by Mary Angela
Still, Zo found no playbills. She shuffled through some boxes on the floor. A few were marked; others were not. She passed over the ones that didn’t relate to old productions, turning to the unmarked boxes in the corner. One held newspaper clippings. The clippings must have been displayed once because they had little holes in the corners. Zo spent some time poring over them, unable to resist the news from ages past.
Twenty minutes later, she realized the evening was slipping away from her. She dusted off the top of another box, looking for a label or marking. It was haphazardly closed, the corners folded into a cross.
Her heart flip-flopped when she saw a program on top. This could be the box Nikki was talking about. Digging deeper, she realized it was. She removed a slippery stack of playbills and placed it on the floor. Then she grabbed the printout Hattie gave her from her backpack. There were twelve productions listed, six from thirty-four years ago and six from thirty-three. Zo started with the list from thirty-three years ago, knowing that her mom had to have been wearing the necklace after she was born. Cats, A Streetcar Named Desire, Into the Woods, A Raisin in the Sun, Oklahoma!, West Side Story—those were the six playbills she needed to find.
Sifting through the stack, she found all but A Streetcar Named Desire. She started with Cats. Turning to the cast bios, she wasn’t sure what she would find. Ideally a woman wearing a moon necklace. But she knew that would never happen. The headshots were taken well before the productions. They were also black and white. It was hard to tell hair color or eye color. Zo was relying on sheer intuition—and the short bios. Maybe the name would be a clue. Something that started with a Z.
Nothing jumped out at her, and she turned to the next program and the next until she came upon the bios from the cast members of Into the Woods, a production put on by a touring theater company. The young actress playing the witch caught her eye, and Zo snapped a quick picture with her phone. Light hair, feathery brows, a straight nose. Her similar appearance had to mean a connection. Zo scanned for her name: Elle Hart. She leaned back on her heels. It made perfect sense. The necklace had her own name on it! How could Zo have been so blind? Zoelle: the name was a combination of hers and her mom’s.
Zo studied the picture. Elle lived in New York, where she’d recently graduated from the American Academy of Dramatic Arts. Though new to the theater, she’d received an award for her role as Emma in Song & Dance. It seemed to Zo that Elle was well on her way to stardom. She was educated, talented, and toured with a popular theater group. A baby was not in her plans, and Zo understood why.
Earlier, Zo spotted contracts in the file cabinet, and she rose to recheck them now. Maybe something existed from the troupe’s time in Spirit Canyon? Zo wasn’t sure how theater contracts worked, but maybe they listed troupe members’ phone numbers or addresses. She thumbed through the paperwork, finding nothing on the touring group with Into the Woods.
She moved to the bottom drawer, and as she searched through old donations, hoping to find a paystub or ticket, she stopped on a large donation. It wasn’t just the amount that had her startled; it was the contradiction. The construction crew was volunteering their time, yet many donations had been made to a renovation fund, including Marianne’s. Where was the money going?
Zo shut the drawer. It was time to ask Nikki, who might also be able to help her with Elle Hart. If anyone knew how to track down an actor or actress, it would be the managing director.
She walked out of the room and down the narrow hallway, keenly aware of her solitude in the dark, damp basement. The dankness made her skin feel cool, and her arms prickled with gooseflesh. She took out her phone and turned on the flashlight. If nothing else, the modern illumination made her feel less alone.
The hallway grew brighter, propelling her forward. Zo squinted at her phone. Had the latest software update improved the flashlight? It seemed impossible, and yet the entire area was bathed in a glow that was hard to explain.
Forging on, Zo noticed the antique props from productions past in the side rooms. Coats, wigs, statues, purses. Zo stopped. She recognized one of those purses, didn’t she?
She made an automatic detour. Her hand was shaking as she set down her phone on the prop table. Unlike the other items, the purse looked newer and, much to her surprise, was heavy. Inside she found a brush, a mirror, a wallet. Zo took out the leather billfold, undoing the buckle with twitching fingers. It was just as she thought. Marianne’s checkbook. This was her purse, and the good news was she used duplicate checks.
Zo fumbled through the duplicates: 3542, 3543…3544. She found the copy of the ripped check, and it was written to Nikki Ainsworth. Theater Donation was scribbled in the memo line. Quickly, Zo took a picture of it and sent it to Max. Because of the lack of a signal in the basement, the message hung. She stared at the blue bar, wondering what to do. Should she take the checkbook, the wallet, or the entire purse? She decided on none of them. More evidence in her possession wasn’t what she needed. Right now she needed to get the police to the theater, before Nikki returned. She checked her cell phone. Still no signal.
She crept out of the room, up the stairs, and found herself on the backstage of the theater. She must have taken a wrong turn. Twisting in the dark, she didn’t recognize her surroundings. Curtains, ropes, and the Phantom of the Opera scenery added to the eerie feeling. Zo tamped down her desire to flee. Running headlong out of the auditorium wouldn’t do anybody any good, least of all Marianne. If Zo was to get her justice, she needed to use her head, not her legs.
Taking a deep breath, she inched across the stage, holding out her hand for guidance. Running into something was a possibility, but she didn’t want to use her phone flashlight, just in case Nikki returned. There was no way she was confronting her on her own.
Her hand brushed some kind of fabric, lace. Then satin. Zo was near a clothing rack. Something felt squishy, and she pinched the material. It felt like foam, a padded outfit. Squinting, she realized it was a suit used to make actors appear larger. She stood blinking into the darkness. Why wasn’t she moving? The costume interested her for some reason. What that reason was, she couldn’t say.
Then it came to her. It was a disguise, just like the one used to conceal Marianne the night of her murder. Zo had mistaken Marianne for a real witch, a trick of the trade done by a theater professional like Nikki Ainsworth. Nikki had used a disguise again, when she wore the padded suit to Happy Camper to plant the murder weapon. That’s why Zo didn’t recognize her—and that’s why Nikki moved so slowly. Nikki wasn’t used to the extra weight of the suit. Combined with the hat, the disguise made Zo believe she was a man. Boy was she wrong.
Zo heard footsteps, and they weren’t hers. They were tiny clicks—high heels. She clasped her hand over her mouth to keep from sucking in a breath. How would she get out of here now? Stay calm, she told herself. As a child, she’d been a master of slipping in and out of houses. If she could channel her inner-foster kid, she knew she’d get out just fine.
That was, until her phone started ringing. Katrina and the Waves’ “Walking on Sunshine” reverberated through the auditorium, and the lights turned on seconds later. Zo pulled her phone out of her back pocket and silenced Max’s call. But it was too late. Her location had been revealed.
Chapter Thirty-One
“Zo?” called Nikki. “Is that you?”
Zo had no choice. She stepped out from behind the curtain.
Nikki was approaching the stage with a confused look on her face. “What are you doing back there? Chaska said you were in the archives.”
“I was,” Zo said. “I must have taken a wrong turn.”
Nikki considered her explanation. Maybe it was the knowledge that she’d killed another person that made her look so sinister. Zo hadn’t seen it before, but Nikki’s blue eyes weren’t clear—they were cold-blooded. Zo wondered if they saw through her poor performance.
“Did you find w
hat you were looking for?” asked Nikki.
“I did,” said Zo. “I found a program with what I believe is a picture of my mother. Into the Woods. Believe it or not, she was the witch. Thanks again for letting me take a peek.”
“Wonderful,” Nikki gushed. “Let me see. I want to know if there’s a resemblance.” A reassuring smile was plastered to her lips, but Zo decided everything about her was fake. She was just too good of an actress for Zo to realize it before.
“Oh I didn’t take the program,” explained Zo. “I thought you might want to display it somewhere.”
“Absolutely not,” said Nikki. “You should have it. Let’s go down and get it.”
The idea of going anywhere with Nikki was terrifying, especially the dank theater cellar. “That’s okay. I took a picture. I don’t need it.”
“Wonderful. May I?” She nodded toward the phone, still in Zo’s hand.
Zo didn’t have a choice but to show her. “Of course.” She pulled up the photo of the program and flashed it at Nikki.
“I believe I know her.” Nikki squinted at the picture.
Zo took a step forward, forgetting the danger. Nikki had been in theater for over a decade. If anyone knew something about her birth mother, it might be Nikki. “Really?”
Nikki reached for the phone. “She might have played Lady Macbeth a couple of years ago.”
Zo watched her study the picture for several moments. Then she swiped to the next picture, which to Zo’s horror, was Marianne’s duplicate check.
“It looks as if you found something else in the basement,” accused Nikki.
Zo shook her head no. Nikki’s assertion was a ploy to get her phone. How could Zo have been so blind?
“Yes, but you did.” Nikki pressed the trash can icon next to the picture, and the picture of the check was gone.
“Hey!” Zo exclaimed. “Give me my phone back.”
“I don’t think so,” said Nikki. “I’m going to hold onto it for a while.”
“Whatever. I’m leaving.” She went to step past Nikki, but Nikki blocked her way.
“I know you used to be a journalist,” said Nikki. “Don’t you want to know why I have Marianne’s purse in the basement?”
Zo wanted the truth, desperately, but it wasn’t worth her life. If Nikki told her, she’d have to kill her to keep the information from getting to the police. “I think I have an idea.”
“I’m not a bad person,” insisted Nikki. “In fact, I’m a really good person. Do you know how many hours I’ve spent in this theater?” She motioned to the auditorium with her hand. “Painting scenes, coddling actors, organizing workshops, begging for money while not receiving a decent paycheck myself?” She didn’t wait for Zo to answer. “Thirteen years. I revive the opera house single handedly, and what thanks do I get? Marianne calling me out. You snooping around the basement, after all I’ve done for you. I’m done with being used.”
“Think of all the enjoyment you’ve brought to audiences who’ve seen the productions,” tried Zo. “Not to mention the joy to the town itself. That’s worth more than money.”
“Ha!” said Nikki. “You’re either too young or too naïve. People have to get paid—in dollar amounts.”
“Which is why you deposited the donations into your own account, to make up for your poor salary.”
“I didn’t take anything I didn’t earn.” Nikki picked up a bronze candlestick from a table near the wings. “I deserved it.”
“But Marianne didn’t deserve to die.” Zo watched Nikki carefully. “She was your friend.”
“Was,” repeated Nikki. “Until she ‘reclaimed her power from me.’ That night, I returned her latest donation—her largest donation, too. I told her I’d stop all future deductions, but it wasn’t enough. She said she was turning me in to the theater board.”
“That’s when you killed her,” said Zo.
Nikki didn’t blink. “I couldn’t see the theater destroyed. It’s my life. I did what I had to do, and I’d do it again. I took the check. I took the purse. I thought I had all the evidence. How did you know?”
“Marianne told me.”
Nikki smiled, a slow bone-chilling grin. Her eyes narrowed to slits. “I don’t believe in ghosts.”
A moment passed, an excruciating second of silence. Zo didn’t know what to do or how to get out of there. One thing was certain: if she stood still, she would get nowhere but killed. Nikki had said as much.
Quickly, Zo turned to run in the opposite direction, and something heavy hit her between the shoulder blades. It was the candlestick. She fell to the stage floor. She yelped in pain as she tried to turn to a standing position. Her ankle was sprained from the fall.
Over her shoulder she could see Nikki coming toward her, her face twisted into a grimace. She wasn’t afraid to kill for what she wanted. There was nothing Zo could do but defend herself. She wasn’t running anywhere soon. She sat up, ready to do battle. That’s when she heard a noise on the catwalk. A rush of wind, air flitting by. The ropes swayed, but no one appeared.
Without warning, the iconic gold and white chandelier from Phantom of the Opera fell from the ceiling. In a dramatic swoop, it hit Nikki, and she was on the floor, her legs pinned into place by the heavy fixture. She let out a yelp.
“Zo!” yelled Max, running up the aisle. The large German shepherd was at his side, moving fast despite a bandaged leg. “Are you okay?”
Zo scrambled to her feet, falling in the process. Her ankle was worse than her back. “I’m okay,” she hollered. The dog came to her aid, standing like a guard over her. “It’s Nikki. She killed Marianne and tried to kill me.”
Max went to Nikki, placing her in handcuffs before she could flee, though with the chandelier restraining her, escape was improbable. Police officers surrounded them seconds later, and the next few minutes were a blur of uniforms, including firefighters and paramedics.
Zo assured a medic she was fine, but he wrapped the ankle anyway, telling her to make certain she got it checked out by a doctor tomorrow at the latest. But she had more important things on her mind than a sore ankle. Clearing Happy Camper of wrongdoing, for starters.
When the medic finished, Max approached her. He patted the German shepherd’s large head. “Good girl.” He checked Zo’s bandage. “How’s the ankle?”
“I’m fine,” she said. “Really. It’s just a sprain.” She nodded toward the pooch. “I see you got a partner now.”
“No one claimed her, so I did. I named her Scout.”
Zo scratched the dog’s perky ear. The name reminded her of Scout in To Kill a Mockingbird. “I like it.”
“I saw your text,” he explained. “A little too late, it would seem.”
They watched the medics haul Nikki out of the theater. She was handcuffed to the stretcher, with Brady Merrigan following closely behind. “She was the false friend Marianne warned us about. I just wish I would have realized it sooner.”
“How could you?” asked Max. “Nikki wasn’t even on our radar.”
“First the book passage, then the séance?” Zo let out a breath. “I should have put the clues together sooner.”
Max helped her to a standing position. His warm hands felt good on her cool skin. “What about the séance?”
“A Halloween decoration fell off a clearance table,” said Zo. “At the time, I didn’t think anything of it. Now I realize Marianne was trying to give me a sign.”
“What was the decoration?”
She rolled her eyes. “A mask.”
“I wish I would have received your text sooner.” He helped her down the steps. Scout trailed behind them. “You might have been hurt even worse than you are.”
“I’m just glad you arrived when you did,” said Zo. “Though I have to admit, I never imagined you’d drop a chandelier on her. That was a surprise.”
> “What are you talking about?” Max questioned. “I came from the lobby, remember? I didn’t drop the chandelier.”
That’s right. Max ran up the aisle. He wasn’t backstage. “If you didn’t, who did?” asked Zo.
Their eyes left each other’s, looking into the sea of empty red chairs surrounding them. The lights flickered, the same cue that directed patrons to return to their seats.
Max clasped her hand, and they continued down the aisle. “I think we have our answer.”
Epilogue
Friday night, Zo and her friends situated themselves around the television set in her living room. Jules had brought wine, Max had brought pizza, and Duncan had brought his charming personality. It was almost seven o’clock, which meant Justin Castle’s special report would be airing any second. Zo was on pins and needles, wondering what he would say now that the police had charged Nikki with Marianne’s murder.
As she waited, she was glad to be surrounded by good company. She absorbed the cozy feeling, finishing the last bite of her cheesy pizza. She and Max were sitting on the floor, leaning against the couch, with a warm Sherpa blanket covering their toes. Jules and Duncan were discussing the Sips and Swings event, and George was front and center, on top of the TV, annoying but safe. His orange tail twitched back and forth, counting down the seconds to the program.
The commercial ended, and music announced the special report. Jules leaped up, wine glass in hand. “This is it! This is it!”
“Down, George,” yelled Zo. When he didn’t budge, she stood and picked him off the TV and placed him gently on the blanket. But she was too anxious to join him. What would Justin say? What could he say? The murderer had been caught. The store was cleared from wrongdoing. Still, this was Justin Castle. If a way existed to get attention, he would find it.