Ghosts, Wandering Here and There

by Flo Fitzpatrick

  “Theo Stafford is a doll. He’s smitten with Lindsay, which is fine. She's a doll, too. I wish them years of happiness. Um. Ham and Hank Humble are a great twin act. I can't tell one from the other. Yet. I don't know if I want to try, although they're very cute and seem to have some smarts even if they have four left feet between them. Let's see. Larry Creighton is a wonderful costumer. I question his proclivities as to which gender he prefers, but that's his business and not mine. Charlie Baines, the techie, is married. Don't you look at rings? And then there's Neil. The box office cherub. I haven't seen him yet, but apparently he’s in high school. Like, fifteen, or something? I'm so sorry to disappoint you, but I draw the line at jailbait.”

  Lida Rose frowned at me. “Aside from Larry being gay, Charlie being married, and Neil being young—ha! That's a good one. Neil. Young. Get it?”

  I stifled a giggle. It's best not to encourage the woman when she's being funny.

  She went on. “Actually Neil's eighteen, and I don't see a problem with the others. Well, except Jason. And excuse me, but why haven't you mentioned Rafe Montez?”

  I stopped. Why hadn't I mentioned Rafe Montez?

  Fortunately, we were interrupted by the appearance of Daisy, the rehearsal pianist, wandering into the costume shop and spilling coffee all over the floor, barely missing a beaded ball gown, circa 1889. Daisy Haltom seems to possess the grace of a bull and the brains of a cow. Her mother doubtless bore the name of Elsie and decided to hand the bovine-name theme down to the next generation. I should feel sorry for Daisy. Instead, I keep wanting to slap her. Lida Rose feels the same way, but Daisy is such an excellent musician, she can't afford to dump the girl. Ms. Haltom plays organ at the Baptist church in Balch Springs and dresses like a stereotypical spinster from a 1950s movie starring Joanne Woodward: brown shirtwaist dresses, low-heeled pumps, and not a smidgen of makeup.

  “Daisy? What is it?”

  “I'm sorry, Lida Rose, but I have to leave rehearsal. I'm playing a funeral today in Balch Springs. I forgot.”

  The sound of grinding teeth emanated from Lida Rose. I winked at her. She inhaled. “Fine. Go. Any other conflicts?”

  “Oh no. Least, I don't think so. This was kind of an emergency situation. Mr. Brewer died yesterday evening and his wife said she wanted him planted in a hurry on account of she's leaving for the Bahamas tomorrow.”

  I dove facedown into a pile of lacy undergarments in an attempt to stifle my mirth. Lida Rose choked, but shooed Daisy out the door, then collapsed on the petticoats with me. “Kiely, tell me this show is going to go off without a hitch. Please?”

  I assumed my ‘good dog, Jedidiah’ tone. “It'll be fine. What could go wrong? No, wait. Don't answer that.”

  A gleam appeared in Lida Rose's eye. “Maybe our ghost will decide to make an appearance. Pull a poltergeist and knock down the set. While we're onstage. Or, let's see—take possession of one of the guys. Although I guess it could be one of the girls. Are ghosts gender conscious when occupying bodies?”

  Lida Rose was watching me like a child waiting to be led to her birthday cake.

  I can't resist that face. “I'm not an authority, Lida Rose. Why don't you call ‘Siri-Haunts-R-Us’ and ask?”

  She mused. “I admit I've been waiting for Don Mueller to take revenge on the theatre responsible for his murder.”

  Lida Rose happily began to play with the laces on a black corset. “After all, he was shot right on stage during the last act of Bad Business. This very show. He died mere seconds after a bullet fired from the gun of the actor playing Lance Lamar entered his chest He's remained here ever since. It's so neat.”

  I glared at her. “You have kinky ideas of neat. I think it's very sad. Why is he supposed to haunt the theatre?”

  “Hell, I don't know. Legend has it his lady love also died here under mysterious circumstances and he's looking for her.”

  “Is she here, too?”

  Lida Rose grew morose. “No. I haven't heard about any ghost sightings of females. Although there is a rumor about the very first Delilah Delight. From a hundred years ago.” Her voice trailed off. Then a gleam appeared in her violet eyes. “Never mind. Only a trace of a story. So far. Anyway, the only ghost I know of for certain is Don. He roams around still dressed in his villain costume. Stovepipe, crumpled black hat, black tuxedo jacket with tails, black trousers, black cape. And white sneakers. Exactly like that picture of him in the lobby.”

  I'd seen the photograph to which she referred. It portrayed a man in a villain suit straight out of a Snidely Whiplash cartoon. The actor himself possessed a wonderfully expressive face and kind eyes. I'd felt an immediate rapport with him, not knowing he floated around the theatre without a flesh-and-blood body.

  Lida Rose said wickedly, “I'm costuming Rafe the same since he's playing Nick Nefarious. I hope he's not superstitious.”

  I shivered again. I needed to get out into the sunshine. I hoisted Lida Rose off the petticoats. “So, Director Lady, since Daisy crapped out on us, are we done for the day?”

  “Shoot. I’m losing it. Yeah, we're through. I’ll tell the others. They should be back from coffee break. This'll give everyone a chance to study the script. I've never heard so much ad-libbing from professionals who should have had lines off last Thursday.”

  She hurried off. I picked up a few of the petticoats and started putting them back on the hangers. A shadow fell across the wall. I squinted. Maybe I needed a new prescription for my contact lenses. I could have sworn the shadow was cast in the shape of a man wearing a tux. A stovepipe hat sloped rakishly on top of his head.

  Chapter 4

  I had planned on getting to the theatre early the next day to choreograph. The biggest number for the dance hall girls was still swirling around in my brain, but wasn't yet on paper. I foolishly believed that if I had a bare stage and no one around, I'd actually have a chance to finish it. Lida Rose had given me the theatre keys the day I got to Dallas. The idea was that I wouldn't have to bother anyone elsei.e., herat eight in the morning.

  Jed and I jogged from the house on Bennett with only a few stops along the way for sniffing and watering bushes (Jed; not me.) I allowed the dog one more elated swipe at the mulberry tree ten feet from the theatre entrance while I rooted the keys out of the top of my dance bag. They weren't needed. The doors were unlocked. Actually, they were wide open. Some other fool was up. The aroma of hazelnut coffee coming from the kitchen tingled my senses.

  “Hey, Thelma Lou. How's it going? What on earth are you doing here so early?”

  “Lookin' over costumes Larry brought in after y'all left yesterday. My hands ain't in the best of shape, but I still got a good eye for what's needed. I figured I'd sort through 'em, see if anything matches what we used years ago.”

  I smiled and nodded thanks as she placed a steaming cup of coffee into my eager hands. “Of course. You were costumer the last time Bad Business on the Brazos was performed, right?”

  She nodded. My curious nature took over. Here was someone who might know a bit more about the ghost of Don Mueller. But how did one delicately ask about the death of a man an elderly lady had costumed fifty years ago? A man who'd been her friend. Thelma Lou quickly solved my dilemma. She opened her mouth and a monologue spewed forth that rivaled any Lida Rose had ever delivered.

  “We put on a good show back then. Great cast. I 'member Fran Watkins played Bathsheba Bombshell, one of the dancers. She wasn't as pretty as you or these other girls, or even as good a dancer, but she was a heck of an actress. Played lots of ingénues in the regular season shows. Part owner of the theatre now. Rich. Big friends with that idiot Kincaid woman. She played one of the dancehall girls. Can't remember which. She's t'other owner, didja know that? Her grandson works box office for us and he's as big an idiot as she is. Lessee. We didn't have real twins to play Billy Joe Bob and Bobby Joe Bob Travis, like those Humble boys, but we had two fellas who were terrific actors. Ain't those Humble boys cute? And a' course, there was Don.
”

  I stopped mid sip. “Yes?”

  “Best damn villain this theatre ever saw. He was one super actor all the way around. Ever’ show he did, he gave a hunnert percent.”

  “Tell me about him, please?”

  She looked up at me. “Why you interested, Hon?”

  “I’m not sure. I guess because I've seen his pictures and heard these stories about him haunting the theatre. Maybe it's only curiosity. Whatever it is, I feel a link with him.”

  She nodded. “You seen him?”

  “What?”

  “His ghost? Seen him? He was here, ya know, watchin' your dance rehearsal two days ago. He likes you.”

  I sank onto the kitchen stool. Jed, who'd been sleeping under it, licked my ankle, and then promptly faded out again.

  “What do you mean?”

  “He's been watchin' different rehearsals here for the last fifty years. If he don' like somethin' he goes away. He likes you, though. Stayed for the whole rehearsal.”

  I was more than a tad fascinated. “Where was he?”

  “Up in the balcony. Well, what used to be the balcony. It's the light booth now. You'da liked Don. Kindest, most honest, most generous man I ever knew. And funny. Lord a' mercy, he could make people laugh. Things would be reachin' that stretchin' point in a rehearsal where tempers start to go. And Don would make a joke and you could feel everybody relax. He could handle an audience, too. We always had the rule that popcorn was all you could throw during a show, but sometimes people would try and get rowdy and toss ice or coins and stuff. Why, Don, well he'd stay in his villain character and step right down to the front of the stage and talk to the boys pullin' that kinda nonsense. They'd quiet right down. 'Course, if they did throw popcorn, he'd want to eat it. That man loved popcorn like it was steak and potatoes.”

  I laughed. “Must be a villain thing. I have yet to see Rafe Montez without a bag in his hand when he's not onstage. Or when he is onstage, for that matter. I guess he's practicing his aim toward the audience.”

  Thelma Lou winked at me. “Could be. Could be he just likes popcorn. Like Don. Who was also a wizard at tossin' ad-libs back at the audience. Better 'n the script most of the time.”

  I poured another cup of coffee. My choreography could wait. I didn't know why I was so interested in hearing about Don Mueller, but since Thelma Lou was on a talking jag, I wasn't about to shut her up.

  “All the ladies loved him. Funny. He wasn't really a looker. Kind of a hooked nose. Think he broke it doin' a stunt in one of the shows. Big, sad, dark blue eyes. Brown hair. Tall, thin. Sort of a rubbery face. Great for an actor.”

  “Was he married?”

  Thelma Lou got a funny look on her face. “No, Hon. Was a bachelor for years. Then he got sweet on some little girl. Noemi was her name. She was supposed to play one of the dancehall girls in Bad Business with Fran and Shirley. Come to think of it, was your character, Delilah Delight. I remember some of the other girls weren't too nice cause she was Mexican. Stupid. Why do people do that? Anyway, she took off about a week before the show opened. Don't know what it is with Delilah Delights. First one ran off, too. A hundred years ago. Where was I? Oh, yeah, Noemi. Don got real sad. Then he got shot.”

  I nearly spilled my coffee. “Can you tell me what happened? Lida Rose doesn't really know details. I'm sorry. Only if you don't mind. Obviously you were a good friend of his. I don't want to bring up hurtful memories.”

  She patted my hand. “It's fine. I've had fifty years to get over it, and since I see him occasionally at the theatre, it don't pain me so much now.”

  She headed toward the house of the theatre, motioning for me to follow. We opened the doors leading in from the lobby, then hiked up the aisle to the stage. Once we were on the stage itself, she pointed to a spot close to the wings on the left side.

  “It was the last night of Bad Business. We got to the part where Lance Lamar is supposed to shoot Nick Nefarious. Cyrus Boone was playin' Lance. Normally Don would get shot, then go through about a minute of dyin' all over stage. The audience would go wild, hootin' and yellin' silly stuff at him.”

  She lifted her chin and closed her eyes, remembering. Then she opened them and said, “I watched every night and about wet my pants laughin'. Don could die like nobody you've ever seen. He'd stagger around, switchin' his hand over his heart, then his left side, like he didn't know where he'd been shot. He'd be yellin' out jokes to the audience and finally fall on his back with his feet up in the air like some ol' cockroach what just been sprayed.”

  I could see him fake his death scene in my mind as she described the antics. I smiled along with her. Then her tone and demeanor changed.

  “But this night Cyrus shot the gun . . . and Don? Well, he . . . dropped. I was standin' in the wings like I always did and I could see Don's face close as I see you now. He looked—I don't know, surprised for a second—then he fell. Everybody knew. The actors, of course, but even the audience. Most of 'em were regulars who'd seen the show more'n a few times.”

  She paused and shook her head. “I'll never forget poor Cyrus. He looked like he was the one died. He kept shakin' that gun and crying. Left the actin' business for about ten years. And I've heard since that night he ain't never been the same, either. Too quiet. Cyrus adored Don. Don was older and Cyrus followed his every move like some puppy dog. Don was his hero. The hero worshipping the villain. We all used to laugh about that. And afterwards it seemed to make it worse.”

  I was almost crying myself. I could see the tragedy unfolding before my eyes on this stage as vividly as if I'd been there the night it happened. “Did the police find out what had happened? Who switched live bullets for the blanks?”

  She looked at me and shook her head again. “Nope. Never did. Part of the problem was there didn't seem to be a motive. Who would want Don Mueller dead? It wasn't like this was some big Broadway show or somethin' where the understudy would want to take over. He didn't have a family to inherit, and even if that’d been the case, the man didn't own a fancy house er nuthin'. He wasn't playin' fast and loose with nobody's girl, and far as I recall, nobody else was hankering after Noemi. The whole damn thing never made sense. Lots of the cast used to do target practice outside when they'd get bored during rehearsals. And a' course, all of 'em carried a gun onstage. The guns were real. Only the bullets were fake. Somebody might have left a gun they used for target practice backstage and it got mixed up and the wrong bullets got put in. We didn't have a props man; it was everybody lookin' after their own things. It was pretty messy backstage. The police called it accidental. A sad mistake, they said.”

  Derision dripped with that last statement. I looked down at this tiny woman with the wrinkled face. She was dressed today in pink Bermuda shorts nearly covered by an oversized gray Dallas Cowboys sweatshirt. The platinum-blond hair was pulled back under a black Dallas Burn cap and she was sporting the reddest lipstick I'd seen outside of what I planned to wear as Delilah Delight. Her expression was grim.

  “Thelma Lou. What do you think?”

  “He was murdered.”

  She turned and walked away toward the costume area. The conversation was over.

  I stayed out on the stage. Jed had followed us from the kitchen and was now drooling on my feet, chewing the laces of my jazz shoes. I knelt down and gently took them out of his mouth, replacing them with one of the toys I kept in my dance bag. He contentedly began destroying the plastic squirrel-shaped chew toy. I stroked his soft head as I appraised the theatre.

  The East Ellum Theatre had been built over a hundred years ago. It started life as a small opera house, one of many that sprang up during the prosperous cattle-driving years in the Dallas-Fort Worth area. There was a proscenium stage with moderate wing space, and a real-live orchestra pit below. The house itself only held about 750 seats. The balcony had been replaced ten years ago with an ultramodern light and sound booth, and extra seats had been added downstairs on the sides so the seating area for the audience was now shaped mo
re like a horseshoe. The stage had been enlarged at the same time. Costume, prop, and scene shops were still in the process of being added to the left side of the theatre. They would connect to the wings on that side. A catwalk above the stage and theatre house had remained, after being reinforced with steel. The orchestra pit was still down front below the stage, but a hydraulic lift system had been added, and if one needed the extra space for shows not requiring music, the pit could be converted and extended downstage toward the audience.

  The renovations to the theatre had added space, modern lighting, and sound, but thankfully not removed the charm of the old place. Obviously Don Mueller was still comfortable here. I didn't know if he was the kind of ghost who'd get pissed and start throwing things if a production didn't live up to his expectations, but even if he remained benign I wanted to believe I had his approval for my dances.

  Thinking about my dance rehearsals reminded me of why I'd staggered out of the house so early. I had real work to do. Ninety minutes remained before the rest of the cast would show up. I needed to put that time to good use. I couldn't spend it mooning over the tragic story of an actor who'd died fifty years before I'd had a chance to meet him.

  Chapter 5

  I pulled out my admittedly obsolete cassette player out of my bag and proceeded to pop in the recording Daisy had hastily put together two days ago. (Yeah, yeah, I know, no one uses these anymore but they still work better for rewinding and finding the exact spot in music a choreographer needs.) The tinny sounds of a piano filled the theatre as I tried out various steps, pausing to write down good ideas when they hit. I could hear nothing but the music. Thelma Lou was hip deep in fabric in the costume shop. The dog and I were the only beings in the theatre proper, so I was startled when Jed's ears perked up and his tail started maniacally thumping against the stage floor.