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

by Colleen Gleason

“That reminds me—do you mind if we swing by the theater so I can just check and make sure everything’s all right, all things considered? We left in kind of a hurry.”

  “Sure.”

  Jake wasn’t about to admit it to anyone, but he wasn’t all that excited about going into the theater at night. He wasn’t afraid, exactly…he just didn’t really want to be faced with whatever crazy supernatural thing was going on in there.

  But all the way back on the drive, he’d been calculating ways to convince Vivien she should go over to his house for a while—after all, it was still earlyish—instead of dropping her off at her house. Now this detour would give him more time to consider his options, but that also meant they had to face the unpleasant reminder of whatever was happening at the theater.

  Once they arrived, he parked in front and they went in the main door.

  “We’re ba-aack,” Vivien called, leaving Jake bemused as she pushed through the swinging doors that led to the house.

  Was she really talking to the ghost—or whatever it was?

  All right. It was a ghost or some sort of haunting. He guessed he had to admit that at least.

  “We’re here,” she said, jogging up the stairs onto the stage. He followed at a more leisurely pace, looking around to see if anything else had changed since they left to meet Pop at the hospital.

  “No need to be upset, all right?” she went on, speaking to the house at large as if she were delivering lines from a show. “We’ve come to the conclusion that you exist, that you’re here—no question.

  “I don’t know why you’re angry. I hope it’s not because I want to open the theater again, because that’s going to really put us at odds, and I was hoping we could just get along. I mean, every theater should have a phantom, right? I don’t really want to bring in a priest or, I dunno, a medium, or whoever exorcises ghosts—unless you’re trying to tell me something—”

  Her voice trailed off as a great blast of light exploded from the stage, highlighting her as if it were an extraterrestrial’s spaceship hovering above and beyond. A great roaring noise accompanied the burst of light, filling the space, vibrating through Jake’s body.

  The blue-white light poured from the stage, surrounding Vivien like a blazing, illuminated shower. She stood there, unmoving, and for a minute he thought she was somehow trapped or paralyzed—or being absorbed into the great, raging light.

  He ran down the aisle to the stage, shouting her name over the tumultuous roaring that filled the theater. Wind whipped up from nowhere, and he fought against it, trying to get to the stage…but it held him back, pushed at him like a hurricane throwing tiny, sharp, icy knives at him as he fought to get closer.

  “Stop!” she cried, her voice cutting through the storm. “Enough! That’s enough! We’re here to help—now stop this!”

  To Jake’s utter shock, it listened. The roaring fury ceased with hardly a whimper. The light fizzled into a small white circle, then popped dark like a burned-out bulb. The wind died. The air warmed.

  “Vivien!” Jake cried, stumbling toward the stage after his sudden release from the rush that had forced him back.

  She was cold to the touch. Her fingers were icy, her breath coming in frosty gasps even though the temperature in the theater had returned to normal. Her eyes were glassy, and for one terrifying moment, Jake feared she’d been possessed or somehow taken over by whatever haunted this place. But then she shivered and her eyes focused, and she smiled up at him, clear and lucid.

  “It listened,” she exclaimed. “Did you see that? It stopped! It listened when I told it to stop!”

  Jake, who’d been shocked and terrified out of his mind, could hardly fathom this gleeful reaction to what—from his perspective—had looked like she was about to be absorbed into a metaphysical fog, or possessed by, or taken away…or something. He couldn’t speak. All he could do was pull her close and feel the warmth of her body against his while he tried to keep from trembling. And puking.

  She hugged him back, then shrugged loose, still with that excitement in her demeanor. And that caused him to fear that she had been possessed or her mind had been overtaken somehow—for how could she be so lighthearted and giddy after what had just happened?

  “Jake, I think we’re making progress. If it knows we’re here as friends, it doesn’t have to be so violent. That’s got to be why it’s so angry—because it needs something from us, from me. Right?” The last word she shouted up and out into the theater as if delivering some important line.

  A flicker of light from above beamed down, then was gone again immediately.

  Jesus. Jake could hardly believe he was standing there while his…while Vivien communicated with a freaking ghost. As if it was no big deal.

  Chapter Seventeen

  “Well, that was interesting.” Vivien’s voice was weak and thready as they walked out into the theater’s parking lot. She sounded exhausted.

  Jake was feeling much the same way. It had been a long and emotional day, not even including the two—count ’em, two—ghostly appearances. Nevertheless, he looked around to make certain no one was lurking. Hopefully, being seen by a cop last night had scared away whoever was messing with things. He only hoped they wouldn’t transfer their attentions to Vivien’s home instead of her business.

  “I thought ghosts were only supposed to haunt in the dead of night,” he said as they climbed into his car. “It’s all over the place with its haunting schedule.”

  “I don’t know the rules. Maybe Liv can talk to them and clear things up,” she added with a bark of wry laughter.

  He chuckled too, and realized with a start that he actually believed that was possible.

  At this point, did he have a choice?

  “I wish my hot tub was ready,” he said with a sigh. “It would be a great night to soak under the stars.”

  “You’re getting a hot tub? Out on the patio, so you can simmer and soak while watching the sun set, with a glass of wine in your hand?” Her eyes were big and dreamy.

  “I wasn’t really getting a hot tub, but I am now,” he replied with a grin. “That sounds perfect.” Then he looked at her. “My house or yours?”

  She hesitated for a split second, then said, “I have work to catch up on. It’s home for me, and a nice glass of bourbon for company.”

  Jake got the message, and, although he was disappointed, he understood. “I won’t argue if you promise me Helga’s bringing Butch over to chaperone you tonight.”

  “I’ll text her right now.”

  To Jake’s slight disappointment, Helga met them at Vivien’s house right away, as she’d had Butch with her on patrol. That meant he didn’t get to say goodbye to Vivien alone, and that he had to field questions about his pop. Apparently, Doug Horner had been filling in the Tuesday Ladies all about the events of the day, and the gossip trail went on from there.

  Seeing that the two females were about to settle into a detailed discussion about Butch’s overnight requirements, he decided to throw in the towel for the evening. He had to get up early tomorrow anyway to get to the hospital and get Pop home. He’d already found someone to cover his shift in the morning, fortunately, but he had sourdough that was ready to be made into bread.

  Mixing and kneading bread dough would be a very relaxing way to end a rollercoaster of a day—since he couldn’t have a hot tub or Vivien.

  And it would also give him time to think.

  “Sounds like you had lots of excitement yesterday,” said Orbra as Vivien ventured into the Tea House via the back entrance. She’d brought Butch to hang out with his great-aunt while she waited for Helga to come and pick her up.

  “How’s Ricky doing?” Orbra continued after having given Butch an appropriate greeting. “Have a seat up there with Maxine and Juanita—if you don’t, they’ll just shout across the place at you until you do,” she added, shaking her head as they walked into the main seating area. “Not a good look for the customers.”

  “Mr. DeRiccio should
be coming home today. He was doing much better once they pumped some steroids into him,” Vivien replied.

  “That’s what we heard. We’ve got a bunch of meals put together for him—Maxine and Juanita are going to take things over this afternoon after he gets home and settled.”

  “That’s very nice of you,” Vivien replied, suddenly feeling guilty that one, she hadn’t thought to do the same, and two, that she didn’t cook, so she couldn’t even if the thought had occurred to her. She supposed she could bring him a pizza—the guy was Italian; he’d probably go for that.

  Vivien had no choice but to sit with Maxine and Juanita, even if she would prefer not to have to talk about everything that had been going on over the last week. But she wanted tea and food, and she’d walked here so Helga could come by when she had a spare moment and drop Vivien off at the theater. So she headed to the table that hosted the Tuesday Ladies.

  Maxine and Juanita, along with Iva, were sitting at their regular table at the front window of the tea shop. A Scrabble board took over a portion of the round top, but there was plenty of space for teapots (each a different style and shape), cups and saucers, and the plate-sized three-tier servers of scones, muffins, and paper-thin sandwiches. Vivien’s stomach growled in anticipation. Dinner at Federico’s had been a long time ago.

  “Well, look at that,” exclaimed Maxine in a voice that probably carried all the way to Lake Michigan. She was definitely not going to need a mic for the show. “Our esteemed director is deigning to mingle with us lowlifes, Nita! Now you come on over here and sit right down, missy,” she demanded. “I’m about to beat Juanita here in Scrabble for the three thousandth time, but there’s room for you at the table.”

  Maxine thwacked her cane onto an empty seat right next to her, and Vivien understood that she was to sit there. As she did, she noticed a large leather tote on the deep windowsill next to Juanita’s chair. A pair of soft, furry ears, each as large as a plum and with wispy, long hair, peeked out from the bag. They were attached to the sweetest dog face she’d ever seen, with a small button nose and two very large black eyes. They blinked, watching Vivien as she took a seat.

  “That’s Bruce Banner,” said Juanita, noticing Vivien’s interest. “He can be a little testy, so go slow if you want to pet him. But he’s really just a sweet little angel, aren’t you, bebecito-Brucie?”

  Deciding it wasn’t worth commenting about the dog being in a café—after all, he was in a bag and not causing any problems at all—Vivien sat down. She gave Orbra her order.

  “So…Scrabble, huh?” she said in an effort to not have to talk about what had happened over the last couple of days at the theater. “And you’re winning, Maxine?”

  “She is not winning,” said Juanita as she set down seven tiles in a row: click, click, click, click, click, click, click. “Because I’ve just played a bingo on a triple word score square with a V and a Z.”

  Maxine’s eyes bugged out of their sockets as she spun away from Vivien and whipped her attention to the lazy-Susan-style game board. “There’s no bingo word with V and Z,” she snarled. “You made it up like you always do—”

  “Not true,” said Juanita, looking pleased as punch—and fresh as a lemon drop—in a frosty-yellow maxi dress. For once, her fingernails didn’t match her clothing but picked up the same rosy pink as her lipstick. She appeared extremely satisfied with herself. “‘Vizards’ is a perfectly acceptable Scrabble word and you know it, Maxine. Unlike ‘slidiest,’ which you tried to use on me last week.”

  Juanita’s eyes danced as she went on to calculate her score. “That’ll be…let me see…ah yes…twenty points for the word, tripled is sixty points, plus fifty for it being a bingo, plus the extra word I created by adding Z to ‘ax’…that’s another ten plus one plus eight…that’s a total of one hundred twenty-nine points. On a single word,” she said, sneering at Maxine. “I think your highest-scoring word ever was only one hundred fifteen, wasn’t it Maxie?”

  “I don’t remember,” replied Maxine, still glowering at the game board as if hoping her evil eye would somehow move the tiles around to her advantage. “Now that Vivien Leigh is here, it would be rude to continue to play the game, Juanita. Let’s just put it aw—”

  “Oh no you don’t, you conniving woman,” snapped Juanita. “We are going to finish this game, and you are going to accept your loss like the badass witch you are, Maxine, or Dios mio, I’ll never play with you again.”

  Maxine huffed and grumbled, but she put aside the game box she’d picked up and turned her attention to Vivien. “She’s a sore winner,” she said, pursing her lips. “Because she don’t win very often.”

  Juanita rolled her eyes and reached for a finger-sized muffin. “It’s your turn, sore loser. See if you can play that Q you’ve been hoarding for three turns.”

  “So tell us about all those horrible things going on at the theater,” Iva said. Her eyes were bright and birdlike, and she held a delicate teacup with pink roses hand-painted on it. “Break-ins and your car getting smashed… Why, I would never have thought such a thing would happen here in Wicks Hollow.”

  “You wouldn’t?” Maxine chortled. “After three murders last year, you wouldn’t think that? This place is practically Detroit now, you know, murders happening every time you turn around—and I know Detroit because I was around during those damned riots in the sixties. And proud of it! I was out there with my baton—not that I smashed any windows or anything,” she added quickly.

  “Maxine, I’d be shocked if you didn’t smash any windows,” Iva said in her well-modulated, ladylike tone.

  That shocked Maxine into silence as she seemed to contemplate whether Iva’s comment had been an insult or a compliment.

  “Oh crap,” Vivien said involuntarily when she saw the text from Helga.

  “What is it, dear?” asked Iva.

  Vivien sighed. “Helga was going to drop me off at the theater this morning, as my rental car won’t be available till Monday—don’t get me started—but now she’s been called in to help with a big accident on the highway north of town.”

  “Yep. Tractor-trailer did a jackknife, tipped over, and spilled a whole slew of dried corn all over the highway,” Maxine said. “They gotta detour everyone down the state route and over to the county road. Everyone’s backed up for miles and there’s construction over on the state route too. It’s a disaster. Corn everywhere. Gonna be deer feasting for months on that, then they’ll be coming after my damned hostas.

  “I listen to the police scanner, you know. Can’t be too careful. Gotta keep apprised o’ what’s going on. I’ll drive you, Vivien Leigh.” Without further ado, she launched to her feet with the help of her cane. “Come on, Neety. We can finish the game later. Our director’s gotta get to work.”

  “But—”

  “No, no, no,” said Maxine, gripping Vivien’s arm with very strong fingers as she cut off her protest. “We’ll take you, won’t we, Neety?”

  “I’ll come too,” said Iva, bolting to her feet and gathering up her handbag. “I’ve been dying to get back in there to see whether I can sense any more of the spirits haunting the place. I have a sensitivity to these things, you know.”

  Vivien hardly knew what to say to this. She could only imagine what would happen if the ghost at her theater acted up while the Tuesday Ladies were there. That would not be good. “Oh, no, really, I can—”

  “Ay-yi-yi!” said Juanita. “Don’t argue! Maxine’ll drive you. Besides, I want to see those ruby slippers again.”

  Iva was still talking about her sensitivity to spirits as the ladies bustled Vivien out the door. As she passed by Orbra, the proprietress pushed a bag into her hand. “Good luck!” she said with a grin, and that was when Vivien realized Orbra was delighted that her front table was going to be free for customers on this Saturday morning.

  “Last summer when our dear friend Jean was murdered, she was haunting her own house up over on Wicks Lake,” Iva said as the three ladies directed Vivie
n down the street. “I knew something was wrong about how she died, but I never went to the house, so I didn’t realize she was trying to send a message—and sweet Diana, bless her; Jean’s great-niece, you know—didn’t have an open mind at all about spirits and ghosts and hauntings…

  “And then there was Cherry’s adorable, very smart niece Leslie, who opened up Shenstone House into a B&B up on the hill outside of town. We’ve all known that place was haunted for years, and the moment I walked in, I could sense it. The hair jerked right up on the back of my neck and all down my arms…but it was really when that darling Fiona—who I hope is going to marry my dear Hollis’s dashing Gideon someday soon—opened up that little antiques shop on Violet Way that I really began to understand how to communicate with those who’ve gone to the afterlife. That was after she found the skeleton there, you know. I think I’m going to have to take mediumship lessons if this sort of thing continues to happen here in Wicks Hollow—”

  “And what about up to the lighthouse? Just two weeks ago,” said Maxine. “You didn’t know it was haunted, no one did, but that writer, TMJ Mack—she’s still there, ain’t she?—she met the ghost. It saved her life by the lighthouse—or that’s how she tells it.”

  Vivien could hardly follow the conversation, let alone all the names and events…and she didn’t think she wanted to. What she did extract from the nonstop rambling from Iva, interspersed with arguments and details from the others, was that ghosts, hauntings, and strange occurrences were rather commonplace here in Wicks Hollow. At least, according to the Tuesday Ladies…who she suspected might be unreliable narrators more often than not.

  Vivien had to close her eyes once Maxine hit the accelerator on her powder-blue Cadillac SUV. She simply didn’t want to see everything whiz by far too quickly and closely, corners being cut short, and how near the bumpers of other cars came to the vicinity of the large vehicle. Though she clutched the bag Orbra had given her, Vivien suddenly wasn’t hungry anymore.