Nothing seemed out of place, and there was no indication that someone had broken in and set up any other surprises for her. Maybe whoever it was had decided it wasn’t worth the trouble, since Vivien was clearly not about to be chased away from her business.
Or maybe…
She smiled to herself as she pushed the scaffolding back upstage. Maybe the Nutcracker-loving ghost had scared the bejeezus out of whoever it was and chased them off.
“I’ll bet that’s what happened,” she said, walking across toward the right wings.
She stopped in the wide-open center of the stage and looked out over the empty seats. Tried to imagine what it would be like to face rows and rows of people again, eyes trained on her, expectant…
Liv brushed her arm in a supportive caress, and Vivien felt a glimmer of maybe.
Maybe someday.
“But not today,” she said, and then, surprising even herself, she did a little soft shoe from a barely remembered routine. She didn’t even know what show it was from, but it felt…good.
Ending with a flourish, Vivien bowed to the invisible audience of her theater’s phantoms and stood there, panting a little, as she looked around.
Maybe.
Maybe someday.
In his perceptive, thoughtful way, Jake had given her something to think about last night.
She shivered with pleasure. What a guy. What an amazing man. Even after more than ten years apart, he understood her in a way that even Helga couldn’t.
A song dropped into her head just then, along with its snappy, happy rhythm. And because, dammit, she was happy right now—and because she’d had an amazing night and Jake was back in her life despite her trying to keep him away—she couldn’t hold it back.
She sang about a boy who’d made her helpless, improvising her own dance routine because she couldn’t ever try to emulate the brilliance of the Hamilton cast.
And when she was done, her voice echoing to the far corners of the theater, out of breath and exuberant, she bowed once more to the ghosts who watched her and thought…
Maybe.
Vivien finally got down to the orchestra pit. Jake had texted wondering where she’d gone, and she told him she’d be back by noon and would make lunch.
His response was a single horrified-eyed emoji that had her laughing as she descended into the pit.
She’d brought a flashlight to help illuminate the way and shined it around even though two bulbs were now working down here.
The trunk was just where they’d left it—closed and silent—but something else had changed.
There on the floor, in a puddle of spangled silk and glittery tulle, was a sequined white ballerina costume that could only belong to The Nutcracker’s Sugarplum Fairy.
It was lying next to the military coat that had belonged to the Nutcracker himself.
Her palms suddenly slick, the hair on the back of her neck standing on end, Vivien walked slowly over to the pair of costumes as something Iva or Juanita had said rang in her memory:
I heard the Sugarplum Fairy ran off with the Nutcracker…
It couldn’t be a coincidence that those two costumes had been left here and arranged like this. As she bent to pick up the ballerina costume, a cool breeze buffeted the back of her bare neck and shoulders, raising goosebumps.
“All right,” she said calmly, holding up the costume to look at it. “What do you want me to know about— Oh my God…”
The skimpy little leotard had rents in the back of it, and there were huge, ugly brown stains all over.
Like rust…or blood.
Chapter Twenty
Vivien was huffing and puffing by the time she made it back to Jake’s house—which wasn’t a shock, considering that she’d practically run up the hill from the road where the theater was while she was carrying the Nutcracker’s coat and headpiece, as well as the Sugarplum Fairy’s tutu and the cast show photo.
She could have texted him to come and get her, but she didn’t know what time he got done with his shift, and besides, she was a liberated woman and could handle a big-little hill just fine.
Because she didn’t know whether he was still working, she let herself in as quietly as possible, then dumped her burdens on the living room sofa.
He glanced over, raised his brows at the costumes, and said, “I should be done in about fifteen minutes—I just have to finish this patient and write up my notes.”
“That’s okay, I want to look at this,” she said, picking up the headpiece.
She’d waited to examine it closely until she got back to Jake’s house—better light, and no touchy ghosts, she reasoned, who could have a tantrum at the drop of a hat. Humming “Masquerade” (which, in her opinion, was a perfectly creepy song to accompany this task) and with her skin prickling with excitement and nerves, she took the headpiece over to the kitchen counter, where the light was the brightest.
Just as she’d noted before, the back was caved in, but it didn’t look as if something heavy had crushed it in the trunk. The damage looked more like someone had whacked the headpiece with one blow or punch, for the deep indentation was a single, circular area.
Vivien examined the sharp break in the back of the papier-mâché, then tilted the mask to look up inside its white interior.
It was easy to see the dark stain inside. Right where the piece had been crunched inward in a violent indent…and below it. As if something had smeared or trickled down.
Vivien’s breath caught, and she flipped the mask the other way so she could look down into it with the kitchen light shining inside, but what she saw only supported her theory: that it was a bloodstain inside the headpiece, and that the blood was from whoever had been wearing it when they were hit on the head from behind.
So the actor had been hit on the head.
Maybe he’d been killed too, because she was pretty certain the Sugarplum Fairy had been stabbed to death. The bloodstains were pretty big.
And maybe that was why the headpiece had been hidden in the bottom of a trunk, pushed away under the stage in the orchestra pit and locked up tight where no one would find it.
She was so intent that she didn’t hear Jake close his laptop and come up behind her.
“What’s all this?” he said, eyeing the headpiece.
“Take a good look at this,” she said, gesturing to the mask. “Tell me what you think.”
While he did that, she retrieved the Sugarplum Fairy’s costume and the military coat from where she’d left them on the sofa.
“So?” she said when Jake put the mask aside. “Thoughts?”
He tilted his head. “Oh, I have thoughts, all right.”
“Well, don’t leave me in suspense.”
“It looks like someone was hit on the head while wearing the headpiece. The position and type of indentation, the stains—which look like old blood to me—and their position would bear out this theory. Is that what you wanted me to say?”
She nodded. “Yes. Is that really what you believe?”
“It’s plausible. More than plausible—”
“And the fact that it was locked in the bottom of a trunk that was basically hidden in a crawlspace way beneath the stage…doesn’t that follow too?”
“It certainly doesn’t do anything to debunk the theory.” He picked up the mask again, turning it around carefully in his hands. “But the question is, was it an accident, was it fatal, and was it purposeful?”
“That’s three questions, but I concur that they’re all vital. Now, look at these.”
She laid out the other two costumes. Jake picked them up, one at a time, and gave a low whistle. “These rents in the back of both of them—and the stains—”
“From stab wounds, don’t you think?” she said. “The stains are harder to see on the red military coat, but it’s really obvious on the Sugarplum Fairy’s costume.”
“So you think someone killed both of the people who were playing these characters—and that’s who’s haunting the th
eater,” he said. “Makes sense to me.”
She hugged him exuberantly. “Oh, good, oh thank goodness you agree. I thought I might be going a little crazy.”
He shook his head. “This whole thing is crazy, but this actually makes a lot of sense—as far as ghosts are concerned.”
“Exactly. I mean, they are logical in their own twisted way.”
“So then it also follows that whoever is sabotaging you is trying to keep the theater from opening because they don’t want the mask to be found—because they attacked and possibly murdered the Nutcracker,” Jake said. “The two things have to be related…otherwise it’s just too much of a coincidence.”
Vivien felt spikes of relief and excitement that he agreed with her. “It just makes sense—the mask was hidden away—and Iva, I think it was, said no one really knew what happened when the theater suddenly closed down and never opened again.”
“Maybe. But if someone killed the actor who played the Nutcracker,” he said with a quirk of a smile, “and the actress playing the ballerina—wouldn’t the owner of the theater or the producer or someone notice they went missing? It would have been all over the news, I’d think.”
“Unless that’s who killed him. The person in charge—the producer or troupe leader or owner of the place. And Iva, I think it was, said they heard the Sugarplum Fairy—that’s whose costume that is; it’s just as iconic as the Nutcracker’s—ran off with the Nutcracker. What if that’s not what happened, but that they were both killed, and the story was just put out that they ran off together or were sick or whatever happened—and that was why the show was canceled.”
She brought over the poster-sized blowup of the cast photo for The Nutcracker. The date was December 1994, so she knew it had to be the right one.
Scrutinizing the photo, she looked for anyone who might be familiar. The core cast was in the photo, each in their costumes and in an active pose. She paid special attention to the Sugarplum Fairy and the Nutcracker, who wasn’t wearing his headpiece in the picture, and felt a little pang of grief when she looked at their smiling, happy, electric faces. She could only assume the worst had happened to them.
“I wonder who that is,” Jake said, pointing to a distinguished-looking man standing with his hand on the ballerina’s shoulder. “He’s the only one not in costume.”
“Probably the director or the producer,” Vivien said. “But he’s standing with the Sugarplum Fairy—maybe he was her husband or something. I think Iva did mention someone from town played the ballerina. Maybe that’s who she meant.”
“Well, we need to get this stuff to Joe Cap right away,” said Jake.
“Agreed,” Vivien said. “He can take it from there. See if that’s really blood on it, and let him follow through on the investigation. Oh, and I can make sure Maxine and Juanita and the rest of the Tuesday Ladies know about the headpiece and our theories when I go into town for the book signing this afternoon. It’ll be all over the county by the end of the day. Then the vandal would have no reason to try to keep a secret, because the secret’s already out.”
Jake was nodding. “That would definitely help. But more important, we’ve got to figure out if there’s anyone who’s been in and around the theater recently that might be connected to the 1994 Nutcracker production.”
“Everyone I’ve had out there at the building—contractors, visitors, volunteers—are locals, and they wouldn’t be the right age to have acted in a professional show nearly thirty years ago.”
“What about those little children?” Jake asked, looking at the poster again. He pointed to three young children in the very front dressed in period clothing. “Guessing they’d be about your age now, wouldn’t they?
“Well, I’m pretty sure a five-year-old girl didn’t murder two adults,” Vivien replied. “But I think everyone in the picture should be identified.”
“Hopefully it won’t take the police too long to do so.” He frowned, then his expression relaxed. “Now, what do you say we have some lunch—which I’ll make—and then we take a nap? Sundays are perfect napping days—especially when you didn’t get much sleep the night before.”
“I’ve got to stop in here,” said Vivien, pausing on the sidewalk in front of Hot Toddy. They’d just come from meeting with Joe Cap at the police station, and now they were walking to the bookstore. “Looks like a cute coffee shop. And I could use an iced latte. I’m awfully thirsty after that workout this afternoon,” she added, giving him a sly look. “We didn’t nap much.”
Jake grinned complacently and followed her into the pink cottage with lime-green shutters.
Inside, she was delighted to discover a huge framed movie poster from Victor/Victoria. The walls were also decorated with several photos from the same film—most of Robert Preston, but some with him and Julie Andrews, Blake Edwards, and James Garner as well. They all seemed to be signed by Preston.
“Hot Toddy—I love it,” she said, then hummed the super-catchy “Le Jazz Hot!” as she approached the counter.
“I don’t get it,” said Jake, looking around.
“Robert Preston played an ‘old queen’—as the character puts it—named Toddy in Victor/Victoria, which is a movie and musical about a woman, played by Julie Andrews, pretending to be a gay man who is pretending to be a woman, who performs in the clubs in 1930s Paris. It’s comedic and romantic and the music is wonderful. So the coffee shop is named after Toddy, who’s Victoria’s best friend and mentor. Blake Edwards directed the movie and Lesley Ann Warren plays a hilarious floozy. It’s perfect,” she said to the proprietor as he came from the back room.
“Thank you, miss,” said the barista with a broad smile on his dark face. He was well over fifty, with an Indian accent and a gold hoop in one ear. “It’s my favorite movie, obviously. I met Robert Preston three times before he died, and he signed each of those for me in person. What can I get you?”
They were just getting their orders when Bella Pohlson came in, looking unusually rushed. “Oh, Jim, thank goodness you’re still open. I’m just dying for an iced oat milk latte with stevia, and I also need an iced macchiato… Oh, hi, Vivien. And…Dr. DeRiccio, is it? Sorry to be in such a rush—my husband’s waiting in line for the author signing and he wanted me to run over and get us something.” She was paying for her drinks and Vivien and Jake were nearly out the door when she said, “Oh, by the way, Vivien, that little grand opening thing I got you came in finally—I can drop it off at the theater for you sometime this week.”
“That’s so nice of you—thanks,” Vivien said. “Enjoy the signing—we’ll probably see you there.”
As they walked out, Jake took her arm and muttered, “She was your realtor, right? She could have had access to the building before you got to town.”
Vivien stopped on the sidewalk and looked at him. “I’ve thought of that, but I simply can’t think of a reason she’d want to ruin things for me. After all, she made money on the sale of a building that’s been sitting there empty for over twenty years. And if the vandalism is related to hiding the murders, I don’t see how Bella Pohlson could be involved. She would have been maybe five or six when the Nutcracker murders happened.”
“Nutcracker murders?” came a familiar voice. “What are those? Is that a new TV show on that Netflax thing everyone’s talking about?”
“Hello, Mrs. Took,” said Jake politely. “Hi, Mrs. Acerita. And hello there, Bruce Banner.” He prudently didn’t reach to pet the little dog, who was peeking out of Juanita’s bag as usual.
“Don’t you Mrs. Took me, Elwood DeRiccio. Makes me feel old—and like you’re talking to my granny. It’s Maxine—or Dr. Maxine if you wanna get fancy—and nothing else, you hear? Now you tell me and Juanita what’s all this about some Nutcracker murders.”
“We might as well wait until Iva and Cherry get over here—I can see them heading across the street. Apparently, everyone in town is going to the book signing.”
“Damn right. TMJ Mack, she’s one of the biggest writers
we ever got coming in here to sign books—except maybe that fine piece of ass Dr. Ethan Murphy,” Maxine said, looking around as if to sight said fine piece of ass. “He ain’t a medical doctor like you, though—he’s got some degrees in—”
“It’s TJ Mack, you loco,” said Juanita. “And Ethan Murphy isn’t going to give you a second look when he’s got that gorgeous Diana warming his bed.”
“Well, a woman can dream, even at my age—”
“Vivien! How are things going at the theater?” asked Cherry, giving Vivien a hug. “I hear there’s been some vandalism and two murders!” she added in a whisper.
Wow. Vivien had no idea the gossip train traveled that fast in Wicks Hollow. “We literally just left the police station fifteen minutes ago,” she said. “How did you hear— Oh, Helga must have told Orbra.”
Cherry nodded. She was with a tall, wiry man about her age that she introduced as William Reckless. Vivien concurred that he did, indeed, look a little reckless…while at the same time, somehow, he also seemed very Zen, with an om tattoo on his lower arm and a few rustic strings with charms and beads around his neck. The perfect match for Cherry Wilder.
Vivien filled in Iva (who was accompanied by Hollis Nath), Cherry, Maxine, and Juanita on what they’d discovered about the Nutcracker costumes as they stood just off the sidewalk and out of the way of the people heading to the bookstore.
“I knew it,” said Iva. “It was the Sugarplum Fairy who was leading me to the basement—the pit, I mean. She obviously had a lighter, more deliberate touch when it came to communication—unlike the Nutcracker, who was just wild and angry, don’t you think, Vivien?”
Vivien could not disagree.
As they stood in line to get into the bookstore—TJ Mack was a very popular draw for the tiny venue—Vivien saw Louise London’s brother Benjamin walking down the street, so she waved him over. Trib’s didn’t open until five on Sundays, but she would have expected Benjamin to already be there prepping things.
Sinister Stage: A Ghost Story Romance and Mystery (Wicks Hollow Book 5) Page 24