by Sarah Rubin
‘Don’t worry,’ I said, ignoring Kevin’s wrinkled nose. ‘Cleaning up that graffiti is next on our list.’
It took us the rest of the afternoon to scrub the Beryl clean. Tiny flecks of neon green still stained the grout between the bricks, but without a pressure washer there was nothing I could do about that.
Kevin’s phone rang. He hit ‘ignore’ and kept scrubbing. ‘I am really looking forward to getting my hands on this kid,’ he said, wiggling his pruney fingers at me. ‘Do you really think he’ll be back?’
I shrugged. ‘It was your theory.’
Fifteen minutes later, Kevin’s phone rang again and did not stop.
‘Answer your phone,’ I said, after he hit ‘ignore’ for the fifth time in a row. I peeled off my gloves and dumped the pail of dirty water into the nearest storm drain.
Kevin gave me his most innocent eyes as he followed me down the alley to the Stage Door. We’d propped it open so we could get in and out without having to go through Jarvis. I wasn’t buying it for a second.
‘You’re going to have to go home at some point. You can’t sleep here.’ I waited for the door to close behind us and gave it a gentle shove, making sure it was secure. ‘You can come back and see Matthew Strange tomorrow.’
Kevin just shrugged and followed me down the hallway, through the theatre. ‘Or we could stay here and have a stake-out for the graffiti artist. Or for the ghost,’ he said.
‘There is no ghost. I thought you agreed with me?’
‘I agreed that a ghost isn’t causing the problems. I didn’t agree there was no ghost at all.’
I counted up in primes and resisted the urge to shove my sponge down the back of Kevin’s shirt.
‘Come on, it’d be awesome. If we get a recording we might be on America’s Most Haunted Cities! They pay five hundred dollars for a video.’
I pushed through the door to the costume workshop. Della sat cross-legged on the couch, doing her breathing exercises. Mom was there too, pinning together what looked like an upside-down rose on the dressmaker’s dummy. The red-orange fabric glowed like an open fire beneath the light. The dress was too modern to be a costume for the show.
‘Who pays five hundred dollars for what?’ Mom asked, her mouth full of pins as usual.
My stomach dropped. The last thing I needed was Mom thinking I was on some dangerous ghost hunt.
‘Nothing,’ I said a little too quickly.
Mom stood up straight and looked at me, hard. I sighed. I didn’t want Mom to know I was on a case, but I didn’t want to lie either. I settled for being vague.
‘Kevin thinks if he gets a video of a ghost, some TV show will pay him for it – which is silly since there are no such things as ghosts.’ I directed the last half of that sentence at Della. She paused mid-breath to roll her eyes artistically.
Mom’s face softened. ‘A good theatre ghost would never be caught on camera. But you are welcome to try. Perhaps you’d donate some of your winnings to the Beryl if you succeed?’
Kevin gave my mom an aw-shucks kind of smile. I cringed. But at least she wasn’t suspicious any more. Kevin kept his angel face on until he had his back to my mom, then his grin turned devilish.
‘I’ll see you tomorrow.’ Kevin gave me a meaningful look. ‘Bright and early.’
‘I’ll walk you out.’ Della closed her book and stood. ‘You’ll need Jarvis to unlock the front door.’
Della ushered Kevin out of the room and I threw him a look that said don’t give her any spooky ideas. I’d almost convinced Della a ghost wasn’t the culprit and I didn’t want him undermining my logic.
‘I like your friend,’ Mom said after Kevin was gone.
‘He’s OK,’ I said. ‘What are you working on?’
Mom spun the dummy around. ‘It’s Della’s dress for the opening night party. Isn’t it to die for?’
I shrugged. Della could make anything look good.
‘And just you wait until you see what I’ve designed for you!’ Mom said. Her eyes glazed over and I could see her designing in her head.
I shifted uncomfortably. Dresses really aren’t my style. On a Venn diagram of my style and dresses there is zero overlap. But Mom’s convinced that if she designs just the right kind of dress, I’ll love it.
‘I found something for you, in the gas house,’ I said, doing my best to change the subject. I’d picked up the ballgown again on the way to see her. I held it up as Mom refocused her eyes in my direction.
She took one look and almost dropped the pins. ‘Oh my. Do you know what this is?’ She stepped across the room slowly towards the dress, the way people in horror movies walk towards Dracula when he’s using his hypnotic eyes. My mom isn’t just a costume designer, she’s a costume fanatic. ‘Silk taffeta,’ she whispered. ‘And genuine hand-knotted lace. Alice, this dress is exquisite.’ She ran the fabric through her fingers.
‘Linda thought it might fit Vivian.’
Mom took the dress out of my hands and held it up. ‘Oh, she does, does she?’ The corner of her eye twitched. It wasn’t a question, more like a frustrated statement. ‘Producers always think fitting a costume is like trying something on at a shop.’ She snorted, crossed her arms and scowled at the dress. ‘But, maybe . . .’
Della came back into the dressing room. ‘I’m starving.’
Mom’s head snapped up and she looked at her watch. ‘Well, if I start anything now it will take hours, so why don’t we call it a night and go get dinner. There’s an Indian restaurant around the corner, Alice. Want to come?’
My stomach growled.
Mom smiled. ‘I’ll take that as a yes.’
Mom was distracted all through dinner. I could practically see her redesigning the ballgown in her head, filling in the gaps and holes with clever draping and rescued lace. But she resisted the urge to pull out her notebook and start sketching right there at the table. Instead, she listened as Della told her about that day’s rehearsal in exhaustive detail.
‘And what about you, honey? How was your day?’ Mom turned to me as Della paused for a bite of rice.
‘OK, I guess,’ I said, swallowing hard. I’d spent most of the day investigating Della’s case, and getting frustrated by how little progress I was making. But I couldn’t tell her that.
‘Did anything exciting happen?’ Mom leant a little further forward. If it had been Dad asking, I would have been convinced he already knew and was just working me for details. But I was pretty sure Mom was just asking because she wanted to talk.
‘We found some replicas of the Midnight Star,’ I said.
I told Mom all about that afternoon in the gas house and we spent the rest of dinner talking about all the fabulous fake diamonds, emeralds and pearls she’d worked with over her years as a costume designer.
‘Why is it bad luck to use real jewels anyway?’ I asked as the waiter dropped off the bill.
‘Well, in the old days, poorer companies would try to look like they had more money by blowing all their money on real jewellery. I guess they thought if the show was a hit, they’d make the money back. But it usually didn’t work. People started thinking using real jewellery led to bankruptcy and ruin.’
I rolled my eyes. ‘That is some seriously faulty logic.’
‘That’s what superstition is,’ Mom said. ‘Now let me go pay and I’ll take you girls home.’
Della pounced the moment Mom got up to pay the bill. ‘So, what have you found out?’
‘I don’t know,’ I said. ‘I’m pretty sure someone is trying to sabotage the show, but I don’t know who.’
Della rolled her eyes. ‘It’s obviously Rex Cragthorne. Linda said he was despicable – he would do anything to ruin us.’
‘He might be behind it, but he isn’t the one actually causing the trouble. It has to be someone with access.’
Della frowned, her lips turning down in a tight line that told me what she thought of that. ‘But we’re all working so hard to put on the show. I can’t believe
anyone at the Beryl is trying to ruin it. No one in the cast would do something so underhanded. It’s Cragthorne, and he must have someone else working for him.’
Now it was my turn to scowl. ‘Della, I’m telling you, the cast and crew are the only ones with access to the building. Therefore, one of the cast or crew must be the culprit.’
Della pushed the rice on her plate around with the edge of her fork. She’d ordered the mildest thing on the menu, but she was still sweating like she was eating straight chillies. After a heavy silence she looked up at me. ‘There is one other explanation,’ she said stubbornly.
I groaned. I was going to kill Kevin.
‘It isn’t a ghost.’
‘Just consider it, Alice. What if Vivian is right? What if it is the ghost of Kittie Grace? What if we’re making her angry by putting on The Curse?’
‘Della, there’s no such thing as ghosts.’
‘How do you know?’ she asked sharply. ‘Can you prove there isn’t a ghost? I mean, really prove it with evidence and everything?’
‘No, but come on, Della.’
‘It makes more sense than thinking one of the Save the Beryl campaigners is sneaking around trying to sabotage the show.’ Della’s face went stony. I could practically see her digging in her heels.
I felt awful. No one wanted to find out that people they trusted might have betrayed them. But I couldn’t stop now. Until I found the culprit, everyone would be a suspect, and as much as Della said she believed in the cast and crew, she’d never be able to really trust them. Besides, if they were really desperate to sabotage the show, who knew what they might try next?
We finished our dinner in silence. Mom came back from paying and the three of us walked outside. It was snowing – fat heavy flakes that caught the lights of the street as they fluttered to the ground. The noises of the city were muffled and everything seemed cosy and calm. Well, as cosy as below-freezing temperatures can feel.
Mom dug through her purse looking for her car keys. ‘Alice, I want to swing by the theatre and jot down a few ideas I had for the dress before I drive you home. Is that OK? Do you want to call your father?’
Dad was probably already gone on his undercover waiter gig, but I didn’t think that was what Mom meant. She wanted me to let him know I’d be home late.
‘It’ll be fine as long as we don’t take too long,’ I said.
Mom nodded, too distracted to notice Della was giving me the silent treatment. For the first time in my life, I felt grateful for a dress.
Mom drove slowly through the snow-filled streets. There wasn’t much traffic and I could hear the car’s wheels crunch against the snow. She found a parking spot just outside the Beryl in the cone of orange light under a street lamp.
‘Are you coming in?’ Mom asked as we climbed out of the car.
‘I left my bike locked up over there. Let me put it in the car first so I can ride over in the morning.’
‘You should get your father to drive you.’ Mom pursed her lips and left it at that. ‘I’ll leave the door unlocked.’
I watched Della and Mom disappear into the darkness outside the street light and then I hunched my shoulders and walked along the street. The 7–Eleven was still open, its green neon light tinting the snow. As I peered inside I noticed the same clerk behind the counter and wondered if he worked there twenty-four hours a day. No wonder he was so cranky. The man probably needed a nap.
I unlocked my bike from the lamppost nearest the corner and shoved it back through the snow, banged off the ice clumps that had stuck in the treads and tossed it into the boot of Mom’s rental car. Then I stuck my hands back in my pockets and started across the street.
Della hadn’t spoken to me since we’d left the restaurant. But I was pretty sure it wasn’t me she was really mad at. As much as she liked drama, I knew Della didn’t really believe in ghosts.
I stepped up on to the kerb and froze.
There was a light bobbing up and down in the alley to the right of the theatre and the unmistakable sound of snow being crunched underfoot.
No one was supposed to be at the Beryl. Jarvis always locked up after everyone left. Mom and Della were there, but they’d used Mom’s key and gone inside through the front. The chicken jalfrezi I’d just eaten shifted uneasily in my stomach and I swallowed hard.
I could just run up the steps and go inside where Mom had turned on the lights and it was safe. But I wouldn’t be much of a detective. I took a deep breath and walked towards the alley, my heart hammering against my sternum.
It was empty.
A gust of wind kicked up a fine powdery mist of snow, making phantom shapes in the dim light. I felt a chill that had nothing to do with the cold. What if I was wrong? What if there really was a ghost haunting the Beryl? I took a step back, and as I did, noticed a line of footprints dimpling the snow leading into the alley. My breath whooshed out in relief and my cheeks grew hot. No ghost. Ghosts didn’t leave footprints. For a minute there, I had been getting as bad as my sister.
I stared at the footprints, forcing my brain to be rational. It was still snowing, fat flakes were already starting to cover the trail so it must have been made recently. I followed the footsteps past the wall of the Beryl to the very end of the alley, right up the two concrete steps to the Stage Door. Cold air burnt the inside of my nose as I inhaled sharply. There were no prints leading out of the Beryl. Whoever had snuck in, was still inside.
My heart started thumping in high gear. It didn’t make sense. I’d made sure the Stage Door was closed and locked myself. No one should have been able to get in that way. But when I pushed on the door, it swung inwards, opening up a rectangle of total black. I swallowed. Whoever was inside might be the person behind all the problems at the theatre. And if they could get the Stage Door open, maybe Della was right. Maybe it wasn’t someone from the cast and crew. I stepped inside, stumbling over a small plank of wood that someone had shoved in the doorway to keep it from locking.
I sucked in my breath and listened. Nothing but the sound of blood rushing through my ears and a low sick feeling in the pit of my stomach. Mom and Della were probably in the costume workshop by now, I swallowed hard. Someone had to be in there, sabotaging something right now, and this was my chance to catch them in the act. A sudden dull thud and creak to my right made me jump, but I managed to keep quiet.
I moved down the hallway to the wings of the stage, one hand on the wall to keep me from running into anything. Phantom flickers and flashes danced across my vision as I strained to see in total blackness. The ghost light was off again.
Another creak, louder this time. It sounded like old nails being pulled out of older wood. The sound was coming from onstage. Pete’s set. It hit me in a sudden flash. Someone was trying to destroy the set!
I moved faster now, almost yelping when the wing curtains brushed across the left side of my face. I stopped, straining my ears. From several doors away, someone started singing scales. Della. She always ran scales when she was bored.
A sharp hiss of breath being sucked through teeth came from a few metres in front of me. And then the clanging of metal. Della was going to scare the culprit away. I didn’t have time to be sneaky.
I let go of the wall and stepped towards the sound. The floor beneath me changed from concrete to wood. Something gritty slid beneath my feet, making it hard to grip the floor.
‘Don’t move,’ I said in a loud voice, reaching out my hand.
My fingers closed on thin air.
A sound. I spun round, trying to locate it as it sounded again, closer this time, and I moved a little faster. Reaching out in the darkness. A soft corner of fabric brushed across my palm and I clenched my fingers. But the fabric slipped through my hand and I heard the soft footsteps of someone running away across the stage.
I ran forward, forgetting the darkness, forgetting everything except catching whoever was creeping about in the dark.
Suddenly a force round my neck jerked me backwards and I f
ell, stumbling to the ground. I clawed at my neck, trying to wiggle free, but whoever was holding me was strong. They dragged me backwards along the floor of the stage. I let go of the arm and reached behind me, finding a long hank of hair. I twisted it in my fingers and pulled hard.
There was a grunt of pain, but the arm didn’t let go. And then a light clicked on and I was staring into the too-blue eyes of Jarvis.
‘What are you doing here?’ We both spoke at the same time.
Jarvis loosened his half-nelson and I wriggled out, crawling backwards on my hands and feet until I was a good distance away. I brushed my palms against my jeans, realizing that they were covered in sand. I stood up, brushing off the backs of my legs as well.
‘Mom came back to do some work on Vivian’s dress,’ I explained. My voice sounded croaky. ‘I thought I saw a light in the alley and followed someone in here. The Stage Door was propped open.’
Jarvis shook his head, still eyeing me suspiciously. I didn’t move. For all I knew, he was the one I’d been chasing. But it didn’t make sense. No one was more obsessed with security at the Beryl. If the culprit was Jarvis, was that all just an act? Or was it more likely that Jarvis had stayed behind to guard the building? I ground my teeth. Either way, it was just a lot of hot air until I got some actual proof.
‘It’s true. Someone was messing with the set. I could hear them.’ I swept my arm out, gesturing around the stage, but when my eyes caught up with my hand the set was fine.
Jarvis crossed his arms.
‘I know what I heard,’ I said. ‘Footsteps. Running away. I almost caught the person too, but you grabbed me.’
Jarvis snorted ‘You’re lucky I did grab you. You were just about to go over the edge and fall into the orchestra pit. That’s a nasty drop.’
He nodded towards the front of the stage and I swallowed hard. I must have gotten turned around in the dark, like divers who go too deep and don’t know if they’re swimming up or down. My skin went cold at the thought. The bottom of the pit was a long way down, and the floor was hard cold concrete.