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

by Constance Barker

  “The rumor going around at the time,” she said finally, “was that he’d fallen when he attempted to… to kill me. I never believed it. Martin worked the lights, you see, and in those days we didn’t have all these fancy gadgets. He handled my light, the one that I always used for the big numbers because it was just right, and the angle threw the shadows of my face and form in just the perfect places.

  “I sang soprano in those days, before my voice was spent. Martin started after my first year and, my word, he was smitten. I was too busy for boys at the time, but I noticed. I tried to pretend that I didn’t though; my mother, when I told her of his apparent interest, said that I should be more concerned with my burgeoning career. I was single-handedly carrying Bell’s Opera House through the depression, you see. We were very fortunate. Very fortunate.”

  She smiled at memories we couldn’t see, that weren’t written in any old microfiche or now recalled probably by anyone still alive other than her. Maybe Martin remembered, I thought.

  “But I became involved with my director at the time. Lars Milovichny. He was Czechoslovakian, and had the most wonderful accent, and he had brought his wealth from overseas. He cast me as Karmen that season, and it was the highlight of my career. Our male lead for the show had taken ill, however, and Lars had to scramble to find someone to replace him.”

  She chuckled fondly at something. “Martin practiced Don Jose’s part privately and with me when I was practicing my own. He could never carry a tune. But he wanted to, desperately; I think just so he could sing with me.”

  He was still singing, I realized. I wondered what song it was.

  “When Lars refused to give him the chance,” Irma went on, “Martin thought that it was because we had been seeing each other, that it was jealousy. It wasn’t, at least not entirely. Martin just didn’t have the talent or the training. Lars brought in another actor, and he did a passable job at it.”

  Irma grew distant, and took a final puff of her cigarette before she put it out thoughtfully. “We had two more performances left when… it happened. They were canceled, however. And the Opera never quite recovered from it. We’d weathered the depression and a world war, but that night sealed the fate of our little company. The next year, no one really had the heart for it anymore, especially not me. Lars asked me to marry him, and to go with him to California. I did, because he was handsome, and rich, and promised to make me a star and that getting away would somehow renew my spirit. It never did. And Lars was never much of a husband.”

  She waved a hand at our surroundings. “But he did leave me quite a fortune. So I came back here, after it all, hoping somehow that I might finally get that renewal I was promised. If I brought the opera house back to life, I thought I might bring myself back with it.”

  From the way she said this, I got the impression that she had not yet done that. Suddenly I was angry with Mr. Steinbeck. Furious that he was taking advantage of this woman who just wanted to get back a spark she’d lost a long time ago. I didn’t even know for sure he was stealing from her, but it had lodged itself inside my mind and now I couldn’t stop believing it. Maybe, I thought, Martin had seen something, could confirm it for us. Maybe that’s why he was angry.

  “The days after Martin died,” Irma said quietly, wonderingly, “I would find roses or rose petals waiting for me in the strangest places. I never thought much of it at the time other than that it was a sweet gesture by maybe Lars, or one of the young men on the staff, or my Jose. But, when they opened this awful show, Enchanted April, I went to see it and, do you know, I found a rose waiting for me in my seat. I thought it was Jeremiah. But, I wonder… do you really think Martin Lovejoy is there? At the theater? Trapped all these long years?”

  “I do,” I told her earnestly. “I haven’t gotten a look at him. But I think he’s been showing himself to pretty young blond women, maybe confused about who they are. On their side of things, it isn’t always easy to see things as they are. Earthbound spirits can get a bit lost in time. But if his attachment to the theater has anything to do with you, or with what’s been happening—the renovations, and the show—then I think the key to helping him move on might be you, Irma. His Winnie.”

  She took a deep breath, and stared for a moment out the window toward town as though trying to look all the way there to see if it was true, if Martin really was waiting for her there. “I suppose,” she said after a long moment, “that if there is anything that I can do to help my Martin find some peace then, I can’t really say no, can I? Not if I ever really cared for him.”

  We left that very hour.

  “You sure this is a good idea?” Luke asked me as we waited at the Drugstore for Milton to arrive with Irma. “If he was in love with her, but she stuck with her director, he might be angry about it. That might be why he went after Melanie like he did.”

  “If he pulls any crap,” Syd told Luke, “we’ll pull her out and fall back on plan b.”

  “What’s plan b?” Goog wondered. We hadn’t made a plan b. This was plan b.

  “Shut him down,” Syd said.

  “I don’t intend to have Martin Lovejoy exorcised,” I said, hoping to shut that line inquiry right down before it got any further along. Ghosts could be exorcised, but unlike a demonic entity they had no particular place to go. An earthly spirit couldn’t be forced to cross over, they could only be forced to leave whatever abode they were trapped in, wandering lost in the world and, I suspected, weakening without the support of their home. It was their connection to it that kept them vital. If you took that away, what was left for them?

  No, Martin Lovejoy didn’t need to be cast out. He needed closure.

  “Well, be sure not to let him know that,” Syd said. “If things go south in there, they won’t have to get very far to do a woman of Irma’s age serious damage.”

  “I don’t think he’s angry at Irma at all,” I said to all of them. “I think that he’s angry at Steinbeck and maybe Melanie Burk. Something about them must remind him of what happened between Irma and Lars.”

  “What do you mean by that?” Matt asked. “You mean Melanie and Steinbeck are…?”

  I shrugged, and realized I’d slipped up. Spreading rumors wasn’t something I cared for. I backpedaled. “I’m just trying to put the pieces together until a clearer picture shows up,” I said, “that’s all.”

  Syd offered no comment but an arched eyebrow.

  Irma and Milton arrived in short order, thankfully, and we got moving up to the theater.

  “Now, no matter what happens,” I told her on the way up, “try to stay calm. It can be frightening when they act out, and you might see some things that don’t make sense.”

  “I am not frightened,” Irma said confidently. “Whatever state he’s in now, my Martin would never hurt me, no matter what anyone said back then.”

  I caught Luke smiling, and had to fight to keep my own face serious. He caught my eye, though, and smiled wider, and I couldn’t help myself. I love you too, honey.

  It was only just after noon, not a traditional time for a ghost sighting, but as there was a performance that night we didn’t have the luxury of trying to pick a better one. I asked that they let me go in first, to try and get myself opened up and ready to hopefully facilitate the conversation in case Irma wasn’t able to see Martin herself. He hadn’t had a problem manifesting to the Robbins’, it seemed, but they’d been younger then and full of excitement about their new endeavor opening the drugstore.

  That was the thing about seeing spirits. Plenty of children see them, me among them. But as you get older, become jaded, and lose your sense of wonder that all children seem born with, it becomes more difficult and most people lose it all together. I had, for a while, until I’d made working with the paranormal world a priority. By then, the only spirit I really wanted to see anymore was long out of sight.

  So I walked the aisles of the great room, and trailed my fingers over the seats, and the base of the scaffolding that lead to the lighting rai
ls overhead. I wandered the stage, taking slow and measured steps as I tried to sink into the energy of the place, calming my mind and pushing all my worry and doubt and suspicions far, far away from the here and now.

  Luke and the others were use to my process by now, and Luke peeked in through the door every few minutes until he recognized that calm, placid look on my face and brought Irma in quietly. The others stayed outside. It would have been best if it was just me and Irma, but that wasn’t an option to Luke.

  She joined me on stage. There was a look of sheer wonder and expectation on her face as she gazed out at the seats. “How I loved to stand on this stage,” she whispered. She reached up with a white handkerchief and dabbed at her eye. “So many wonderful and beautiful years.”

  I put an arm around Irma’s shoulders. She was small, and suddenly frail, when I felt her form under the fluffed dress. She leaned against me a moment, maybe drawing from my strength, or lending me hers.

  I let her go, and tried to open myself up to whatever came next. “Martin,” I said. “Martin Lovejoy. There’s someone here to see you. Irma Winston’s come. Your Winnie. We want to talk with you, Martin. Could you come on out, if you’re able?”

  Nothing happened right away. I admit, I was a little disappointed. I pushed a bit more, though. “It’s been a long time Martin. Irma’s missed you, too. I bet she’d really like to hear from you. If you’ve got anything you’ve wanted to say to her, now is the time.”

  Maybe I’d gotten this wrong. Maybe Luke was right, and Martin was angry at Irma, not for her.

  Irma sighed. “It’s been so long,” she said. “I’ve grown old. I doubt he even recognizes me anymore.”

  “I’d recognize my Winnie anywhere,” A voice said behind us. I turned, but Irma didn’t. She just looked at me, and then turned to look at where I was looking.

  It was Martin. No longer all in black, but back in the white shirt, and slacks, and suspenders that John Robbins’ had described. He was young, just like they’d said, and handsome. Slender, but tallish. He tipped his boating hat up. He was staring at Irma with undisguised longing and love. I knew it.

  “He’s here,” I said to Irma, who was still staring at the shadows behind Martin, looking for him. It broke my heart a little that she couldn’t see what I saw.

  “Martin?” Irma asked to the air. “Oh, Martin…”

  “She couldn’t see me before, either,” Martin said. “I left her a rose, just like I used to. I hoped she would know. It’s been so long.”

  “I can see you, Martin,” I said. “And I can hear you. If you want to say something to her, I can send it along.”

  Martin’s form had started out see-through and watery but as he came closer he became clearer, more solid. More solid than I think I’ve ever seen before. Maybe it was Irma’s old flame rekindling and giving him strength. “I loved you so much, Irma. I heard what they said after I hit the stage. It wasn’t true. You know that, don’t you love? That I could never have hurt you.”

  I swallowed the tight knot in my throat. “He says that he still loves you,” I said to Irma. “And that what they said about him wasn’t true. He never would have hurt you.”

  “I know that, Martin,” Irma told him, as though it was a given. “Of course I always knew that. I was devastated when you fell. You must know… I wasn’t going to stay with Lars. On closing night, I was going to… oh…” she wept openly, and tried to clear her eyes.

  “Don’t cry, Winnie,” Martin said. He reached out toward her, as though to wipe her tears. To me, it looked like his fingers brushed her face, but didn’t press into her skin, or move a tear. None the less, Irma took a short, shaky breath, and then raised her fingers to her cheek. “I just wish I could speak to her one more time,” Martin said. I had never seen a ghost cry before. I wasn’t really seeing it now—Martin had no tears in his eyes, but all the other parts of the emotion were there.

  I don’t know what instinct made me do it, but I took Irma’s hand in mine. She squeezed it with more strength than I would have thought. I tried to remember what it felt like when I’d seen through the little girl’s eyes in the forests of Appalachia, in the ruins of that stone village. There had been a sharing, a sense of being in two places at once. I wanted desperately to share with Irma. Please, please, I prayed to whatever forces out there had given me my gift. Just this once, let me share it.

  I might not ever know the mechanics of it, or the reason. Maybe Irma was old, and already so near to crossing over herself. Maybe God really did hear my prayers and this time decided to lend me a hand. Maybe it would have happened anyway. Whatever the case was, I wasn’t interested in questioning it or wondering.

  Irma’s eyes opened wide, and she covered her mouth as she stared right at Martin Lovejoy and then gave a quiet, joyful little sob. “My Martin… my handsome, wonderful Martin… you… you’re just the same.”

  “Irma,” Martin said, growing suddenly brighter, so solid he could have been standing there physically with us. “I watched over you that year you were still here. I left you roses, and tried to speak to you so many, many times.”

  “I knew it was you, dear heart, somehow I always knew,” Irma said. “But… Martin, you’ve been here, all these years? You must have been so lonely. I’m so very, very sorry, Martin. I didn’t know. If I had known…”

  “You couldn’t have been here with me, darling,” Martin said. “I wouldn’t have wanted you to. But I waited. I knew you’d come back, one day.”

  “Martin,” I said softly, almost afraid to interrupt this reunion, “being here, staying on this side; it’s not good for you.”

  “I know,” Martin said. “Until just now I felt… lost. I was never sure when it was. I saw Melanie, but I couldn’t stop thinking she was Winnie. I had to keep telling myself over and over again that it wasn’t her, that Jeremiah wasn’t Lars. But Winnie,” his eyes took on a shade of anger, his form even darkening for a brief moment, “that man, Jeremiah, he’s stealing from you. He’s been planning to run off with Melanie. They think you won’t realize until it’s too late to do anything about it. You need to get rid of him, and her, too.”

  I knew it! I hid my self-congratulatory excitement, though; it seemed out of place. None the less, I shot Luke a quick look, and he gave me a proud nod.

  “That man… he seemed so enthusiastic about it. I thought for sure he shared my vision,” Irma said, hurt. Hurt quickly turned to resolution, though, and I could hear the iron in her voice when she spoke next. “I’ll deal with Jeremiah. Poor Melanie probably doesn’t know any better. I certainly didn’t.”

  “That’s what you were angry about,” I said. “Why you started making trouble?”

  Martin nodded. “I couldn’t just stand by and let them get away with it. I thought I could drive them off, scare them away. I would have done worse. I wanted to. I was so angry. But I thought that if I did, Winnie might leave forever.”

  “I know the truth now, Martin,” Irma told him. She reached for him, but her hand brushed through his body, even as solid as it appeared. She drew her hand back, disappointed. For a moment, perhaps she’d thought he really was back. The truth became evident on her face, though, as she dried her tears. “Martin,” she said. “Now that I know… now that I know everything, maybe it’s time that you moved on. Went to your peace.” It was for the best, though I could see that the prospect pained her to admit.

  Martin pressed his lips together, and nodded slowly. “There’s something else I need you to know first,” he said. “That night, when I fell. The railing didn’t just miss you, my love. When I saw where you were standing… when I saw the first crack in the weld, I knew it was going to fall on you. I didn’t have time to shout for you to move so…”

  Irma stared at Martin. I did, too.

  “It was my choice, darling,” he said. “And I would make it again. I saw you, afterward, when you told Lars you felt guilty about it. Like it should have been you instead of me. Please, my beautiful Winnie, I can see you
carrying that around even now. Put it down. If you want me to have peace, I’ll only take it if you will.”

  “Martin, I…” Irma had to steady herself. As she did, though, maybe through a moment of connection, I could almost feel her become lighter. As if, just as Martin had asked, she had put down some great burden. She nodded, smiling. “I’m too old to be carrying such a weight around anyway,” she said. “I can never repay a debt like that, Martin. Not now, not so late. I’m old. Old and tired.”

  “No,” Martin said. “You only think that because you can’t see what I see. To me, Winnie, you’re more beautiful than you’ve ever been. This is how I’ll remember you until I see you again.”

  “Good bye, Martin,” Irma said. “I’ll see you again. Soon, I have no doubt.”

  “Not until it’s time, Winnie,” Martin said. “Where I’m going, I don’t think time will matter much. Winnie?”

  “Yes, Martin?”

  “Will you sing for me? One more time?”