Persephone Cole and the Halloween Curse

by Heather Haven

  And all this noise adds to the charm.

  The phone booth was empty and Percy sidled in, closing the door behind her. The thick door blocked out most of the din, offering relative quiet. Percy removed two nickels from her pocket and inserted one in the coin slot, anxious to talk to her son.

  “Murray Hill four-seven-seven-three,” she muttered then dialed. After three rings, the phone was answered by a woman.

  “Hello?”

  “Sylvia? Percy Cole here. How are you?”

  “I’m fine, Percy, just fine. Do you want to talk to Oliver? He’s right here. The boys are designing their Halloween costumes,” she added. “Oliver’s a good artist. You can tell his is the Green Lantern. Freddy says he wants to be Superman, but it looks more like a blue blob.”

  She let out a light laugh. Percy did, too, but there was something in the other woman’s laugh that caused Percy concern. “Sylvia, are you all right?”

  “I’m fine, fine.” Her answer came a little too bright and cheery. After a moment’s silence, Sylvia lowered her voice. “I haven’t had a letter from Fred in over a week. I’m a little…scared, that’s all. I’m sure I’ll get one tomorrow. But you know, he writes every other day.”

  “They would have notified you by now, Sylvia, if anything was wrong. It’s probably a hang-up with the post office. You know how they are. They’d misplace a building if you could shove it in an envelope for them.”

  Sylvia’s laugh was genuine now. “Maybe you’re right. Hang on a minute, let me get Oliver.”

  Percy heard the sound of the phone being set down. She’d been flippant about the post office. The mail came from the Army, anyway, and they tended not to make mistakes.

  Jeesh, this is the down side of having a husband you care about. With Leo the Louse, I only hope wherever he is, he never sends me a letter.

  “Hello, Mommy?”

  The sound of Oliver’s small voice warmed her all over. This was the child who gave her life meaning.

  “Hello, sweetie.”

  “Mommy,” he burst out. “Somebody stole our jack-o’-lantern, right from our front door! And they took Freddy’s, too. And Mrs. Rendell says they took the neighbors, too. Somebody’s stealing our pumpkins!”

  “Someone took our jack-o’-lantern?” Guilt rushed through her. She’d been so eager to leave the apartment and get to the new job, she hadn’t even noticed the pumpkin’s absence. “When did you see it was missing? This morning?”

  “No ma’am. It was there when I left. Grandma called and asked if I took it with me to cub scouts, but I didn’t. Gee, Mommy,” he whined, “I worked real hard on that pumpkin. I even gave him a crooked smile and everything.”

  “Well, don’t you worry about it, Oliver.” Her answer was a little too bright, even to her ears. “I’ll get another one, a larger one, and we’ll carve it all over again. This time it’ll be even better. Practice makes perfect.”

  “Okay. Can I put a candle in it?”

  “We’ll see. Tell me what you’ve been doing today, sweetie.”

  “I made five teepees out of popsicle sticks. One for you, one for Grandpop, one for grandma, one for Aunt Sera and one for me. They look like teepees, too!”

  His enthusiasm was catching. “I’ll bet they do. I can’t wait to see mine. Are you having fun?”

  “Yes ma’am. Freddy asked if I can stay for dinner. Can I, Mommy, can I? They’re having hotdogs and beans!”

  “Well, if it isn’t too much trouble for Mrs. Rendell.”

  “It’s not. She says I have very grownup manners.”

  “I’m glad to hear it. If you promise to take your dish to the sink afterward, you can stay.”

  “Yah!”

  “Listen, sweetie, Mommy has to work tonight, so let’s go to the movies tomorrow afternoon instead of tonight, okay?”

  “Okay, Mommy. Can I listen to the Green Lantern tonight?”

  “I don’t think so, sweetheart. That’s kind of late and you’re already having a pretty full day. You wash up and go to bed right away when you get home.”

  “Awwww,” he grumbled.

  “Awwww, yourself. We can’t have everything in this life. When you get finished eating, it’ll be dark, so I’m going to ask Mrs. Rendell to walk you down to the curb and watch you cross the street to the apartment. You do everything she says, okay?”

  “Okay, Mommy.”

  “Put Mrs. Rendell back on the line. I love you, sweetie.”

  “I love you, too, Mommy.”

  After working the logistics of getting her son back home, Percy hung up. She dialed the other number thinking of a plan to deal with her father, hoping it would do the trick. He was somewhat more difficult than Oliver to get to do what she wanted. But not impossible.

  A young female voice answered the phone on the fifth ring.

  “Hello?”

  “Hi, Sera. Pop up or is he still sleeping?”

  “Oooooooo, you are in so much trouble!” Sera’s voice had a gleeful, sing-song quality to it. “When Mother told Pop where you went and what you were up to, he hit the roof.”

  So much for Mother keeping a secret.

  “He’s going to kill you,” Sera went on.

  “Try not to sound so happy.”

  “Better you than me. Wish I could be around when you two go at it, but I’m going to the movies. I’m seeing a John Wayne double feature. What a dreamboat. Did you know his real name is Marion Morrison?”

  “I did.”

  “I read that in a magazine. We’re not the only family with screwball names. Did you take the carved pumpkin from in front of the door and throw it away or something?”

  “Why on earth would I do that, Sera? Oliver and I spent hours carving that thing.”

  “And it still looked like someone went at it with a meat cleaver.”

  “Just keep your remarks to yourself and put Pop on the line. May as well get it over with,” Percy muttered.

  “Pop!” Sera screamed into the mouthpiece.

  “Ow. Give a body a warning where you’re going to do that, Sera.”

  There was no reply, but rather the shuffle of a phone and then a clunk. After a few seconds she heard Pop’s indignant voice.

  “Persephone Cole, what is the meaning of this?”

  “Hi, Pop. Listen, can you chew me out later? I hope Ophelia’s got enough gas to get you to midtown. Right now I need your help.”

  “She’s got plenty of gas. I put three gallons in her just this morning. What do you mean, you need my help? Where are you? And this better be good.”

  “Pop, I know you’re working nights, but --”

  “Not any more. I just got canned. Rabbis’ ran out of money. I’m going to keep at it on my own, though. There’s some kids, Nazi sympathizers…” He sputtered for a minute. “Now you stop distracting me, young lady. What do you mean, taking a job as a detective? And for fifteen dollars a day! It better be honest.”

  “It’s in the theatre, Pop, and with this lot, how honest it is, is questionable. However, I’m going undercover as the assistant stage manager, so I need you to be my feet while I’m doing whatever an assistant stage manager does. You have to have lunch with O’Malley and get the low-down on this Carlisle death --”

  “O’Malley?” Pop interrupted. “Mick O’Malley? And who’s Carlisle?”

  “Mick’s handling the case and he’s looking forward to seeing you,” she added as an embellishment. “The stiff in question, name of Carlisle, was an actor playing the part of Macduff. Fell to his death last night. I need some details, as only the cops can have. Then I need you to go the public library at Forty-second and Fifth and look up some people in ‘Who’s Who in the Theatre’. I’ll give you a list of names when I see you. There’s a Carnegie Deli pastrami on rye in it for you.”

  “Pastrami? On rye?” Percy could almost see Pop lick his lips. “And here Mother was making her milk fish stew tonight.” His voice carried insincere regret.

  Percy let out an involuntary shudd
er. Mother’s milk fish stew consisted of fish heads cooked for hours in half water, half canned milk, with tons of onions, carrots and celery thrown in.

  “That must be why Oliver was so insistent on eating with Freddy.” Percy let out a hoot of laugher. “By the way, you want to let Mother know? Tell her he’ll be home right after, around seven or seven-thirty.”

  “That leaves the milk fish stew for the stray dogs in the neighborhood.”

  “Even they won’t touch it, Pop.”

  “Let’s not tell Mother. Am I getting slaw and a cream soda with that pastrami?”

  “Natch. I’ll meet you outside the Royal Theatre at Forty-sixth and Broadway in twenty minutes.”

  “Make it fifteen.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Elsie, you put the dagger back in place barely in time. I tried to warn you, but heard someone coming and hid behind some scenery until they left. I don’t think they saw me or you, either, but we can’t be too careful. I wish we could be together more often, but it’s not possible. I’m sorry about the fire, but it couldn’t be helped. Like us, there are many innocent victims in this world. We must steel our hearts to them. Evelyn

  Chapter Thirteen

  Percy watched the backside of Ophelia disappear into midtown traffic. The black nineteen-twenty-nine Dodge was considered more of a family pet than the family car. It was old but reliable, except when you ran out of gas, which happened more often than not.

  Percy turned from the street and went into the theatre, looking at her watch. Twelve-fifteen. Enough time for a little chat before she went to her new job.

  “How you doing, Ned?” Percy leaned her face into his small space with a grin.

  Ned looked up from the newspaper, watery eyes fastening on her. “Well, if it ain’t our own private dick,” he said with a smile.

  “Shhhh. Mum’s the word on that.”

  “Gotcha.”

  “Interested in sharing a pastrami on rye? Straight from the Carnegie.”

  “Don’t mind if I do,” he said, folding his newspaper and tucking it in the back pocket of his pants.

  Percy opened the small bag, took out the thick, meaty sandwich neatly cut in half and began to unwrap the thin paper containing it. She looked around her. “Who’s in the theatre?”

  “Not many.” He grabbed one of the halves. “It’s lunchtime. I don’t get relieved until around two-fifteen and then it’s only for twenty minutes. I try to bring my lunch, but sometimes the missus forgets to make it. Today’s one of those days,” he added, taking a huge bite.

  Percy followed suit, took a bite, and rolled her eyes. “Ambrosia,” she murmured.

  “Thought it was pastrami,” Ned said with a full mouth, spraying specks of food here and there. “Tastes like it.”

  “Yeah.” Percy dropped the sandwich on the paper and wrapped it up again.

  Emily Post would not approve of Ned’s table manners and as a mother, neither do I.

  She wiped flecks of Ned’s food from the sleeve of her suit before she spoke again. “So exactly who’s here right now? And you can wait and tell me after you get through swallowing. Have some coleslaw.” She pushed the small container forward and Ned grabbed it.

  He gulped down his mouthful and wiped his maw on the sleeve of his well-worn plaid shirt. “Let’s see.” He thought for a moment, while he picked up a fork from one of the small cubicles and wiped it on his pants leg. “All them actors are gone. They had a ‘brush up’ rehearsal earlier. That’s where they run lines or something. Big ta-do over that actor fellow falling to his death, but Wainwright said it was because he went up on the catwalk, which is dangerous. He said, let that be a warning. Nobody but someone who knows what they’re doing should be up there.”

  “What was the reaction to that story?”

  “You know how simple them show folk are. They believe what they want.”

  “Most people are like that,” Percy remarked.

  “True enough. All that was over about fifteen minutes ago and them actors stampeded out of here for lunch. Backstage crew ain’t set to arrive for another twenty minutes or so. They got to be here an hour before the show; the actors half hour. This ain’t no show today, but they’re going to do a ‘run-through’. You know what that is?”

  “I do. Who else is inside right now?”

  He crammed a forkful of coleslaw in his mouth then opened it to speak.

  “Wait,” said Percy. “Let me tell you. We’ll make it a game, Ned. Wainwright, he here?” Ned nodded. “His secretary?” Ned nodded again and swallowed.

  “Yup, she’s here. So is the director, that swishy fellow, and the new stage manager, that kid who thinks he’s too good for anybody, and of course, the hammy actor, Sir Anthony Slattery. He’s always here. It’s like he lives here.”

  “You say he’s always here. Do you have to be here, too?”

  “Not unless they tell me. He’s got his own keys to the theatre. All them that are here now have their own keys.”

  “So they can come and go anytime they please. That’s interesting.” Ned eyed the pickle. “Take the pickle, Ned.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “I’m sure.” He grabbed it and chomped down with enthusiasm.

  “What was this Rutherford Carlisle like?” She picked up the celery soda, jammed the top into the doorframe, and pushed back. The cap snapped off with a popping sound, followed by carbon fizz. She took a slug while she listened to the old man.

  “Oh, like them all, full of himself. He liked the ladies. Of course, he was married once to the first one who played the gal part, so everybody was friendly to him.”

  “Felicity Dowell?”

  “Yup. She called him ‘Rudy darling’. They was still friends, if you can imagine that. Divorced and all. You married?” He quizzed her out of the blue, narrowing his eyes on her.

  “I was. Not anymore.”

  “You like to call that man ‘darling’?

  What I’d like to call that man is ‘dead’.

  “No, I don’t,” she said aloud. “But let’s stick to this group. What interesting tidbits do you know about anybody else?”

  “Want to get your three bucks worth?”

  “And a half a sandwich.”

  “Fair enough.” He laughed, his face turning red. “Well...everybody’s been fooling around with everybody or trying to. Them’s theatre folk for you.”

  “Like who?”

  “Wainwright’s been chasing after that secretary of his, even though he’s got him a wife not much older. The director has taken up with one of them second bananas. Lennox, I think. But it’s on the sly. You don’t want something like that getting out. Normal folks don’t like it.”

  “A second banana. That’s a sidekick of the main star. Vaudeville, right?”

  He nodded, now deep in thought. He ticked off people on the fingers of his hand. “Carlisle was having a time with one of them gals who plays a witch and some other part; Laverne’s her name. The new stage manager’s girlfriend is the assistant wardrobe supervisor, Alice. They always got their heads together. Pretty little thing, but too good for everybody, just like him.”

  “That would be Kyle.” Ned nodded again. “He’s going to be my new boss for a time. What can you tell me about him?”

  “Not one blessed thing. He keeps to himself. Only says ‘good morning’, things like that. The first stage manager, he used to bring me coffee, stuff to eat, like you done. It’s always good to get along with the stage door attendant. I can keep people away he don’t want to see. Or I can let them in, no matter what he says. If you’re going to be working for him, you should tell him.”

  She tilted back the bottle and finished off her soda. “If I get a chance. Anything else? What about Sir Anthony?”

  “Him,” exclaimed Ned. “Bigger than life, that one. He plays practical jokes, likes to gamble and play cards. Thinks it’s manly. Always roping the other actors into playing poker with him at all hours, especially after the show. Bets the nags
; his bookie’s been here often enough. He’s a drinker, too, although never before a show.”

  “I’ve read that,” Percy interjected.

  “And he’ll bed down anything that walks slow enough.” Ned added more, as an afterthought. “Has an odd-looking cat. Takes it everywhere with him; devoted to it. Animal lover, I’ll give him that.”

  “You’re quite the philosopher, Ned.”

  The old man shrugged. “I been around. Anyways, he’s taken up with that new filly, the one who’s doing the gal lead now. She thinks it’s going to get her somewhere.” Ned let out a half-laugh, half-snort.

  “The woman playing Lady Macbeth?”

  “That’s the one, only they don’t like it when you say the name. I’ve learned not to. Cynthia Beauchamp. Pretends she’s from the continent. She’s from the Bronx; I knew her when.”

  “When what?”

  “When she was Myrtle Bassett.”

  Percy let out a chuckle and picked up her uneaten sandwich. “Ned, it’s been grand talking to you. I’m learning from a master,” she said, turning to leave. She looked back over her shoulder. “Remember, keep who I am under your hat. All you know is, I’m the new assistant stage manager. Got it?”

  “Won’t get it out of me.” He shook his head with pride. “I mind my own business.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Evelyn, I sent out another letter last night, just as you’ve asked. I’m glad you thought better about stopping them. Must I meet you tonight in that awful place? The climb is so horrible. Why can’t we meet somewhere else? Tomorrow is my birthday. Can’t we do something nice on my birthday? I would so love that. Elsie

  Chapter Fifteen

  Percy strode past the producer’s office into the backstage area, and toward the stage. She stopped in a five-foot wide path between two sets of dark burgundy velvet curtains hanging from the eighty-foot grid by ropes. Unwrapping her sandwich again and munching on it, Percy studied her surroundings. From attending her son’s second grade production of Pinocchio, she knew this section of the stage was called the wings. Part of the stage deck, but out of sight of the audience, this was where performers entered and exited the play.