by Sonia Parin
“That is one way of looking at it,” Grant nodded, “To answer your first question, Miss Lucinda Cunningham did die of a heart attack. She had no pre-existing condition so we have to assume someone... something attacked her. She met her end approximately half an hour before your arrival.”
“But we all saw the Shadow on the stage, swooping down and through her, taking her over as if possessing her. I don’t know about you, Jonathan, but I assumed that’s when Lucinda was snuffed out.”
“Yep, I thought so too.”
“No, she was already dead and that is key to our investigation,” Grant explained, “The dramatic display put on by the Shadow suggests the Shadow has some connection to the theater. As for Miss Lucin—”
“Lucy. I think she likes that.”
Grant cleared his throat. “As for Miss Lucinda Cunningham turning into a ghostly apparition so soon after her demise... again, that is another key. She must have been delving in the arts. The dark arts. There are rumors about her contacting her deceased predecessors to tap into their talents as a way of enhancing her own talents. It’s something to mull over.” Grant O’Rourke caught them all up on the day’s events, leaving nothing out. “In case I missed something, I believe Octavia has prepared a detailed summary of the events as they unfolded. Thank you, Octavia.”
Octavia’s blush was answered by a small smile from Grant.
“Isn’t anyone going to ask how I am? Someone made an attempt on my life today. I nearly died.”
No one spoke up.
“Here,” Jonathan handed her a beer, “This should help.”
“It’s a start.” Lexie tipped the bottle back and drunk deeply. “Mirabelle.”
“Yes?”
“When I told you about the Shadow, you said... It worked. What did you mean by that?”
“Are you referring to the shadow you can’t see?” Mirabelle asked.
“Are you trying to avoid answering my question?”
Jonathan grumbled under his breath.
“Perhaps I can throw some light on the matter,” Octavia offered.
Lexie lifted her bottle in a salute. “Yes, please do.”
“With Mirabelle Mackenzie’s permission, of course.”
“Granted.”
Lexie frowned. Luna curled up on her lap.
Sounds like split loyalties to me.
Yeah. And I don’t like the sound of it. She’s my personal assistant.
“The Garland Theatre closed its doors under a mantle of scandal. The narrative has changed over time, mostly as a way to obscure names and safeguard the identity of people who would prefer the matter be forgotten. Given enough time, I’ll be able to provide more details. Suffice to say, a spell resulted in the manifestation of a presence, which now seems to have materialized as a shadow.”
“Huh?” She called that throwing light on the matter?
“It could be the result of someone delving into the dark arts,” Grant murmured.
“Someone other than Lucy?” Lexie asked.
“Precisely.”
“To what end? If we assume Lucy used a spell to enhance her acting abilities, why would someone use the dark arts to cast a curse? What would they stand to gain?”
“We’re not really sure it was a curse.” Grant made a note of it on his pad. “That is what we need to find out.”
Lexie speared her gaze toward Mirabelle’s orb, her tone snappish. “Did the coven play a hand in any of this?”
“Indirectly,” Mirabelle stated briskly. “One of our members was momentarily misguided. She had aspirations... we assume...”
Lexie’s mouth gaped open. “You’re voluntarily... volunteering information?” Mirabelle’s orb turned a subtle shade of pink. “So who was it?”
“I’m... I’m still investigating.”
This screams of cover-up.
You’ve got a nose for this, Luna.
Lexie scratched Luna behind the ear. “So we have a rogue coven member involved—”
“She might have been an unwilling participant,” Mirabelle piped in. “We shouldn’t be too hasty to draw conclusions or cast aspersions.”
She’s going into damage control.
Yes, I think so too.
“Okay. We have a possibly, maybe unwilling rogue coven participant engaged to cast a curse or a spell. We also have to find out who the Shadow was in... in its pre-Shadow existence. Octavia, please put a list together of all the plays running prior to the theater shutting down as well as every person involved in the productions, then and now.”
Jonathan gave her a thumbs up signal.
You sounded very commanding.
I did. It felt odd but good.
“Also, I’m not prepared to overlook the living. Let’s assume someone stands to gain by the closure of the theater. Maybe someone who...” Lexie tipped her head back and stared at the ceiling.
Pledged an amount of money they don’t have?
Thank you, Luna.
“Maybe someone who pledged money they don’t have or can’t afford to lose. We need to find out if someone is in over their heads. All the guests appeared to be well off but I’m willing to bet someone is only keeping up appearances. At this stage, we shouldn’t overlook any possibility, no matter how far fetched it might sound. And now that I think about it... there could be someone under a long-term contract here to ensure the pre-existing curse or spell stands and the theater fails no matter what. Actually, that might just be the Shadow doing its evil deeds and it might have an accomplice. Again, this could be a long-shot, but we have to be thorough.”
I’m really impressed now.
So am I? I’ve no idea where all this enthusiasm is coming from. I thought I’d have to scrape the bottom of the barrel to blink. And here I am, sounding all smart and... and
You’re flying by the seat of your pants, aren’t you?
Yeah...
When’s the pizza coming? I hope Jonathan remembered the anchovies. I like anchovies in mine...
Octavia strode across the sitting room making notes on her invisible pad. Seconds later, the door buzzer rang. “That must be the pizza.”
“Good time for a break,” Lexie announced and prayed that would bring an to the day.
Lexie reached for another slice of pizza but before she could grab hold of it, it disappeared. “Hey.”
“You’re about to sink into a pizza coma. You’ve had enough,” Mirabelle declared.
“Okay. What’s next on the agenda?” Lexie asked, her tone testy.
“Your lines.”
Lexie touched her face. “Lines? Lines? Where? Under my eyes. Am I getting premature aging lines? I blame you for that.”
Catherine’s orb swooped down and she whispered, “Your lines as in, Lady Macbeth’s lines in the play.”
“What about them?”
“We’re rehearsing them with you.”
Mirabelle tapped her gavel. “Which lines have you learned?”
“To bed, to bed! Blah, blah, and more blah. What’s done cannot be... I forget what. To bed, to bed.” Lexie yawned.
Octavia handed her the script. “I understand they are rehearsing this scene tomorrow.”
“The mad scene?”
“The sleepwalking scene,” Octavia corrected.
Lexie yelped. “Out, damned spot!”
Everyone jumped back.
“No. No. No.” Mirabelle tapped her gavel. “You are not angry. You’re afraid and desperate. Your voice is supposed to be shaking.”
Lexie made her voice quiver. “Hell is murky!” It sure was.
“You’ve jumped several lines. Take it from the top. I will be the Gentlewoman. Grant can be the Doctor. We are witnessing you sleepwalking.” Mirabelle cleared her throat and then spoke the lines in perfect pitch.
Shaking her head, Lexie buried her face in her hands. “I didn’t get any of that. How am I supposed to play a role when I don’t even understand what it’s about or what I’m saying?”
“Octavia, wou
ld you care to explain the sleepwalking scene?”
“Isn’t that in the middle of the play?” Lexie moaned. “That’s only going to confuse me.”
“I’ll do a brief rundown of events leading up to the sleepwalking scene.” Octavia nudged back her imaginary glasses. “Lady Macbeth is reading a letter her husband sent her announcing the prophecy of the witches...”
“Hang on. Doesn’t the play open with witches?”
“Yes. But Lady Macbeth does not appear in that scene. We’re only covering the scenes you’re in.” Half an hour later, Octavia smiled. “Finally, Lady Macbeth commits suicide, but that happens off stage.”
By the time Octavia finished reciting the premise, Lexie had curled up into a tight ball. “If there’s blood, do I have a dagger? Please tell me I get to have a dagger. I’d like to have a dagger.” Lexie made a plunging motion aimed at Mirabelle. “And I’d like to kill someone with it.”
“That’s just it. You don’t kill anyone,” Octavia explained, “You merely goad your husband into committing regicide and now you are suffering the consequences.”
“I’m guilt-ridden?”
“Yes, now get into character,” Mirabelle ordered.
Lexie narrowed her gaze at her. “Oh, I’m in character, don’t you worry about that, but I’m struggling with the remorse part and stuck in blood thirsty mode.”
Jonathan nudged her. “I’m feeling superfluous, so I’ll just go.”
“At once, good night... Go at once,” she said at the top of her lungs, and then whispered, “Run while you can.” Lexie flung her arms out. “What’s to be done?”
Stabbing a finger at Mirabelle, Jonathan shook his head, “The damage better not be permanent.”
Lexie pressed her hand to her forehead and collapsed. Then she sprung up. “Guilt!”
“What about it?”
“We could be looking at this all wrong. What if the Shadow is remorseful and had nothing to do with Lucy’s death?”
When they all looked at her, their eyes wide and full of expectation, she shrugged. “It’s just a hunch. Let’s go with it and call it a night. By tomorrow morning, we might all have a better understanding of the situation and perhaps even some worthwhile leads.”
Mirabelle tapped her gavel. “Take it from the top.”
Chapter Nine
“What’s with the glasses and why did you change your mind about me coming along this morning?” Jonathan asked.
“In case you hadn’t heard, someone is trying to kill me.”
Octavia gave a firm nod. “I just sent everyone a memo which includes the minutes from last night’s meeting.”
Jonathan’s cell phone beeped. “How did you get my e-mail?”
“My assistant has her ways. Don’t question them. She’s impressing me with results. This morning, for instance, she woke me up... yes, I was asleep. Anyhow, she provided me with a complete list of names of possible suspects. Everyone involved in the last two plays at the old Garland is now a suspect as well as everyone who attended the cocktail party.”
“How many names altogether?”
“One hundred and fifty seven. We’ll need to whittle them down. As for my glasses, did I mention I was asleep when Octavia woke me? I’d hoped your departure last night would give everyone else the same idea, but Mirabelle insisted the coven wouldn’t be embarrassed by my dismal display on stage. She forced me to run through the lines until I learned them by heart and to her satisfaction. She kept at it all night. Honestly, if you’d been there, you would have thought she was flogging a dead horse. I’ve no idea what time I finally got to bed—”
“Two forty-five,” Octavia offered.
Lexie groaned.
Jonathan chuckled. “So your ploy to divert them with a sparkly idea didn’t work.”
“It actually backfired on me. We spent an hour delving into the reasons why a shadow would be suffering pangs of regret.” Looking at Jonathan, she caught him scratching his chin. “What?”
“There’s something else different about you. You’re carrying a handbag. I’ve never seen you do that.”
She grinned. “It’s a Birkin.”
“A bag with a name? And telling me required you lifting your chin?”
“Apparently, yes. It’s quite expensive and unique. The attitude is a prerequisite.”
“The color is definitely unique.”
“Fuchsia pink. Octavia insisted I match my pink heels with an appropriate accessory.”
“Since when do you accessorize?”
“Since Mirabelle insisted I play the role of Lady Macbeth to the hilt and she announced I would have an expense account. Octavia wrangled another addendum to our agreement. It seems there’s only so much...” she clicked her fingers, “Zapping of items she can do. She actually has to buy some things.”
Jonathan took hold of her arm and tugged her back.
“What?”
He motioned to the balcony where a couple of workmen were fixing a stone garland in place. “Better safe than sorry. Let’s wait for them to finish.”
A few minutes later, he gave the all clear.
Lexie hurried up the steps toward the theater entrance. Hearing Grant O’Rourke calling out to her, she swung around and waved.
“Watch out!” Octavia yelled and threw herself at Lexie. They both went tumbling down the steps just as the stone garland landed with a crushing explosion.
Lexie’s breath stalled. It took her several minutes to snap out of her stupor. “What are the chances that was an accident?”
They all looked up in time to see a shadow peering down at them.
“About your theory,” Octavia said, “I don’t think the shadow looks at all contrite.”
Getting up, Lexie adjusted her clothes and patted her necklace. Octavia’s attention to detail continued to impress her. She’d matched her pink ensemble with a coral bead necklace, the light grey jacket offering a neutral balance.
“What are you doing?” Jonathan demanded.
“What’s it look like I’m doing? I’m going in.”
“Are you mad?”
“Not yet. I haven’t stepped into my character.”
“Lexie.” Jonathan took hold of her arm. “You don’t have to do this. They can’t force you.”
Was he kidding? It was already too late. They’d put her through the paces. They’d wrung out the last drop of resistance. They’d made her memorize every single last word of the play.
Lexie thrust her chin out. “The show must go on.”
“Well, that is a slight improvement,” the director announced after Lexie finished delivering her lines.
Lucy concurred with a slight nod of her ghostly head. Throughout Lexie’s delivery, Lucy had stood in front of her, giving her cues, gesturing with her hands, doing her best with her ghostly features to portray the emotions she wanted Lexie to show.
Carried away by the moment, she had to fight back the urge to high five the specter.
“We’ll break for five.”
Five? Why not ten? Or twenty?
Striding off in a huff, she tried to decipher Octavia’s hand signals. She stood off stage, strands of hair uncharacteristically poking out.
“What’s happened to you?”
“Oh, I’ve been tearing my hair out trying to find a worthwhile trail for you to follow. After some unrelenting prodding, I discovered some archival material on loan from a collector has been moved to the theater to form part of an exhibition so I figured there had to be more and that’s when I stumbled upon a veritable treasure trove.” She led the way through a warren of passages and down a creaky old stairwell. “This part of the theater remains untouched. You can almost inhale the history.”
Lexie thought it all smelled a bit musty.
“This way. Careful, duck you head. You won’t believe the information bonanza that’s stored here.” She opened a wooden door and gestured her in.
“Umm, what you said yesterday about not doing anything to harm me or lead m
e into danger...” Octavia looked hurt. “All right. I’ll... I’ll trust you.” The small door was misleading. Inside, the place looked cavernous. “How far does it go?”
“I was too excited to do a full exploration. Look, this is really interesting. It’s almost all laid out for us.” She pointed to a table and several large tomes that looked as if they’d been around for longer than a century.
“Someone took a great deal of care to compile a collection of all the posters made for the productions.” She pointed to a stack. “These are the preliminary sketches as well as small versions of the final work and all in full color. Some of them were hand painted...”
“Okay.”
“Oh, you’re not impressed.”
“Sorry. I know I should be, especially as it’s all supposed to mean something...”
“The names on the posters,” Octavia hinted.
“The actors.”
“Yes, but here’s the interesting part. These are working sketches,” Octavia explained as she picked up a large folder. “Someone took the extra precaution of writing down the understudy’s names, just in case something needed to be changed. You know, Tonight Only...”
“Oh, yes. I see.”
Octavia turned to the last page. “This is the poster for the...” she looked around them and then whispered, “Macbeth production.”
Lexie clamped a hand over Octavia’s mouth. “I’ve learned my lesson. We need to play it safe and refer to it as the Scottish play.”
Octavia nodded in agreement. “My apologies. I should have known better. Anyhow, here is the nugget of gold that got me really excited. It’s a box of photographs. I’ve matched the leading ladies to the images on the posters so all the ones remaining are the understudies.”
“So how do we figure out which understudy belongs to which play?”