Persephone Cole and the Halloween Curse

by Heather Haven

  “Yes, you are. And you’re going to give it the best acting job of your life.” Percy moved closer to the seated, shaking man and put a hand on his shoulder. “Look Hugo, I want someone out there to think all they’ve done isn’t working. The play needs to continue, at least for the moment.”

  “They’ll just try again.” Mavis’s strangled voice came from a corner of the room.

  “That’s what I’m counting on,” said Percy.

  “The next time it will be me.” The producer shuffled around in his chair, crossing one leg over the other. Then changing his mind, he uncrossed and re-crossed his legs repeatedly, his whole body vibrating with fear.

  “No, not yet, Wainwright. Soon, but not yet. I got a feeling you haven’t suffered enough. But by the looks of you, you’re getting there.” She turned back to the director. “So stand up, Cranston. Get up, go out, and give them the Great White Way’s version of Patrick Henry’s speech. You know, Give me liberty or give me Broadway.” He stared at her, unconvinced. “Do it right and you just might save your twenty grand.”

  He rose, straightened his shirt, smoothed his hair, and walked out without saying a word.

  “I don’t know what’s happening. I can’t keep up with any of this.” Wainwright’s eyes searched Percy’s, as if for answers. “Do you have any idea what’s going on around here?”

  “I do. But I need to look in your files to make sure I’m right. Meanwhile, I want you to go out to lunch with Pop, who’s going to keep an eye on you. Be back in an hour. You’re picking up the tab, so bring a bunch of change.”

  “Out to lunch? I don’t --”

  “Just do it.”

  Wainwright didn’t answer but nodded, chewing on a thumbnail.

  “That’s a bad habit, biting your nails. You should stop,” Percy said.

  There was a knock on the door. Pop opened it and stuck his head in. Through the open door, Percy could hear Cranston’s voice in the background delivering a pompous, yet rousing speech about the traditions of the theatre.

  “Pop, Elizabeth with you?”

  “I’m right here.” A contralto voice sounded on the other side of the door.

  Percy went to the door and opened it wider. Both stepped inside. Percy closed the door behind them.

  “Pop, you and Elizabeth are going to take Wainwright to the automat for lunch. Only eat or drink what comes out of the windows where you put the change in and nothing else. Sit in the middle of the restaurant and don’t talk to anyone else. Use your key to get back in the theatre. Be sure the stage door is locked behind you. Got that?”

  “Sounds good, Persephone,” Pop said.

  Elizabeth studied Percy. “Are you sure you’re an assistant stage manager? You don’t --”

  “Yeah, yeah,” Percy interrupted. “New breed and all that. Wainwright, wait outside the door with Elizabeth for a second. Pop will be right there. Remember, don’t talk to anyone.”

  Wainwright got up and wordlessly followed Elizabeth out. They both waited just outside the office door. Speech over, Cranston was receiving a hip, hip hurrah from the cast and crew, spattered with light applause.

  Percy leaned into her father’s ear. “Pop, you got the Mauser in the glove compartment of Ophelia?”

  “Yes. The car’s right outside.”

  “Bring it in with you when you come back.”

  Pop’s eyebrows, now devoid of the fake black hairs, shot up. “You expecting trouble, Persephone?”

  “’Be prepared’, as Oliver’s cub scout leader says.” Percy smiled. “Go on now, have a good lunch. I’ve got some files to read. See you in an hour.”

  “Be careful, child.”

  “Always.”

  Chapter Twenty-nine

  Evelyn, I put the rat poison in the I.V. bag like you said to do, but things keep going wrong. I almost got caught at the hospital. One of the doctors thought I was a real nurse and told me to come with him into surgery. I ran away, but I know they’ll tell the police. What are we going to do? It’s that fat woman’s fault. She’s snooping into everything. Stop her! Elsie

  Chapter Thirty

  Percy shut the office door and turned around. Mavis was still standing in the corner of the room.

  “Would you really have slapped them silly? I’d like to have seen that.” Mavis’s tone held a forced delight, her eyes belying the wariness beneath. She stood rigidly in place, not moving.

  “Wainwright is a coward and Cranston is a good five inches shorter than me. I say or do whatever gets me results. But let’s talk about you.”

  Percy focused her attention on Mavis. In response, the girl crossed her arms over her chest in defiance.

  “You’re a complicated kid, Mavis, but before you leave this room, you’re going to tell me who you really are and what you’re doing here. It’ll be easier for everybody.” She went to the desk and picked up the receiver of the phone, keeping an eye on the younger woman. Mavis dropped her defensive stature and looked away.

  “You think about it, kiddo, while I make this call. People are getting killed right and left. There’s no place for secrets at this point. And yes, you can stay in the room while I telephone. Sit down over there.” Percy pointed to the chair Cranston had vacated.

  Mavis crossed over to the chair and dropped into it. Percy dialed a number, hiked one leg over the corner of the desk, and sat down.

  “Hello, Mother? I’m just calling to see how everything is.” She pulled the bag of pistachios out of her pocket, but kept her eye on Mavis while she spoke. “No kidding. Well, that is good news. You tell Sylvia I’m glad they located him.” She listened, while she popped a pistachio in her mouth. “Yes, that is too bad about his hand, but I’ll bet Sylvia’s glad he’s alive, even with only one.” She paused and listened. “Yes, Mother, ‘Where there’s life, there’s hope’. Is Freddy still there with Oliver?” She listened again. “Good, good. He’s a good kid. Tell Oliver I’ll see him tonight and I’m looking forward to taking him trick or treating tomorrow. No, the headache’s a little better. The aspirin helped. See you later.”

  Percy hung up the phone, and turned back to the private secretary. “Come to a decision?” She could see the girl’s internal struggle. “Come on, I know most of it, anyway.” It was part lie, part truth, but Percy went with it. She dropped nut shells in an ashtray on the desk and looked at Mavis.

  “You know who I really am?”

  Percy nodded.

  “How?”

  “About two years ago I saw a picture of you in a magazine. You were half hidden behind your father’s back at premier of a movie. But there was enough of you peeking out to be recognizable. It took me a while to place you, but I never forget a face.”

  “You read movie magazines?” Mavis almost sounded amused.

  “I don’t but my kid sister, Sera, does. She wanted our mother to make her a copy of the gown the starlet standing next to your father was wearing. Mother’s a good seamstress.”

  “Just my luck. It’s the only time I ever had my photo taken with him in public.” Mavis sounded mildly perturbed. “So you know my father is J.D. Mayer, one of the three men who started Colossal Pictures.” She came forward on the edge of her seat, proud and excited. “Look, Father said if I made my own way in show business for one year, he’d produce my picture. I’ve written a screenplay and it’s a knock-out, too.”

  “I’ll bet.” Percy popped another pistachio in her mouth and extracted the shell, as the girl went on.

  “But Father wouldn’t hear of me writing or producing a movie because I’m a girl. Only because I’m a girl! I have to prove myself. Can you believe that?”

  “I can.”

  “If I was his son, he would have backed me in an instant. Life’s so unfair.”

  “Yeah, I just heard about a man who lost his hand in the service of his country, and he was lucky, at that. For awhile, everyone thought he was dead. So what are you doing here and incognito?”

  “I thought if I applied for the job as Dex
ter Wainwright’s secretary, I could learn about the theatre. That would give me credibility back in Hollywood. And I’ve learned a lot. I didn’t tell Dexter who I was, because…because…”

  “Wainwright would probably hit your father up for some money, him being the kind of chump that he is.”

  Mavis let out a nervous giggle and nodded. “That would have destroyed everything.” She looked up into Percy’s face, her clear, brown eyes solemn with intent. “Please, Percy, if you tell Dexter it will ruin everything. He’ll contact my father, ask him for money, if not for this show, for the next, and Father will have a fit. Also, I want to do it on my own. No favoritism.”

  “I’ll see what I can do.” Percy rose from the desk. “But no promises. Meanwhile, I have to go through the files on everyone connected with this turkey, including you. Did you lie when you filled out the job application?” Mavis looked down in embarrassment. “I thought so. It’s easy enough to do. Nobody checks on anything. Someday they will, but for now you have to read between the lines.” Percy let out a sigh. “Makes my job harder, but what are you going to do? Hand the files over and I’ll get started.”

  Chapter Thirty-one

  The sound of a baby’s cry broke Percy’s concentration. Mavis had gone to lunch a short time before, promising to bring Percy back a Nathan’s hotdog. The girl had left the office door ajar, as requested. Percy wanted to hear what, if anything, was going on in the rest of the theatre. Other than the creaks and occasional bang of ancient pipes, the theatre had been quiet. Giving the files a quick once over; the thinking part was still in progress when she heard the cry again.

  Percy leapt up, wondering what the hell a baby was doing in a locked theatre, and stepped into the hallway. Looking toward the stage, she saw a small animal scurry across stage. Sir Anthony’s cat.

  I thought he never left the dressing room! This is not good.

  She hurried into the wings and called out to the feline. “Kitty, kitty, kitty. Here, kitty, kitty, kitty.” The cat paused and turned around, looking at her. Percy crouched down and called again. The cat hesitated for a moment then darted back across the stage to her. She picked him up and looked around. No signs of anyone. The plaintive cry came again from the animal, loud and insistent, but ending with a purr. She clutched him to her bosom and stroked the silky fur.

  “Let’s go find your owner.” Percy was filled with a certain amount of apprehension.

  She headed to the back of the backstage area and over to the star’s dressing room. The door was ajar. Percy pushed at it with her foot and it opened wide on creaky hinges.

  Sir Anthony lay on the sofa on his back, one arm over his chest, the other to the floor. The cat began to struggle. Percy shut the door behind her, set the cat down, and crossed over to the man. Was he sleeping or was he dead?

  Around this theatre, it could be either.

  She touched the side of his neck. Warm. There was a pulse. Percy leaned in, about to shake the actor, when he awoke with a start. He cried out at seeing someone leaning over him.

  “What the bloody hell? What are you doing in my room?” He sat up and pushed away from her.

  Percy went to the other side of the coffee table, hands on her hips. “Here’s one for you. What the bloody hell are you doing in the theatre? It was supposed to have been cleared of everyone.”

  “Oh, pshaw,” he said dismissively. “Rules like that don’t apply to me.” He ran fingers through his unkempt hair and stretched. “What are you doing here, my fiery Persephone?”

  “I’m returning your cat. I found him wandering around on the stage.”

  “Impossible. He never strays beyond that door. I keep him inside, always.”

  “Nevertheless, your lordship,” Percy’s tone was mocking. “I found him on the stage and the door to this room was open.”

  “Again, I say impossible. I closed that door, myself.”

  “Say what you like.” Percy continuing to watch the seated actor, now crossed her arms over her chest. She turned her attention to the coffee table that stood between the two of them. “You drinking again?” She pointed to a whiskey bottle standing at the end of the table.

  “Certainly not. I was sleeping. I haven’t been getting much sleep, what with what’s been…going on.” He picked up the bottle. “Where did that come from? Old Bushmills, my favorite. A gift from one of my many admirers, I assume.” He glanced up at her and winked. “Or did you bring this to me, you little vixen?”

  “Not only didn’t I bring it, I wouldn’t drink it if I was you. The bottle is full and yet the seal has been broken.”

  “That doesn’t mean…what does that mean?” He looked up at her questioningly.

  “Around here it could mean anything. Where did the bottle come from? Why is the seal broken? Who left the door open? If I were you, I’d pour that booze out in the sink over there.”

  “And waste a fifteen dollar bottle of good whiskey? I don’t think I can do that.” He caressed the bottle lovingly.

  “She picked up a nearby hand towel. “On second thought, it should be analyzed, maybe tested for fingerprints.” She tried to take the bottle from his hands with it.

  “No! I’m going to drink it. Give it here.”

  They tussled for ownership of the bottle for a split second and it crashed to the floor, breaking into smithereens.

  “Well, there goes a couple of possible clues.” Percy looked down at the broken glass.

  “Now look what you’ve done.” Sir Anthony glared at her. “Throw a towel over that so Anny doesn’t step on any glass.” Dejected, he held his head in his hands staring down at the floor. The cat jumped up and lay beside him on the sofa.

  “Yes, your majesty.” Percy threw the towel she had in her hand over the wet mess on the floor then sat down in the chair near him. “Time to talk.”

  Sir Anthony sneered at her. “I know about you. You’re not an assistant stage manager. You’re a female detective, hired by that prick producer to lay every wicked deed at my feet.”

  “How did you find out?”

  “Hugo Cranston told me. He was, as you Yanks say, on a fishing expedition.

  As is often the case, he told me more than he bloody well learned.”

  “Just so you know, I’m not here to lay anything at your feet, wicked or otherwise. Unless you did it.” She leaned forward, looking deeply into the actor’s bloodshot eyes. “You making all this trouble around here? Truth time.”

  He stared back at her openly then shook his head.

  “You’ll pardon me if I don’t quite believe you. You’re one helluva an actor.”

  He looked down at his folded hands and shook his head again. “I don’t think I could fool you, you being Zeus’s daughter.” He threw her a weak smile. “I know I started this, with the pranks and all. I thought it was just a game I was playing, trying to get my own back at Dex for stealing my show. Anytime I was off-stage, which was not often, I’d run to the hidden microphone and make groans and moans into it. It was a lark. Then one day, I was giving my ‘If it were done’ speech and the sounds started in on me. Then the sandbag fell right where I’d been standing not ten seconds before. I could have been killed.”

  “Did you get a threatening letter?”

  “You know about that?” His reply was startled.

  “I suspected. Let me see it.” Percy extended her hand.

  “I don’t have it. I tore it up and threw it away.”

  “What did it say? What did it look like?”

  “Cut out letters glued to a piece of paper. Something about I would die if I stayed around or some such thing. I can’t remember. I threw it out immediately.”

  “Did you tell anyone about it?”

  “No. I thought it was Mr. Prick trying to scare me off. I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction. But things kept escalating and then Carlisle dying like that. That was my fault. If I hadn’t sent him up there…” Sir Anthony looked down again at his hands. “I’m done with this business.” He said let out
a long, dramatic sigh. “If I could leave this theatre and never come back, I would do it. Become a plumber, a doctor, anything but an actor.”

  “I doubt that,” Percy replied, with a gentle smile.

  “I don’t want anyone hurting my cat. You know, to get at me.” The actor picked up the feline and set it in his lap, stroking it lovingly. “Anny means everything to me. He’s the only family I have.”

  “What does that make your wife, chopped liver?”

  “Who? Linda? Linda and I…that was a mistake. I was trying to get one better of Dex. You know, marry his ex. Dex screwed around with my first wife, so it was only fair. Dex and I have been jousting one another since way back when. To be fair, he warned me Linda was an expensive bitch, but I didn’t believe him. Too bad.”

  “Uh-huh. Maybe you should leave the cat at the hotel for awhile. Just until this is over.”

  He didn’t respond but nodded, kissing the cat on the head.

  “Okay.” Percy rose. “I got places to go, people to see, things to do.” She crossed to the door. “This has a deadbolt on it. Use it when you’re in here.” Her eye caught another door in the side wall, painted the same color white, and almost blending into the wall.

  “That door’s the closet.” She pointed to the opposite wall. “And that one’s the john. Where does the third door go?”

  “Oh, yes.” A guilty expression crossed Sir Anthony’s face. “That connects to the dressing room of my co-star, Lady Macbeth. It used to be Felicity’s and now belongs to Cynthia. Lovely girl.”

  Percy went to the door and tried it. It opened on well-oiled hinges. Stepping into the actress’s room, there was the smell of greasepaint and a strong, sweet perfume. Percy tested the knob on the hall door of the dressing room. It opened. She turned back to Sir Anthony. Carrying the cat, he had followed her into the room.

  “I thought all the dressing room doors were supposed to be kept locked when no one was inside. When the actor is leaving, he or she is supposed to return the key to Ned.”

  The actor shrugged, stroking his pet. “The best laid plans of mice and men, my dear.”