The Phantom of Oz

by Cindy Brown

  Chapter 24

  All the Gossip of the Theaters

  “What’s wrong with your nose?” asked Madison. “It’s all red.”

  Dang. I’d powdered it before coming into the theater, but it must’ve worn off. Or my nose was so red that powder didn’t cover it. “Nothing.” I looked around the green room for a mirror but didn’t see one.

  The actor playing the Scarecrow leaned in to get a closer look. “Aah!” He made the sign of the cross. “You have a cold! Stay away from me.”

  “Who has a cold?” asked the Tin Man. Not a great introduction to my new cast family.

  “Just allergies,” I said. “Aflueyyy!”

  “If you feel like you need to sneeze when you’re onstage, look at a light,” Madison said with authority. “It’s not scientific, but it works.”

  “Really?” I said, then, “Aflechh! Oops, guess I could have tried it right then.”

  “And if it was a cold,” said the Tin Man, “I have a great recipe for a hot toddy that’d fix you right up.” He gave me a charming smile. “A hot toddy from a hot Toddy.”

  “His name is Todd,” said the Cowardly Lion, who had a slight British accent. “And he’s not hitting on you.”

  “I didn’t think—” I began.

  “Because he’s mine, all mine. Rarrrr.” He gave a lion-y purr-growl.

  “Not yet,” said the Tin Man. “I’m playing hard to get. I’m Todd, by the way, and we already know you’re Ivy. Candace used to talk about you. So you’re joining our little family?”

  “Yeah.” Arrestadt and I had decided to tell the cast I was the permanent understudy. “Though I really hope Candy comes back soon. I can’t imagine playing Glinda on Thursday night.”

  “You’ll be fine,” said Eden, who seemed nonplused about her understudy role.

  “Any word about Normina?” I really just wanted to hear what they would say. I’d already done my own research. Normina Portella, a.k.a. the Wicked Witch of the East/Auntie Em, had a pretty standard actor’s resume: lots of theater, a couple of independent films, a few small roles on TV shows. No criminal past or anything that could have made anyone want to kill her.

  “Back to her wicked self, I hear,” said the Cowardly Lion. “Berating the nurses and such.”

  “But her leg’s going to take a while to heal,” Eden said. “She won’t be coming back to the tour.”

  No one looked like they’d miss her.

  “Ten minutes ’til places for the top of the show,” said the stage manager via the speaker mounted in the corner of the green room. I checked out Candy’s “known associates” as they drifted toward the green room’s door. I was the only one not in costume, since I was just walking through the show with script in hand. My earlier suspicion about the reason behind costumes during rehearsals proved true: hula-hoop tummies and tin bodies and straw ruffs around your neck made it hard to move. Or as the Cowardly Lion had put it, “You try to dance with a tail between your legs.”

  The Wizard: A Space OZpera was basically what it sounded like, The Wizard of Oz in space. Oz was a green planet and Dorothy’s house had been pulled into outer space through some tornado time warp. Dorothy was the only character who didn’t look like she was from outer space, since she was supposed to be from Earth. The rest of the cast was costumed with a nod to some famous science-fiction movies: the Cowardly Lion looked like a Wookiee, the Scarecrow had a sort of big-headed ET quality, the Tin Man was based on Marvin the depressed robot from The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy, and the Daryl Hannah replicant character from Blade Runner inspired the look for both of the Wicked Witches. Glinda was costumed like one of the babes Captain Kirk was always kissing on the original Star Trek, and the Wizard wasn’t a cast member at all, just a projection, sort of a nod to the original movie and a way to save on actors’ salaries. The munchkins/flying monkeys looked like space-age Oompa Loompas, and creepy monkeys with jet packs...hey. Speaking of creepy.

  “Who is that kid?” I pointed to the familiar hollow-eyed boy, who was staring at me without blinking. I stared back. Didn’t want to lose sight of him this time.

  “Unfortunately,” said Madison, “that’s Vincent.”

  “I swear I saw him in one of the backstage passages. With bloody scissors.”

  “That’s him,” said the Tin Man. “He’s scary.”

  “And mean,” said Madison.

  “And pervy,” said Eden. “The blood on the scissors is fake, but I bet he managed to brush up against you after he scared you.”

  I thought back. “Yeah, he did.” I glared at the kid. He smiled slowly, still staring. “Do you think he could be responsible for some of the accidents you all had earlier?”

  “Maybe,” said Eden. “But to call costume, lighting, and sound issues ‘accidents’ is a bit of stretch.” She looked at the Tin Man. “Some people like to create drama, you know.”

  “Moi?” said the Tin Man. “C’est ouf.”

  “That means she’s crazy,” said Madison. “He’s teaching me French. Do you know what ‘merde’ means?”

  I nodded and dragged their attention away from French scatological terms and back to the previous accidents. “But what about the old Scarecrow? Didn’t he catch on fire? That couldn’t have been a costume malfunction.”

  “More like a brain malfunction,” said the Tin Man.

  “What do you mean?” And why wouldn’t anyone answer my question?

  “He was just an old gas bag,” said the Tin Man, chortling.

  “Old?” I said.

  “He was tooting his own horn,” Eden said with a snort.

  “He’s a Bumsen burner,” added the Cowardly Lion, and they all burst into hysterical laughter. Ah well. Maybe I’d understand some day.

  “Five minutes ’til places,” said the stage manager’s disembodied voice. People shuffled out of the green room. I followed the adult actors down a hall. Arrestadt wouldn’t be at rehearsal, but that wasn’t unusual—stage managers typically ran rehearsals once a show opened.

  “Did I hear you’re understudying all of the women’s roles?” the Scarecrow asked me.

  “Yep.”

  “Wow,” said Madison, who was hanging out with the adults instead of the munchkins.

  Wow, indeed. Good thing I didn’t really need to learn all those parts. Unless of course, I continued on with the tour. “For now though, I need to concentrate on Glinda’s role.”

  “In case Candace doesn’t come back?” asked Madison.

  I nodded. “But she will. I’m going to find her. Not just because she’s my friend, but because I don’t see how I could manage to play Glinda by Thursday.”

  “Easy peasy lemon squeezy,” said the Lion. “You just climb into your spaceship, say a few lines, sing a song, wave a wand. Bob’s your uncle.”

  “Bob is my uncle,” I said. “How did you know?”

  “It’s a British term,” said the Tin Man. “Means ‘and there you have it.’ His folks are from Cornwall.”

  “They live in Jolly’s Bottom,” said the Lion.

  “You are making that up,” I said.

  “He’s not,” said the Tin Man.

  “It’s near Brown Willy,” said the Lion.

  “He’s making that up,” said the Tin Man. “Brown Willy is miles from Jolly’s Bottom.”

  “Right.” I glanced at Madison. She looked unruffled, like she’d heard it all before. “Back to Candy,” I said. “I’m worried about her. It’s not like her to just disappear like this.”

  Eden made a sound in her throat.

  “What?” I said. “Has she done this before?”

  “She, uh, gets sick a lot.” She didn’t meet my eyes. “She’s never actually missed a show, but we’ve had to send people to her room to get her.”

  “Remember that time we broke down the door?” said the Lion.<
br />
  “We did not,” said the Tin Man. “We just asked the hotel manager to let us in.”

  “Never spoil a good story with the truth,” said the Lion.

  “Anyway,” I said, “what do you think happened to her?”

  “I think she’s out partying somewhere,” said the Scarecrow.

  “I think she checked herself into rehab,” said the Tin Man.

  “Because of bulimia or the—” I was about to say drugs but caught Madison looking at me. Didn’t want her thinking she’d helped out an addict by getting her pills. And I couldn’t check out that idea anyway. It wasn’t like I could call up rehab centers and ask if Candy was there. Privacy was a good thing for patients, but it was a pain in a PI’s butt.

  “I think Babette is hiding her,” said Eden. “She doesn’t seem overly worried that Candace is gone. And why else is she still hanging around?”

  “She’s even tweeting about her,” said Madison. “Saying stuff like, ‘The ghost ate my new star.’”

  “Ate her?” I asked.

  “Well, maybe not that, but stuff like that.”

  “You think Babette’s hiding her for publicity’s sake?” I asked Eden. “Isn’t that going overboard?” I didn’t add that I would have hoped Candy would tell me so I didn’t worry, mostly because I wasn’t sure about that anymore.

  Eden shook her head. “Babette’s desperate.”

  “She is?” I said.

  “I heard her show is this close to being canceled,” said the Scarecrow.

  “Maybe people are tired of watching her be mean to people,” I said.

  “Did you see her Tweet where she called Arrestadt a used snot rag?” said the Tin Man.

  “What?” I said. “What does that even mean? And aren’t they friends or something? Why else would he let her sit in on his auditions?”

  “Probably owes her,” said the Lion. “Everyone who’s made it in Hollywood owes somebody.”

  “She’s close to being canceled because she hasn’t found a star yet,” the Scarecrow said with authority.

  It was true. None of Babette’s It Girls had gone on to do anything of note. “But what about this Itty Bitty Star show?”

  “The network bought her pitch hoping the shows would feed off each other.”

  “How do you know all this?” I asked the Scarecrow.

  “Gossip is my first language,” he replied.

  “I don’t think either show will make it,” Eden said, “because Babette is a vampire.”

  “What?” Madison’s eyes were big.

  “Babette sucks the souls out of all those poor actresses. There has to be some karmic retribution.”

  I hoped so. “Where is Babette staying?”

  “She won’t tell,” said the Scarecrow. “But she only stays in five-star hotels.”

  The Tin Man looked at me with a grin. “There can’t be that many five-star hotels in Phoenix,” he said. “And since you’re a detective, you can find out, right?”

  “Oh yeah,” Madison said. “I forgot. Candace told us you’re like Nancy Drew. Whoever that is.”

  Good thing I hadn’t planned to go undercover.

  “Are you?” Eden cocked her head, regarding me. “Are you our very own Nancy Drew?”

  “I am,” I said. “And I’m going to find Candy before Thursday’s show.”

  Chapter 25

  Oh, Horror, Horror, Horror!

  Rehearsal was brutal. I just watched the first run-through, writing down each female character’s blocking (onstage movements) in my script. It was a ton of work, especially since so many of the characters appeared onstage at the same time, like when Dorothy and Glinda met, or when the Wicked Witch of the West and Dorothy had their showdown. After a fifteen-minute break, we ran the show again. This time I walked through as Glinda, script in hand. It didn’t go particularly well. I didn’t have very many lines, but getting in and out of my bubble spaceship gracefully wasn’t as easy as it looked. And though Glinda’s song, “I Am Spacey (But Pretty and Nice)” had a familiar tune (“I Feel Pretty” from West Side Story), and Candy had mostly sung/talked her way through it, I couldn’t get through it without my voice cracking. My cold was interfering in other ways too, mostly by wearing me out, and making me spacey (but pretty and nice, I hoped).

  So I was especially thankful for our dinner break. Besides, I really needed to do some sleuthing. All I’d been able to think about during rehearsal was lines and blocking and music. So I waved off the invitation to join some of the cast for dinner and trotted down to the dressing rooms. I went into Candy’s dressing room, now ostensibly mine too. I searched it thoroughly, picking up every bit of glitter off the floor, shaking the costumes to see if anything fell out, and pawing through every piece of paper in the trash. Hmm. A half-torn receipt from Ricky’s salon. Must be Candy’s. I dug around—maybe there were other receipts that could tell me where Candy had been. One from Burger King. It could have belonged to Candy, but wow, it was a lot of food. Maybe she was with someone? Or maybe it wasn’t her receipt. Candy shared the room with the Wicked Witch of the East/Auntie Em. Well, not anymore. Since Eden was playing those roles now and still working as costumer, she used the costume shop as her dressing room. Candy was probably pretty happy about having a dressing room to herself. Especially if she was taking blue pills.

  Bits of torn paper covered the bottom of the wastebasket. I shook them out and placed them on the dressing room counter, putting them together like a jigsaw puzzle. The date and time were smudged, but I could tell it was a receipt for drinks at the hotel next door. Who would Candy have been meeting?

  Suddenly the windowless room was plunged into darkness. Absolute darkness. What the hell? A flicker of light appeared in the mirror—a candle? From where? I turned around. No one in the room with me. A soft moan. It grew louder as the candle grew brighter and closer. Wait, was there a face illumined by the candle? Yes, it was...

  “Boo!” said Logan. “Ha. Gotcha.”

  I dropped into one of the dressing-room chairs. My heart was beating so fast all I could say was, “How?”

  “I used another mirror—a hand mirror— to reflect the candlelight in this one.” He pointed at the dressing room mirror. See?” Logan stepped out of the room, and held up a mirror angled to reflect the burning candle he held in his other hand. “Then when I got close enough you could see me in the dressing room mirror, I took away the small mirror and used the candle to light my own face. Pretty cool, huh?”

  “Yeah.” It was cool, even though I nearly peed my pants. “What are you doing here?”

  Logan flipped on the light switch and blew out his candle. “What are you doing here?”

  “I’m the new understudy. This is now my dressing room.”

  “So you’re not looking for Candy?”

  “That too. Do you have any ideas?”

  “I think all the attention and the accidents freaked her out. She probably just left by a back way and wants some time alone. You’ve seen those journalists. Can you imagine being hounded by them?”

  “Wait, a back way? Can you show me?”

  “Sure.” He turned the lights off.

  “Hey.” I trailed Logan down the hallway. “How did you turn off the dressing room lights without me seeing you? Before the candle trick, I mean.”

  “I didn’t do that,” he said.

  “The lights turned off all by themselves?”

  A shiver ran down my back, interrupted by Logan. “Happens all the time here. Old wiring, you know. Okay, so there are several ways to get out of the building. She could have left through the stage door...” Logan started down a narrow staircase.

  “She would’ve had to sign out.”

  “Or through the house and out the lobby doors.” He hit the bottom of the stairs and turned left.

  “No one remembers seeing her
there.”

  “There are also the emergency exits, but those would’ve tripped alarms. And there’s an exit—a tunnel—to the hotel.”

  “Really?” We made another turn into yet another hallway. Sheesh. I’d need a trail of breadcrumbs to find my way out of this place.

  “This theater and the hotel next door were designed and built during Prohibition. There’s a secret space in the basement—”

  “A speakeasy?”

  “Yeah. It’s pretty small, just enough room for a couple of tables for people from the hotel or theater to have a drink after the show.” Logan stopped in front of a door. “You ready to see it?”

  “Of course.”

  He opened a door and pulled the string that hung from a bare bulb in the ceiling. “In here.” He grabbed a silver flashlight from a shelf, pushed aside some brooms and buckets—it was obviously a cleaning supply closet—then leaned on a built-in shelf that ran across the back of the closet. Then he leaned some more. “This door sticks sometimes.” Finally the wall swung open and revealed the dark mouth to the passageway.

  “After you,” said Logan.

  “No, I’ll follow you.” I surreptitiously checked my pocket for my cell phone and pepper spray. Both at the ready. I wasn’t completely sure about following anyone into a secret passageway. I mean, I knew and liked Logan, but you could never be too safe. Besides, if he went first, he’d get any spider webs in the face before I did.

  Logan slipped through the door into the dark. I followed just a few feet behind. The brick passageway felt cool and smelled damp, unusual for Phoenix. A few bulbs were spaced at intervals along the low ceiling, but none of them were lit, so Logan used his flashlight to lead us. He didn’t have to brush aside any cobwebs. Oh, there were plenty of them, but they hung in tatters along the side of the hallway, not in front of us. Huh. Had they recently been disturbed? The passageway began to slope slightly downward, and the dust that coated the concrete floor made my nose tickle. “Aflooey!” Wait, dust...

  “Stop,” I said to Logan. “Shine your light ahead of us. I want to see if there are footprints.”

  He did, and there were. But not Candy’s. Big men’s boots.