by Sarah Rubin
‘No,’ Dad said. ‘He’s been dodging me all day. I think he’s working undercover at one of the venues, but I can’t figure out where. This guy is good.’
Dad shook his head ruefully. ‘I was going to order pizza. Della, can you stay for dinner?’
Della could. Between her and Dad and a half-pepperoni half-mushroom-and-olive pizza, we finished the copy for the lobby display together.
When we finished, Dad offered to give Della a ride back to the hotel.
‘Only if you go warm up the car first,’ my sister said.
‘As you wish,’ Dad said with a courtly bow and headed out into the cold.
I heard the Plymouth splutter to life.
‘You are such a diva.’
Della rolled her eyes and gave me a hug. ‘Don’t worry about Mom, OK?’ she said. ‘She’ll understand.’
There was a sudden lump in my throat. That was easy for Della to say. She hadn’t called Mom’s dresses stupid. Or said she didn’t care if the Beryl was turned into a Cineplex. I winced. I’d only said it because I’d been so mad. And it wasn’t even true, not really. I didn’t care about the Beryl for me, but Mom and Della did and so I cared about it for them. That was why I was investigating in the first place, to stop whoever was trying to ruin the show.
The horn beeped and Della gave me one last squeeze.
‘Thanks,’ I managed. The lump made my voice husky.
I locked the door behind my sister and leant my forehead against the cool wood. Maybe if I apologized to Mom in the morning, I’d stop feeling like such a toad. I took a deep breath and went back to Dad’s office to gather up Oswald’s papers and print out what we’d written. I had to admit, the new labels were much more exciting, even if the lack of facts set my teeth on edge.
‘But you can’t prove it, can you?’
Kevin’s words rattled in my brain like an ice-cream headache.
I’d been through Oswald’s papers and his journal. All his entries and the papers he’d gathered pointed to the Midnight Star still being in the Beryl. The problem was, Oswald started out already believing that the necklace was still there. It’s bad logic to start with an idea and set out to prove it. It makes you miss things.
I stopped.
A slow spring of something cold crept up my spine.
Starting with an assumption is no way to solve a mystery. It’s also exactly what I’d been doing ever since Della asked me to look into the problems at the Beryl.
I had assumed someone was trying to sabotage the show.
But those weren’t the facts. The facts were that things were going wrong. Props misplaced, dressing rooms searched, the set mysteriously dismantled. I had assumed this meant someone was trying to spook the cast and ruin the show.
Vivian thought it was the unhappy ghost of Kittie Grace, I thought it was sabotage, but there was another explanation as well. It had been staring me in the face since I started going through the gas house, but I’d been too focused on my own assumptions to see it.
What if it wasn’t someone trying to ruin the show? What if it was someone trying to find the Midnight Star?
It was the first thing Kevin had asked. Was the Star still there? The chances of that being true were x approaching 0, but it was like Della said, the truth didn’t matter. An image of the Midnight Star shimmered in my memory. If the right person thought there was even a one per cent chance they could find the necklace, they’d go looking.
I stood in the middle of Dad’s office with my mouth hanging open. That explained why all the problems involved things from the original production. Those were the most likely places for the necklace to be hidden. I couldn’t believe I’d missed something so important. I took a breath, trying to slow my runaway train of thought. I didn’t want to make the same mistake again, making assumptions and moulding the facts to fit them.
When Dad got back, he found me sitting cross-legged on the carpet in front of the couch surrounded by all Oswald’s papers. I had my notebook open and was writing down all the facts I could find about the original disappearance of the Midnight Star. There weren’t a lot. Some of what Oswald had gathered were eye-witness statements, but most were second- and even third-hand reports.
‘Did you think of something?’ Dad asked, hanging up his coat.
‘Maybe,’ I said slowly, still staring at Franklin Oswald’s journal.
Most of the entries weren’t very helpful. Random lists of suspects and places he’d searched, but nothing to explain why. Mr Oswald had horrible cramped handwriting and as the pages went on, it became sharper and more erratic, as if his frustration was actually leaking out of his pen.
The page I was looking at was about halfway through the book, where the journal naturally fell open. As if Mr Oswald had spent a lot of time rereading that particular entry.
The necklace went missing first!
The words were underlined three times and ink speckled the paper.
‘What’s that mean?’ Dad asked, peering over my shoulder. He’d put coffee on and the smell warmed the air.
‘I’m not sure.’ I glanced around the newspaper clippings, all variations on the same theme – FIRE AT THE BERYL: MIDNIGHT STAR GOES MISSING. ‘Everyone says there was a fire and the necklace went missing in the confusion. But if the necklace went missing first and then the fire started . . .’ I trailed off.
Did that make a difference? I could feel a headache starting to form at the base of my neck. I leant back against the couch and stared up at the ceiling, trying to think. Then I shoved the papers away in frustration.
‘It doesn’t matter. All these papers are just sensationalism anyway. The fire was over a hundred years ago.’
‘You know’ – Dad tapped a finger to his chin – ‘if you want facts, I could get you the old police file from the fire and the theft.’
‘Can you do that?’
‘I can do anything.’ Dad wiggled his eyebrows at me. The coffee beeped and Dad moved to the kitchen, taking down two mugs and filling them. ‘Cases that old are in the police archive. They’re public record. Anyone can make a request. I’ll pick you up a copy while I’m at the station.’
I took the mug he handed me gratefully.
‘Thanks, Dad.’
I wasn’t sure if it would do any good, but at least with a police record I’d be dealing with facts. I sipped the coffee and sighed blissfully. It would be like having my feet back on solid ground.
I got to the Beryl early and smiled. For the first time in weeks, the bricks were clean. I pulled out my phone. Benji was clearly afraid of his mom finding out about what he’d been up to, so now I could finally get some answers. I texted him to meet me outside the Beryl at noon and not to be late.
Kevin pedalled up just as I hit ‘send’.
‘You look happy. What’s up?’
I told him and watched the smile bloom across his face.
‘Oh man, you should have told me. Do you think they sell paint at the Seven–Eleven?’ Visions of revenge danced in Kevin’s eyes and I held up my hand.
‘We’re not going to prank the kid. I need to ask him some questions.’
‘Oh, come on, please?’ Kevin made a face like a wounded puppy.
‘No,’ I said firmly and walked across the street, up the steps of the Beryl and knocked on the door.
Kevin jogged behind me. ‘Good to see you’re feeling better.’
Della opened the door before I had a chance to reply. I blinked.
‘Where’s Jarvis?’ I asked, confused.
Della’s face was a few shades paler than usual, her large eyes deep with worry.
‘He went with Linda to talk to the police.’
‘What happened?’
‘Someone broke in last night. They ripped up Mom’s dress. Come on.’
Without waiting for a reply, Della grabbed my arm and pulled me into the lobby. She locked the door after Kevin and dragged us through the lobby to the costume workshop. Mom was standing outside the open door. Two ang
ry splotches of pink coloured her face.
I had a sudden horrible sensation, like climbing to the top of the stairs and taking one step too many. I remembered what I’d said before I ran out of the theatre. What if Mom thought I’d ripped up the dress? I swallowed hard, or tried to, my mouth was suddenly dry.
‘Mom, Alice is here,’ Della said.
I couldn’t bring myself to look Mom in the eyes, so I looked past her into the costume workshop. It was worse than I’d thought. The floor was littered with long strips of blue silk and scraps of antique lace. Someone had knocked over Mom’s sewing box and scissors, fabric pencils and small straight pins flashed dangerously. What was left of the ballgown still hung on the dressmaker’s dummy. The bodice was mostly intact, but the skirt was in tatters.
Mom looked up and I braced myself.
‘Oh, Alice, isn’t it horrible?’ She gestured at the mess inside the costume workshop. ‘Who on earth would destroy such a beautiful dress?’
She looked at me without a trace of suspicion and the relief hit me like a bus. I let out a breath I didn’t even know I was holding. I crossed the space between us in three swift steps and gave my mom a fierce hug.
‘Alice?’
‘I thought you’d think it was me,’ I said, my face muffled in her shirt.
Mom looked down at me, shocked. ‘Alice, honey, how could you think that?’
I shrugged. ‘After what I said . . .’
Mom shook her head and her sea-glass earrings flashed turquoise at me. ‘Last night we had a fight. I know you were upset, but I also know you wouldn’t do something like this. My goodness, Alice, for such a logical child you have an awfully big imagination.’
I felt my face go hot and I swallowed hard.
Mom pulled me back against her and gave me another tight squeeze. Behind me I was acutely aware of Kevin being way too quiet. I wondered how much teasing he’d milk this for later, and decided I didn’t care.
‘Come on,’ Mom said after a moment. ‘Let’s get this place cleaned up.’ She led the way into the room, stooping every few steps to pick up scraps of blue silk and lace, sighing and tutting over the waste of such good material. I kept quiet until I got the lump in my throat under control. Then I went to help Kevin tidy up the sewing box.
‘It’s so strange,’ Mom said, picking up a long strip of fabric. ‘They cut out all the seams.
‘Why’s that strange?’ I asked.
Della picked up the last piece of lace and laid it on the sewing table, then she flopped down on the couch, clearly exhausted. ‘If someone wanted to ruin the dress all they needed to do would be to cut it up with scissors. Cutting out the seams takes time.’
I nodded slowly, remembering the jacket Mom had been working on for Matthew Strange. The one with the hidden pockets stitched into the lining. Cutting out the seams didn’t make sense if someone was just trying to ruin the dress. It only made sense if someone was looking for something hidden inside it.
‘Was the dress ruined when you got here this morning?’
Mom clicked her teeth and nodded. ‘It’s so annoying. After all that trouble to do a fitting with Vivian. And I stayed late last night to finish it too. Now I’ll have to start over. It will take me all day to reconstruct.’ She got out a large sheet of paper from a pile under the sewing table and cleared space for it on top.
‘How late did you stay?’ I asked, trying to keep my voice casual.
‘Around eleven.’ As she answered the question, Mom looked up from her paper and narrowed her eyes at me. ‘Alice, are you investigating?’ She pivoted ninety degrees on the spike of her stiletto heel to face me. ‘I told you I want you to leave this alone.’
I swallowed hard.
‘It isn’t her fault, Mom,’ Della said. ‘I asked her to do it.’
‘Della!’ Mom sounded shocked but Della stood her ground.
‘This is important. Someone’s trying to ruin the show. You know there’s something going on. Alice is good at figuring things out.’
‘Della, this isn’t a game. This is serious. Linda has gone to see the police. They’ll take care of it.’
I gritted my teeth. I didn’t think the police would be showing up with sirens blazing to investigate the case of the damaged dress. Della started to protest, but I shook my head. Mom wasn’t going to change her mind. Besides, she’d already told me what I needed to know. The dress had been fine when she’d left at eleven and it had been in tatters when she arrived at eight this morning. That left a nine-hour window when the culprit could have committed the crime.
The door to the costume workshop slapped open and I spun around, expecting to see riot police kicking in the door.
Vivian Rollins stood in the doorway, her face a mask of horror. She looked at the dress, her mouth open in a silent scream, and brought her hand up to her mouth. She looked like a silent-film star who’d just seen something unspeakable crawling out of a crypt.
‘It’s her. I knew it, it’s Kittie Grace. She is mad.’ Vivian looked around the room wildly, as if the ghost of Kittie Grace was going to swoop out of the walls and carry her away. ‘I never should have agreed to reprise her role.’ She took three halting steps backwards, never once taking her eyes off the dress and then she turned and fled. Her footsteps echoed down the hall.
Mom sighed. ‘I wanted to get this fixed before she saw it. Della, can you go try to calm her down? I’ll call Linda, but it might take her some time.’
Della nodded grimly. She started to leave and then came back and grabbed Kevin by the arm. ‘Come on, Prince Charming,’ she said. ‘Let’s use those dimples for good for a change.’
Kevin gave me a pleading look as Della dragged him out the door.
Mom watched them go. Then she sat down at the sewing table, cracked her knuckles and got to work sketching.
I watched for a minute over her shoulder. I’d seen the costumes Mom had designed before, but I’d never seen her actually designing. At first it was just what I expected. Mom drew a picture of a dress, making notes about colours and fabric types and odd terms like gusset and godet. Then she did something strange. She started drawing shapes. Not dress shapes, but geometry shapes, circles and triangles, rectangles and trapezoids. Every now and again she’d refer to a list of measurements in a small notebook and then she’d add numbers to the edge of each shape.
‘What are you doing?’ I asked.
Mom looked at me like I’d asked her how to do long division.
‘I’m making a pattern.’
I leant in to get a better view.
‘Look.’ Mom unrolled a bolt of blue silk. She must have bought it to match the ballgown. ‘Fabric is two-dimensional, but the person wearing it is three. You need to cut the fabric and sew it together to give it shape.’
‘It’s geometry,’ I said quietly.
Mom blinked, tilting her head to one side. ‘I guess so,’ she agreed.
I’d always thought I was the only one in the family who liked maths. Della couldn’t stand the subject and told me so as often as she could fit it into the conversation. Dad didn’t think I was weird for liking it, but he wasn’t that interested himself. I’d always assumed Mom was the same.
I did a double take as she took a compass out of her pencil case and used it to draw a perfect arc along the edge of one of the rectangles. Maybe I’d been wrong. I pulled my stool a little closer and watched. If I thought very hard, I could almost imagine all those trapezoids and triangles lifting off the page and joining together, building the shape of the dress that had been destroyed.
‘That’s pretty neat,’ I paused. ‘I’m sorry I said your dresses were stupid.’
Mom finished drawing a few more lines. ‘That’s OK, honey. I shouldn’t have insisted you wear something you don’t like. It’s just that I’ve made so many for Della. I wanted to be able to design a dress for you too. But I understand if you don’t want that.’
My chest felt tight. I tried to keep my mouth shut, but it was no use. I couldn�
�t stop myself.
‘I’d like you to design me something for opening night.’
Mom sat up straight. ‘Really, you mean it?’ She threw her arms around me and squeezed me so tight I couldn’t speak. ‘Just you wait, honey. I’m going to make you something stunning. You won’t regret it!’
I wasn’t so sure. But Mom looked so happy. How bad could one night in a dress really be?
I spent the next hour in the costume workshop. Mom showed me how to draft a pattern and I helped her start mending the ballgown. Linda stuck her head in just after ten.
‘Any luck with the police?’ Mom asked without looking up from her whirring sewing machine.
Linda carried a heavy cardboard box with two staplers balanced on top. She shook her head ruefully. ‘They’ve taken my statement.’
Like I’d thought, the police weren’t interested. To them it was just some worthless dress, but not to me. I’d seen how much it meant to my mom and I was going to find the person responsible.
‘Vivian saw the mess,’ Mom said.
Linda flinched, almost sending the staplers to the floor.
‘I sent Della to calm her down. But you might want to go check on her.’
‘Right,’ Linda said, and turned to leave.
‘I’ll go with you,’ I said. Kevin hadn’t come back yet and I was worried he might need to be rescued.
I followed Linda down the hall towards the dressing rooms. Silence hung between us, heavy and uncomfortable. Linda cleared her throat.
‘I wanted to apologize for yesterday. I shouldn’t have taken my frustration out on you. You’ve been such a help, Alice, we really do appreciate it. I hope you know that.’
Warmth spread out from the middle of my chest. I nodded.
‘And don’t worry about the display. I’m sure if we all work together—’
‘It’s OK,’ I cut in. ‘Della helped me write some new labels, all about the mystery of the Midnight Star. Trust me, it’s sensational.’
Linda nodded approvingly. ‘I like the angle. OK. Let me know when it’s done and I’ll have a look.’