by Sarah Rubin
I waved my hand in the air, the universal sign for ‘it’s complicated’.
Dad paused mid-scoop. The 1927 fire is what wrecked the inside of the building. People have been talking about restoring the Beryl for years. But it wasn’t until Rex Cragthorne tried to buy it from the city that they had a deadline. In a way, he’s the reason the Save the Beryl campaign finally came together and got something done.’
‘Don’t let Mom hear you say that,’ I said, and wished I hadn’t. Dad would never do that, and telling him not to felt way too close to getting between them. I took a bite and swallowed too soon, then took a drink to force the lump of food down. I pointed at Dad’s suit with my chopsticks. ‘So how does the tuxedo help you interview his royal evilness?’
Dad grinned at me. ‘Well,’ he said, leaning across the table, ‘you know how all the museums and galleries hold fundraisers around Valentine’s Day?’
I nodded – that had been one of the ideas Mom and Linda had had for raising money for the Beryl, before they decided putting on a show would be more appropriate.
‘One of my sources told me which events Cragthorne is attending while he’s in town. These are pretty fancy affairs, too. Everyone who’s anyone in Philly will be there. I’m going to the Liberty Ball tonight, and the tickets cost a thousand dollars a plate.’
Kevin made a choking sound. I whistled, then waited to see if he needed me to smack him on the back.
Kevin took a sip of water and cleared his throat. ‘Seriously?’ he asked, his eyes streaming. ‘What are they serving? Lobsters stuffed with gold?’
I handed Kevin a napkin. ‘It’s one thousand dollars for the ticket, not the food. Most of the money goes to the museum. That’s why it’s called a fundraiser.’
‘Still sounds crazy to me. Who has that kind of money?’
My stomach lurched. ‘Wait. Dad. You didn’t buy a ticket, did you?’
I didn’t think the paper would let him put a thousand-dollar fundraiser ticket on his expense account. And I knew we didn’t have that kind of money.
‘Of course not,’ Dad said. ‘I’m going undercover.’ He draped his napkin over one arm and held out the tray of spring rolls with the other, bending twenty degrees at the waist in a stiff little bow.
I could feel my eyebrows creeping up my forehead. ‘You’re going undercover as a waiter?’
‘Of course. If I can get close to Cragthorne, it could be the scoop of the century!’ He took a look at the clock. It was almost six. His eyes popped and he ate the rest of the food on his plate in three giant bites. It was a good thing I’d given him the apron. ‘I gotta run, sweetie. Catering needs to be there before the party starts. You kids have fun.’
And with that he pulled off his apron, grabbed his coat and flew out the door.
‘Your dad is crazy,’ Kevin said around a mouthful of mushu pork.
Outside on the street, I heard Dad’s ancient Plymouth station wagon screech into traffic and three different horns protesting forcefully. Dad’s driving philosophy is they have brakes.
I shrugged. My dad did go a little overboard sometimes, but I wouldn’t call him crazy. He was just passionate about his job.
We finished eating and Kevin helped me wash the dishes, drying each plate as I handed it to him and moaning that we didn’t own a dishwasher.
‘It’s just me and my dad. We don’t have enough plates to fill a dishwasher.’
Kevin shook his head and put away the last plate. ‘You are living in the Stone Age.’
I handed him the last plate with a smile.
I’d just put two mugs of milk in the microwave to make hot chocolate, when the front door opened. I looked up, expecting to see Dad, but instead my sister stood scowling in the doorway.
‘Della, are you all right?’ I asked. ‘Where’s Mom?’
‘She had to take Irinke her dress for the Liberty Ball. She’s picking me up on her way back to the hotel,’ Della said as she swept into the room, loosening her gloves one finger at a time.
I rolled my eyes. Irinke Barscay was the Beryl’s ‘angel’. That meant she had a lot of money and enjoyed spending it on theatre productions. It also meant everyone at the Beryl spent a lot of time making sure she felt special. I should have guessed she’d be at the Ball. She was definitely Someone with a capital S.
‘Hey, Della,’ Kevin said. ‘How’s Matthew Strange?’
Della’s lips pressed together into a thin line. ‘He’s going to be fine,’ she said. Most people would have thought Della was angry, but I knew better. My sister was scared, and she was trying to hide it.
‘Alice,’ she said. ‘We need to talk.’
‘Would you like some cocoa?’ I asked as Della hung up her coat. ‘I can make another cup.’
Della checked to make sure the door was locked and peeked out through the blinds into the street. ‘Dairy is awful for my voice. I’ll have tea. With lemon,’ she said over her shoulder. Then she turned to look at me. ‘Where’s Dad?’
‘Chasing down a lead. He said he’ll call you later.’
‘OK, good.’ Della nodded. She checked the street again.
Kevin gave me a look that said what’s going on? I just shrugged and put the kettle on. Della had a bad habit of milking things for drama, but even I had to admit she looked really worried.
‘Well, if she’s having tea, she doesn’t need these,’ Kevin said. He helped himself to the last two marshmallows in the bag and leant against the counter, slurping his cocoa.
‘Help yourself,’ Della said, sitting down at the counter. Della loved marshmallows, even if she didn’t want cocoa. Something was definitely not right.
I poured out the tea and handed Della some honey and a squeezy bottle of lemon juice from the back of the fridge.
Della raised a disapproving eyebrow. ‘You don’t have real lemons?’
‘It’s the middle of February. Not exactly lemonade season.’
Della sighed, like the weight of the entire world had just gotten one degree heavier. But she used the bottle. Her spoon clinked against the side of the mug as she stirred and the smell of lemon and honey filled the air.
‘So what’s this all about?’ I asked after she took her first sip.
Della took a deep breath and looked over her shoulder, as if someone might have snuck in while she wasn’t looking.
‘Della, no one’s going to spy on us.’
My sister licked her lips and looked over my shoulder, then looked back at me. Kevin and I both leant closer, waiting for her to hurry up and spill the beans.
‘I want to hire you,’ she said.
I rocked back and almost fell off my seat. Out of the corner of my eye, Kevin rubbed his hands together, his smile growing like a weed.
‘Excuse me?’ I asked once I had my balance back.
Della looked at me hard. If it had been the usual kind of favour, she’d have given me her best earnest eyes and pleading smile. But she wasn’t acting at all.
‘You heard me, I want to hire you.’
‘Hire me to do what?’ I asked slowly.
My sister paused, building dramatic tension.
‘Della, what’s going on?’ I asked.
‘Don’t laugh,’ she said. ‘Either of you.’
I nodded. Kevin drew an X over his heart.
‘I think the Beryl is haunted.’
I started to stand up. I knew my sister could be superstitious, but this was ridiculous.
Della grabbed the hem of my sleeve and pulled me back down. ‘I’m serious,’ she said. ‘And it isn’t just me. Everyone can feel it.’
‘Della, that’s crazy. Besides,’ I went on quickly when I saw the look on my sister’s face, ‘what’s the big deal? Aren’t all theatres haunted?’
‘Of course they are, but those are friendly ghosts. The spirits of actors who perform at night. They’d never mess with the set or do anything to hurt the show.’
I closed my eyes and counted up in primes. Della was upset and I didn’t want to la
ugh at her, but it was ridiculous. There are no such things as ghosts.
Della kept right on talking. ‘This ghost is different. It’s trying to ruin the show. It’s evil.’
I sighed. ‘Look, Della. I know you’re upset about knocking over the safe, but blaming a ghost . . .’
‘I didn’t knock it over,’ Della said sharply. ‘Something made the door stick. And something got it loose from the floor. That definitely wasn’t me.’
I paused. She wasn’t totally wrong. Someone had prised the safe up from the floor, and that had probably warped the door, making it stick. But it was someone not something.
I opened my mouth, but Della was already moving on, waving her hands at me, like she was erasing a line of unimportant details from a chalkboard.
‘It isn’t just the safe falling. I was at the Beryl for a week before your school break started, and things have been going wrong since the moment we stepped through that door.’
‘Like what?’ Kevin asked, before I could tell him not to encourage her.
Della leant forward, both hands flat on the counter. ‘At first it was just small things, like the props weren’t where they were supposed to be. Or set pieces breaking. Then the curtain started jamming. And the lights.’ She shivered. ‘They’re always flickering.’
‘Della, the wiring in that place is ancient.’
Della tossed her hair and gave me a look that could have withered a cactus. I stopped talking.
‘It’s just . . .’ Della struggled to find the right words. ‘It’s just too much. Every day it’s something else. And now it’s almost killed our lead actor. I’m scared what will happen next. You have to believe me!’
I rubbed at my temples and tried to force away the fog. Della wasn’t going to take no for an answer. Besides, what if she was right? Not about the ghost – there was no way I was buying that. But if things really did keep going wrong, maybe there was something else going on behind the scenes at the Beryl?
Della’s phone chimed and she glanced at the screen. ‘That’s Mom,’ she said. She took a deep breath. ‘Alice, please. I need your help.’
It was the ‘please’ that got me.
‘All right,’ I said. ‘All right, let’s say you’re right. What do you want me to do about it?’
‘What do you think? I want you to find out who the ghost is and stop it.’
I raised an eyebrow. Kevin grinned.
‘What?’ Della said, grabbing her coat and tugging it back on. Outside a car horn honked. Mom was in a hurry. ‘We need to know who the angry spirit is and what it wants in order to appease it.’
‘You’ve got to be kidding me,’ I mumbled, holding my head in my hands.
Kevin smacked the counter in excitement. ‘This is awesome.’
I glared at him. He wasn’t helping at all. There are no such things as ghosts.’
Della drew in a deep breath and scowled at me, crossing her arms. She tipped her head to one side, and I could see her scheming. She gave a curt nod and looked me straight in the eye. ‘Fine,’ she said with a sniff. ‘Prove it.’
‘Excuse me?’ I asked.
Kevin clenched his fist in silent celebration. I hated to admit it, but he knew me. And Della knew exactly what she was doing. I’d never be able to say it wasn’t a ghost ‘just because’ and leave it at that.
‘Things are going wrong, Alice. That’s a fact. Forget I said a ghost was doing it and find out who the “real” culprit is.’
I looked at Della, then sighed. All I’d wanted to do this February break was plant myself on the couch with a mug of hot chocolate and my copy of Fermat’s Last Theorem. But it looked like I’d be stuck digging up dirt instead. I rubbed at the skin between my eyebrows and sighed.
‘All right,’ I said. ‘I’ll look into it.’
‘I knew you’d help! You’re the best.’ Della practically vibrated with excitement. She threw her arms around me in a giant hug. ‘You too, Kevin. Make sure she keeps an open mind.’
Kevin stood up and actually saluted my sister.
‘Wait,’ I said, before the two of them could get too far. ‘I’ll only take the case if I get to do things my way. That means no hassling me every five minutes to see if I’ve solved it yet.’
‘Got it.’ Della drew a cross over her heart.
‘And don’t go telling everyone I’m investigating. Especially not Mom.’
I’d fallen off a first-storey fire escape on my last case. Ever since then, she’s been more than a little over-protective.
Della’s eyes went wide, her mouth opened into a perfect Oof who, me?
‘And when I prove there’s no ghost, you have to believe me and not keep asking about it.’
‘If you prove it.’ Della swept the front door open and waved at us like a queen dismissing her court before stepping out into the night. She tossed me one last award-winning smile over her shoulder. ‘If.’
For a minute I thought about following her out to say goodnight to Mom, but it had started snowing again and the cold air made me shiver. I waved at the car instead and quickly shut the door, promising myself I’d go see Mom first thing in the morning.
‘So,’ Kevin said, rubbing his hands together, ‘we’re going on a ghost hunt.’
I groaned. ‘You can’t be serious.’
‘Oh, come on. I’ve always wanted to see a ghost. And you told your sister you’d take the case.’
‘I told Della I’d find out who’s causing the problems at the Beryl. For all I know the culprit could be rats.’
‘Whatever,’ Kevin said. He dug around in the bottom of the takeaway bag and pulled out two fortune cookies, tossing one in my direction. ‘We’re on the case, so where do we start?’
‘We?’
‘Yes, we. You’d never have solved your last case without my help. You need me.’
I crossed my arms. The last time Kevin helped me on a case, he’d ended up with a compound fracture and I’d spent my summer pushing him around in a wheelchair.
‘You just want to hang out with Matthew Strange.’
‘Not true. I want to solve a mystery and save the Beryl.’ Kevin hit me with his best angel impression. ‘If I get to hang out with my favourite movie star of all time, that’s just an added bonus.’
I started to say no, but then I thought about how much work I had to do to help get the Beryl ready for opening night. If I was going to have enough time to investigate as well, I’d need some help. Besides, it might be nice to have a non-theatre buff around.
‘Fine,’ I said, caving in. ‘But the case is a secret. So you’ll have to help me with the cleaning and anything else Mom and Linda come up with. And I really mean help, not stand there and wisecrack.’
Kevin crossed his finger over his heart and held up his hand. ‘Scout’s honour.’
‘And no stalking Matthew Strange, or doing anything weird.’
‘You have my word.’
I didn’t believe him for a minute.
I woke up early the next morning with the covers pulled tight under my chin. The sky was still dark outside my window, but the smell of coffee drifted up from the kitchen. Dad must have gotten up early, or maybe he hadn’t gone to bed at all. I pulled the duvet off the bed and wrapped it around my shoulders as I stumbled downstairs.
The living room was even colder than my bedroom. I pulled the duvet tighter as I poured myself some coffee and stuck a slice of bread in the toaster. Judging from the amount left in the pot, Dad would need a refill too. I poured him a fresh cup and added three spoons of sugar. Then I shuffled my way to his office.
‘Morning, sweetie,’ Dad said without slowing down. He was still wearing his waiter outfit, his bow tie unhooked and dangling from his collar. A small orange stain marred the front of his shirt. ‘Can you pour me another cup of coffee? I want to get all this down while it’s still fresh.’
‘You look happy,’ I said, holding out the fresh mug. ‘Did you get your interview with Cragthorne?’
Dad switch
ed to typing one-handed long enough to grab the mug, take a sip and then stick it on the bullseye stain to the right of his keyboard, shoving his other empty mug out of the way. Dad’s the only person I know who can type and talk about two different things at the same time.
‘Not even close. The man spent the whole night yelling at people on his phone. But that’s OK,’ Dad smiled, ‘something even better happened.’
I raised an eyebrow, inviting him to tell me more. I knew he’d tell me anyway, but there was no reason not to be polite.
‘One of the Astor cousins was robbed.’
‘That’s good?’
‘Good? It’s sensational! The thief took the sapphires right off her neck and she never felt a thing. A very professional job. And the victim’s an Astor. They’re always frontpage news.’
I guess, being a crime reporter meant Dad’s idea of a good night out was a little warped. I sat down on the edge of the desk and watched him type.
‘What are you up to today?’ he asked.
‘The Beryl.’ I took a sip of coffee and waited for it to warm me from the inside out.
‘Ah,’ Dad said. ‘The poor old Beryl, but I think something else is up, isn’t it? My source at the hospital said both of your stars paid them a visit last night. What’s going on?’
Dad wasn’t the best crime reporter at the Philadelphia Daily News for nothing. He could sniff out a story three blocks away and buried under a block of ice.
‘I told you, it was just a small accident,’ I said. Dad waited. He could tell something else was bothering me. ‘Della thinks the place is haunted. She wants me to see if I can find out who the ghost is.’
‘Any leads?’
‘Very funny, Dad. There are no such things as ghosts.’
‘True, but your sister’s no slouch. If she thinks something is going on, it probably is. She is a Jones, after all.’
Dad wiggled his eyebrows at me, and I had to admit he was right. That safe hadn’t prised itself loose. I took a bite of toast. I needed more facts.
‘There.’ He leant back in his chair, stretching his arms over his head and yawning. ‘I’m beat. Are you OK to get to the theatre?’
