by Sarah Rubin
My mouth was full of toast so I just nodded. It was only a twenty-minute bike ride, and braving the cold seemed a lot smarter than letting my sleep-deprived dad get behind the wheel. He drove enough like a maniac when fully rested.
Dad stood up, grimaced and massaged the small of his back. ‘Well then, I’m going to hit the sack. I’ve got another party tonight. If I’m lucky maybe I’ll get to interview Cragthorne and catch a thief.’
‘Maybe Cragthorne is the thief,’ I joked.
‘Ha, if only. Now that would be a story.’ He paused for a moment, imagining the headline. Then he ruffled his hand through my hair. ‘Have a nice dinner with your mom tonight. And tell your sister to come see me when she has a chance.’
‘I will, Dad. Go to bed.’
‘OK, sweetie, whatever you say.’ He kissed me on the forehead and then slumped upstairs.
I was just getting comfortable on the couch with my book and a second cup of coffee when my phone rang.
‘Alice, it’s Mom.’
‘Hi, Mom,’ I said. ‘Is everything OK?’
‘Of course, everything is fine. Linda and I just have a little job for you and I was hoping you could come in early today.’
I sighed. Fermat’s Last Theorem would have to wait.
It was barely seven o’clock, and the sun was just peeking over the tops of the buildings as I cycled into town. The cold wind stung my face. Subway steam hung over the grates in low dense clouds of fog. I turned north on 8th Street, pedalling hard and fast, and soon I was sweating inside my coat.
The Beryl was on the very edge of Old City, past Philly’s more famous landmarks. Maybe that was one of the reasons it had been allowed to fall apart. Out of sight out of mind. I pulled up short on the corner across from the theatre. Kevin was standing with his back against the wall, blowing on his hands and stamping his feet, trying to keep warm. I’d texted him before I left, but I hadn’t thought he’d beat me there.
He waved and walked towards me as I pulled up on to the pavement. His cheeks and nose looked like stop signs against the cold white of the rest of his skin.
‘How long have you been here?’ I asked.
‘I don’t know, not too long,’ he said, shivering. He looked like he was about to die of exposure.
‘You should have waited in the Seven–Eleven.’ I shrugged in the direction of the shop as I crouched down and wrapped my bike chain around the lamppost and through the frame of my bike.
‘I did, but the guy behind the counter kept giving me the evil eye.’
The metal slipped through my gloves and I grimaced, pulling them off with my teeth. ‘Yeah, I don’t think he likes kids.’
The lock was so cold it stuck to my fingers, just enough to pull off a layer of skin. I jerked my hand back and shook it, and that’s when I spotted the bike propped up against the Beryl. A figure in a black puffy coat stood beside it and a strange clacking sound filled the air.
I don’t know if it was the cold or the fact that I didn’t get enough sleep the night before, or that Kevin kept asking me questions about Matthew Strange, but it took me a few seconds to put two and two together. That clacking was the sound of someone shaking a can of spray paint.
‘Hey!’ I shouted, and ran across the street, leaving Kevin open-mouthed behind me.
I pulled my phone out of my pocket and fumbled to turn on the camera with frozen fingers. I’d already spent three afternoons scrubbing graffiti off the Beryl’s walls. A great streak of neon blue appeared on the side of the building and the smell of paint hit me hard. I held up my phone and started recording – even if the culprit got away, at least I’d have evidence.
‘What do you think you’re doing?’ I yelled.
I don’t know what surprised me more, the fact that he threw the can at me or that I actually caught it. As I stood there dumbfounded, the kid raced forward and snatched my phone from where I’d dropped it on the ground, then sprinted back towards his bike.
‘Hey,’ I shouted again, and ran after him. My face felt red and it had nothing to do with the cold. I couldn’t believe I’d been so sloppy.
I’m not the fastest runner, but I was at least fifteen centimetres taller than the kid. I sprinted up the pavement with everything I had, each stride closing the gap between us. I could hear Kevin yelling somewhere behind me.
The kid was just a few paces ahead of me now. I could hear his feet crunching the ice on the pavement. His hood flapped against his back with every step. I reached out. My fingers brushed against its fake fur trim and then closed on air. I told my screaming lungs to shut up and ran harder. This time my hand closed down on the hood and I pulled hard.
Which would have been great – if I hadn’t chosen that moment to step on a patch of black ice.
My foot slipped and my stomach clenched as I lost my balance. I gripped the hood tighter, hoping it would keep me from wiping out, but I’m not that lucky. The kid slipped out of the too-big sleeves and I hit the ground hard, concrete scraping at my palms and chin.
I rolled over in time to see the kid slow down to look at me. He actually smiled. Then he grabbed his bike from the alley and took off right at me, one hand on the handlebars, the other on a brand new spray can, unleashing a livid green stripe along the Beryl’s wall.
I rolled out of the way, but Kevin held his ground. He stood in the middle of the pavement, arms spread wide, trying to block the bike’s path. The graffiti bandit didn’t slow down – he didn’t stop spraying either. Kevin’s eyes widened, and he dived to the side, flattening himself against the wall of the Beryl just in time to avoid being struck by the speeding bicycle.
I heard the kid laughing, a high gloating sound. Then he tucked the spray can into the water-bottle holder on his bike, shifted down a gear and sped away up the street.
Kevin coughed and spluttered, spitting bright green flecks into the snowbank. He’d gotten his hands up to cover his face just in time. The kid didn’t stop spraying for anyone.
‘That brat. I’ll kill him!’ Kevin spluttered.
He had speckles of bright green paint on his hat and face where the spray had gotten around his hands. His gloves were completely limed. Behind him I could just make out the words Beware the Curse.
I pushed myself on to my feet and brushed off my palms. ‘Are you OK?’
Kevin spat into the snow and looked at his bright green gloves. ‘These were brand-new. My mom’s gonna kill me.’
I found Mom in the costume workshop, kneeling beside a low tailor’s stool, her pale pink hair pulled back in a neat French twist. Standing on the stool was Vivian Rollins, wearing a Victorian day dress and oversized sunglasses. She massaged her temples in small, tragic circles while Mom pinned up the hem.
‘Hi, honey,’ Mom said around a mouthful of pins. She had at least twenty of the things held fast between her scarlet lips. ‘Thanks for coming in early today. I just need to—’
Her eyes widened and she almost lost the pins as she caught sight of Kevin.
‘What on earth happened?’ she asked through tight lips.
‘I got in the way of some punk spray-painting the front of the theatre,’ Kevin said before I could stop him. Mom always imagines the worst-case scenario.
‘It was just a kid, Mom. Nothing dangerous,’ I said quickly.
Mom crossed her arms.
‘I’m serious. He can’t have been older than ten.’
Her arms stayed crossed, but her shoulders relaxed just a touch.
Kevin shuffled into the room, peeling off his green-speckled coat. He reached for a spare hanger on the costume rack.
‘Ah,’ Mom held up her hand. ‘Painted people stay away from the costumes. Neon green is not a period colour.’
‘Sorry, Ms Lynn,’ Kevin said, his angel act not working quite so well covered in green, but my mom still softened.
‘Leave your coat here, Kevin. I’ll see what I can do to get the paint out.’
Vivian sighed heavily.
‘I’m almost done
, Vivian dear. Just a few more and then you can get down.’
Vivian took a deep breath and nodded bravely, waiting for someone to ask her what was wrong. She probably still felt upstaged since Matthew Strange was the one who got all the attention at the hospital. Of course, he’d been the one who’d actually been injured, but that wouldn’t matter to Vivian.
I chose to ignore her.
I flopped down on the couch in the corner. Kevin paused, waiting to see if Mom would object to painted people touching the couch. She didn’t.
Mom shuffled around the circumference of Vivian’s full skirt, securing it with the last of her pins. The she stood up and arched her back. She must have been bent over for a while because I could hear her spine pop.
‘OK, Vivian, you’re all set. You can take it off now.’
Kevin’s face went so red I could see it through the paint. Even Vivian noticed. She smiled for the first time since we’d arrived and then disappeared to change behind an old folding screen in the corner of the room.
‘Ouch,’ Mom said, rolling her shoulders. ‘Next time I’ll design costumes for a nice modern play. These crinoline skirts are going to be the death of me.’
‘The dress looks great,’ I said.
Mom beamed at me. ‘You know, while you’re here, you should let me do a fitting. I found an amazing electric-blue silk that would look stunning with your hair.’
I cringed. Mom was determined to design a red-carpet-worthy dress for me to wear on opening night. I’m more of a jeans and T-shirt kind of girl, but Mom insisted and I hadn’t been able to bring myself to say no.
‘Maybe later,’ I said, and tried to change the subject. ‘What was the job you wanted me to do?’
Mom gave me a hard look and I got the message. I wasn’t going to get out of it that easily.
‘I’ll tell you while I’m measuring.’
‘Yeah, Alice,’ Kevin said. ‘She can tell you while she measures.’
My palms started to itch. The last thing I wanted was Kevin giving my mom ‘helpful’ suggestions about her designs.
‘It will take two minutes, less if you stand still and don’t fidget.’
There was no getting out of it. I climbed up on to the small stool and held out my arms.
‘That’s better.’
‘So what is this job?’ I asked as Mom stretched her measuring tape across my shoulders. Kevin sat on the couch with his arms behind his head, grinning at me like a sideshow attraction. I looked up at the ceiling and counted up in primes, fighting the urge to make a run for it.
‘Do you remember how the east side of the theatre has been off limits until now?’
I nodded. The east side of the building was where the fire started back in the twenties.
‘Well, the builders have finally given us the all clear to go back in. Linda and I had a nose around last night, and we found a storeroom.’ Her eyes practically sparkled. ‘Someone must have tried to clean up after the fire, before the building was shut down. It’s just full of treasures from the Beryl’s past.’ Mom paused, jotting numbers in the little notebook where she drew her designs. I caught a glimpse of something frilly and short and clenched my teeth hoping it wasn’t meant for me.
‘And . . .?’ I said carefully.
‘And Linda and I thought, since you weren’t doing anything else, you could sort through the old boxes. Pull out some of the more interesting pieces. We’d like you to set up a display in the lobby. Something about the history of the Beryl. Something to make it seem a little less’ – she paused looking for the right word – ‘bare.’
I knew what she meant. The Save the Beryl campaign had raised a lot of money, but it had all gone on making the building safe. There wasn’t much left for carpets, and fancy paint.
Mom stood up, snapping her notebook shut. ‘There, that wasn’t so difficult now, was it?’
I stepped off the stool, ignoring Kevin’s smirk.
Mom took a chain from around her neck and held it out to me. A large, old-fashioned key swung from the end. ‘Here. I think the detective in you will find it very interesting. Uncovering the mysteries of the Beryl.’
‘It’s funny you should say that,’ Kevin said.
Mom turned to look at him and I made desperate don’t say anything signs behind her back. If Mom knew I was looking into the trouble at the Beryl, the case would be over before it began.
Kevin didn’t miss a beat. ‘Alice was telling me all about the fire that ruined the Beryl back in the twenties. I’m here to help.’
Mom beamed. ‘Wonderful. It’s so good to see the next generation showing an interest in the theatrical history of the city.’
I thought about pointing out that Kevin was more interested in Matthew Strange than the Beryl, but settled on telling Mom how much Kevin loved tidying up instead.
Kevin looked at me like I’d accused him of enjoying stewed prunes.
‘Come on, Mr Clean, I’ll show you where the bathroom is so you can wash your face before we get started.’
‘You don’t think you’re going to get that paint off with soap, do you?’ Vivian asked, peering over the top of her sunglasses. She’d come out from behind the screen wearing a black turtleneck and leggings, her costume draped over one arm.
‘What else would he use?’
Vivian looked at the ceiling, begging the theatrical gods for patience. I guess, since no one was letting her play the tragic heroine, she’d recast herself as the helpful fairy godmother.
‘Come with me, this way.’ She sighed wearily and pushed the sunglasses back up her nose. Then Vivian handed Mom the dress and led the way out the door.
‘I’ll let Linda know you two are working on the display. Have fun!’ Mom called as we ran out the door, trying to keep up with Vivian’s long strides.
I shouldn’t have hurried. Vivian stopped cold in the theatre door and I just barely stopped in time to avoid running into her. Kevin didn’t have time to stop at all and he ran into me, pushing all three of us into the dark theatre.
Vivian stood perfectly still. Her spine was stiff and straight. The theatre was too dark to see more than the outline of her face, but I could tell she was scared.
‘What’s wrong?’ I asked.
‘The ghost light,’ Vivian whispered. Kevin heard the word ‘ghost’ and he leant eagerly over my shoulder, squinting into the darkness. I jabbed him with my elbow. The last thing I needed was him encouraging Vivian.
She pointed one long elegant finger towards the stage. The ghost light isn’t on.’ She tugged the sunglasses from her face and looked around the empty theatre, like she expected a whole cast of spirits to start swirling out of the walls.
I shook my head. Just what I needed, another actor who believed the Beryl was haunted.
‘Pete probably turned it off earlier,’ I said.
Vivian didn’t look convinced.
‘What’s a ghost light?’ Kevin whispered.
‘We leave it on for the spirits of actors past,’ Vivian said. ‘So they can perform at night. If the theatre goes dark, the spirits cause trouble. And I’ve never been in a show with more trouble.’ She shivered and wrapped her arms around herself. I could practically see her replaying yesterday’s accident. All that was missing was the flashback strum of a harp.
Della had been right. She wasn’t the only one who thought the Beryl was having more problems than usual.
Vivian spun in a circle three times, curtsied towards the stage and spat over her shoulder, then she hurried down the aisle, walking past the stage without looking up.
Kevin and I followed Vivian carefully through the darkened theatre. The builders had lined the aisle with small strips of reflective tape and they glinted in the low light, guiding us safely to the bottom of the theatre and around the steep drop into the orchestra pit.
Vivian led us to the dressing room she shared with Della, a small neat space which was surprisingly modern. The only furniture from before the fire was an old makeup table, the kind w
ith a large mirror surrounded by lights. Vivian dragged Kevin in front of it and pushed him into a metal folding chair.
‘Here,’ she said, handing him a small jar of white face cream, her tone overly bright. ‘If it takes off stage makeup, it’ll take off anything.’
Kevin looked at me for help, but it was already too late. Vivian sensed his hesitation and unscrewed the lid herself. The smell of lily of the valley filled the dressing room as she slathered his face in cold cream.
‘So what kind of trouble has the play had?’ I asked.
Vivian tossed her hair over her shoulder. ‘What kind of trouble hasn’t it had?’
‘Anything specific?’ I asked. I couldn’t investigate vague suspicions.
‘Well, last week the heel of my shoe snapped and I almost fell down the stairs. Linda was furious because the shoe was part of the costume from the original production. She didn’t seem to care that I almost broke my neck. And then there was what happened yesterday.’
Vivian spread another layer of cream across Kevin’s forehead and rubbed it into his skin. Her fingers shook slightly, sending little specks of cream on to the shoulder of his coat.
‘I could have been killed. I’m supposed to lean on that safe in the next scene. She wants me to die . . .’ The last words were a whisper.
‘Who is she?’ I asked.
Vivian looked around, as if someone might be listening, then leant in close. ‘It’s Kittie Grace. She’s jealous that I’ve taken her part. She’s trying to destroy me.’
I frowned. ‘Do you really think someone would try to hurt you because you beat them for a part in the show? You aren’t even getting paid.’
Vivian looked at me like I was something that had crawled out from behind the refrigerator.
‘Kittie Grace was the actress who played my role in the original production of The Curse. She died on opening night, in the fire that ruined the Beryl. Don’t you see?’ Vivian’s well-trained voice filled the small room, while her fingers were tight on Kevin’s chin. ‘She’s angry and she wants revenge.’
I did my best not to pull a face, but it was just so ridiculous. Vivian opened her mouth to say more and then shut it again, her cheeks colouring slightly. She could probably tell that I didn’t believe her. I tried to stop looking so sceptical, but Vivian was done talking.