“How are things going at the restaurant?” she asked. “I was in there the other day, but you were too busy to come out and say hi.”
“It’s all good,” Benjamin said, grinning. “Trib’s a real nice guy. A little picky, you know, but he’s a good guy. Thanks again for setting me up with this. I’m learning a lot. Can’t wait to get back to New York and find a job at one of the bougie restaurants there.”
“Tell your sister hi for me,” Vivien said—not that she didn’t hear from Louise regularly and insistently (the last communiqué had been along the lines of “when are you moving back to NYC?”).
“I will. Thanks—I gotta go. I’m a little late, and Trib’s kind of a bear about being on time,” he said, and took off at a lope down the street.
“Kid sounds like a stoner,” commented Jake. “Wonder how long he’ll last.”
“He’s not a kid—he’s probably in his mid-twenties. And anyway, I don’t know about that, but Trib didn’t seem all that impressed with him when I was in there the other day. But Louise asked me to hook him up here this summer as a favor, so I did. I hope Trib doesn’t hold it against me.”
“Trib worships you,” Cherry said. “I wouldn’t worry about it.”
They finally got inside to see TJ Mack, who turned out to be an attractive woman in her early thirties. Standing off to her side was a geeky-looking but cute guy with auburn hair who seemed shy and more than a little out of his element, but game nonetheless.
“That’s Oscar London,” said Maxine in a stage whisper. “He and TMJ Mack—”
“TJ. It’s Tee. Jay,” said Juanita from between gritted teeth.
“But TMJ just sounds right,” Maxine argued. “Anyway, he and…she just caught a murderer over to the lighthouse up at Stony Cape—”
“They met when she was trying to finish her latest book,” said Iva, her eyes starry with appreciation. “The lighthouse got double-booked and neither of them would leave. It’s a romcom plot right out of one of her books!”
“I thought she wrote the Sargent Blue thrillers,” said Vivien. “Are you saying she does romcoms too?”
“Oh, she’s done some very sexy historical romances,” said Cherry. “A while ago, and I hope she does more. There’s one about a blacksmith, and—”
She got cut off when it was her turn to step forward to get her book signed.
“Oscar London,” murmured Jake into Vivien’s ear. “Any relation to Louise London?”
She shook her head. “No, hers is a stage name.”
They had a brief, very pleasant conversation with TJ (whose real name turned out to be Teddy) in which Vivien learned that the author’s cousin was the blacksmith in town—and the father of the teen who’d found the trunk in the orchestra pit. But Vivien didn’t fill the thriller writer in on the rest of the plot. She’d save that for another time.
“Oh, hi, Vivien,” said Susie Wallaby, whose nephew had been working at the theater the other day. She was standing in line with her hand curled around the arm of an older man who was probably her dentist husband, and they were chatting with Drew Jeffreys, who apparently Jake also knew, about the upcoming football season.
Vivien didn’t get any sort of negative vibe from Susie, despite what Helga had told her about the Mean Girls back in high school.
“So nice to see everyone out supporting our local businesses. Isn’t Hot Toddy great?” Susie added, looking at the to-go cup Vivien was holding. “We can’t wait to come out to support yours too! And make sure you give Gordon a call when you need your teeth cleaned,” she added with a wide, sparkling, perfect grin as they inched forward in the line.
“I’ll do that,” Vivien said, then turned to say hi to Melody Carlson, who was standing in line right behind the Wallabys with a very frail man who could only be her father.
“Dad loves to listen to audiobooks,” she said, all friendly and warm. “I thought he’d like a little visit away from the home, get some fresh air, some new scenery. Right, Dad?”
His eyes were dark and a little vague, but he nodded as if prompted. “Yes, my dear.”
“Oh, Vivien,” said Susie, turning back to them. “I meant to ask if you found a jade bracelet at the theater. I was wearing it the other day when we were out and stopped by to see you, and I lost it sometime during the day. It was Gordon’s mother’s,” she added softly, “and we’re leaving to go visit her.”
“I haven’t seen it, but you’re welcome to take a look around,” Vivien told her.
“Do you think I could swing by the theater tonight on the way home from here? Would that be terribly inconvenient? We’re leaving to go out of town tomorrow for two weeks, and it’s going to be really awkward if I don’t have it when we visit his parents.” Susie gave a pained smile.
“No problem at all. We can wait for you until you’re done getting your books, and then we can head over to the theater right away.”
“You’re a gem, Viv! Thank you so much.” Susie turned back to her husband and the coach, chatting vivaciously.
“Well, if it isn’t Vivien Savage,” came a voice from her other side. “I heard you were back in town.”
Vivien turned to see a tall, broad-shouldered man about her age. It took her a moment to place him, then she smiled and laughed as they hugged. “Jesse Prime! It’s been a long time since we were driving around in your little Fiero. How are you?”
They were chatting about how things had changed—and she met his darling daughters, who were two and three, and his lovely wife—when Jake’s phone rang. He stepped away to take the call, and when he returned, Jesse had gone down the street with his family.
“So that’s the guy you let put his hand down your pants in high school, huh?” Jake teased.
“Down my pants? What are you talking about?”
“You said you let him get to third base in his Fiero—the other day when we were talking with Joe Cap about people you knew back in high school.”
“Yes, third base—he had a hell of a time figuring out how to get my front-fastening bra undone.” She chuckled. “But I didn’t let him undo my jeans.”
“Up top is second base, sweetheart. Third base is copping a feel in a southerly direction, and, well, you know what a home run is.”
“Oh, ha, I guess I had it mixed up. Did I hear you talking to your dad on the phone?”
“Yes. He wants me to bring him some Vernor’s and a beef pasty from the market. Like he doesn’t have enough food from the Tuesday Ladies.” He rolled his eyes. “Which means he’s feeling lonely, so I’ll sit and chat with him for a while.”
“That’s all right—I’ll just ride over to the theater with Susie and let her look for the bracelet, and then I’ll walk back to your house. It won’t be dark for hours.”
“He’ll be disappointed not to see you, but that’s probably the best option. We don’t want poor Susie to get in trouble with her mother-in-law.”
When Susie and Gordon came out of the book signing, Vivien explained the situation.
“I’ll text when I’m leaving to walk home,” she told Jake, giving him a swift kiss. “Give that to your pop for me, all right?”
“As long as you save a home run for me,” he murmured in her ear. “See you in a little bit.”
A short while later, Vivien unlocked the door to the theater. She had to admit that she was a touch worried the ghost might act up with the Wallabys there, but she was hoping that since she’d figured out what was going on, the ornery ghost would have no reason to do so.
Either way, her plan was to get in and get the Wallabys out—hopefully with the bracelet—in record time.
Dr. Wallaby had a flashlight in his car, and, along with Vivien’s, they were able to shine around in all the dark corners of the places where Susie had been until, at last, she pounced with a relieved cry.
“Here! Oh, thank God, Gordy, now I can visit her without worrying about lying,” she said.
“That makes two of us. Thanks much, Vivien. I’ll look forward
to seeing you for a cleaning once you get settled. You do have a beautiful smile,” he added as he and his wife went to the door.
“Are you coming now?” Susie asked. “Would you like us to give you a ride wherever? I heard you don’t have a car right now.”
“Thanks, but no—I’ve got a couple of things to take care of here, and it’s a very short walk to Jake’s house. It’s not even five o’clock.”
Once the Wallabys were gone, Vivien went into the backstage area to see if she could find any other photographs from The Nutcracker—and bitterly regretted having thrown away the old playbills and programs. There might have been some clues or information in them, for each actor would have a bio and a photo in the program.
She was digging through a drawer in what would be the stage manager’s desk when she thought she heard voices.
“Hello?” she called, and walked out onstage.
“Oh, hello, Vivien,” said Melody Carlson. She was helping her father walk down the main aisle. “I’m so sorry—I hope we’re not bothering you. Did you find Susie’s bracelet?”
“Yes, we did. Can I help you with something?” Vivien asked, feeling a little confused.
“Oh, yes, I’m sorry—it’s just that my dad really wanted to see the place again, and I heard you talking with Susie and knew you were going to be here…and since Dad doesn’t get to get out much, I thought we’d just stop in so he could look around. Sort of a nostalgia thing.”
“Oh, well, that’s fine,” said Vivien as a prickling swept over the back of her neck. She looked around, hoping the ghost wasn’t going to get impatient and start acting up. “I didn’t realize your father knew the place.”
“Oh, yes, he used to be here all the time, didn’t you, Daddy?”
Vivien had stepped off the stage by now, getting close enough to greet them—and close enough to see the way Mr. Carlson’s eyes suddenly sharpened with lucidity as he looked around the space.
“This…here…” he said, gripping his daughter’s arm tightly.
“Yes, Daddy, I know,” she said, giving Vivien an apologetic look. “Why don’t you sit down right here in the front row so you can watch the show?”
As Melody helped Mr. Carlson settle uneasily into his seat, Vivien got a good look at him and started. She’d just seen that face—albeit twenty-five years younger—when she was poring over the Nutcracker cast photo…
“You were here,” she said without thinking. “During the Nutcracker production, the last—”
And then she saw the glint of metal in Melody Carlson’s hand.
It was a gun.
And it was pointed at Vivien.
Chapter Twenty-One
“If you had only taken my warnings seriously and given up the idea of reopening this place,” Melody said, moving the muzzle of the gun closer to Vivien. It was only six inches away, and Vivien’s knees were trembling so much that she thought they might give out—which would be a sudden movement and not a good idea, all things considered.
“Go or die. I was very clear. But you didn’t listen, and so now it’s going to get a little messy,” said Melody. “Now, up onto the stage, if you please. Daddy, stay there and watch just like I did. You won’t tell anyone either, will you, Daddy? We’ll have another secret to share.”
Vivien caught the strange glint in Melody’s eyes and decided, for the moment, at least, to comply (if her knees held her upright)…and to try to keep her talking.
Wasn’t that what you were supposed to do when confronted by a homicidal maniac? Because clearly she was homicidal—Vivien was guessing it ran in the family—and the creepy look in Melody’s blue eyes was definitely maniacal.
“What do you mean, watch like you did?” she asked as she climbed up the five steps onto the stage.
“He didn’t know I was here,” Melody said. She was talking as if in a dream as she prodded Vivien toward the catwalk ladder. “Up we go, bitch. I never did like you, from the very beginning. The way you came in to school and lorded your celebrity over everyone. Thought you were better than the rest of us just because you’d been on Broadway.
“I was going to be on Broadway too. Daddy promised me. I’d been working hard for so long to be ready…for years and years. It even broke up my marriage—not that I cared when I had Daddy to take care of me. And then he got sick—far too young—and had to go into the home, and I had to take care of him. And he couldn’t help me anymore.”
Vivien took her time grasping the sides of the ladder and taking the first step up as she tried to follow Melody’s convoluted, trancelike speech.
Why was Melody making her climb up? Vivien was afraid she knew, and she didn’t like it.
“Your mother—she was the Sugarplum Fairy, wasn’t she? In The Nutcracker production, the last one here,” Vivien said as she stepped up another rung.
If Melody was following her up, she’d have to manage the gun and the climbing. That might give Vivien an opportunity to escape.
“Daddy, don’t get upset, all right?” Melody called over to him. “She’s not going to tell anyone. I’ll make sure of it. Just like I always promised I wouldn’t tell either. Up you go, bitch.” She jabbed the gun into Vivien’s arm, and Vivien climbed.
“What did you see? You had to have been very young,” Vivien said, trying to climb as slow as possible without upsetting the crazy lady below her.
“He hit them, and then he—he s-stabbed them. The Nutcracker and the Sugarplum Fairy. And then my beautiful, dancing momma went away and I never saw her again. But then it was just Daddy and me, and so then we had a special secret. Didn’t we, Daddy?”
Vivien chanced a look out into the audience. Mr. Carlson sat in the front row. Their eyes met, and for a moment, she saw clarity, lucidity, and malevolence in his gaze. The anger and evil there was so shocking and clear and unexpected that she missed a rung and nearly fell.
“She was sleeping with him,” came the low, grating voice from the front row. It was surprisingly strong and precise. “The bitch. They were going to run off together. I couldn’t have that.”
Even Melody seemed surprised by the speech, for she stilled on the ladder below Vivien. “Daddy.”
“And then you hid their costumes—why? Why bother?” Vivien asked.
Mr. Carlson shifted in his seat, seeming to grow into his lucidity, to straighten and expand and mature into a stronger, more upright figure as he spoke.
“If they were found here, or if their costumes were found, who would they look at? Me. Had to move them far away, made it look like they were killed way after they left here. I took them to Indiana—made it look like a carjacking.” He smiled, and it was a cold, thin, evil smile in his age-spotted face. “She wanted to run away from me…so that’s what happened. That’s what everyone thought happened, anyway.” He laughed, ugly and low.
It was then that Vivien felt (finally!) the air begin to stir. “So you killed your wife and her lover and hid their costumes so no one would connect you—or the theater—to their deaths.”
“That’s right. Melody and I left for the holidays in Florida. Everyone assumed my wife came with us. It was only later that I told people she’d run off.” He laughed again, that horrible, grating laugh, and Vivien felt the air moving a little more sharply. “The police suspected me, of course. When they found her in Indiana with her lover. They watched me—oh, they watched me. But they couldn’t pin it on me.”
“But why did you leave the costumes here, all these years? Knowing they could be found?” Vivien asked.
“Couldn’t come back and get them—they were watching me, suspected me from the beginning. Damned mask was too big to carry around—someone might see me. And besides…who would find them, hidden away in this old, abandoned place?”
She looked up, wondering what would happen if she climbed up really fast and took off through the catwalk and left Melody behind. She might be able to get away by climbing along the light cans before Melody got down. It would certainly be harder for her captor
to get off a good shot if Vivien was moving among the warren of catwalks and Melody was either below or trying to follow her along the rickety walkway. They always taught in self-defense classes to run if possible for that reason.
But before she had the chance to put her plan into action, Melody jammed the muzzle of the gun into the back of Vivien’s calf hard enough to bruise.
“Stop talking and climb. Now. I don’t like it in here, Daddy, and I want to go.” Her voice sounded very girlish, and that creeped out Vivien even more.
But she climbed. She was more than halfway to the top of the thirty-foot ladder.
“What are you going to do?” she asked, figuring the more she knew, the better she could plan. And why weren’t the stupid ghosts acting up now—now that their murderer and his accomplice were here?
Wasn’t this what the unsettled spirits had been awaiting for twenty-five years? A chance to have revenge?
“You’re going to have a little fall,” said Melody. “A terrible accident. Everyone knows the catwalk up there nearly fell down the other day. Unfortunately, there’s another section that’s still a bit loose…and apparently you didn’t realize it before you stepped onto it. Oopsie.”
Clever. Vivien had to hand that to her. No one would ever think it was more than an unfortunate accident. And Melody would have the perfect alibi—she was with her father, returning him to his assisted living home at the time the murder happened.
“All right, then, up you go, Vivien Leigh Savage,” spat Melody. “Stop dawdling. This place gives me the creeps.” The little-girl voice was gone, replaced by a hard-as-nails avenger. “Go.”
“Is that why you didn’t just come and take the costumes away?” Vivien asked, even as she began to climb. “Melody?”
“I couldn’t find them—Daddy couldn’t remember—and this place is horrible. Horrible things happened here…lights, wind, noises… I…don’t like it here… So awful… I was going to burn the whole place down if you didn’t leave—but this will be better. Much better. Less risky. A terrible accident.”
Sinister Stage: A Ghost Story Romance and Mystery (Wicks Hollow Book 5) Page 25