by Tricia Goyer
“So have you ever seen your photos in the papers?” she asked.
“I’ve seen a few in Stars and Stripes. My parents read the papers religiously. They cut out all they can find, and I’m glad. I don’t have any of the originals.”
“You don’t get to keep them?”
“We’re not allowed. My photos are the property of the U.S. Army.” He chuckled. “Even the ones of you girls—those photos are important to national security, I’m sure.”
“So—you haven’t made any extras? Not even of the USO girls? I mean if you have to take a shot, you might as well enjoy them.”
“Well, no, I haven’t made any extra prints of the USO girls, but I have to admit I did make a few extra copies of someone.” He winked at her.
Betty wished she could be excited by his words. Under other circumstances maybe.
Soon they’d reached Frank’s house.
A rush of nausea moved to Betty’s stomach, as she realized again what was to come.
Frank opened the door. He flipped on the lights, scanned the room, and then entered. She’d never seen Frank act like this before. So intense. So serious, as if danger lurked around the corner.
He closed the door behind them. “Are you going to be okay looking at them? I wouldn’t ask, but I need your help.”
“Truthfully? I just don’t know.” She crossed her arms over her chest, and then pulled them tight against her. “I’m afraid of seeing Kat like that.”
“If you don’t want to…”
“I do. I—” She took in a deep breath. “I will. If it’ll help.”
He nodded, and they entered the darkroom. Frank walked to a shelf in the corner and pulled down a small stack of photos. His face was serious as he flipped through them, but then he paused, smiled, and singled out a photo.
“Let’s start with this one—put the beautiful one before the harder ones.”
Frank handed the photo to her, and Betty saw herself. She wore Irene’s white dress with the black polka dots. From the way one side of her skirt flipped up, she must have swayed. A soft smile curled on her lips that were open slightly, as if she was preparing to launch into a song. The camera had been focused so none of the GIs were seen, just her on the stage.
“I love this one. It looks like you’re having a good time.” He stepped closer to look at it.
“I do have a good time. Sometimes when I’m up there, I think I was born for this. It’s as if God created me just for that moment.”
“I can tell.”
“But I have to admit, after today, I was seriously considering leaving. I still might.”
Frank nodded. Then studied her face for a moment. Finally, he turned back to the photos in his hands. “Are you ready to look at the other ones—the ones of Kat?”
“Yes.” She felt her hands trembling. “I think so.”
“Okay, but I think we should go sit down. You should sit for this.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Betty took a deep breath and then looked down at the first photo Frank held on his lap. He passed it over to her and she looked closer. It was Kat’s face. Her eyes were closed, her face white, and she looked as if she were sleeping.
“Oh, my—oh, dear God.” She whispered it as a prayer. The tears came, and she turned and pressed her face into Frank’s shoulder.
“I’m so sorry, Betty. I shouldn’t have asked you to do this.”
Collecting herself, Betty looked at the picture again, trying to notice anything that stood out to her. Besides being pale, Kat looked exactly the same.
“I don’t see anything wrong. She looks just like she’s sleeping, doesn’t she? Do you have another photo?”
“I do, Betty, but I don’t think you should look at any more.”
“But if I could help.” She gripped his arm, feeling his support.
Dear God, help me. If I’m supposed to do this, give me the strength.
“ Okay, but take your time. Only if you’re able.”
She waited a few minutes and then sat back. “Okay, but I think I can only handle one more.” She tried to force a smile. “I’m afraid I won’t be able to sleep tonight as it is, and I’ll need sleep. Mickey told us we’re repeating the show tomorrow. I suppose a whole passel of guys couldn’t get in. He wants to make sure everyone gets to see it.”
She sat back, pressing her back against the couch, averting her gaze from the photo.
Frank looked at her, and from the sad look on his face, she knew that if he didn’t truly need her help he wouldn’t have asked her to do this. “Okay. I’m ready.”
Frank placed another photo on her lap, and she looked down at it. It was a photo of Kat, floating in the water. Her white dress flared out in the water—only…
“Wait.” Betty sat up straighter. “This isn’t right.”
“What do you mean?”
“This is not Kat’s dress.” She lifted the photo and studied it closer. “I’ve never seen this dress before.” Her heart pounded. “Kat’s dress didn’t have sleeves—and she had a black belt. The style is different. This dress looks old—like a costume or something. But that’s impossible. I mean why would she change? When did she change?
“This doesn’t make sense at all.” Betty shook her head. Then she handed the photo back and stood. “Her dress—the one she wore that night. I wonder what happened to it. Maybe she did change before she left. Maybe it’s on the rack.” She paced the room.
“Do you think it could be there?”
“It could. We never checked. Mickey told us they found her in her white dress and we never questioned that. We should check in the morning.”
“Yes, but let’s think about this. Where would she get the costume?”
Betty felt the warmth and concern in Frank’s gaze.
“There might be some around the Festspielhaus. I haven’t seen all the rooms, but Irene and Dolly told me there are rooms with props. I can imagine there are rooms with costumes too.” Betty could almost picture the dress that Kat wore being in some type of production or play.
“Do you think—” She paused and turned to Frank. “Do you think Oskar might have had something to do with this?”
“Oskar? Why would you think that?”
Betty moved to the chair across from the sofa and perched on the edge of the seat. In her mind’s eye, she saw Kat, stalking down the wrong hall, heading to—who knew where.
“What if Kat ran away, but she headed down the wrong hall? She had a horrible sense of direction and she could have gotten lost.”
“Yes, but that doesn’t mean Oskar did anything to her. He’s a nice guy. He seems to work alongside Mickey without saying a word.”
“Exactly.” She looked to Frank, lifting her eyebrows. “He makes us comfortable there—very comfortable.”
Betty scanned the mess hall and noted Frank sitting across the room. He caught her gaze and lifted his hand, and she saw he had a tray of food already waiting for her—not that she was hungry.
Last night they’d sat in his living room, talking until nearly midnight. Their conversation was interrupted by a loud knock on the door. Frank had quickly hidden the photos, and then he’d opened the door to find Howard saying that Mickey was beside himself with worry and that Betty needed to get back to Wahnfried right away.
“Did you get in trouble?” Frank asked when she sat.
“I got an earful. Felt like I did when I was ten and got caught stealing candy from the general store.”
“You did that?” Frank smirked.
“You didn’t?” she shot back. Then she grew serious. “But…” She let out a low sigh. “I apologized. It wasn’t right, making Mickey and the others worry like that. I should have thought it through before I left with you without telling anyone.”
“I should have found a ride back for you sooner.”
“We won’t have to worry about that anymore. I have a chaperone now too.”
“Really?”
“Well, sort of. I’m not allowed
to go anywhere without my personal MP.” She looked to the doorway where Howard stood and he waved. “Did you think of a plan?”
Frank leaned close and talked only loud enough for her to hear. “Sort of. But I’m not sure. I think first we need to search the Festspielhaus.”
“Well, Irene and Billy snuck away to smooch a few days ago. Maybe we should try that excuse and go sneaking down the halls?” She winked.
He gave her a soft smile, but she could tell his mind was still focused on getting information.
“There’s something else I’ve thought of,” he said, taking a sip of his coffee.
“What’s that?”
“The other day I was talking to—well, someone, about the photos, and he mentioned Kat only had one mark on her—on her arm. I looked at the photos closer and I saw it. Even though her arm was partially submerged in the water, it looked more like a scrape than a bruise. Maybe even a burn from a rug.”
“But there are no rugs in the Festspielhaus.” She thought through all the rooms—the practice areas, the dressing rooms. “I thought of something too,” Betty whispered. “It was Kat’s skin. I know when I take a bath my skin gets all wrinkly and bumpy—”
“Which could mean she hadn’t been there long, I think. Maybe we need to start somewhere else first,” Frank said, leaning in.
“Where’s that?”
“Oskar’s house.” His gaze was intense. “Do you think you can come down with something—get real sick? Maybe stay back at Wahnfried? From what I hear, Oscar lives not far from there. His father used to work at Wahnfried and at the opera house, so he has a house nearby.”
“It would work except for my shadow.” Betty resisted glancing back at the door where Howard still stood. “It’ll be hard to get out. It would be easier to get sick at the opera house and ask to hang out in the dressing room or something. Maybe Howard will get interested in the show?”
“Oh, I’m not talking tonight,” Frank said. “Maybe tomorrow—during rehearsal or something. I’d hate for you to miss a show. And, I need more time to think. I need to figure out where to go and what we need to do about Howard.”
She shook her head and sighed. “Why do I need a bodyguard? The other girls just have one for all of them.”
“And you get Howard”—Frank smiled—“all to yourself.”
“Yes, it must mean I’m special. I just don’t understand why Mickey is going overboard all of a sudden.”
“It doesn’t make sense, unless…” Frank ran a hand through his hair. “Unless Mickey knows something he’s not telling you.”
Betty walked into the opera house that afternoon, and one look at Mickey’s face told her that Frank was right. Mickey did know something.
“Hey, gang, gather around.” Mickey’s voice was raspy and his face was blotchy. Betty’s guess was that he’d been crying, and it choked her up just to see him like that.
He sighed. “There’s something I need to talk to you about.”
Betty pulled up a chair and sat next to Irene. She reached over and took Irene’s hand—she wasn’t sure if it was to give comfort or receive it. Judging from Mickey’s intense, narrow gaze, she guessed both.
“It’s not official yet, but we no longer believe that Kat committed suicide.” Mickey scanned their faces, and then lowered his head.
Betty felt as if her body was being pricked by a thousand needles. Even though she’d always thought that, it didn’t seem real. And from the looks on the faces of the others, they seemed to have a hard time believing it too.
“A lot wasn’t done right when her body was found—this is not something the military is used to tackling,” Mickey said. “One MP moved her body, and the investigator in charge didn’t think she needed an autopsy. Everyone’s focus is on the trials in Nuremberg, and it was easy just to call it a suicide and be done with it.” Tears welled in Mickey’s eyes, and he wiped them away with the back of his hand. “The studio, though, got involved. I suppose the idea that Kat ended her life didn’t sit well with her fans. They hired a private medical examiner who conducted an autopsy in England. I don’t know the details, but they could tell from Kat’s lungs that she was dead before she went in the water.”
Irene’s hand tightened around Betty’s. Then Irene looked at her. “You were right…” Tears welled in her eyes. “The baby,” Irene mouthed.
Betty nodded, and the room blurred as her own eyes filled with tears. The sadness of that thought wrapped around her like a heavy cloak and her mind filled with fear. Someone did this. Whoever it is, he’s still out there…
“Oh no, poor Kat.” Dolly broke out in sobs, crying into her hands.
“I should have said something last night, but I was still in shock. That’s why I’ve asked the military police to provide protection—at least through this last show.”
“Last show?” The words spilled from Betty’s mouth.
“I talked the USO into allowing us to perform tonight. Their first inclination was to send everyone to England so that no one else gets hurt. I assured them we’d take utmost care to watch over you—”
A crash sounded behind Mickey, overwhelming his words. Dolly squealed, and Irene almost pulled Betty onto her lap as she jerked her hand back.
“I apologize.” Oskar rushed forward, picking up the large wooden frame he’d dropped. Betty eyed him, wondering what he was thinking—wondering if he was involved. She tried to get a look at his face—to see what his response was to Mickey’s news, but Oskar quickly looked away before she had a chance.
“But Mickey, I don’t want to leave. Maybe we can all work together to solve this.” Betty glanced around the room, and she could tell by the anxious faces of the others that they didn’t agree with her.
Irene patted her hand. “I know you just got here, kid, but I think this is a sign for the rest of us that the show is over. It’s time to hit the road. You agree, don’t you, Betty, that it’s not worth risking anyone else’s life?”
“Yes, of course I agree. I don’t want to see anyone else hurt.” Betty felt her stomach constricting, and she wished she had a way to get the news to Frank before the show. It’s gonna have to be tonight—we don’t have another choice.
The last time Betty had played sick, it was in the fifth grade when she didn’t want to go to school because Les Duran had broken her heart by giving Lucy Salisbury the prettiest valentine in class. She started by thinking of the photos that she saw of Kat last night. If anything could make her feel ill, it was that.
She watched Howard and the other MPs as they walked around the backstage area. They were looking at some of the sets that Oskar had worked on recently. They looked excited to be back there. They also looked relaxed. How lucky for them to be able to see the show from behind the scenes. Hopefully they’ll be paying more attention to what’s on stage.
She moved the rack of Kat’s gowns, looking through them, hoping to spot the white one, but not really surprised when she didn’t. Her friend’s gown had to be somewhere. What had happened to it? How did Kat get into that costume? How did she die? Betty pictured her friend—scared and alone, and her knees grew weak.
“Betty, are you okay?” Irene approached as Betty sifted through the gowns.
“Truthfully? I don’t feel so good.”
“I think you should lie down before you topple over.” Irene led her to the lounging couch in the corner of the dressing room. “Go ahead and rest here. I’ll go talk to Mickey.”
“Irene…” Betty stretched her hand to her friend. “Can I ask you something first?”
“Sure, kid, what is it?”
“Is Mickey going to be okay? I mean he really doesn’t look like he’s doing well at all.”
“Mickey will pull out of it somehow, although it’s going to be harder without Kat around.”
“What do you mean?”
“I guess you haven’t heard the whole story, have you?”
Betty shook her head.
“Well, it was Mickey who discovered Kat
—her talent—years ago. She was a background singer in some low-budget film. Mickey talked to his friends at the studio and they signed her and made her a star.”
“I had no idea.”
“Yeah, well, there’s more than that. When Mickey got in trouble with the studio for losing his temper—getting too abusive with his hands and his words—his career was pretty much done. It was Kat who got him this job—by promising to come here and sing. Mickey committed to being on his best behavior and Kat stayed around as long as she could.”
“So Mickey’s usually worse than this?” Betty cocked an eyebrow.
“Oh, kid, he should get an Academy Award for how well he’s acted while he’s been over here.”
Irene pursed her lips then sighed. “But I imagine he’s feeling pretty bad. I mean if it wasn’t for him, Kat wouldn’t have been here. And hearing about the baby. I’m sure that’s just another knife to Mickey’s heart. I think that’s another reason why he doesn’t want it to get out—the guilt is already too much as it is.”
Betty nodded, and Irene stood.
“Wait.” Betty reached out and grabbed Irene’s arm.
“Yeah?” Irene turned.
Betty scrunched her brow. “Where does Mickey live?”
“In an apartment in town. I’ve been there a few times with the other girls. It’s a nice place.”
“This is a strange question, but does it have any rugs or carpet?”
Irene thought for a few seconds. “Yeah, I suppose it does. Why?”
Betty shrugged. “Just wondering.”
“Wow, kid, you really are sick, you’re getting delusional. I’ll go get Mick—tell him you’re not looking so hot.”
Mickey approached a few minutes later. “How are you doing, Songbird?” His voice was gentle and he patted her hand. “Do you think you can sing tonight?”
Betty studied Mickey’s face, wondering if he could have done this. Maybe he confronted Kat about running from the stage—of ruining the show and then things escalated from there?
