting. In fact, I would like to show you one of my portraits. I am hoping you might recognize her. If that’s okay, Midas?”
“Sure, go ahead. You have it cued up, Sierra?” I sat in the leather chair and leaned back.
“Yes, I’ve got the clicker right here.” Sierra dimmed the lights, and soon the six of us were sitting around the dark wooden conference table waiting to see Cassidy’s work. The image came up, and the details were staggering. It was hard to believe that the paint was still fresh. I mean, I couldn’t imagine breezing out a painting like this in just a few hours, yet Cassidy had done it beautifully. And this painting was more stunning than Sierra’s unexpected mural.
The picture we were looking at was as clear as any modern-day snapshot. This had to be the same woman, but her outfit was different. She’d traded out the black feather in her hair for a decorative comb with a bird atop it. Like in the painting at Sierra’s house, she appeared to be singing her heart out. Cassidy believed she had a name to go with the face, but we weren’t sure if this lady was haunting the Crescent. Could it be Estella Winters?
Norman took a sip of water and stared nearly bug-eyed at the woman in the painting. “Yes, I know that face, but she didn’t sing at the Crescent Theater.”
“Are you sure? I mean, I saw her. See the two letters there? The C and the T? That has to be the Crescent.” Cassidy’s voice shook.
“Oh, you misunderstand me. She did indeed sing at the Crescent Theater, but it wasn’t the Crescent in those days. You see, today’s Crescent Theater didn’t come about until the 1990s. Before that it was the Century Theater. The Century was built in 1936, in time for the golden age of televi
sion. But there was another theater before then, the Carmichael. The Carmichael Theater. Same property, different name.” His voice was wooden, and he continued to stare at the face.
“Is the place really that old?” Sierra chewed her lip.
“It is. Very old.”
“You know her name, Norman?” Cassidy needed to hear that she was right about the name. She’d have to learn to follow the evidence; you could never force it, or you’d end up being wrong. Every time.
“This lovely face belonged to Estella Winters, the youngest of the three Winters sisters—all marvelous singers. Estella’s oldest sister Wendy lost her voice after a serious bout of mononucleosis. They didn’t have the best treatments and medicines in those days, but there were rumors that Wendy was one to tip a bottle. Anna, the middle sister, married and left the theater world just as Estella’s star began to rise. Such a tragedy.”
Sierra asked in her pretty voice, “Tragedy? What happened to Estella, Norman?”
“Well, let’s see. She only sang with the theater in the rehearsals for one particular play…it was an old one. Not done much anymore. Let’s see if I can remember what it was, something musical and showy…”
“Fortunato’s Spring?”
“Yes, how did you know? Well, obviously, the outfit gave some clues. That would certainly give it away. She’s shown as Lady Spring here—the part she was intended to perform. This is lovely work, Cassidy.”
Cassidy smiled at the compliment while Sierra jumped in, “Her work is even more lifelike when you see it in person. Why don’t you tell us about the latest haunting at the Crescent? It happened to the violinist, Ginger Perry, right?”
“Yes, here’s the story.” For the next fifteen minutes Norman recounted Ginger’s experience. “Maybe it was Estella she saw. Miss Winters disappeared under mysterious circumstances. Her understudy went on for her, but she was rumored to have been a complete train wreck. No skill at all. She was no Estella Winters. So, they closed the show and soon after the Carmichael. It was too bad. So many of the old families used to love going there.”
Ghosted on the Gulf Coast (Gulf Coast Paranormal Trilogy Book 1) Page 16