The perilous adventures of
Danielle Ross, private eye,
continue in THE FINAL CURTAIN.
Behind the footlights of the Pearl Theater lurks an ominous presence: the Phantom of the Theater. Is this cunning murderer one of the cast or crew of Jonathan Ainsley’s new play, Into the Night? Could it be . . .
Ringo Jordan — the play’s “heavy,” a brooding former linebacker?
Carmen Rio — the hot-blooded makeup artist, jilted by Jonathan for a young starlet?
Sir Adrian Lockeridge — the aging, alcoholic veteran actor?
Simon Nero — the director, whose wife had been mysteriously murdered only months before?
As Dani and Ben attempt to solve the mystery, you’ll be part of a captive audience anxiously awaiting The Final Curtain.
© 1991 by Gilbert Morris
Published by Revell
a division of Baker Publishing Group
P.O. Box 6287, Grand Rapids, MI 49516-6287
www.revellbooks.com
Ebook edition created 2013
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—for example, electronic, photocopy, recording—without the prior written permission of the publisher. The only exception is brief quotations in printed reviews.
ISBN 978-1-4412-3989-1
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is on file at the Library of Congress, Washington, DC.
Scripture quotations in this volume are from the King James Version of the Bible.
TO Kay:
We’ve come a long way, and we’ve
got a way to go—so let’s stick
together and make it count, Sis.
Contents
* * *
Cover
Preview of Next Book
Title Page
Copyright Page
Dedication
1. A New Client
2. “Just One, Big, Happy Family!”
3. The Phantom Strikes!
4. Too Many Suspects
5. Opening Night at the Pearl
6. All the King’s Horses
7. The New Man
8. A Norman Rockwell World
9. A Slight Case of Burglary
10. Midnight Encounter
11. Nero Checks Out
12. Lily’s Scene
13. Welcome to the Kingdom
14. Sir Adrian’s Finest Performance
15. The Last Toast
16. A Leap of Faith
17. The Bait
18. The Guilty
19. Bayou Fugitive
Books by Gilbert Morris
Back Cover
1
A New Client
* * *
For the one-hundredth time Dani moved out of her new office, to stand on the small balcony framed with wrought iron. Staring down at the passing parade of traffic on Bourbon Street, she wondered if she had done the right thing in moving Ross Investigative Agency to new quarters. She had loved the busy activity of the area and knew that she had signed the lease mostly because of the small balcony, where she could take in the scene below—the rough, irregular bricks that made up the narrow street, the black, ornate ironwork framing the balconies that had become the symbol of the French Quarter in New Orleans, and the row of shops and restaurants below, designed to snare the crowds that packed the street during Mardi Gras.
February was even milder than usual in New Orleans; the humid air rose from the cobblestones, bearing the odor of fresh boudin from the cafe below. Suddenly a man’s voice, larded with French Cajun flavor, floated up, “Hi, Dani! Let’s me an’ you go pass a good time!” She looked down with a sudden smile at the tall man who stood staring up at her, and shook her head. “Aw, it’s only three or two hours till time to quit. Come on, Cher!”
“Got to make a living, René,” she called out. “Besides, Lucy would kill us both if she caught us together.”
René LeBlanc, who played fiddle in a Cajun band, made a sour face, raised his hands in a Gallic fashion. “You got dat right, Cher! Me, I see you sometimes.”
Dani watched as he swung down the street. A cloud crossed her face, and she turned from the window, to consider the new office. It was a narrow room, with the large, mullioned window in the center of the long wall. Pale afternoon sunlight filtered through, giving the dark, polished wood of her antique desk a glow. A walnut chair, newly re-covered in mauve leather, sat behind it, with its mate squatting squarely in front of the desk. Angie Park, her secretary, had argued for more chairs, but Dani had said, “People want privacy when they hire a detective, Angie. Three’s a crowd.” She had finally compromised by adding two antique oak chairs, directly under the single painting on the wall.
That painting showed her great-great-grandfather, Daniel Monroe Ross, dressed in his Confederate colonel’s uniform; his piercing eyes stared at her. He had led his company in Pickett’s Charge, at Gettysburg, been wounded three times at Chancellorsville, and had refused to surrender his men and his flag at Appomattox, choosing rather to flee to Mexico. The flag was her father’s most cherished possession, and more than once he had said, “Dani, I think some of the colonel’s stubbornness filtered down to you!”
Staring at her ancestor, Danielle Ross felt a sudden touch of fear race along her nerves. Since her father’s heart attack, she had tried to run the agency, and it had been her decision to move to Bourbon Street and to spend a considerable amount of money on redecorating and a new advertising campaign. They had been in the new offices for a month. As she had put it secretly to her right-hand man, Ben Savage, “You might say we’ve been underwhelmed, Ben.”
She had smiled, but it had not been a very good smile, for despite her confident words, Dani had felt worried.
Now, looking up into the piercing eyes of the colonel, she shook her head, saying wistfully, “I’ll bet you wouldn’t be worried, would you, Colonel?”
Suddenly Angie’s voice spoke from the intercom: “Miss Ross, there’s a Mr. Stone to see you. He doesn’t have an appointment, but I thought you might give him a few minutes.”
“I think that will be possible,” Dani responded quickly. “Give me one moment.” Turning to her desk, she quickly pulled some papers from the side drawer and scattered them over the top. Pulling a pen from the marble and gold holder, she chose a fresh sheet of the new stationery and began writing. A smile pulled at the corners of her lips as she thought of what she was doing, for she had the ability to see her own foolishness. She wrote carefully on the pad in a neat script: Lord, let Mr. Stone become a paying client—and let him be very rich! She nodded, then added, For Thou knowest, Lord, that I am broke! Then she flipped the switch before her, briskly commanding, “Send Mr. Stone in, please.”
The man who came through the door was in his late sixties, Dani judged. He was tall and bent, wore a brown suit that was out of style, and held a narrow-brimmed plaid hat in his hand. His face was narrow and hidden behind a short salt-and-pepper beard. As he headed toward her, he gave Dani a penetrating glance from a pair of large, deep-set blue eyes.
“I’m Danielle Ross, Mr. Stone.” Dani rose and moved to offer him her hand. The hand that took hers was surprisingly firm and muscular for a man of his age. “Won’t you sit down?” she offered.
“I suppose so, but my business won’t take long,” Stone answered in a high, thin voice. “I won’t take much of your time.”
“Oh?” Dani said, not allowing her disappointment to show in her voice. She waited until he was seated, then sat down behind her desk. “What can I do for you?”
Stone regarded her carefully, and his lips grew thin. “Nothing. You’ve done enough for me already. But
you won’t do any more for me and my family—or for anyone else, Miss Ross.”
Dani studied him, noting the fixed, almost rigid expression. “Have we met before, Mr. Stone?” she asked. “I’m afraid I don’t remember you.”
“We’ve never met—but I’m sure you recall a member of my family.” Stone’s lips suddenly turned up in a grim smile, and a thin, humorless laugh came from his throat. “Surely you can’t have forgotten my brother.”
An alarm went off suddenly in Dani’s head. After some hesitation, she commented, “I assume you’re Maxwell Stone’s brother.”
Again the thin laugh, then Stone prompted her, “So you have done something for my family, haven’t you, Miss Ross?”
If he’s as crazy as his brother, I’m in trouble! Dani thought. She studied the man, thinking that there was a resemblance. The memory of Maxwell Stone swept over her. Stone had been a very wealthy man who had lost his mind. He had formed a right-wing organization in the Ozark Mountains, a paramilitary organization complete with practically every weapon except tanks. Dani and Ben Savage had been lured into his mountain lair and had barely escaped with their lives. For months after that Dani had had nightmares over the terrible incident.
Maxwell Stone had been tried on charges of kidnapping and murder and been convicted of both. He had managed to commit suicide two weeks after beginning his term at a federal prison. As she stared at the man before her, Dani remembered how she had been forced to struggle with her hatred for his brother. Carefully she said, “Yes, I remember your brother. He was not himself, Mr. Stone, as I’m sure you know. No sane man could have done what he did.”
Stone nodded. “I know you must have liked it when Max killed himself.”
“No, I didn’t enjoy it.” Dani shook her head. “I was very grieved. He was pitiful.”
Stone hesitated, then went on, “I heard you were some sort of a minister. Well, that makes what I’ve come to do much easier.”
“What do you want, Mr. Stone? Why have you come here?”
“Why, I’ve come to kill you, Miss Ross.” Stone suddenly reached inside his coat and pulled out a gun. He aimed it directly at Dani. “It’s only fair, isn’t it? I mean, you killed my brother, Max, so now I’m going to kill you.” The thin laugh sounded again, and a note of hysteria rose in Stone’s voice. The gun wavered as if it were too heavy, and he taunted her, “But since you’re a Christian, you’re not afraid to die, are you?”
The sight of the blunt-nosed revolver aimed at her heart chilled Dani, but she gave no indication of fear. Her mind raced madly as bits of information registered. Even under the threat of death at the hands of a madman, she noted that the gun he held trained on her was a .38. Aware of the eyes of her ancestor fixed on her, she thought, You wouldn’t turn a hair in a situation like this, would you, Colonel? Glancing up at the stern-faced Confederate soldier, she thought wryly that he had faced thousands of guns when he charged up Little Round Top.
Well, this is only one man with one gun, she decided.
“You don’t want to do that, Mr. Stone,” Dani responded calmly. “In the first place, I’m not responsible for your brother’s death. In the second place, even if I were, you wouldn’t want to spend the rest of your life in prison for shooting me, would you, now?”
Stone’s blue eyes widened, and he shook his head. Admiration tinged his voice as he said, “I heard you were a pretty cool one.” All warmth left his tone as he continued, “But I don’t care about going to prison. I can’t let you get by with doing my family in. I’ve got too much pride for that.”
He lifted the gun, aiming it at her, with the words, “I guess you can have time to say a prayer before you—ah—go to glory, shall we say?”
Dani shook her head. “I don’t need time to pray, Mr. Stone.”
“You don’t?” Stone dropped the gun a few inches, surprise causing him to lower his jaw. “I’d think anyone would want to get ready to meet her maker in a situation like this.”
Dani’s only hope lay in bringing the man to reason, so she knew she would have to hold his attention. “I’m ready to meet God right now,” she explained. “You see, I belong to Him, so when I die it’ll be like going home for me. That’s the way it is with all real Christians.”
He studied her, interested, and asked curiously, “But surely you’ve got a few sins to confess. You wouldn’t want to carry them with you, I’m sure?”
“Why, as for that, I’m not perfect.” Dani shrugged. “But every morning when I get up I ask God to help me to obey Him all day long. And I ask Him to let me know at once if I do anything that offends Him. So when I do something wrong, He lets me know, and I ask Him to forgive me.”
“Ah, you talk to God, do you, Miss Ross? I’ve always admired the great mystics of the church. Unfortunately, I’ve not been one of those who have been privileged to hear God’s voice. What does God sound like—Charlton Heston, perhaps?”
Dani refused to rise to his sarcasm. “I haven’t heard an audible voice either. But when Jesus went away after His resurrection, He promised that He would never leave those who believe in Him. So when I became a Christian, I began to pray and to wait on God. Before long I began sensing that God was speaking to me. But it was always in my spirit, you see.”
Stone listened carefully as Dani went on, explaining how her Christian life worked, and for five minutes she spoke, showing no sign of fear.
Finally Stone interrupted, “All this is very interesting I’m sure, Miss Ross.” He smiled grimly. “But I didn’t come here for a lecture on God. I’m afraid I must end our little meeting.”
He raised the gun, and Dani looked across the yawning muzzle into his eyes. She said nothing, but her hands trembled. God, she prayed silently, if I must die, let me die in a worthy fashion—with Your name on my lips!
She glanced up once, meeting the eyes of the colonel, then back to Stone. “I don’t want to die, Mr. Stone—but if I must, let me tell you that I cannot hate you for what you are about to do. Since Jesus Christ came into my heart, I haven’t been able to hate anybody. And I hope that before you die and go to meet God, you’ll find Him as your Saviour.”
Stone’s brow wrinkled. He hesitated before admitting, “I must say, Miss Ross, you’ve—”
He got no further, for a sudden flurry of movement to his right caught his eye. Quickly he turned his head, just in time to catch the iron edge of Ben Savage’s hand on his temple. The force of the blow snapped his head to one side, and he collapsed bonelessly on the carpet.
Savage picked up the gun, then turned to Dani. A slight smile crossed his wide mouth, and his hazel eyes contained a faint humor as he greeted Dani, “Good morning, Boss.”
“Ben!” Dani exclaimed. She moved toward him but suddenly, now that the danger was over, a reaction set in. Her knees seemed far too weak to hold her, and if he had not caught her, she would have fallen. Her breath came in shallow gasps, and her head was swimming. She’d had the same reaction after nearly running head-on into an eighteen-wheeler. That time she had pulled over to the shoulder and promptly fainted!
For a few moments she lay against Savage, who said nothing. When the trembling finally stopped, she lifted her head to look into his eyes and pulled away, embarrassed that he had seen her reaction.
“Takes you like that,” he murmured. “Always hits me after the trouble is over.”
Dani stared at him, taking in the deep-set eyes, the coarse, black hair, unruly and in need of trimming as usual. He had a thin upper lip, and a fair complexion. A scar on his forehead ran into his left eyebrow—which he touched when he thought hard. He was her chief operative, and they constantly carried on a subtle war. Times without number she had been ready to fire him, but he had the physical skill and toughness she had to have—and it irked her that it was so. Savage knew this well, though he seldom alluded to it. “Every detective agency has got to have one hard nut,” he had said once. “I know it eats at you that you have to have a man, that there are some things a woman can�
��t do—but that’s the way it is, Boss.”
Dani threw her long, auburn hair back with a sudden gesture of relief. “Ben—thanks.” She smiled, and he took in the oval face, a bit squarish actually, the large, almond-shaped, gray-green eyes, and thought again how she would never be a winner in a beauty contest. Her nose was just a little too short, her face too square, and she had a small mole on her right cheek, which any beauty queen would have had removed. She could never make it as a model, he thought, too shapely and full figured for that trade. But at five feet eight she was only two inches shorter than Savage and often wore high heels in an attempt to intimidate him. It never worked, for Savage paid no attention and seemed not to care.
“I—I guess you were right about that switch under the desk,” Dani offered unsteadily. He had insisted on installing it. May get a rough customer for a client someday, he had explained, shrugging. With this little gadget, you can let Angie know what’s going on.
Dani had argued that she could handle any client, but he had simply ignored her and put the switch in place. It had angered her at the time, but now she said, “Guess you have a bonus coming for that one, Ben.”
“Put it in my Christmas stocking,” he responded easily. He moved to her desk and flipped the switch on the intercom. “Angie—all is well. We’ll talk to our little friend before we call the fuzz.” Reaching down, he grabbed Stone and pulled him into a sitting position. Then Ben took him under the arms and plopped him down into the chair. “I saw him at the trial,” he remembered, studying the face before him.
“So did I,” Dani agreed. “But he didn’t have a beard then.” She came around to look carefully into the man’s face. “It brings back some bad memories, Ben—just looking at him.”
“Yeah, like Yogi Berra says, ‘It’s déjà vu all over again.’”
The Final Curtain Page 1