Sinister Stage: A Ghost Story Romance and Mystery (Wicks Hollow Book 5)

by Colleen Gleason

  Before she answered, he started looking up and around, and she realized he was searching for cameras. A cold shiver trickled down her spine as she was once again reminded that someone must be watching her somehow…

  And was it possible that the loud, crashing, shaking, light-flashing thing that had just happened could have been caused by someone—not something—that wished her ill?

  Vivien wasn’t certain which would be worse—a human or metaphysical entity.

  She just wanted it to stop.

  They showed Helga and Joe Cap—who was back from college tours and had brought his officer to pick up her police cruiser—the trip mat and its transmitter device, as well as the GO OR DIE backdrop and the red silk swath hanging up there next to it. There were the two small nanny-cams Jake had found—one was trained onto the stage, and one aimed the center aisle—that they disconnected and turned over to the authorities.

  By tacit agreement, neither Vivien nor Jake mentioned the frigidly cold air or the violent shaking of the scaffolding and stage.

  Captain Joe Longbow was an easygoing, rugged man in his fifties with ink-black hair in a crew cut. His uniform shirt was a little tight around the middle, but he had solid shoulders and arms, and his eyes were sharp.

  When Vivien was finished explaining everything, he scratched his chin and looked up at the scrim that still hung over the center of the house. “Death, huh?” he said in his easy drawl. “Sounds like someone’s got a bee in their bonnet over you, Ms. Savage. Heard your car got bashed in, too.”

  “I have no idea who it might be,” Vivien replied. “I’ve been here less than a week—”

  “But you did live here before,” Jake reminded her.

  She shrugged. “More than a decade ago. Who’s going to carry a grudge that…long.” She felt her face heat up as Jake lifted a brow.

  Fine. He had a point. But she hadn’t known the whole story about what happened back at NYU anyway. (And whose fault was that? asked her conscience—or maybe it was Liv. Her twin had gotten pretty snarky over the years.)

  “Besides, I didn’t make any enemies back in high school,” Vivien went on. “I just did my thing—I’d had enough of being in the spotlight, trust me.”

  Helga shifted on her feet. Her butter-gold hair was pulled back into a professional-looking twist, and her uniform was, as always, spotless. However, there were pale shadows under her eyes, suggesting she hadn’t gotten much sleep last night. “Well, that might be your perspective, VL, but I hate to say it…there were people who didn’t like you. And some who actively disliked you.”

  Even so many years later, that announcement was enough to make Vivien’s stomach drop. “Like who? Why? And even if they did, like I said, it was so long ago—who would hold a grudge that long over nothing? It had to be nothing, because I never had any conflict with anyone. I just kept my head down and tried to be unnoticed. I didn’t want people asking about Liv, or bugging me about being a star, and I definitely didn’t want friends just because they thought I was something—I don’t know—special?”

  “I get it,” said Helga. “But unfortunately, that keep-to-yourself bit put some people off because they thought you thought you were too good for them.” She shrugged and held up her hands when Vivien started to reply. “I don’t agree, never did. I’m just the messenger.”

  “Well, like who?” Now Vivien had to know, and her stomach felt all tight and icky again. Could that be why someone was messing with her? Because of some imagined high school slight?

  “Well, there was Melody Carlson, of course,” Helga said, causing Vivien to roll her eyes, because that one she knew about. “She was always a little difficult anyway—but her mother left them when she was in kindergarten, I think, so…” she added without looking at Vivien. “And Susie Parminster—now Susie Wallaby—who was friends with Melody, and so she obviously thought you were a bitch, just by osmosis. I think Bella Mihalek—now Pohlson—was also one of the, uh, Mean Girls, so to speak—”

  “Bella? That’s my realtor—the one who sold me the theater!” Vivien exclaimed. “So she thought I was a bitch back then, did she? Well, she sure was happy enough to have my business when I took this freaking albatross off her hands.” She looked around at the theater, suddenly annoyed. Hadn’t Bella, Susie, and Melody just shown up yesterday and acted like they were old friends?

  What had she ever done to cause those girls to dislike her? It wasn’t her fault she’d been sort of famous—for about a minute.

  Helga looked uncomfortable, and Vivien spared a moment of sympathy for her. It might be a little awkward for her friend to share this—after all, it sounded like Helga was at least sort of friends with the “Mean Girls,” as she’d called them. At the very least, Helga was a cop in town and had to treat everyone equally and with respect.

  “If she was your realtor, Bella would have known when you got the keys to the place,” Jake said. “Could be relevant to the timing of some of these incidents. And, I hate to mention it, but she also would have access to the place.”

  “She seemed just fine—completely professional and really sweet and friendly during all of our interactions. She even mentioned looking up the Savage Sisters Tonys performance on YouTube so she could show her daughters,” Vivien said, wondering if everyone else in town was pretending to be nice to her—all the contractors she was hiring, the volunteers, and so on—but really had it out for her instead.

  She felt her shoulders hunch, and her lungs began to feel as if they weren’t working right, like they did when an anxiety attack was coming on.

  “Vivien,” Helga said in a sharpish voice probably meant to snap her out of the spiral into anxiety. “Don’t let it get to you. It was fifteen years ago, and as you said—there was nothing to any of it. I’m sure everyone has moved on. But,” she added with a meaningful look at Joe Cap, “it’s worth maybe taking a look at the vehicles belonging to certain people. Just so they can be eliminated.”

  Vivien sighed. “You’re probably right.” She silently did her special breathing (in-two-three-four…) and said, “Well, were there any others? Did Baxter James hate me back then too?”

  “No, he didn’t,” Vivien said immediately. “You know how shy he was back then, but he never said one bad thing about you, ever. Now, Drew Jeffreys had his nuts in a wad because you wouldn’t go to the Homecoming Dance with him, but I’m pretty sure he got over that pretty quick, because he and Bella got all hot and heavy about a week later. And then Lucas Hebden said you were a frigid bitch—”

  “That’s because I wouldn’t let him put his hand up my shirt after we went to the movies,” Vivien replied tartly. “Jerk. Oh, but I did let Jesse Prime get to third base.” She couldn’t hold back a smile at the memory of steaming up his old red Fiero. That had been one hell of a tight squeeze, but worth every cramp and bruise. “He was really prime.”

  “That was after he dumped Yvonne Gesslinger to go out with you,” said Helga with a grin. “And she got back at him by egging his car.”

  “Oh, man, he loved that car. Geez, how do you remember all this stuff?” Vivien said. “High school is pretty much a blur for me.”

  Helga shrugged. “I’ve lived here all my life, see most of these people regularly, and I was a spectator—even back then, I was practicing to be a cop,” she added with a grin. “A trained observer, you know?”

  “I just can’t imagine any of those people still holding a grudge,” Vivien said, unable to keep the tightness from her voice. “It’s just…”

  “Well, now,” said Joe Cap, taking his time getting the words out, as was his habit, “let’s just step back a minute, Ms. Savage, and see if you can think of any other reason—besides an old grudge—someone might want to mess things up for you. Ex-husband, boyfriend, anyone like that?”

  Vivien felt Jake’s attention shift casually to her as she replied, “Never married, so no, and I’ve been casually seeing someone back on the East Coast but—”

  “Roger Hatchard’s son,” Helga
said. “He’s going to be in the new show Vivien’s doing—Roger, not the son.” When her friend gave her an irked look, Helga went on, “Details are important, VL. You never know where there might be a connection.”

  “Daniel Hatchard is not going to fly here from Hartford to mess up the show his father is going to cameo in,” Vivien said in frustration. “It not only wouldn’t make sense—he was the one who suggested Roger should do the play—but he’s just too busy to drop everything and come here. And he would have no reason to do so—we only went out a few times.”

  “All right, then,” said Joe Cap. “But it wouldn’t hurt to check in and see whether either of them have left town.” He squinted at Vivien. “Roger Hatchard? The center for the Pistons?”

  “Yes.”

  “He’s going to be in a play? Like, an actor?” He sounded confused, and Vivien admitted that was a reasonable reaction.

  “Yes.” She went on to explain, adding, “And Michael Wold and Penny Stern are also celebrities who’ll be doing the two-weekend run. The rest of the cast is local.”

  “Oh, yes, I’ve heard all about that from Maxine and Juanita,” he replied in a neutral tone. “All’s I can say is, if either of them offer me elderberry wine—or any other kind of wine—I’m gonna decline.”

  Despite her mood, Vivien couldn’t hold back a chuckle. “Good thinking—although I wouldn’t worry too much. You don’t fit the profile of the Brewster sisters’ victims.”

  “Anyone else back in New York who might not want you to succeed out here?” asked the captain.

  Vivien shook her head. “I simply can’t think of anyone like that.” She hugged herself. “This is really unsettling.”

  “All right, then,” Joe Cap went on in a soothing voice. “We’ll make sure everyone drives by here more often, and I’ll do some looking in on things. Helga, you said you saw someone last night here?”

  “We all did—Jake, Baxter James, and I,” Helga replied. “Baxter drew me a picture of the brake lights—which wasn’t very helpful, because they just look like blobs—but I’m going to show him a few pictures of car back ends in case he recognizes them. I also want to look around to see whether there are any tire tracks we might be able to use to nail down the vehicle. Especially if they drove through all the broken glass,” she added with a smirk. “Looked like he might have done.”

  “Good thinking,” said the captain. “I’ll check in with the tire place in town, and a couple of the dealers, poke around a little. Helga, if you get them, I can run images of tire tracks through the system—”

  “Ah, that’s all right, Cap,” Helga said quickly. “It’s best if you just stay away from the electronics, all right? I’m happy to do it, and type up the report for this morning too. He’s an excellent cop,” she said to Vivien and Jake, “great investigator, wonderful boss—but this man can’t walk past the copy machine without it spontaneously jamming or blowing a fuse, and every time he tries to print something, he ends up disconnecting every computer from the entire network. Then I have to reboot it, and…ugh.”

  “Right,” said Captain Longbow, shaking his head sadly. “Not being able to use all that equipment… It’s a curse…and a blessing.” His eyes twinkled, and Vivien realized she was glad to have someone competent at the law enforcement helm here in her new hometown, even if he was a menace around electronics.

  Once Joe Cap and Helga left, Vivien and Jake were finally able to go backstage to see what had caused the chaotic crashing sounds that had preceded the earthquake-like event on the scaffolding.

  “I’m almost afraid to look,” Vivien said, more grateful than she wanted to admit that Jake was on her heels as she strode to the stage-right wing. “It sounded like it was coming from back in the workshop.”

  “It sounded pretty ugly,” he replied.

  It was pretty ugly.

  The scene looked as if a cyclone had come through and tossed everything around in a jumble. Set pieces once leaning against the wall had collapsed into a pile, metal rods and tools were flung to the floor, and paint cans (fortunately, none had come open) were strewn all over. The posters of old show casts Stephanie Lillard had found were in a tumble in the middle of the floor.

  Vivien stood there trying not to think about who, or what, had done this. At least it all happened after the big cleanup day, or the mess would have been much worse with so many more things to throw around.

  “It won’t take that long to put things back,” Jake said, already picking up paint cans to restack them against the wall. “It’s really not that big of a mess.”

  “No, it’s not as bad as it sounded from out there. But how did it happen? How?” She picked up The Nutcracker show photo, which was in the middle of the floor on top of the pile, and sighed.

  Of course, Jake didn’t have an answer for that—or if he did, he didn’t want to share it. Neither of them did. The answer wasn’t pretty.

  In an effort to distract herself, Vivien began to sing an old song from The Little Mermaid about all the neat stuff, and by the time most of the mess had been picked up, she was belting out how she wanted to be where the people were.

  In the middle of the chorus, she turned to find Jake standing there watching her. When their eyes met, her heart jumped a little. Then he gave a funny grimace and returned to tipping the last of the large set pieces against the wall with the rest of them.

  “Cute song,” he said. “I think your voice has gotten even better over the years. It’s more mature.”

  Feeling supremely self-conscious, Vivien brushed off his compliment. “Only because the acoustics in here are better than my apartment—or yours—was back then.”

  “I thought the acoustics in the shower back then were pretty damned good,” he said, holding her eyes with his.

  Her throat went dry and something sizzled in her belly. She gave a nervous laugh and looked away, turning her attention to straightening a row of nail cans on the worktable. “Well, that’s why people like to sing in the shower—”

  “I loved hearing you sing in the shower,” he went on mercilessly. “I’d still be in bed, and you’d be up and at ’em, and then I’d hear you. It was a wonderful way to wake up in the morning. I could hear you right through the wall. You could be singing anything from a sad tearjerker to a big, happy dance number to a sassy, silly thing like—like ‘If You Were Gay.’ That one always made me smile, but I liked them all. I liked hearing you.” He was looking at her so affectionately. “I could always tell what your mood was by what you sang in the shower.”

  She wanted to swallow, but there was something clogging her throat. And the dust was getting to her eyes, because all at once they stung. “Jake…”

  “So I’m just curious what you were singing in my shower yesterday,” he went on, giving her a crooked little smile and spreading his hands.

  That surprised a laugh out of her. She hadn’t realized he could hear her. “Are you sure you want to know?”

  He nodded, but before she could tell him (should she?), a jaunty little tune broke the silence. “My phone,” he told her, digging it out of his pocket. He glanced at the display, frowned, then answered, “DeRiccio.”

  Then every bit of levity evaporated from his demeanor as he became alert, tight, and intense. “When? Where? …Is he on his way now? …Who’s taking hi— All right. I’ll be there stat.”

  He was still holding the phone when he looked at Vivien. “It’s Pop. I have to get to the hospital. They’re taking him now.”

  “Let me get my bag,” Vivien said. “I’ll drive you— No, Jake, let me. Then you can be on the phone on the way if you need to, all right? You can concentrate on that while I get you there safely.”

  He was already halfway to the lobby by this time, and she was right on his tail. She was afraid Stubborn Jake was going to insist on driving, but to her surprise, he handed over the keys to his Lexus without her asking again. He climbed into the passenger side, already keying something into his phone.

  “Which ho
spital—”

  “Butterworth,” he said, then spoke into his phone. “Pop’s on his way to the hospital—chest pains, low BP. I don’t know—they said he was out working in the yard and he hurt himself or got bit or stung—probably doing something he shouldn’t—and then he started having chest pains. Can you let Irene and Mathilda know? I’ll start a text thread as soon as I know more. I’m on my way there now… Probably at least thirty minutes, maybe more. Thanks, Dom.”

  Vivien knew better than to speak as Jake next called the hospital, identified himself, and told them he was on his way, then took two phone calls from his sisters, who clearly had gotten the news from their brother Dominic and didn’t want to wait for the text thread.

  “I don’t know anything yet,” he said to one of them. “He was working in the yard, I guess, and he might’ve gotten stung or done something—anyway, he started having chest pains— I don’t know. The person who called was a little scattered, so I don’t have… No, I wasn’t with him. Look, Mattie, I don’t know anything yet. It could be a lot of things…maybe he had too much tomato sauce on his pasta, maybe he strained his pectoral lifting a log— I know he shouldn’t be lifting logs! I don’t really know what he was doing. I’m on my way now, and I’ll update you and— Look, Irene’s calling me now, and I’m going to take it. I’ll let you know— Yes, I know this is just like Mom…I know. I know, Mattie, I know, I’ll… All right.” He pulled the phone away, stabbed at it, then brought it back to his ear. “Hi, Irene… Yes, I’m on my way— Yes—no, I don’t know anything yet…”

  Vivien focused on the road and was grateful it was just past noon and not rush hour so they could fly on the expressway. She couldn’t help but notice and admire Jake’s calm, clear responses to his obviously freaked-out siblings while he must also be fighting his own level of freaked-outness.

  At last, she pulled up to the emergency room entrance and he jumped out. “Thanks, Viv, I’ll find you in a few,” he said, and then rushed into the building.

  She followed him in a few minutes later, but Jake was nowhere to be seen in the emergency room. She hoped that meant he’d been able to get back into a room with his father.