Spirits Onstage (A Daisy Gumm Majesty Mystery, Book 8)

by Alice Duncan

  Silence reigned for a moment or two as we watched my aunt open the door to the hallway and shut it behind her. We heard her heavy tread going up the staircase. She must have been awfully tired.

  For that matter, so was I. Yawning, I said, "Thanks for coming with me, Sam. Even if you are on Harold's side."

  "I'm on Harold's side, too, if he wants you to sing in the play," said Pa.

  "Don't worry, Daisy. You'll be a spectacular Katisha." Sam winked at my father.

  "Thanks. She's nasty, mean old witch."

  "Perfect part for you," said Sam.

  "Absolutely," said my father.

  "Nuts to both of you. I'm going to bed." I stomped off to my room amid a chorus of masculine chuckles. Spike trotted at my feet. I could tell he was offended on my behalf. Well, I pretended he was, anyway.

  I slept late on Wednesday morning, not rising from my warm and comfy bed until almost eight o'clock. When I grabbed a robe, shoved my feet into my tattered old slippers, and stumbled into the kitchen, I saw that Aunt Vi had also slept in. She stood at the stove in her own bathrobe, and had just lit a burner under the coffee pot. She glanced at me.

  "Good morning, Daisy."

  I wasn't ready to agree to anything yet, so I merely said, "Hi, Vi," and plunked myself on a chair at the kitchen table. A bowl of oranges sat perkily on the table, and I resented it. Why should those oranges be perky when I could barely open my eyes?

  "Coffee will be ready soon. Would you like some eggs and toast?"

  "You don't need to cook anything today, Vi. I can survive with some toast. I don't even burn it any longer, now that we have that keen electrical toaster."

  "Nonsense. I like to cook. I guess your father and mother rose early. I'm sure Peggy's on her way to work, and I suppose Joe's taken Spike for a walk."

  Startled, I glanced around the kitchen. Sure enough, no Spike wagged at me. "Shoot. I didn't even feel him jump off the bed."

  "You were tired."

  "Not nearly as tired as you."

  "Pooh. I'm used to cooking for armies."

  "Hmm."

  I'd probably have thought of something more cogent to say to my excellent aunt, but at that moment the telephone on the kitchen wall started ringing. I turned my head and scowled at the instrument of torture. The ring belonged to our household. In those days, telephone rings were doled out individually. Ours was two long rings and a short one. Nuts. That stupid 'phone never rang in the morning unless Mrs. Pinkerton was on the other end of the wire—and I'd just left her house last night! Surely she couldn't have encountered a crisis this early on the day after her very own dinner party. Could she?

  Thinking back over my long acquaintanceship with Mrs. Pinkerton, I knew it was entirely possible for a crisis to have arisen in her life overnight. She attracted crises like flowers attract bees. With a grunt, I shoved myself up onto my slippered feet and trudged to the 'phone.

  It took a great effort of will to assume my low, soothing spiritualist's voice when I lifted the ear piece, stuck it to my ear, and said into the receiver, "Gumm-Majesty residence. Mrs. Majesty speaking."

  "Daisy!"

  I closed my eyes and prayed for patience. "Good morning, Mrs. Pinkerton. I'm surprised you're up and about so early this morning after that swell party you put on last night."

  "Well, I'm just so excited, you see!" She was all but burbling. Generally when she called me, she wailed with distress. This sounded like a burble of pleasure. Instantly, I suspected The Mikado.

  "Oh, but Harold told me you've agreed to play the part of Katisha, and I'm so thrilled!"

  Darn and heck, I'd done no such thing! Feeling pressured and aggrieved, I yet held onto my spiritualist's voice. "I agreed to try out for the part," I said soothingly. Not that she needed soothing. I was the one with the ruffled feathers.

  "Nonsense, dear. I know you'll be a perfect Katisha."

  I paused for a couple of seconds, afraid that if I spoke, I'd shriek. After I knew I had myself under control, I purred mildly, "We'll see."

  "Mr. Hostetter will tell you all about it at your choir rehearsal tomorrow night. I'm so excited about this!"

  She even knew when I had choir rehearsal? Maybe I should change my name and move somewhere else. Somewhere far, far away from Mrs. Pinkerton. I'd liked Turkey. Maybe I should move to Constantinople. I could probably learn the language pretty easily, and Turkey was a pretty nice place. I'd visited it once, with Harold. Except for being sick and pursued by villains, I'd kind of enjoyed myself. The food there was really good.

  But no. Mrs. Pinkerton had been my best client ever since I began my spiritualist career. Besides, I couldn't leave my family. "I'll be interested to get all the details from him tomorrow, then," said I.

  "This is going to be so exciting!" And she rang off.

  I carefully replaced the receiver and turned to find my aunt looking upon me with trepidation.

  "Daisy..."

  "Don't worry, Vi. I'm not going to holler or throw anything."

  "Mrs. Pinkerton can be a trial sometimes."

  "Sometimes!" Very well, so I'd just lied to my aunt and hollered. "That blasted woman is determined to ruin my life!"

  Vi opened her mouth, thought better of speaking, shut her mouth again, and turned back to the stove.

  I plunked myself down at the kitchen table once more and buried my head in my arms. Only when Vi placed a plate filled with bacon, eggs, and toast in front of me, did I decide I might as well bow to the inevitable.

  "Thanks, Vi."

  Boy, was I ever going to tell Mr. Hostetter what I thought of people planning my life for me tomorrow night!

  Chapter 5

  But I didn't get the chance.

  As soon as I walked through the door to the choir room at church on Thursday evening at seven, Mr. Hostetter rushed over to me, all atwitter. Mr. Hostetter isn't generally a twitterer.

  "Mrs. Majesty!" he cried, sounding extremely happy. "I understand you've agreed to play the role of Katisha. May I say I'm absolutely thrilled. Thrilled that you'll be performing in the operetta. I've been wanting to use you as a soloist for the longest time, but I wasn't sure you were ready."

  "I'm not," I said.

  He didn't seem to notice.

  "The Van der Lindens are here this evening, and after rehearsal, you and I can speak with them. There may be other choir members who'd like to try out for parts. I know George Finster has taken a bass role."

  He didn't seem to be listening to me, but I spoke anyway, "How about Lucy Spinks?"

  His rather small eyes went round. "Miss Spinks? Why, certainly! She has a... nice soprano voice. Perhaps she could be one of the schoolgirls."

  "Yes, that's what I thought." The song, "Three Little Maids from School," was one of the perkiest ones in the whole operetta. While I didn't resent perkiness that evening as much as I had the morning before, it still irked me. Worse, "Three Little Maids from School" was one of the songs I liked best in The Mikado. I'd sung it at home to my own accompaniment on the piano and had rued my fate to exist in this life as an alto and not a soprano. Now I was sorry I could sing at all.

  "Well, come along. Let's rehearse quickly, and then we'll discuss the operetta," said Mr. Hostetter, all but rubbing his hands with glee.

  Shoot, I hadn't known the First Methodist-Episcopal Church (North) in Pasadena, California, harbored a repressed actor in our choir director until that very moment. Nevertheless, I followed him to the choir's nook behind the pulpit on the chancel and looked into the sanctuary. Sure enough, there sat Mr. and Mrs. Van der Linden, Harold, and... good Lord. Was that Mrs. Lippincott? I squinted a little harder—the main sanctuary lights weren't on—and saw that it was, indeed, Mrs. Lippincott, and she appeared as bored and languid as the last time I'd seen her. Oh, joy.

  I walked back to my own personal chair, the one reserved for me among the altos, and sat, feeling peevish. Not Mr. Hostetter. He looked as if his butt had landed in the butter tub. That's one of Aunt Vi's expressions.
Not quite sure what it means, but I can speculate.

  He tapped his baton on his music stand and cleared his throat. Loudly. "Ladies and gentlemen, we're going to have a rather short rehearsal this evening. We've sung our Sunday's anthem before, and we've worked on next week's for a couple of weeks now, so we don't need to practice too much. There's something else I need to discuss with you after rehearsal." He smiled broadly at his choir.

  So we only went through our anthem, "Praise to the Lord, the Almighty," twice. That's one of my most favorite hymns, even though it was written by a German. He was long-ago German, however, and had had nothing whatsoever to do with Kaiser Bill. Then we sang our next week's anthem, "It is Well with My Soul," only once. That's another goodie, but we aren't here to talk about hymns. Darn it.

  After Mr. Hostetter had rushed us through those two hymns, he told us to look up Sunday's hymns in our hymnals so that we'd be prepared when we gathered on the Sabbath. Then he said, "And now, it is my great pleasure to introduce you to Mr. Max Van der Linden, who will explain why he and his group are here with us tonight."

  So he did, and Mr. Van der Linden did, and all heck broke loose in our choir alcove. Actually, by that time we'd spread out onto the chancel. I decided to heck with it, and went into the sanctuary to sit with Harold. Mrs. Lippincott sat next to him on his other side and gave me a languorous smile.

  "Good evening, Mrs. Majesty," said she.

  "Good evening, Mrs. Lippincott," said I.

  Then I turned to Harold. "You know, Harold Kincaid, I think it's mighty rotten of you to go behind my back, to my own choir director, for Pete's sake, and drag me into singing in an operetta I don't want to sing in." I sat back on the pew and crossed my arms over my chest.

  "Nuts. You'll be great. Anyhow, Hostetter is beside himself with glee. Look at him." Harold gestured to the chancel, and I saw he was right. I'd never seen Mr. Hostetter look so happy.

  "Huh," I grumbled, sounding a good deal like Sam.

  "Oh, get over it, Daisy. It'll be fun, and you know it. Won't it, Gloria?"

  He'd asked the last question of Mrs. Lippincott, so I guess her first name was Gloria.

  "I believe it will be fun, yes," she said.

  "What part will you be playing, Mrs. Lippincott?" I asked. Then I was irked with myself. I didn't want to talk to that woman about The Mikado or anything else.

  "I'm Pitti-Sing, one of Harold's wards. Well, Ko-Ko, I mean, since that's the role he'll be playing."

  "I see."

  I glared at the commotion going on in my church and felt almost betrayed. Perhaps I'm not the most sanctimonious of human beings on this earth, but to bring a musical comedy into church seemed... I don't know. Blasphemous or something. I was probably just being grouchy.

  Harold nudged my shoulder. "You're just being grouchy, Daisy. It'll be fun, and you know it. Besides, it's for a good cause."

  How come he always knew what I was thinking? Bother.

  "What good cause?" I asked, but Harold didn't have time to answer.

  "Mrs. Majesty!"

  I jerked to attention and saw Mr. Hostetter gesturing for me to join the choir members and the Van der Lindens on the chancel. Or onstage, I guess I should call it at this point. So I did, my feet dragging slightly.

  "Good evening, Mrs. Majesty!" Mrs. Van der Linden sounded and looked just as sweet as she had at Mrs. Pinkerton's party. If I didn't watch myself, I might end up liking her.

  What a stupid thing to say! Chalk it up to my mood.

  "Good evening, Mrs. Van der Linden."

  "Oh, call me Connie. Please!" She appeared a little pale that evening, but maybe that was because of the lighting, of which there wasn't much.

  Huh. "Thank you. Please call me Daisy."

  "Mr. Van der Linden is going to play for us at the piano," said Mr. Hostetter.

  I instantly glanced at the piano, prepared to see Mrs. Fleming, our organist/pianist, in a snit. But no. She seemed as smiling and happy as the rest of the choir. Either they were right and I was wrong, or I just didn't want to give up a good grump.

  Mr. Hostetter went on, "And we'll have various choir members sing various parts in the operetta."

  "Lucy should try out for one of the three little maids," I said instantly. I glanced at Lucy and found her blushing madly. She'd recently become engaged, and I noticed that, as she pressed her hands to her cheeks, she made sure the one with the diamond was foremost. Well, I didn't blame her.

  "Very good idea. I understand the role of Pitti-Sing has already been assigned, so why don't you, Miss Spinks, sing from the libretto. You can take... ah..." Mr. Hostetter flipped madly through the libretto. "Ah, yes. You may sing Peep-Bo. Mrs. Van der Linden will sing with you, to give us an idea of how you'll sound together."

  So Lucy stepped up, stopped blushing, took the libretto, waited for Mr. Van der Linden to strike a few chords, and she and Mrs. V took off singing. They sounded good together. I could definitely more easily feature the two of them as innocent schoolgirls than I could Gloria Lippincott.

  "Excellent," said Mr. Hostetter, going so far as to clap his hands. "Er, what do you think, Mrs. Van der Linden?"

  "I think Miss Spinks will make an excellent Peep-Bo," said Connie. That was nice.

  Try-outs went on, and pretty much all of the members of the choir who wanted to were tapped to play various roles, most of them in the chorus. They all seemed pleased.

  "And now if Harold Kincaid will come up onto the chancel, I'd like to hear him sing with you, Mrs. Majesty. You spend a good deal of time together onstage. I want to make sure you look and sound as good together as I think you will." This, from Max Van der Linden.

  Harold, the rat, leapt to his feet and charged to the chancel, taking the steps two at a time. He was such a ham.

  I heaved a sigh that was probably bigger than I was. "I haven't even looked at the libretto yet. Well, not since I checked it out from the library, and that was over a month ago."

  "Not to worry," said Harold. "Here you go. I got one especially for you. I even marked Katisha's part for you."

  "How kind of you," I said in a monotone.

  "Heck, I'm Ko-Ko, the Lord High Executioner. I can do anything."

  I only looked at him. But I did take the libretto. He'd opened it to Katisha's first scene, the one in which she interrupts Nanki-Poo and Yum-Yum, the two leads, and tries to spoil their fun.

  "This looks high to me," I said, frowning at the libretto. I glanced at the back of the booklet. "Hey, it says here Katisha is a soprano! I thought somebody said the part was in my voice range."

  "Don't worry about what the libretto says," said Mr. Van der Linden from the piano bench. "The part is generally sung by a contralto."

  "And I can sing contralto?" I asked, confused.

  "You are one, Daisy," said Harold, the rat. "We've been over this before. I've heard you sing. Contraltos are altos in disguise."

  "I'll already be in disguise, as a nasty Japanese witch." Yes, I was being snide. I didn't want to be there, doing what we were doing. It didn't matter. Everyone was out to over-rule me that evening.

  "You can either sing it as a mezzo or a contralto. You can sing an octave lower than the score if you want to," said Max—he hadn't said I could call him Max, but what the heck.

  "But I don't want to!" I cried piteously.

  "Nonsense. You'll be great, Daisy," said Harold.

  Nothing mattered. At least nothing having to do with me mattered. By the time I finally managed to creep away from the church, it was ten o'clock at night—choir rehearsals generally ran from seven to nine—and rehearsals for The Mikado were scheduled to begin on the coming Saturday.

  At least Spike was awake to greet me when I dragged myself into the house. Everyone else had gone happily to bed.

  Phooey.

  * * *

  Saturday arrived, as it had a habit of doing. I wasn't happy to greet the day. Nevertheless, because I knew where my duty lay, after eating breakfast and tidying the kitchen
, I took Spike for a quick walk (my father came, too) and headed to the church. "Eager" wasn't even on the list of emotions I entertained that morning.

  I didn't want to sing in the stupid operetta. I did wear my juju, figuring I needed all the help I could get.

  Gloria Lippincott had a glorious voice, so I guess her name was appropriate. I still hadn't taken to her by the end of our first rehearsal, although I was certainly getting into my part. For more than half my life, I'd pretended to be the sober, serene, slightly mysterious spiritualist-medium. But boy, the role of Katisha brought out a whole 'nother me. I enjoyed it, too.

  We practiced my first entrance, which came just as Nanki-Poo (Mr. Van der Linden) and Yum-Yum (Mrs. Van der Linden) were celebrating their undying love for each other (and a month's worth of marriage before they both died, but never mind that detail). I stepped from the sidelines, held up the arm that wasn't holding the score, and sang as loudly as I could, " 'Your revels cease! Assist me, all of you!' "

  Connie and Max leapt apart as if the hand of God had separated them. They were wonderful in their parts. I assumed they'd played them before. They both cringed away from me as if I were a witch. I could get used to having this much power over people. Too bad it was all make-believe.

  The chorus sang, " 'Why, who is this whose evil eyes rain blight on our festivities?' "

  And I sang, " 'I claim my perjured lover, Nanki-Poo! Oh, fool! to shun delights that never cloy!' "

  And on it went. We fumbled around quite a bit, but it was only our first rehearsal. The contralto part was perfect for my alto self. A mezzo-soprano is a notch lower than a coloratura soprano, if anybody cares, and a contralto is, as Harold said, what the hoity-toity opera aficionados call an alto. At least I didn't have to sing the part an octave lower than the score. It is, however, a good thing that old Katti was a contralto and not a mezzo, or I'd probably have collapsed.

  Harold made a superb Ko-Ko, the Lord High Executioner. He reveled in his part, and when he sang "I Have a Little List," everyone laughed.

  Our first rehearsal had begun at ten a.m. It was now a little past one, and I was hungry. I was gathering up my score and my coat and hat, aiming to head home, eat something, and take a nap if I was lucky, when Harold stopped me.