by Unknown
He turned to me, his eyes laser focused. “Why? Did you see something?”
“I think Pammy Caldwell hangs out up there. Maybe she’s got info about Samuel.”
“If we can get her to talk.”
I nodded. “That is always the first hurdle, isn’t it?” Finding spirits never seemed to be a problem. “She’s young and was an actress. I doubt we’ll have trouble getting her to talk once she trusts us.”
“Well, it’s a place to start.”
I pulled my scythe cylinder out of my bag and hooked it to the belt loop on my jeans. More than likely I wouldn’t need the extra reaping power, but I didn’t want to take any chances. Nate led the way out of the break room and through the theater. It still appeared empty, but the sensation of being watched followed me. I scanned the balcony, but there wasn’t enough light to make anything or anyone out.
Thick rose-colored carpet covered the wide spiraling staircase and cushioned our footsteps. We climbed to the second level where I’d seen Pammy, and entered the theater through the first door labeled Section A-B.
The level curved in a semi-circle around the back and sides of the theater, with doors position at every fifth row. Below, the stage spread across the front of the house floor, and anybody sitting in these prime seats would have gotten the whole view of the performance. We walked along the upper aisle, both of us searching the balcony for any hint of spirit activity.
Near the center the feeling of being watched hit me again. This time stronger and closer. I pivoted, my breath catching in my throat. Pammy Caldwell floated several yards away, staring at me with fearful curiosity, and looking as if she’d just stepped off a 1950’s movie set. The white blouse she wore sported a Peter Pan collar, and her pink cardigan matched the band firmly lodged in her teased up, flipped out blond hair.
“Pammy?” I pitched my voice higher than normal and smiled. It was the same voice I’d used on my mom’s dog when she escaped the house. Slowly, I edged toward her. “My name is Lisa.”
She drifted backward a couple of feet. Not wanting to freak her out, I stopped. A quiet brush of carpet sounded behind me and then Nate’s breath tickled my neck. “Easy,” he whispered.
Never taking my eyes from Pammy, I nodded once. “Would you mind talking to us?”
Her eyes narrowed. “About what?”
Discussing her death probably wasn’t the best way to start a conversation. Some ghosts don’t even realize they’re dead. It’s one of those subjects I try to ease into. “The theater and acting.”
“I’m an actress.” She pressed her hands to her chest, her face lighting up. Her translucent body levitated a couple of inches higher, solidifying slightly. “I was the lead in all my high school plays.”
“I bet you were wonderful,” I said.
“The paper did an article, saying I had a bright future in acting. That’s how Mr. Parker found out about me.”
Bingo, nice segue. “So, you auditioned for him?”
“Yes, ma’am. I was Miss Turner’s understudy.” Her smile faded. “Well…until I died.”
“Pammy.” I took a couple of slow steps toward her. “Do you know how that happened?”
“I don’t want to talk about it.” Her expression darkened, her brows pinching together and her mouth drawing into a straight line.
I knew I was pushing, but I tried my best mom psychobabble. “It might help you feel better.”
Her hands cupped her neck and she shook her head. “No. I don’t like to think about that.”
“Wait.” Short of grabbing her, which was one of my reaper skills, I couldn’t stop her from leaving. Her image grew nearly transparent. “I want to help you, Pammy.” She continued to shake her head and then completely disappeared. I stomped my foot and propped my fists on my hips. “Well, crap.”
“Maybe she’ll come back.” Nate’s hand settled on my shoulder, sending a wave of warmth through me. “She seemed eager to talk about herself.”
“She did, didn’t she?” I sighed and turned to face him. Though his hand fell away, we still stood about a foot apart—twelve tiny inches. If his respect for me as a partner didn’t matter so much, I might have planted one on him. Damn my work ethics. “Now what?”
“Keep searching.” He stared down at me but didn’t make a move to keep searching. For a second, I thought we were going to have a moment. Then he cleared his throat and took a step back. “For other spirits.”
“Yeah, we should totally do that.” I waited, trying to use the power of my mind to compel him to make a move, but he didn’t. One day I’d master that skill.
“Right.” He pivoted and strode away, leaving me staring at his back.
A sigh of longing slipped from me. Was I attracted to Nate? Definitely. Was he attracted to me? I had no idea, but even if there was a spark between us, he’d mentally set me off limits because of my dead husband—his partner.
Giving myself a mental shake, I forced myself to refocus on our mission. We had a serial killer to catch, and as much as I didn’t want to admit it, that was more important than my love life.
4
W e wandered in and out of rooms, down halls, and into the darkest depths of the theater with no luck. Not a single ghost showed. Back in the break room, I dropped onto the couch, forgetting about the decades of dust, and got blasted again. Waving away the cloud, I said, “At this rate it’s going to be a boring night.”
“Yeah, Pammy is the only spirit we know for sure that is here.” Perching on the edge of the table, he crossed his arms over his chest, and his feet at the ankles. “We need to draw her out.”
“How?”
“I don’t know.” He hesitated. “What do twentyish women like?”
“Clothes, makeup, selfies, boys, talking about themselves.” An idea popped into my head. “What if we go snoop around the wardrobe room.”
“What’s that going to do?”
“Maybe nothing, but it’s someplace to start.” What girl didn’t love to play dress-up? That might just draw Pammy out.
We exited and continued down the hall to where the costumes for the plays were kept. Like the break room, the wardrobe room looked as if it had been frozen in time. Boas, capes, and every piece of clothing known to mankind hung on racks, or were draped over sewing mannequins.
A tiny squeak eeped from me when I entered the room. Normally, I’m not one for shopping, and I’m certainly not girlie, but the array of fabrics and colors would have tried any woman’s resolve.
“Man, look at all this stuff.” Nate yanked a hanger off the rack and held up a foot-long swath of fur. “Loincloth?”
“Hmmm.” I scratched my chin. “I can’t be sure. Try it on.”
He snorted. “You wish.”
“You have no idea,” I mumbled, turning away from him.
“So, what now?”
“How about a fashion show?”
He shook his head. “I already told you I’m not putting on that fur flap.”
“Such a shame.” A rack of gowns hung against the far wall. I ran my hand along the collection of chiffon and taffeta, finally deciding on a royal blue creation that would have quickened the heartbeat of any young actress. “Perfect.”
“Are you planning on putting that on?” Nate started toward me, but I held up my hand.
“Stay.” I hitched my thumb toward the changing screen. “I’ll be right back.”
“And you’re doing this why?”
“Call it a hunch.” I ducked behind the screen and stripped. The thing I loved about vintage clothes were their real woman curves. I’d toned up and lost some weight after joining GRS, but I would always be curvy. The dress slipped over my head and down my hips, instantly transforming me into a starlet. I stepped from behind the screen and twirled. “What do you think?”
“Wow.” A couple of sounds that weren’t quite words sputtered from him. “You look fantastic. Right off the stage.”
“Thank you.” His compliment warmed me inside. Centering myse
lf in front of a three-way mirror, I turned right and left. “I wonder what play this was for.”
“Kiss me Kate,” said a gravelly voice from behind me. I jumped and pivoted toward the door. At first I didn’t see anybody, but slowly the image of a woman materialized. Short and round, she appeared to be pushing sixty. Crystal-tipped cat-eyed glasses balanced on the end of her nose, and she peered at us over the top, drawing on a long pink cigarette holder. “I made it for Miss Turner.” Still pinching the cigarette, she flicked her hand dismissively in the air. “Never wore it though. She said the cut was wrong. Like she knew anything about fashion.” She took a long draw on her cigarette again and blew out the spectral smoke. “If it wasn’t showing off her assets—” The ghost gestured toward her chest. “—Then she didn’t want anything to do with it.”
“Well, I think it’s beautiful,” I said, as if talking to a ghost happened every day, which it usually did. “My name is Lisa and this is Nate.” Though she didn’t seem skittish like Pammy’s ghost had, playing it cool might keep her talking. “You are?”
“Arlene Daily, head costumer and master seamstress.” She blew out more smoke, which was weird because she hadn’t taken another drag, and then floated toward us. “At least I used to be.”
So far, each spirit seemed aware of their situation, which made our job a lot easier. No big “ta da, you’re dead” reveal. “It must have been quite an experience to work here in its heyday.”
“At first, sure.” She stopped next to a dress mannequin and adjusted a white feather boa around the neck. “Everybody got along. The actors acted because they loved their craft.”
“It sounds like that didn’t last.” Nate settled against the table again, but his eyes never left Arlene. From the set of his shoulders and straightness of his spine, I knew he was in hyper-vigilant mode. Ever since his demon possession, he never let his guard down in the presence of a spirit. Personally, the only thing threatening about Arlene seemed to be her sharp tongue. “What happened?”
“Not what, who.” Tipping her head down, she peered at him over her glasses. “Carolyn Turner. Talk about a drama queen.” She sashayed toward us, flipping her hands against imaginary long hair. Her voice rose several octaves. “Arlene, darling, I can’t possibly wear this shade of blue. I can’t possibly be seen in this monstrosity. I can’t possibly meet my fans wearing this.” Lowering her hands, her face melted to a deadpan stare. “You know what else she couldn’t possibly do? Act, that’s what.”
“She sounds horrible,” I said.
“She was the worst,” Arlene agreed. “Just because she was from California, she thought she was all that. Poor Mr. Parker.” Her lips pursed as if she’d sucked on a lemon. “The way she wrapped him around her diamond encrusted finger made me want to beat him about the head and pound some sense into the man.”
Poor Mr. Parker? Okay, not quite the way I would have described him, but at least Arlene had brought up the very subject I’d been hedging toward. “Speaking of dying, Arlene. You weren’t murdered by chance…” I gave her a tight smile. “Were you?”
“Heart attack.” Pointing to a spot on the floor, she sighed. “One minute I was munching on my apple pastry, the next, boom, flat out on the floor.”
“I’m so sorry,” I said, meaning it.
Her shoulders lifted and then dropped. “Meh, there are worse ways to die. Besides the sharp pain in my chest, I didn’t feel a thing.”
“Can I ask why you’ve hung around?” Nate said, resuming his crossed ankle pose, probably realizing Arlene wasn’t dangerous. “Why not move on?”
“At first I hung around to make sure somebody found me. Then I stayed to make sure everything went smoothly for the play.” She took a long draw on her cigarette. Though the tip glowed red, the ash didn’t seem to get longer. Maybe it was an afterlife perk. Blowing out, the white cloud circled her head. “Before I knew it a decade had passed,” she continued, “There are so many spirits in this place, nobody had noticed the theater had actually closed down.”
“What about Samuel Parker.” I inched toward Arlene. Maybe she could give us a solid lead on how to find him. “Is he around here?
“Only on Halloween.” Her mouth turned down in a frown, and she shook her head. “But, he’s usually busy.”
“Busy with what?” Nate moved to stand next to me.
“Unpleasant things happen on Halloween.” A visible shudder rippled through the ghost, and she rubbed her arms as if cold. “Some of us who worked here make ourselves scarce.”
“What about tonight?” Secretly, I prayed she hadn’t seen him. If he knew we were here, then he’d probably been watching us—watching me. “Have you seen him?”
“You’re the only ones I’ve seen so far tonight.” Shoving her free hand into the pocket of her blue smock, she retreated a couple of feet. “I wanted to warn you before things got weird. You should probably leave.”
“We’re hoping things get weird,” Nate said. “That’s why we’re here.”
“I can see you’re nervous about tonight, Arlene.” I held out a hand, keeping my palm turned upward. In one of GRS’s reaper trainings we’d been coached on how to deal with spirits. Open hands were supposed to instill trust. “My partner and I can help you pass to the other side, if you’d like.”
“What are you?” Her gaze narrowed. “Angels or something?”
“Actually.” I kept my hand extended and widened my smile. “We’re grim reapers.”
Her eyes cut from me to Nate, and back again. “I expected Death to be more…horrifying.”
“Yeah, well,” Nate said, “think of us as kinder, gentler grim reapers.”
“We’re not going to have a group hug, are we?”
“Not if I can help it,” Nate said.
“Don’t go,” came a familiar voice behind me. We all turned to see Pammy floating near the far corner. She looked like a scared anime character, her blue eyes rounded to twice their normal size. “Don’t leave me here by myself, Arlene.”
I faced her. “We can help you cross too, Pammy.”
“No.” Wringing her hands together, she shook her head. “I can’t go. Not yet.”
“Pammy, sweetie.” Arlene’s tone took on motherly concern. “You don’t have to stay here.”
“Yes, I do.” She sniffed and lifted her chin. “I need to know.”
“What is it you need to know?” My throat tightened against the wave of sympathy that washed through me. Pammy’s eyes glistened with unshed tears, and she blinked a couple of times in an effort to stop them from falling. I knew this because I did it all the time. Christmas commercials, articles in women’s magazines, videos of soldiers coming home to their dogs—yeah, those really got me. “Maybe we can help you.”
“I need to know how I died.” She sniffed and wiped her nose with the back of her hand, which, in my opinion was gross whether a person was living or dead. “I want to know who killed me.”
Now we were getting somewhere. If she could tell us something about her death, we might know where Parker would appear tonight.
“What do you remember?” Nate asked.
“Not much, really.” She sniffed again, but floated toward us. “Everybody had left for the night, and I was on stage practicing my lines.” A smile split her face. “Earlier that day Mr. Parker had told me I’d be going on for Miss Turner.” Clasping her hands under her chin, she pressed her arms tightly to her body and swayed from side to side. “Me, the star of the show, I could barely believe it.”
“That’s wonderful, Pammy.” I matched her excitement, but that suspicion I got when something was off nagged at me. “Did he say why Miss Turner wouldn’t be acting that night?”
“No.” As if that question had never crossed her mind, Pammy’s expression softened to confusion. “All he said was that Miss Turner was indisposed for the evening.”
“Indisposed how?” I asked.
Her lip curled into a pout. “I don’t know. He just said indisposed, and I didn’
t ask. I was too excited about being bumped up to the starring role.”
Samuel Parker had a real Ted Bundy vibe going on. From the way the two women spoke about him, he’d charmed his way into everybody’s good graces, and nobody suspected he was a psycho killer. Pammy’s story sounded more like a setup to me. Tell her she’d be the leading lady, lure her to the theater that night, and then murder her. My gaze flashed a silent question to Nate. He nodded in agreement.
“Can you tell us anything else about the night you died?” Nate’s tone, though friendly and calm, had shifted into hunter mode. Where I kind of floundered my way through reaps, going on gut instinct and emotion, he collected information and categorized it. Watching him now, I was fairly certain he had two or three possible scenarios running through his head. “A sound or smell. The smallest detail might help us solve your murder.”
“She’d come in earlier for a fitting,” Arlene chimed in. “We had to alter all the outfits because Pammy was a size smaller than Miss Turner.” A wicked smirk turned up her lip, and she gave a bark of laughter. “Boy, was she ever hot when I had to let the dresses back out.”
“Carolyn was angry?” I asked. No woman liked to be reminded of her weight, especially an actress whose understudy was younger and thinner.
“Oh, yeah.” Another raspy laugh woofed from Arlene. “Made quite a scene the next day, throwing clothes around the room, knocking over mannequins, screaming about being betrayed. She even got angry over the police shutting down the theater to investigate Pammy’s murder. She scared the younger seamstresses half to death, but she only made me angry.” The ghost shook her head. “The woman was horrible. Never knew what Parker saw in her anyway.”
“She was so beautiful and glamorous,” Pammy said, the dreamy gleam back in her eyes. “And talented.”
“Talented?” Another sniff erupted from Arlene. “The woman couldn’t act her way out of a paper bag.” She jabbed her cigarette in Pammy’s direction. “I bet that’s why Mr. Parker moved you up to lead actress. He’d finally realized what a hack Carolyn Turner was.”