The Mystery of the Ominous Opera House: A Cozy Mystery (Eden Patterson: Ghost Whisperer Book 4)

by Constance Barker

  “Why, I hadn’t even thought of it,” Mr. Steinbeck said, shocked at this apparent revelation. “But it makes perfect sense. Still hoping to finish his performance more than a century later. How poetically tragic!”

  How someone could seem so excited about a spirit bound to this plane of existence and unable or unwilling to move on was beyond me. I didn’t let my growing irritation with Mr. Steinbeck creep into my voice, though. “Who else is a potential candidate?” I asked Goog and Syd.

  “Only two others that were men,” Syd said.

  “Only one that was young. A stagehand fell during an accident in 1944, the year before the place shut down. Some of the rigging apparently came loose, but the witnesses to the event seemed to think that he might have…” Goog cleared his throat. “Well, he might have killed himself.”

  “The resident star of the day came this close to going with him,” Syd said, her thumb and forefinger held up and almost touching. “Apparently the chunk of metal that hit the stage was just about a foot away. She didn’t even react; she’d have been a goner for sure.”

  “Irma Winston?” I asked.

  Syd’s eyebrows rose a bit. “Yeah, how’d you know?”

  “She’s remembered well,” I said.

  “The technical director, Caroline knew about her,” Luke said.

  I nodded. “And there’s a picture of her in a dressing room downstairs.”

  “Not merely a dressing room,” Mr. Steinbeck pointed out, “Irma Winston’s private dressing room. Used by no one else during her nearly ten year tenure as the resident ingenue. That accident occurred during her performance as Daphne in the opera of that same name. Another breathtakingly beautiful love story set in ancient Greece, involving Dionysus, Apollo, and Zeus himself—”

  “He was a stagehand,” I said. “Of course.”

  “Beg pardon?” Mr. Steinbeck asked, somewhat affronted by being interrupted during his exposition. Syd stifled a giggle and sipped noisily at the last dregs of her float.

  “The spirit,” I said. “He was all in white at first… but when the show opened he showed up all in black. Like a stage hand.”

  “Thin,” Matt countered quietly.

  “No,” I said, “the more I think about it, the more certain I am he’s our pick.” There was something about the way this spirit had been described. Sure, he sang, but the Robbins’ had said that he didn’t sing on key exactly, and he was shy. Not a performer. Even now, he was seen in the corners of reflections and up on the rafters, just out of sight the way a stage hand ought to be.

  “I trust you, honey,” Luke said. “If you’re sure.”

  “Eden’s intuition is rarely wrong,” Syd said. Once the two of them were behind me, everyone else seemed to come around to it as well. Except Matt, but, what did I expect?

  “The only question is, what’s his unfinished business?” I wondered out loud.

  “Well I’m afraid I simply couldn’t speak to that,” Mr. Steinbeck announced, in something of a huff. “If you would be so kind as to quiet the rascal, or perhaps banish him; some sort of spell or exorcism or…?”

  Luke, Syd, Goog and myself must have showed our feelings on our face plane as a clear winter day.

  “It’s not a simple as kicking the poor boy out in the cold,” I explained calmly. “If he’s here, and acting out like this, he wants something. Needs to be heard and understood. He needs to move on, not out, Mr. Steinbeck. We’re here as much to help Quentin as to help you.”

  “Quentin?” Syd asked. “Quentin, the ghost?”

  “His name was Martin Lovejoy,” Goog said. “Died at 24.”

  Mr. Steinbeck’s face was a mask of inscrutable flatness, all at once. “Well. Whatever methods you employ, pray employ them with haste. We’ll be lucky to fill fifty seats tonight, much less tomorrow if there are any more of these… shenanigans afoot.”

  “We’ll do everything we can, Mr. Steinbeck,” Luke assured him calmly. Luke was so much better at that than I was. It rubbed me in the wrongest way that some people just had no compassion for those that were lost and alone like these spirits often were.

  “The more we know about Martin Lovejoy,” I said, “the better.”

  “Well,” Mr. Steinbeck said, standing, “beyond his footnote in the local history, I’m not sure what more there is to learn of him. Nothing against young mister Lovejoy, mind you, but stagehands are not actors. It is their purview to remain unseen by onlookers.” He wasn’t saying something. What was it?

  “We’ll need access to the theater space tonight,” Matt informed the man before he ran off. “After midnight.”

  “Of course you do,” Mr. Steinbeck said airily. “When else does one conjure spirits?”

  I bit off my reply to that, and we let Mr. Steinbeck bid his farewell, which he did by literally bidding us “Farewell.”

  I turned to the team when he’d gone. “I’m not sure I particularly care for Mr. Steinbeck. Let’s find everything we can about Martin Lovejoy. And…” I tapped my finger on the tabletop, “…see what you can find on Irma Winston as well.”

  “And you two?” Syd asked, certain that I wasn’t including myself in that.

  I smiled at Luke, and then back to her. “My wonderful husband just invited me to go the the theater.” I did my best Jeremiah Steinbeck impression, drawing the word out, and earned a few honest chuckles for my effort.

  “You heard the lady,” Luke said. “Let us know what you find, and we’ll keep a weather eye out for any ghosts, ghouls, or water sprites.”

  “I’ll check the gear for tonight’s setup,” Matt said.

  And with that, we split again. I have to say, I think I get the better end of that stick for once.

  Chapter 7

  Luke was, as always, the perfect gentleman. Even though it was work, he made an effort to open doors, help me into my seat, get concessions, and generally make it feel like a real date. For the first half an hour of the show, which I could barely pay attention to, it almost felt like it was.

  It was about that time, though, that I noticed a cool draft pass over the audience. We weren’t the only ones who noticed, either. Ahead of us, a few fellow audience members in the pitiful crowd—there were hardly twenty people there, all told, not the fifty that Steinbeck had expected—shrugged coats onto their shoulders or rubbed the arms against the sudden chill.

  I kept my eyes open, and tried to let my intuition guide them. I scanned the rafters, and the rows of lights; especially the one that Caroline had told us was the problem. Why that particular light should get singled out was a mystery, but if I knew one thing, it was that earthbound spirits with an ax to grind rarely presented patterns without a reason.

  Sure enough, an hour into the play, the light flickered twice, and then switched itself on just as Melanie was crossing through it. That it caught her off guard was obvious. She opened her mouth to say the next line but nothing came out. It took her a moment to recover, while her two companions on stage at that particular moment tried to cover up the mistake.

  Just like that, the light went out. I caught a glimpse of something, I thought, up there around the light but it was gone just as soon as I noticed.

  There were other curious things, too, though, throughout the show. The cloth on the walls, for one thing, swayed as though blown by a breeze I didn’t feel in the air. Twice, one of the performers on stage apparently reached for something they expected to find, and came out empty handed. It gave the impression they were grasping at nothing from time to time, and while they did a good job of covering up their consternation I could tell it threw them off.

  All of it was minor stuff, as far as I could tell; not a falling light, or an exploding bulb. That was, until the last moments of the play.

  Melanie’s character, an English aristocrat of some description I missed early on, had something to say about Rose, Joanne’s character, and Frederick, who had been constantly without a prop the entire night though he often looked like he expected one, and went to
sit in a chair to deliver the next lines of her monologue.

  There, in front of God and everyone, plain for all to see, did Melanie cum Lady Caroline fall down right on her backside when the chair jerked suddenly out from under her the moment she went to sit in it.

  The reaction from the audience was immediate and mixed. Some laughed, other gasped. I gripped Luke’s knee tightly. This had all the makings of a direct attack on the poor girl, and she took it as such. She got quickly to her feet, spun as though to confront the offender, and when there was no one there she froze. Slowly, she turned back to the audience and delivered the last lines of her speech before she left the stage with her hand over her mouth and in a hurry.

  There were no more events as the play wound down, but there was more than a little chatter about it. Luke and I remained in the theater as the rest of them filed out.

  “He’s getting more and more upset,” I said when we were alone except for a few stage hands fussing with the scenery, maybe looking for missing props.

  “It looks like it,” Luke agreed. “Maybe we should check on Melanie.”

  “I’ll check on her,” I said. “Girl talk. You rustle up the others, and I’ll meet you all back at the hotel.”

  After what he’d just seen, Luke wasn’t about to agree to that. “This one could be dangerous,” he said, serious as a heart attack. “I don’t think you should be here alone.”

  “Not for nothing,” I said carefully, “but I really do think Martin has a thing for blonds. Now why he’s got it out for Melanie I can’t say, yet, but I have an instinct that it’s got something to do with Irma Winston. Maybe she jilted him or something back in the day and he’s gotten Melanie confused with her. The earthbound spirits don’t always know what time they’re in if they’ve been dormant for a while. I think I’ll be alright, love.”

  “I can just call the others,” he said, resolute. “And stay up here. Keep an eye out.”

  I let out a long sigh, and finally nodded. “Stubborn. Alright. But up here. Let me talk to Melanie alone. It can’t be as simple as hair color; it never is. She’s got a secret.”

  “Go get em,” Luke said, softly, and held my hand tight for a moment when I moved away from him to find the young actress. He only let go when I looked back at him and winked. I’ll be okay, sweetheart.

  “Are you okay?” I asked quietly from the door when I cracked it just a hair. “It’s Eden. From before? I saw the show.”

  “Come in,” Melanie said, her voice tight from crying. She was still in her costume. To her credit, she was still here. I was surprised she didn’t bolt straight away.

  “Are you hurt?” I asked.

  Melanie shook her head. “No. A little sore but that’s all. And mortified. In front of all those people…” I didn’t see the point in minimizing it. There hadn’t been all that many people watching, but I was sure it stung all the same.

  “Why would he do this to me?” Melanie asked, honestly confused. I could imagine. Someone who’d died before your parents were born couldn’t possibly have a personal reason to be so cruel, right?

  But with entities like these it wasn’t always so simple. “Are you from Egypt Pike, Melanie?” I asked.

  She nodded. “Everyone who lives in Egypt Pike is from Egypt Pike,” she said, with a note of bitterness.

  “And your parents?” I pressed.

  She shrugged a shoulder, and then shook her head. “They’re from South Carolina. They moved up to Miller’s Creek, just about ten miles west, before I was born. Daddy moved up for work. He’s an aggro-engineer. Farming stuff.”

  Well, the chances that her recent ancestors had somehow offended Martin were low, at least. “When did you first see Martin? Or, notice something strange around here?” I asked. “Even privately.”

  She snorted softly, a dainty sound even with her nose running like it was from crying. “Opening night, like everyone else. It was a small house. Mostly old people, all friends of Jeremiah’s investor.”

  A little thread stuck out in what she said. One that I picked and pulled at until I had something to grasp onto. Everyone else here called Mr. Steinbeck ‘Stein’, or Steinbeck. Not Melanie, though. “You’re close with Jeremiah?” I wondered.

  Melanie sniffed, and didn’t answer right away. She wiped her nose with a tissue, and then shook her head. “Not really. A little, I guess. This is my first role. He thinks I have potential, that’s all. Thinks I could do really well maybe in New York, if I get enough experience.”

  “I’m sure he’s right,” I said, “you handled yourself really well tonight, all things considered. Not everyone can finish a speech after something like that. You’re a trooper, for sure.”

  She smiled at this, and nodded her thanks. “The show must go on,” she said. “It’s not just a thing we say.”

  “I guess not,” I agreed. I happened to notice, just then, as Melanie turned to stuff her tissue into the waste basket under her table, that she had in her ear an impressive diamond. Not stage jewelry. I knew a genuine diamond when I saw it, and that was not a cheap rock.

  “Well, I think the worst has passed,” I told her when she turned back to me. “But you’d probably be better off scooting out of here real soon. We’re going to get some equipment set up, and get this all sorted out tonight.”

  “Thank you,” Melanie said. “For coming to check on me. No one else did…” I felt for her, in more ways than one. Poor thing. I was pretty sure I knew her secret, and didn’t care to make her say it out loud. In fact, a lot of this was coming together. Oh, I hated lying, mind you, but there was a missing piece here that I didn’t quite have in place. Somehow, I thought Melanie might be able to provide it.

  “Oh, one last thing,” I said, “it’s embarrassing but I’m terrible with names. We’re going to meet with Mr. Steinbeck’s investor about the investigation, and I can’t quite remember her last name.”

  “Mrs. Milovichny,” Melanie provided easily. I was lucky it wasn’t smith. I wasn’t sure I’d even caught the name.

  “Milovickney,” I repeated to the best of my ability. “Of course. I’ll have to try and remember this time.”

  “Say it out loud ten times,” Melanie suggested. “Works every time.”

  “I’ll do that,” I told her.

  I left her to change, and went upstairs. Luke was waiting for me, just as he promised, practically on the balls of his feet ready to rush down at the first sign he was needed.

  “Anything?” He asked.

  “Two things,” I said as I steered us toward the exit. “First is that Steinbeck’s investor is a Mrs. Milo… Milaveky… darn. Oh, Milovichny. Whew.” I repeated it out loud, quietly, ten times. Sure enough, it seemed stuck in there after that. “Anyway, we should look her up and have a chat as soon as we can.”

  “You think she’s involved somehow?”

  “I don’t know for sure, but I’ll bet you a shiny nickel I do know something,” I said. “Two more somethings, in fact.”

  “And that is?” Luke urged.

  I raised both eyebrows as I stepped down the stairs to the Drugstore. “Melanie Burk is sleeping with her director, and Steinbeck is stealing money from Milovichny.” Got the name off that time without missing a beat.

  Chapter 8

  The first sound we heard that night was a low growl that echoed ominously in the dark.

  “Sorry,” Syd whispered loudly. “That was me. My stomach’s a little rotten.”

  “Told you so,” Goog replied quietly.

  Syd threw something at him that thumped across a couple of theater seats before it plopped to the ground. She snorted, and then retrieved her sandal.

  The place was nearly pitch black but for the glow of monitors and tools. Getting a meeting with Mrs. Milovichny turned out to be next to impossible. Matt had managed to track her down at least, but by the time he did it was a little late to go knocking on her door. So instead we came back to the opera house just after midnight to do our formal investigation.


  My own stomach growled in response to Syd’s. Not because it was rotten, but because everything in Egypt Pike shut down about eight pm, and by the time we left the show there was nary a bite to eat left open. Syd had kindly offered me a lozenge, but I graciously declined.

  An empty stomach wasn’t the worst way to start the night, though. A little hunger sharpened my attention, maybe freed up some energy for other things. “Let’s start in the dressing rooms,” I said. “Melanie’s in particular.”

  Matt manned the screens, eyes and ears alert for anything that might crop up on the screens or meters monitoring temperature, electromagnetic changes, and light beyond the visible spectrum.