The Phantom of Oz

by Cindy Brown

  Logan groaned. “Foiled by my own smart-ass-ness.”

  “Hoisted by your own petard,” I said. “Isn’t it cool how Shakespeare fits every occasion?” I looked down at Toto. “Like, ‘Pish to you, you mangy dog;’ or as your dictionary says, ‘Accident: also used euphemistically to refer to an incidence of incontinence, typically by a child or an animal.’”

  “What?”

  I pointed at the small pool of liquid on the floor underneath Toto.

  “No,” Logan said to Toto or to me or maybe regarding the incident in general. He stood up and pulled a piece of an old t-shirt from a box labeled “rags,” threw it on the floor, and mopped up the puddle, which was not much bigger than a quarter. Then he sniffed the rag. “Just leftover bath water.” He tossed the rag into what looked like a small pile of laundry in the corner of his office. “You’re a good boy, Toto.”

  Toto looked at me with literal puppy dog eyes. “Sorry, boy,” I said. “Didn’t mean to tarnish your reputation.” He must have forgiven me, because he hopped back up on my lap. Oh well, at least he was a clean wet dog. “So, back to the accidents,” I said to Logan. “I heard that the chandelier fell because a bolt was loose?”

  “Or maybe a couple of them,” he said. “Hard to tell after the fact.”

  “Could someone have loosened them?”

  “You mean, taken a cherry picker into the theater, raised themselves up under the chandelier, and gone at it with a wrench? I think someone would have noticed that.”

  “No, from the other side. Is there any way to get above the ceiling? A crawlspace or something?”

  “Sure.” Logan frowned. “There are air-conditioning ducts and stuff up there. I’m sure there must be a way to access it if somebody needs to.”

  “Did you hear anything about the chandelier being jury-rigged by an extra cable so it wouldn’t fall all the way down?”

  Logan sighed. “I don’t know why people are making a big deal about that. It makes sense to have a safety mechanism in place, doesn’t it?”

  Yeah, it did. I picked up Toto off my lap and set him on the floor. “Can we go backstage? I’d like to understand what happened with the runaway, or whatever you call it.”

  He shrugged but got out of his chair. “Come on.”

  “Hey,” I said as Logan and I walked toward the stage. “You were onstage during the runaway accident, right?”

  Logan’s back stiffened. “Why?”

  “Did you see the ghost light turn on and off?”

  He relaxed a little. “No.”

  “It was weird, almost like a signal.”

  “Maybe it was somebody plugging in the wrong cord. Or maybe it was the ghost.”

  I knew Logan was teasing me, but it was weird, the light turning on at the same time as Candy’s accident.

  He opened the door to the stage and the sound of hammering. Dorothy’s house was onstage, and several men were repairing its crunched lower half. “It’ll be ready for tonight’s show,” Logan said in answer to my unspoken question. “So, the runaway: as you know, set pieces stay up in the fly space for most of the show, flying in and out when needed. We do that through counterweights, which are controlled by those lift lines you see over there.” He nodded at the ropes that lined the wall offstage left. “Those cables, usually a couple of them, are attached to the load—the set piece—and a winch or counterweight arbor. We have to perfectly balance the loads so we can fly them in and out. For some reason, last night that particular load—Dorothy’s house—was unbalanced enough that Rosie couldn’t control her line set, and we had a runaway.”

  “She was really lucky she wasn’t hurt.”

  Logan’s face turned red. “She was really stupid. Everyone who works backstage knows better than to grab a runaway rope.”

  “I don’t know, it seems like it might be just a reflex, trying to make sure that flat wasn’t going to come down on anyone’s head.”

  “No.” Logan shook his head. “Talk about reflex: even if everyone here didn’t know to get out of the way when they hear that call, they’d run anyway. No. Rosie was just stupid. People have been killed that way, hit their heads on a metal beam as they went up. And if that had happened, it wouldn’t be the ghost they’d be blaming. It’d be me.”

  “Why would anyone blame you?”

  “Because I’m in charge,” he said. “I’m also out of time. You got what you need?”

  “I think so. If I have any more questions—”

  “Good. See you around. Come on, Toto.” Logan held open the door to the hall where his office was. He waited for the little terrier, then closed it behind them, leaving me backstage by myself.

  Chapter 16

  Surely There Should Be Some Limit to Hypocrisy and Lying!

  Why was Logan’s goodbye so abrupt? Was he still upset about what might have happened with the runaway? I decided not to worry about it. My head was already too full of worry; in fact, I fretted the entire way to Good Sam, where I was picking up Candy. I was anxious to see my friend, but I didn’t know what to expect from her. Or me. My feelings were so tangled: I was worried, mad, nervous. I tried to think positively about our friendship, but instead I just ached for what had been. So I was relieved when I saw Candy sitting on her bed, because I felt something new. Tenderness. She looked so fragile.

  “Hey, girlfriend.” She smiled when she saw me, her face lighting up. “I am so ready to be out of here.”

  Candy was dressed in her street clothes: a tank top and yoga pants. She pulled on silver go-go boots, the only bit of her costume she’d been wearing during rehearsal. “Thank God they were repairing both my costumes,” she said. “Or me and my space age miniskirt would have been flashing those poor firemen.”

  “They probably wouldn’t have cared. Though they might have taken you to sick bay instead of Good Sam.”

  She stood up and grabbed her purse from the side table. “Matt’s got you watching Star Trek, hasn’t he?”

  “Um...” There it was, the Candy-Matt thing.

  “Hon.” She linked an arm through mine. “I’ll say it again: I’m happy for you two. You’re good for each other.” Ooh, an opening. Should I ask about her and Arrestadt? No. Candy’s roommate was pretending to read a magazine but kept glancing over at us instead of turning pages.

  “Bye.” Candy waved at her as we left the room. “Y’all take care now.” We were just barely in the hall when she whispered, “Omigod, that woman talked in her sleep like nobody’s business. Mostly she was yelling at somebody she called Buster, things like ‘Buster, you get your fanny back here right now,’ and ‘You are asking for it, Buster,’ and ‘No tuna fish for you, Buster.’ Must be her cat.”

  We kept chatting as we walked to my pickup, and I relaxed. Maybe all we needed was some time to reconnect. The Wizard would be touring Arizona for a while still. I could see Candy while she was in Phoenix, maybe even drive down to Tucson for a day. Things would be all right.

  And they were, for a few minutes. “Do you want to go to your hotel?” I asked.

  Candy shook her head. “Not enough time before I need to be at the theater. You think we could hit a drive-through and get some french fries?”

  Food. Candy wanted food. I was thrilled but tried to act cool. “Only if you let me pay.”

  “All right, but mostly ’cause I know you’ll eat half of them anyway.”

  I pulled into a McDonald’s parking lot and up to the drive-through speaker. “Large french fries, a Big Mac—that’s my dinner,” I said to Candy. Back to the speaker: “A large Diet Coke and...”

  “Diet Coke sounds good,” Candy said beside me.

  “Two large Diet Cokes,” I said.

  Candy and I tucked into the french fries as soon as we got them. I tried not to think about why she was hungry, if it was because some drug was now gone from her system. I was just glad to
see her eating. And drinking. Until...

  “What did you just do?” I looked at Candy, but she wouldn’t meet my eyes.

  “What?” She shrugged in the seat beside me. “I had to take a pill.”

  “What type of pill?”

  “Oh, lord, I don’t know. Something the hospital sent me home with.”

  Anger flared up, sharp as a knife in my ribs. “I don’t think so.”

  “What do you mean?”

  I gritted my teeth so I wouldn’t yell. “Hospitals don’t usually send you home with drugs. And I’ve been with you so I know you didn’t get a prescription filled.”

  “Oh, that’s right. I forgot you were a detective now.” Candy’s voice dripped sarcasm. I recognized it as a defense, but it still pissed me off.

  “I may be, but I haven’t been able to figure out what the hell is going on with you. Or us.”

  “Us?”

  “Yeah. Like how Arrestadt says I’m your best friend and yet you didn’t even tell me you were dating him.”

  She looked at me then. “Did he tell you?”

  “No, I had to hear it from, oh, everyone else. When were you going to tell me?”

  “If you looked at my Facebook page, you’d have known.”

  I stopped for a light. I may have tapped the brakes a little hard. “Oh, I’m just one of your Facebook friends now?”

  “You know that’s not true.”

  “And besides, I have looked on Facebook.” Okay, I didn’t go on it all that often, but I did check out Candy’s page after she told me she was in town. “There’s nothing there except some cat videos.”

  “You’re probably looking at my old page. Did you look under Candace Moon?”

  I hit my forehead in mock stupidity. “Oh right, I should have looked under the new name you just told me four days ago. And I’m sure the news about your screen test with Andre must be posted there, otherwise you would have told me about the most important thing that ever happened in your career.”

  “Okay, I know Arrestadt told you that, because no one else except my agent knows.”

  “He probably told me because he assumed you’d told your best friend.”

  “It’s a secret, Ivy. Besides, I may not even get the test. I still have to lose fifteen more pounds, and maybe get some cheek implants.” She turned to me so I could see her face. “What do you think?”

  “Fifteen pounds? Are you trying to kill yourself? And even the news that you might get some totally unnecessary plastic surgery cannot distract me from the fact that you don’t tell me jack shit. Like how you’re Babette’s new It Girl.”

  “I had to keep that secret. You would too. I mean, this is it, the break I’ve dreamt of all my life. Can you believe it?”

  “No, I can’t. I can’t believe any of this. What the hell is going on?”

  Candy sank back into the seat. “Ivy, give me a break.” It was the first thing she’d said that sounded real since the drive-through. “For God’s sake, I just got out of the hospital. Can’t this wait?”

  “No, it can’t, especially since your recent hospitalization wasn’t caused by the Lady in White, no matter what Babette tells the press.”

  “I told you. I had a reaction to antihistamines—”

  “Or to little blue pills,” I said. “Maybe one too many of them?”

  “How—? What—? You!”

  I was looking at the street like a good driver, so I didn’t see Candy’s hand in time to duck. She backhanded me on the side of the head, hard. “You looked through my purse.”

  “Only for your own good.” Maybe the slap had knocked some sense into me, because my anger was subsiding, shifting into worry. I slowed for another red light. “Candy, did you just take another one? Another blue pill?”

  “How dare you look through my purse? I don’t care who you are, you know better than—wait a minute, you said you heard about Arrestadt from everyone. Everyone who?”

  “Everyone at the theater,” I mumbled.

  “You’ve been asking around about me? Great. Everyone knows you’re a PI.”

  “You told people about me?” I cringed at the neediness in my voice.

  “And now they’re going to concoct some wild-ass story about why you’re investigating me. Maybe take it to Babette or Arrestadt or even the press. Nice timing, Ivy, sabotaging my career right as it’s taking off. Jealous, are we?”

  “No. I’m not. I’m worried. You don’t call me for ages, and then—”

  “The phone works both ways, missy.”

  It was the wrong thing to say, lifting the lid off the anger I’d thought was gone. “I have been calling. Seems somebody forgot to tell me she had a new phone number. Hmm, who could that be? My supposed best friend?”

  Candy took a breath as if to reply, but I couldn’t stop. “Godammit, Candy, I don’t even know you anymore. LA has changed you beyond all recognition. And I do mean beyond. Have you looked in a mirror lately? For God’s sake, you look like death warmed over—”

  “That’s it.” Candy unbuckled her seatbelt and opened the door. “I have worked like a demon to look like this, just so I could get the breaks I’m finally getting. Too bad you can’t be happy for me. Too bad you’re not really my friend.”

  And she got out of the car and walked away.

  Chapter 17

  On the Famous Night of the Gala

  By the time I could park and get out of my truck, Candy was gone. I got back in and drove around for about ten minutes but didn’t see her. I knew she’d have to be at the theater pretty soon, but so did I. In fact, I only had twenty minutes before call for Twelfth Night.

  I scarfed down my now-cold Big Mac as I drove and got to the theater in time to put on my makeup. I sat in front of the mirror for a moment and thought about my fight with Candy. She was right—I should be happy for her. And I was right—she seemed dangerously unhealthy. We needed to talk. But we also needed to get into character for our shows, so our talk would have to wait. I needed to think and feel and react as Viola, Candy as Glinda. There was no place for our personal lives onstage. Tomorrow, though, I could catch Candy after her matinee. I could show up at the Grand Phoenician, take her someplace quiet, and get this thing worked through. That’s what I would do. I placed my fight with Candy into a little box in my mind, closed it up, and pushed it off to the side. The problem wasn’t gone, just waiting for a better time to think about it.

  I kept the “Candy box” shut all through the play, and afterward when I hugged Bette and Uncle Bob (who looked dashing in a turquoise Hawaiian shirt and copper bolo tie) and kissed Matt (who looked positively edible in a gray button-down that matched his eyes and jeans I made him buy because they showed off his butt). I almost opened the box at the cast party when someone asked me about Candy and Babette but quickly decided against it. I wanted to enjoy the final hours with my Twelfth Night family.

  I also almost told Matt about the fight with Candy the next morning but decided not to spoil the coffee and donuts and contentment. So by the time I arrived at the Grand Phoenician that afternoon, I didn’t really know what I was going to say. I had calmed down, though, which seemed a better starting place for the conversation we needed to have.

  I got to the theater ten minutes after the matinee had ended. The lobby was packed with people—some sort of party going on? I hesitated outside the theater, but someone knocked on the window from the inside. Arrestadt. He waved me in. “Ivy,” he said over the tops of several gray heads. “Thanks for picking up Candace yesterday.”

  “Is she here?”

  “Probably be down in a minute. In the meantime, have something to eat and drink.” He waved at the back of the lobby, at white-skirted folding tables laden with food. “A reception for the Friends of the Grand Phoenician. Enjoy yourself.” He turned back to the little circle surrounding him. “My favorite film? Casab
lanca. Such a great love story…oh, you mean my favorite of my films?” He laughed and popped a cookie in his mouth. “Wow. Well, Larry Poppins has always been one of my favorites, and Bar Wars had such a great cast. But there’s also—” Arrestadt looked up and stopped. His eyes got big and his face turned red. “Lady...” he choked out, then began coughing. I followed his gaze up to a wrought-iron walkway above the lobby. There were several ladies there.

  “You okay?” A man next to Arrestadt pounded him on the back.

  Arrestadt coughed a few more times. “Yeah. That...ladyfinger just went down the wrong way.” He regained his composure, but his eyes searched the walkway. “I’m fine. Really. Now what were we talking about? Oh, my movies.” He smiled charmingly at the little group, though his eyes flitted up to the walkway.

  What was that about? A couple of tall men in suits walked by, cutting me off from Arrestadt. Should I keep an eye on him? Nah. He seemed okay, and I really wanted to find Candy. And the food.

  A few minutes later, I was surrounded by munchkins and cheese. It wasn’t a bad thing. The cheese was pretty good for being free, and the munchkins were telling bad jokes, which I was saving up for Uncle Bob. He loved groaners. “What’s a monster’s favorite play?” asked one of the girl munchkins.

  “I don’t know.” I nibbled on a Brie-topped cracker. “What is a monster’s favorite play?”

  “Romeo and Ghouliet.” The munchkins all laughed, as did a few people who overheard the joke. The lobby was at full capacity, filled with older people in suits and pearls, ushers in their black and white outfits, and lots of young women and children. I suspected the last two groups had wrangled invitations in order to get close to Babette, who was holding court near the dessert table. I really wanted her to move so I could grab a petit-four without her seeing me. Yes, okay, I still wanted her to see me, just not getting a dessert. Anyone who did so risked a Babette-style tongue-lashing. She’d already renamed Dorothy “Brownie Butt.” I gave up on the petit-fours for the time being and snagged a glass of champagne from a waiter’s tray instead.