Tell Me Pretty Maiden

by Rhys Bowen

  “What? I was brought here to keep an eye on Miss Lovejoy,” I said. “Strictly undercover, of course. I’m a private detective.”

  “Good God,” he said. “And all along I thought you were the one up to no good.”

  “And I thought you were the one acting suspiciously.”

  “It seems I might have been under a misapprehension. I was so worried about these damned accidents. I thought somebody wanted to close our show before it started.”

  “But they’ve had the opposite effect, haven’t they?” I asked. “Your show is a huge hit. It will run for months. People will come just to see if the ghost makes an appearance.”

  “You’re right,” he said. “So do you think there is a ghost? I can’t really believe that, but I’ve no other explanation. God knows I was watching from the stalls each time and saw nothing.”

  “And I was positioned onstage, in the glare of the lights, where it was impossible to see what was going on backstage.”

  He nodded. “Whose idea was that?”

  “Blanche’s. She wanted me near her. For protection.” I wondered about saying more. Should I hint that I suspected Blanche herself had orchestrated the whole thing? He was, after all, her friend. “Leave me up here this evening,” I said. “And don’t mention this to a soul. By the end of the night I may have seen something that can provide proof, one way or another.”

  “All right,” he said. “One way or another, I’d certainly like to know.”

  THIRTY-FIVE

  Almost as soon as Desmond Haynes had climbed down, things started to happen. There were stirrings below, then the sound of electric switches being thrown, and the stage was bathed in light. Out beyond the curtain I heard the scrape of chairs and the orchestra tuning up. The whisper of voices floated up to me from backstage. Louder sounds, muffled by the curtain, came from front of house, hinting that the theater seats were filling up.

  Then I saw the chorus girls lining up below me, ready for their first entrance. A round of applause sounded as the conductor came out. The tap of a stick and the overture started. The curtain went up. More applause. The girls ran onstage. More applause. The first song. The arrival of the motor car with the young men, and then I held my breath. Blanche Lovejoy made her first entrance. She was sparkling tonight. The audience roared at her jokes, clapped wildly at her songs. And nothing went wrong.

  The first act finished and the lights were dimmed. I was becoming stiff and tired up here, but obviously I couldn’t get down for another hour. Were there to be no more ghostly appearances, I wondered, now that Miss Lovejoy had won over her audience and assured a sold-out house?

  The second act got started. We came to a scene when the girls are onstage alone. It was a naughty song about how they would like to dance the cancan at the Moulin Rouge. At the end of it, the girls line up to do a high-kicking number in their underwear. Very risqué. I was enjoying the absolute symmetry of their line when suddenly something went flying down onto the stage. It struck the girl on the end of the line on the head, knocking her to the stage with a sickening thud. The girl beside her was pulled down to her knees. There were screams from the girls onstage as well as from the audience. The orchestra faltered as male actors rushed onto the stage. They lifted the thing off the girl and turned her over. It was Lily.

  “Is there a doctor in the house? Somebody call a doctor!” someone was yelling.

  I had just started to climb down when I thought I saw a flash of movement, high on the wall on the other side of the stage. Did I dare to try and cross the catwalk? I didn’t have the nerve, and besides, I didn’t want to confront any kind of adversary at this height. I climbed down as quickly as I could. As my foot hit the bottom step I was grabbed.

  “Got ya. This is the one who done it,” one of the stagehands shouted. “I caught her coming down.”

  “Don’t be silly,” I said. “I was up there spying for Miss Lovejoy. Besides, whatever it was that dropped, fell from the other side of the stage. Now let go of me and let’s see if we can catch the person that did it. Come on. Follow me.”

  He did, unwillingly. We rushed around the back of the set.

  “Did anybody climb down from any of the ladders over here?” I demanded of the stagehands who were standing looking shocked.

  “Nobody.”

  “Then I suggest some of you go up there and look for the one who did this. He or she will still be hiding up there.”

  Again they did as I said, looking at each other uncertainly.

  I turned to see the scene onstage. The curtain had been brought down. There was a buzz of anxiety from the audience. A group of people were kneeling or standing around Lily. I could now see that the object that had fallen was a sandbag, one of those used to secure the backdrops when they are hauled up into the flies.

  “She’s dead,” I heard somebody say. “It must have broken her neck.”

  Then I saw Blanche Lovejoy. She was standing there with a look of utter horror on her face. She had turned so pale that her face was almost green. I had seen her when the lemonade had been thrown over her, when the pillar had fallen, and she had looked shaken each time. Now I realized that she had been acting before. That had been stage fear. This was the real thing. Blanche Lovejoy was terrified.

  All around me I could hear whispers about the ghost, quiet sobbing. I stepped out onto the stage. “Somebody call the police,” I said.

  “The police? No, not the police,” Blanche said quickly. “This was either the work of the ghost or a horrible accident. Somebody left a sandbag balanced in the wrong place or a rope broke. And it couldn’t have been aimed at me this time. I wasn’t even onstage in that scene.” She sounded hysterical.

  “Someone’s been killed. The police need to investigate,” I said. “If you don’t call them, I’ll do so myself.”

  “What are you doing here, anyway? I fired you,” she said.

  “Keeping an eye on you, Miss Lovejoy. Making sure you stayed safe.”

  “And I did, didn’t I?” She put a hand to her mouth. “It was poor dear little Lily . . .”

  I left the stage, trying to make sense of what had just happened. Lily, the one who couldn’t always be trusted to keep her mouth shut, who had made some interesting hints that she knew something . . . I started to climb the stairs from backstage to the dressing rooms. It had just occurred to me that maybe there was a walkway around the wall that led straight to the upper level without crossing the backstage area at all. It had also occurred to me that certain people were in the theater but not onstage when the accidents happened. People I had overlooked because they were so unlikely.

  I ran along the narrow hallway and pushed open the door of the wardrobe room. Madame Eva looked up in surprise, pins sticking from her mouth.

  “Whatever is it, my dear?” she asked.

  “One of the chorus girls has been killed,” I said. “A sandbag fell on her. You didn’t see anyone in the hallways up here, did you?”

  “My dear, I have been trying to fix the costume that had lemonade thrown all over it,” she said. “I haven’t had time to wander around. Poor Miss Lovejoy, she will be desolate.”

  I closed the door and ran down the hall to Blanche’s dressing room. Martha looked up as I came in without knocking.

  “What do you think you’re doing?” she demanded. “You don’t just barge in here.”

  She was dressed all in black, her little bird eyes darting as I came toward her.

  “You planned this whole thing between you, you and Blanche, didn’t you? A great way to bring in the customers—let them think the place was haunted. And why not bring in a simple girl detective so that you can show the world that even a professional couldn’t solve your little mystery.”

  “I don’t know what you’re rambling about, girl,” she muttered. “Go on, get out of here. I’ve got work to do, ironing Miss Lovejoy’s dress.”

  I noticed how easily she moved across the room. She was old, but she was still sprightly. And she was s
mall. Had she somehow managed to hide herself in that table, maybe rigged with a little trapdoor, to knock over the jug at the right moment?

  And then, of course, the bigger question—was she strong enough to have positioned a sandbag to fall on a chorus girl who couldn’t keep her mouth shut? Ridiculous, I thought. How could an old woman like her climb up and down ladders, let alone drag sandbags?

  “Go on. Beat it. Clear off, I say.” She came at me with the iron in her hand. “Your services are no longer wanted here.”

  “I’m sure they are not,” I said, backing away slightly because I could feel the heat from the iron. “The last thing you and Miss Lovejoy want is a detective who has uncovered the truth.”

  That may have been a stupid thing to say, but I was banking on the fact that I could fend off an old woman if necessary. Fortunately I didn’t have to put this theory to the test. The door burst open and Blanche came in.

  “Martha. She’s dead. A sandbag fell on her and she’s dead. How could that have happened?”

  There was a horrible silence during which the women stared at each other. Martha’s face was defiant.

  “You didn’t?” Blanche said in a trembling voice. “You couldn’t have done.”

  She didn’t notice me as the open door now hid me from her.

  “You silly girl,” Martha said sharply, “did you want to risk the truth coming out? Do you want to be the laughingstock of New York City? Blanche Lovejoy had to fake her own ghost to bring in the customers because she was too old and fat to be a leading lady any longer?”

  “Stop it!” Blanche shouted. “This has gone too far. And now they’ll close us down anyway.”

  “Of course they won’t if you keep your mouth shut,” Martha said. “I rescued you from the gutter, girl. Don’t you ever forget that. You and that baby of yours. You’d never be where you are today if it wasn’t for me. You owe me a great debt.”

  “I know that. And we’ll be all right, won’t we. We’ll just keep quiet and say nothing. There’s no way anyone can ever prove this was anything but an accident. Nobody else suspects.”

  “She does,” Martha said, pointing at me.

  Blanche spun around. “You!”

  “Yes, Miss Lovejoy. I’m not quite as simple as I look,” I said. “I’m sure you hired me because you thought I’d never come to the truth, but I did.”

  “We’ll have to get rid of her somehow,” Martha said, pushing between me and Blanche, the iron still in her hand. “Lock the door, Blanche. Your headache powders. They should knock her out and then we can dump her somewhere.”

  “No!” Blanche shrieked. “Don’t be silly. This has gone too far already. There is to be no more killing, Martha. A little hocus-pocus to bring in the crowds is one thing, but killing people?”

  “That Lily would have gone on blackmailing you, and you’d never have known when she’d forget to keep her mouth shut. And this one—this one is dangerous.”

  She waved the iron at me again in a threatening manner.

  “Do you promise not to go to the police if I let you go?” Blanche asked in a trembling voice.

  “I don’t need to go to the police,” I said. “They’ll be here by now. The truth will come out whether you want it to or not. Your friend Desmond Haynes—he already suspects. We spoke before the show tonight. And if Lily figured it out, you can bet she shared her suspicions with some of her friends. She was never one to keep her mouth shut.”

  “But Lily—they’ll never be able to prove it wasn’t an accident, will they? You can’t prove it wasn’t an accident?”

  “I don’t know. It depends if there were any witnesses,” I said. “I recommend that you tell the truth, Miss Lovejoy. Otherwise you’ll never be able to live with yourself.”

  “We’ve got to get rid of her, Blanchie,” Martha insisted, shaking Blanche’s sleeve. “If not, we’re ruined.”

  “We’re ruined anyway, Martha,” Blanche said. “You don’t think they’ll keep the theater open after this, do you?”

  “But I did it all for you, Blanche. I’ve done everything for you.” Her old voice cracked. “I’ve worshipped you. I’ve given up my whole life for you.” She started to cry.

  “Don’t cry, my sweet. We’ll make it all right.” Blanche took Martha into her arms and they clung together, swaying piteously in their joint misery. I took the opportunity to slip out of the room.

  THIRTY-SIX

  Once outside in the dark hallway, I wasn’t sure what to do next. I could hear sounds coming up from down below. Loud voices, the tramp of feet. It sounded as if the police were already in the building. Was it up to me to tell what I knew? Suddenly I just wanted to get away, back to my own world. I never wanted to see the theater or Blanche Lovejoy again.

  I ran down the stairs and out the stage door. The news of the latest accident had already reached the press. The alleyway was packed with reporters and the curious. I was grabbed and manhandled as I stepped through the door.

  “They say a girl was killed. Was it the ghost again? Did you see the ghost? How did she die?” The questions were shouted in my ears as arms grabbed me.

  Then another arm was placed firmly around my shoulder. “Come on, Molly, we’re getting out of here,” said a calm voice in my ear, and Daniel was leading me firmly through the crowd and away. I had never been more glad to see him.

  “Are you all right?” he asked as soon as we were safely away from the mob.

  “Yes, I’m fine. How did you know?” I asked.

  “I thought I might see the play for myself tonight,” he said. “I wanted to witness your acting prowess. Imagine how disappointed I was when you didn’t appear onstage.”

  “Miss Lovejoy fired me.”

  “Not for your lack of acting ability, I assume.”

  “No, because I had already played my part and she no longer needed me.”

  “Your part?”

  “Innocent girl detective who has been unable to prove or disprove the existence of the ghost.”

  “But you stuck around anyway?”

  “Yes, and I’m glad I did.”

  “You saw who killed that girl?”

  I hesitated. No, I hadn’t actually seen anything more than a hint of a movement. “Not actually saw, but I think I know.”

  “And it wasn’t a ghost?”

  “No, it wasn’t a ghost.”

  “The police are already there. Do you think you should go back and . . . ?”

  “No,” I interrupted. “I don’t want to go near that place again. I’ve had enough, Daniel. Take me home. If the police don’t get a confession, then I’ll step forward. Right now I want to be as far away as possible.”

  “You think you’re in danger, yourself?”

  “Possibly,” I said. I turned and looked up at him. “Daniel, I’m so glad you’re here.”

  “And I’m so glad you’re here, trust me,” he said. “When you didn’t appear onstage and then the word went around that somebody was dead, I was all set to burst in through that stage door and rescue you.”

  “The dashing hero as always,” I said, putting my hand up to his cheek. He took my hand and kissed the palm. “Your hands are cold,” he said. “Where are your gloves?”

  “Oh dear. Lost somewhere in that theater, I suspect. I’m not going back for them.”

  “Do you want me to take you home?” Daniel asked. “Have you eaten this evening?”

  “Not really. A cup of coffee, I believe.”

  “Then shall we go and have a meal somewhere?”

  I almost opened my mouth to say, “you don’t have any money at the moment, Daniel.” I swallowed back the words just in time. “I suppose we do have reason to celebrate,” I said. “I’ve just concluded two cases.”

  “Two?”

  “I gave my report to the Mendelbaums this afternoon, and I have deposited the check.”

  “And they are happy that their daughter is marrying a boring and respectable young man?”

  “They are ha
ppy that she’s marrying a dubious rogue,” I said. “And a stage-door Johnnie with strange ideas about—” I couldn’t say the word sex in front of Daniel, even though we had shared more than words on the subject.

  “I suspect many rich young men go through that phase in their lives,” Daniel said.

  “I hope you didn’t.”

  “I was never rich enough nor at leisure. Do you fancy Muschenheim’s Arena? It’s fairly close by.”

  “A little pricey for us, isn’t it? I may never get the money out of Blanche Lovejoy.”

  “Write up your bill and I’ll collect it for you. And also what Oona Sheehan owes you. I guarantee they’ll pay up.”

  Of course they would, I reasoned. Knowing what I knew, they’d have no choice. And Daniel was an intimidating presence.

  “I am your employee, after all,” Daniel said. “I have to earn my crust somehow.”

  “Not employee, affiliate,” I said.

  “How about partner?”

  “You want to go into partnership with me?”

  “That’s right. Say to hell with the police department. Why should I wait around, holding my breath, for them to admit they made a mistake and wrongly accused me?”

  “But your job, Daniel. Your status. You were one of their best officers. It would be quite a come-down to work the small-time cases that I get.”

  “Do I get the feeling that you don’t want to work with me?”

  “On the contrary. Nothing would please me more. But we have your career to think of. And our future. You’re an important man, Daniel. You have a fine future ahead of you.”

  “Not anymore,” he said bitterly.

  “Of course you do. It will all come right again, you’ll see,” I said. “Come on then, we’ll have a slap-up meal and drown our sorrows in a bottle of wine.”

  I slipped my arm through his and we marched down Broadway to the restaurant on Thirty-first.

  “This is more like it,” Daniel said, taking a sip of claret as the waiter put a large steak in front of him. “I’ve been living on edge for too long now, and so have you. You’re looking quite pale and drawn. You need some good red meat.”