The Ghost Light

by Sarah Rubin

  I waited for a second to answer, expecting Kevin to get there first. But he didn’t.

  ‘I’ll do my best,’ I said, feeling more than a little lame.

  Linda’s phone rang. ‘What? Oh no, how awful, well of course I understand, if you’re not well. Are you sure you don’t want to keep your tickets? You still have three days to get better.’

  Linda waved at us and disappeared through the lobby doors, still talking.

  Kevin and I spent the rest of the morning hauling the most interesting pieces from the collection of Franklin Oswald to the lobby, sponging off the worst of the dust and laying them out in the glass display cases Irinke’s friend had sent. I had to admit, a glass case made a lot of difference. In the gas house the original script looked like an old pile of papers, but lying on top of the black velvet table underneath a layer of glass it looked like it belonged in a museum.

  Pete stopped by a little after one o’clock with the rebuilt limelight and some black posterboard to mount the photos of the original cast.

  I found a small pedestal case and moved it to the back wall of the room, between the two doors to the theatre, and put the vitrified sandbag inside next to an article about the fire that had destroyed the Beryl and a small card where I’d explained how sand turned into glass. Kevin looked over my shoulder and wrinkled his nose.

  ‘What?’ I asked.

  ‘It looks like a science fair project,’ he said.

  ‘What’s wrong with that? I like the science fair.’

  ‘Whatever you say.’ Kevin shrugged and I had the annoying feeling that he was letting me win the argument.

  ‘Look, Kevin, I’m sorry about suspecting Matthew Strange. But I can’t rule him out just because he’s a star. I can’t rule anyone out.’

  ‘Not even Della? Or your mom?’

  I let out a rough breath. ‘Technically? I can rule out Della because she’s the one who hired me. But my mom?’ I thought for a moment, trying to think of a rock-solid reason I knew it wasn’t her, beside the fact that she was my mother. ‘No.’

  Kevin shook his head, then laughed. ‘Well, I guess if you suspect even your mom, I can’t be too upset,’ he said grudgingly. ‘I’m starving. Come on, let’s go get some lunch.’

  When we got back, we walked into the second crisis of the day.

  Linda paced the lobby, bent over slightly with her ear pressed to her phone. Every now and again she broke her silence with a calm murmur of understanding. Her voice never betrayed the agitation of her feet and I assumed she was speaking to either a donor or a ticket holder, trying to reassure them.

  Mom was there too. She stood behind the ticket counter furiously flipping through the large black ledger of the tickets sold.

  Linda hung up the phone and started dialling the next number without looking up. ‘That’s fifteen people who’ve heard this scary rumour. Virginia, I swear I am going to take Rex Cragthorne by the neck and shake him until his teeth fall out. What’s the next number?’

  Mom read out seven digits and a name and Linda dialled, punching the buttons so hard I was worried she’d crack the screen.

  ‘What happened?’ I whispered to Jarvis.

  ‘People started calling up to cancel their tickets and wanting their money back. There’s a rumour going around that the building isn’t safe.’

  ‘And Linda thinks Rex Cragthorne started it.’

  Jarvis nodded and rubbed his gnarled hand over the back of his neck.

  I flashed back to the words Benji had scrawled across the Beryl that morning: Death Trap. I guess Rex Cragthorne figured if he couldn’t get the courts to shut the Beryl down he’d just scare everyone away instead. I ground my teeth.

  Linda finished her next conversation and hung up with a strangled sound. She was next to the ticket window and I half expected her to kick the wall in frustration. Instead, she smoothed her hand over her hair and tucked a stray hair back into place.

  ‘Virginia, I need you to take over calling everyone who’s bought tickets and assure them that the Beryl is perfectly safe.’ She handed Mom the phone, grabbed her coat from the coatrack and tugged it on. ‘I’m going to call in some favours with the press and get this fire put out. And when I get back, I need to talk to Alice about this lobby display. Honestly, Virginia, I thought you said she’d do a good job.’

  Linda spun around and stopped cold when she saw me standing next to Jarvis.

  ‘Linda!’ Mom said sharply.

  I felt like I’d been kicked.

  Next to me I could feel Kevin bristling, but he kept quiet.

  Linda sighed – a great big heave of a breath – and put her head in her palms. She took a breath in and looked up.

  ‘I’m sorry, Alice. I know you worked hard on this, but the display was supposed to be something sensational.’

  I didn’t say anything. I looked around the lobby. I didn’t know what she expected me to do. It wasn’t like there had been a lot to work with in the gas house. My palms started to sweat.

  Linda took another deep breath. ‘I was going to talk to you. To help you, but now I need to go deal with Rex Cragthorne.’ She looked guiltily at my mom and then back at me. ‘I shouldn’t have taken my frustration out on you. I just . . .’ Her voice sounded hopeless.

  I looked at Linda and I could feel my heart breaking a bit. I might not have loved the Beryl the way she did, but I knew what it felt like to have someone stomp all over your dreams. It felt rotten. I didn’t want Mom to get upset, but I’d never be able to live with myself if I didn’t tell Linda about Benji.

  ‘If you could prove Mr Cragthorne was trying to sabotage the Beryl, would that help?’

  Linda looked at me sharply. ‘What kind of proof?’

  ‘Like if I found someone who he paid to vandalize the front of the building.’

  I could feel Mom’s eyes digging into the side of my head without looking. I winced. Linda didn’t seem to notice. Her face smoothed and she stood up a bit straighter. A small smile tugged at the corner of her mouth.

  ‘If I could get someone to testify that Mr Cragthorne paid them to do it, I could take him to court. I might be able to get them to bar him from buying the building even if we did have to sell it.’ The wheels in her head spun at lightning speed. ‘Did you find the person spray-painting the building? Did he confess to Cragthorne paying him?’ she asked.

  My stomach flipped. ‘Not yet, but I think he will soon.’

  Linda nodded. ‘OK, get the confession and bring it to me. Or better yet, bring him to me in person. Until then, I need to get this situation under control. And about the display—’

  I opened my mouth, but Kevin stepped in front of me before I could put my foot in it.

  ‘I’ll help her jazz it up,’ he said with a winning smile. The gold glitter might have confused Benji’s mom, but it worked for Linda. She looked Kevin up and down, gave a satisfied nod and stepped towards the door. Jarvis opened it without missing a beat and Linda swept out of the theatre.

  Mom stared at me. I swallowed hard. Her heels clicked as she came around the ticket counter.

  ‘Kevin,’ she said in a deadly calm voice. ‘Can you give us a minute?’

  Kevin looked at me and then at my mom. ‘Uh, yeah, I needed to use the bathroom anyway.’

  I was surprised he didn’t trip over his own feet he moved so fast, scooting past us and into the theatre. He didn’t even stop to take his coat off. Jarvis took one look at Mom and followed on Kevin’s heels.

  Mom waited until they were gone, then she turned to me. ‘Alice, do you want to tell me what’s going on?’

  I didn’t. But it wasn’t a question.

  ‘A-lice?’ Mom drew out my name into two syllables. Which meant I was in two times as much trouble if I didn’t start talking. I sighed.

  ‘I figured out who’s been spray-painting the front of the building. Rex Cragthorne’s been paying him to do it.’

  ‘And how did you figure this out?’

  ‘I might have looked
through his phone and found his address.’ I swallowed. ‘And gone over there . . .’

  ‘Alice!’ Mom looked horrified. ‘Running around the city after criminals is dangerous. You’re just a girl. You can’t take on the world.’

  ‘I’m not stupid. I know that. I was tailing a ten-year-old kid, not an escaped convict.’

  ‘When I asked for your help at the Beryl, this isn’t what I wanted.’

  Maybe I was still raw from Linda hating the lobby display. Maybe it was the case going in circles or the fact that I’d been stuck dealing with high-strung actors, a filthy room full of junk and an imaginary haunting instead of being at home reading Fermat’s Last Theorem. Maybe all the spray paint I’d been scrubbing had scrambled my brain, but whatever the reason, I saw red.

  ‘No,’ I snapped. ‘You just wanted me to be Della’s understudy.’

  Mom crossed her arms. ‘Honey, if you wanted the role, you should have auditioned for it, but your sister has a lot more experience.’

  I could have screamed.

  ‘I don’t want Della’s part. I don’t want any part. I keep telling you I don’t like acting, but you never listen. I’m not like you. I hate being onstage. I hate wearing your stupid dresses. I don’t care if the Beryl becomes a Cineplex. I like staying at home, and maths, and figuring things out. I like being a detective. And I’m good at it. If you’d just let me finish—’

  ‘Alice Lynn Jones, that is enough!’ Mom snapped, holding up both of her hands in the air. ‘I forbid you from doing any more detective work. Do you understand?’

  I glared at her, tears stinging my eyes. I refused to let them fall.

  Kevin must have snuck out the Stage Door because he was already standing next to my bike when I got outside. I unlocked it without saying a word. I didn’t think I’d be able to, not without my voice cracking and giving me away.

  I started pedalling home, hard and fast until my lungs burnt and I was sweating inside my duffel coat. Kevin kept up easily. We cycled through Old City in silence. When we got to South Street I had to slow down. My thighs didn’t give me a choice.

  ‘So, did you get grounded or what?’ Kevin grinned at me.

  ‘I don’t want to talk about it.’

  ‘What? It’s no biggie. I get grounded all the time.’

  I rolled my eyes, but smiled in spite of myself. ‘Mom doesn’t want me “playing detective”,’ I said.

  ‘So don’t play.’ Kevin’s smile spread and he sped ahead of me.

  I pedalled a little bit faster, until the wind was strong enough to push back my hood. I breathed deeply as its cool fingers swept through my hair. Kevin slowed down as we turned on to Passfield Avenue and I caught up with him outside of my house.

  ‘So I was thinking,’ he said. ‘About the lobby display.’

  I groaned.

  ‘You should make it about the missing necklace.’

  ‘Why? What’s that got to do with the Beryl?’

  ‘Wow, you are the most literal person I know. It went missing there. And caused the curse. Come on, massive diamonds are exciting. Ask your dad. People like sparkly things. All you have to do is rearrange things a little and make some fancy posters.’

  I leant my weight on one leg, holding the bike upright with my hip while I dug out my house key.

  ‘You could even make it a mystery. Give people the clues and see if they can figure out what happened to the necklace.’

  I scoffed. ‘That’s easy. It got grabbed in the panic during the fire and someone cut it up and sold it off.’

  ‘Maybe you’re right,’ Kevin smirked. ‘But can you prove it?’ And with that he hopped down the steps and climbed on to his bike.

  His words sank in as he rode away into the darkness. He had a point. The necklace was the perfect thing to build a display around. When you thought about it, it was obvious. Franklin Oswald borrowed the Midnight Star all those years ago because he knew people would come to the Beryl just to get a glimpse. I felt in my bag. Yes, Franklin Oswald’s journal was still there. I’d been too caught up in Della’s case to read it through.

  I unlocked the door and pushed my bike inside, trying to keep it close to the wall so the melting ice wouldn’t go all over the floor. It didn’t matter if I believed that the necklace was gone. I didn’t have any proof. Oswald might have been obsessed with finding the Star, but just because he was crazy didn’t automatically make him wrong.

  I’d had the house to myself for all of fifteen minutes when there was a sharp knock on the door. An unfriendly three-beat rap that made me frown. I opened the door to find Della scowling on the threshold.

  ‘Mom’s upset,’ she said, stepping into the room. I looked into the street behind her.

  ‘She’s not here,’ Della said, enunciating so clearly I could hear the ‘stupid’ she left off the end of the sentence. ‘I took a cab. Mom’s at the theatre finishing Vivian’s ballgown.’

  I winced. ‘I told you she wouldn’t like it if she found out I was on the case.’

  Della flipped her hair, letting me know it wasn’t her fault Mom found out.

  ‘What did she say?’ I asked.

  ‘Nothing.’

  My heart skipped several beats. That was bad. If Mom was annoyed with me, she might complain to Della. But she’d never say anything if she was really upset.

  Della clicked her tongue against her teeth. ‘Don’t worry so much. She’ll get over it.’

  That was easy for Della to say. She and Mom fought all the time, the way a mother and daughter are supposed to. They got angry and then made up and it was over. Maybe it was because they lived together or because they had so much in common. They could go see a show and bond over the bad lighting design. My stomach sank, like it was trying to crawl under my liver and hide. Mom and I didn’t have anything like that.

  But Della hadn’t come to see how I was feeling.

  ‘So,’ she said, her eyebrow raised in a perfect question mark. ‘Have you figured it out? Do you know who’s behind the trouble?’

  I closed my eyes and counted up in prime numbers trying to keep my frustration from showing. I only got to 23.

  ‘No.’ I said the word with a sigh. Della’s face tightened and I added quickly, ‘Not yet.’

  ‘Why not? You’ve been investigating for days.’

  ‘Yeah, two of them,’ I snapped. ‘It’s not like the bad guy is going around wearing an “it was me” shirt.’

  Della made a disgusted sound. I started to tell her to give it a rest, and then I realized what she’d said. Della had said who.

  ‘You don’t think it’s a ghost any more?’

  Della crossed her arms, hugging herself. ‘Ghosts don’t start rumours. That’s something only a living person would do.’

  It was odd. I would have expected her to look relieved. A person is a lot less scary than a ghost. Then I realized the real problem. If it was a person, it was someone at the Beryl. Someone Della knew and trusted had betrayed her.

  I let out a deep breath. ‘I’m sorry.’

  Della blinked. ‘Excuse me?’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ I said again. ‘I know you didn’t want it to be one of them.’

  I walked around the counter into the kitchen and got two mugs out and started to warm up some milk. Della perched delicately on one of the stools across from me. She cupped her chin in her hands and rested her elbows on the Formica. She stared at me.

  ‘What?’ I asked. The spoon I was using to mix the cocoa clinked sharply against the mug.

  ‘Apologizing is so not you. I like it,’ Della practically purred. ‘Do it again?’

  I gave Della the sternest look I could muster and she shrugged it off like it was made of air. ‘So what’s up?’

  I told Della about the case. I told her about almost catching the culprit yesterday in the dark, and about Benji and how he’d been making calls to Kingdom Cinemas’ head office.

  ‘And then I came back and got told off for not making the lobby display dramatic enough.’<
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  ‘Linda has a point,’ Della said. She held up her hands quickly. ‘She could have been more tactful, but she didn’t know you were there.’

  I took a sip of cocoa and grumbled. ‘Kevin thinks I should make it all about the Midnight Star.’ I glanced at Della over the rim of my cup.

  She nodded thoughtfully. ‘It’s not a bad idea.’

  ‘Maybe not, but I’m not sure how to do it. Sensation and spectacle aren’t exactly my strong suits.’

  ‘Are you asking for help?’

  ‘Maybe.’

  Della looked at me, pretending to think about it.

  ‘Make me another cup of cocoa and you’ve got yourself a deal.’

  I spent the next hour in Dad’s office, typing furiously as Della dictated splashy copy to go with each display item I’d found. She had Dad’s talent for spinning a story, if not his dedication to fact-checking. On the table next to the computer, Oswald’s journal and the pile of newspaper clippings he’d collected in his lifelong search for the jewel lay untouched. Every time I suggested we use one, Della waved her hand in disgust.

  ‘You keep making it sound like the Midnight Star is still hidden in the Beryl,’ I complained.

  ‘That’s the point. No one’s going to get excited about a stolen necklace unless there’s a chance it can be found.’

  ‘But the chances—’

  Della cut me off. ‘It’s the theatre, Alice. People come to see a show to escape reality. They don’t want facts and figures and most-likely scenarios. They want excitement and adventure. Our job as entertainers is to give them what they want. So stop trying to make this a history report and just go with it.’ She put her hands on her hips and stared down at me. Daring me to contradict her. I didn’t.

  ‘What are my two favourite girls up to in here?’ Dad stood in the doorway.

  ‘Della’s helping me be sensational,’ I said, my voice dry as the Sahara desert. ‘How was your day? Did you manage to get an interview with that Interpol agent?’