by Sarah Rubin
We found Vivian in her dressing room. She sat at her dressing table rocking slightly in her chair. Della sat at her feet speaking in a low soothing voice. Kevin was nowhere to be seen.
‘Della, Vivian,’ Linda said. ‘Frank is waiting to start rehearsal.’
Vivian closed her eyes. For a moment I thought she was going to say no, but then she took a deep shuddering breath and opened her eyes. She even managed a weak smile.
‘The show must go on?’
Linda nodded and Della took Vivian’s hand and the two actresses left together. Della eyeballed me over her shoulder. Her thoughts were so clear I wondered if she’d been taking a mime class: You need to put a stop to this. Now!
She was right.
Vivian was highly strung to begin with, so another scare might make her snap. And just telling her there are no such things as ghosts wasn’t going to cut it. I needed to find the human behind the ‘haunting’ and expose them.
Linda put the box she’d been carrying down with a heavy thump. ‘It’s Cragthorne, it has to be. He can’t file any more injunctions so he’s taking direct action.’ She turned to me. ‘What about that confession you were talking about last night? Do you have it? If I can show that to the police maybe they’ll do something.’
Kevin came around the corner in the middle of Linda’s speech, carrying a bag from 7– Eleven.
‘I’ll have it soon,’ I said quickly. ‘After lunch.’
Linda checked the time and scowled. ‘Fine. Until then, you can fold programmes. I need to call our lawyer. I want him ready to go as soon as I have proof of what Mr Cragthorne is up to.’
She handed me the box and gave Kevin the staplers, then she strode out of the office dialling her phone.
I swallowed hard. Hoping I was right about Benji.
‘Where did you go?’ I asked as Kevin came into the room. ‘And what’s that smell?’
‘Ghost repellent.’ He pulled a garlic chilli hot dog out of the bag and laid it on Vivian’s make-up table. The smell made my eyes water. ‘They didn’t have any of the fresh stuff.’
‘Garlic is for vampires,’ I said.
Kevin shrugged. ‘Pot-ay-to pot-ah-to. It’ll make her feel better.’
I wasn’t so sure. ‘Come on, help me with these programmes.’
After five minutes the smell of garlic was too much. We moved to the lobby and set up on the floor, putting programme sheets in a pile, stapling them in the middle and folding them in half.
I tried to keep focused on the pages in front of me, but I couldn’t help worrying. If the things going wrong at the Beryl were just someone searching for the Midnight Star, then Cragthorne might not have anything to do with it. Maybe he hadn’t paid Benji to graffiti the building either.
My phone rang and I jumped. I was still getting used to having it back.
‘Hi, sweetie,’ Dad said. ‘I’m just leaving the police station. Want me to swing by with the files?’
‘You got them?’
‘Of course I got them. I’ve got the posters too. They look pretty snazzy if I do say so myself.’
I thought for a minute. Normally I would have told Dad to bring the files home instead of coming to the theatre. It wasn’t like my mom and dad fought or anything, but it was just weird to see them together. Like brushing your teeth after drinking orange juice. I never knew what to say or where to stand. But I really wanted those files, and I needed the signs for the lobby display.
‘I’ll meet you out front,’ I said.
Dad told me he’d be at the Beryl in five minutes. I got Kevin to stand by the Stage Door for me and I waited outside until I saw the Plymouth peel around the corner. It was a boxy, brick-coloured car with wood panelling on the doors. Dad hit the brakes hard and screeched to a stop right in front of the stairs.
I jogged down the alley and leant in Dad’s car window.
‘Here.’ Dad handed me a stack of photocopied papers from the passenger’s seat followed by a large parcel wrapped in brown packing paper. It barely fitted through the window. He was smiling so hard I could see his back teeth.
‘I guess your meeting with the detective went well?’
Dad’s eyes glistened. ‘On the record, it was OK. But off the record, he confirmed that Interpol is in town and they suspect the thief is planning something big. The sapphires must have been a warm-up. I’m betting it’s tonight at the Snow Ball at City Hall. Can you have dinner with your mom tonight?’
I nodded.
‘OK. Love you.’
I jumped back just in time to avoid the spray of slush as Dad hit the gas, skidding slightly as he sped up the road.
Inside, I dropped the parcel on the lobby floor and flipped through the photocopied pages of the police reports. They were handwritten, the letters small and extremely neat.
‘What’s that?’ Kevin asked, looking over my shoulder.
‘It’s the original police and fire reports from the night the Midnight Star went missing.’
‘I thought you were supposed to make the display less like a history report.’
‘I know. This isn’t for the display. That is.’ I nudged the package with my toe and Kevin knelt down to untie the twine holding it together.
Inside were a pile of newspapers, not real newspapers but mock-ups of the copy Della and Dad had helped me write, printed on thick posterboard. Dad had even used some of the photographs I’d found in the gas house. I had to admit, it looked pretty good.
The police files weren’t nearly as glamorous. But they were true. To me that made them miles more interesting than some story Della and Dad and I had made up. Even if the story version had more glitz and glamour and even a ghost.
Kevin lifted up the top board and the face of Kittie Grace peered out from under the lurid headline THE BEAUTIFUL GHOST OF THE BERYL: DOES KITTIE GRACE STILL TREAD THESE BOARDS? He covered it up again quickly. ‘Maybe we should wait to put that one up until later?’
I thought of Vivian rocking back and forth in her dressing-room chair and agreed. We could hang that one on opening night, once Vivian was safely backstage.
‘Well, let’s get started.’ I put down the police file reluctantly.
‘Do you think there’s a clue in there?’ Kevin asked.
I shrugged. ‘Probably not. I was just trying to understand what happened.’
Kevin raised a disbelieving eyebrow. ‘Read it. I’ll hang up the posters.’
‘I’m not five. I can wait.’
‘Yeah, but there might be something in there. Besides, you don’t have my flair for the dramatic.’
Kevin bowed low, twirling his wrist like an eighteenth-century duke. I couldn’t help laughing.
‘Suit yourself. Pete’s got mounting tape in the workshop.’ I grabbed the file before Kevin could change his mind and tucked myself into the corner.
I skimmed through the police report first. And as I read, my eyes grew wider. Franklin Oswald had been right. The Midnight Star had gone missing first.
The first page of the report was written by a constable who’d been in the audience on opening night. The language was old-fashioned, but I got the gist of it. The Midnight Star was put in a safe onstage at the end of Act One, but when the maid went to take it out again at the beginning of Act Two, it wasn’t there. At first the constable thought this was part of the show, but when the actors started miming that the necklace was there, he realized something was wrong and called for backup. The police showed up before the interval and the actors and crew who had access to the necklace were confined to the stage.
The next report was from a more senior officer. Apparently all the cast and crew were searched, but none of them had the necklace. They were preparing to search the set when the fire broke out and the theatre was evacuated.
There were lists of suspects. The lead actor was a known gambler, one of the stagehands had connections to the Mob, but it didn’t look like they got any further than that.
The fire destroyed any real evidence, and sin
ce Franklin Oswald paid the original owner for losing the necklace, the police didn’t officially have a crime to investigate.
The fire report was less of a surprise. The investigator concluded that the fire had started when a limelight was knocked over by a faulty sandbag. The fire spread very quickly due to the chemicals in the light and the only reason there weren’t more deaths was due to the fact that the show had been stopped and most of the theatregoers had already left.
Kittie Grace had been found near the limelight that started the blaze. The coroner concluded that she’d been too close to the fire’s point of origin to escape, although he couldn’t say if she’d been beside the light when it fell or if she had gone back to try to put the fire out.
Or maybe she’d gone back to get the Midnight Star out of its hiding spot.
I reread the entire file again, more carefully this time, but nothing new jumped out. I closed my eyes and tried to sort out the facts. If the necklace had gone missing first, that meant someone had planned to steal it, not that someone grabbed it in the confusion of the fire. The constable must have really put a kink in their plans.
I stopped, flipping back through the pages.
The constable prevented everyone from going back to their dressing rooms. Everyone was searched while they were still onstage. And the diamond was never found. I looked at the floor plan of the set in the back of the file. The safe was in the middle of the upper level on the stage. So whoever stole the Star had to have been one of the people the police searched. I did a quick calculation. But no matter how I arranged the facts, the answer came out the same. The reason the Midnight Star wasn’t found was because the thief must have hidden it. And the only place they could have hidden it was somewhere on the Beryl’s stage.
I stared blankly at the police file. It wasn’t possible, it couldn’t be. But facts don’t lie.
Kevin had finished hanging the fake newspapers around the lobby, moving the replica of the Midnight Star to the centre of the room. It sparkled in the sunlight like it was winking at me. He’d moved the vitrified sandbag to the far corner of the lobby under the headline: THE BERYL ABLAZE. I sighed. I guess I was the only one who thought that the chemical reaction from the broken limelight was interesting.
Kevin held the door to the main theatre open and Pete shuffled through, a roll of electrical cable over his shoulder and a gigantic toolbox in one hand. He wore all black, as usual, and his T-shirt read: Stagehand is Just Another Word for Ninja. Pete deposited the wire and toolbox on the ground and went back into the theatre.
‘What’s that?’ I asked Kevin, nodding to the pile Pete had left in the middle of the floor.
‘Pete said he’d set up some lights. Downlighting or something?’
I nodded absently. ‘Kevin, how much do you think that necklace would be worth if someone found it today?’
‘I don’t know, a couple of million at least.’ Kevin eyed me suspiciously. ‘Why?’
‘Just curious,’ I said quickly. I didn’t want Kevin to start tearing the place apart searching for the Midnight Star just yet. There was already one person doing that, and they were causing enough trouble all by themselves. I looked at my phone. It was almost noon. ‘Come on,’ I said. ‘It’s time for Benji to face the music.’
Kevin and I waited outside the Beryl, sitting on the cold dry steps of the building. Kevin stomped his feet, but I barely felt the cold, I was too busy going over the case in my head. All the ‘disturbances’ at the Beryl could be explained by someone searching for something: the props that were misplaced and the set pieces that were tampered with, Della’s searched dressing room, even Mom’s ballgown being ripped up.
And if someone was searching for the Midnight Star, that explained why all the trouble was focused on things from the original production. Those were the only places where the thief could have hidden the Star back in 1927.
I sucked in a breath so sharply the cold made my teeth ache.
There was something else all those props and set pieces and costumes had in common. Kittie Grace. The props on my list were all ones she’d used, and so were the set pieces, and the costumes. They were all places where Kittie Grace could have hidden the Midnight Star.
No wonder Vivian thought the actress’s ghost was after her.
Kevin nudged me and I looked up, following the line of his finger down the road.
A short figure in a familiar hooded parka shuffled up the pavement towards the theatre. He kept darting looks over his shoulder, like he was worried someone was following him. Kevin bounced excitedly in his seat.
‘Be cool. Even if he’s annoying, we need him to talk. OK? I need you to back me up.’
Kevin sighed, but he stopped bouncing. ‘All right, all right, but only because you asked nicely.’
‘Hello, Benji,’ I said, when he finally got to where we were waiting. I hoped using his nickname would put him in a cooperative mood. ‘My name is Alice. This is Kevin. It’s nice to meet you.’
Kevin crossed his arms and tried to look intimidating. The problem was, he had dimples even when he scowled. Benji didn’t look impressed.
‘What do you want?’ Benji asked. He sounded even younger than he looked.
‘I want to know why you’ve been spray-painting the Beryl.’
Benji shrugged. ‘I’m an artist and Philly is my canvas.’
‘I don’t think illegally defacing property is considered art.’
‘A square like you wouldn’t understand. I’m gonna be the next Banksy. You just can’t handle my message.’
The muscles in my jaw tightened and I counted up in primes. No matter how much I wanted to push him into a slush pile, I needed to keep my cool. Beside me, Kevin’s shoulders shook with suppressed laughter. The traitor.
‘I don’t think that’s the whole story. I mean, why the Beryl? It’s an awful long bike ride from your house.’
‘I was following my muse.’
Benji looked like butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth, so I hit him with my best shot.
‘I know you’re working for Rex Cragthorne. You’ve been calling him every morning.’
Benji looked up, shocked. His eyes were startlingly grey. ‘You went through my phone?! You can’t do that! It’s illegal!’
‘You stole my phone,’ I shouted, stepping forward and poking the kid in the chest with my finger.
Kevin put his hand on my shoulder. ‘Alice, look, Benji’s not going to talk. He’s got principles. He’s an artist.’
Benji nodded. ‘What he said. He gets it.’
I glared at Kevin, I couldn’t believe he was siding with that punk.
‘Well, if he doesn’t want to talk, maybe I’ll just ask his mom what she knows.’ I lifted my phone.
‘No!’ Benji shouted before he could stop himself.
Kevin pushed my hand down. There’s no need for that.’ He jogged down the steps and put his arm around Benji’s shoulder. ‘You’re an artist, Benji. A rebel. I respect that. What I don’t understand is how you could take orders from The Man.’
‘What are you talking about?’
‘Rex Cragthorne is Big Business. He’s Corporate America. He’s trying to ruin the Beryl. Face it, Benji, you sold out.’
Benji put a finger to his lips and tapped it three times. ‘I hadn’t thought about it like that.’
‘And now here you are, protecting his secret. You’re his puppet.’ Kevin winked at me. I rolled my eyes. I couldn’t believe this was working.
‘Hey, I’m nobody’s puppet. I’ll tell you what I know,’ Benji said defiantly, then added, ‘Don’t tell my mom, OK?’
I nodded and put away my phone.
‘OK, so I was, uh, painting a mural outside the Kingdom Cinema on Gerrard when this huge security guard grabbed me. I thought for sure they would call my mom and then I’d be grounded until I turned forty.
‘Anyway, after ages, Cragthorne showed up. He said he’d forget all about me spray-painting his movie theatre if I found a different place
to paint. And then he mentioned the Beryl. So I thought, why not? I was gonna paint something anyway, might as well be somewhere that would keep me out of trouble.’
‘And you liked it so much you kept coming back?’
‘No. After the first time, Cragthorne called me. I had to give him my number – that was part of the deal. Anyway, he said it was cleaned off and he’d give me free movie tickets if I sprayed it again. But this time he told me what to say.’
‘Let me get this straight. You’ve been tagging the Beryl for free movie passes?’
Benji shook his head like he was ashamed of himself. For taking the bribe, not for defacing public property. Like he said, he had principles.
‘Well, if we’re done, I’ve got places to be.’
‘Not so fast,’ I said. Just because I had a new theory about what was going on inside the Beryl didn’t mean I was going to stop investigating every possibility. ‘Did Cragthorne ever ask you to do anything inside the Beryl?’
‘No way. I am strictly a brick man, I don’t do interiors.’
‘What about your hideout?’ Kevin asked.
‘Oh well, yeah, but that’s it. I’ve never been inside the Beryl.’
I nodded. ‘Do you know if Cragthorne asked anyone else to cause trouble inside?’
‘I don’t know. Why would he tell me?’ Benji looked at me like I was too stupid to have lived to be twelve.
I gritted my teeth and reminded myself to breathe. ‘Think. Maybe you overheard something?’
‘Nope,’ Benji said. ‘Can I go now?’
‘Not yet,’ Kevin said. ‘We need you to come with us and talk to the woman in charge of the Beryl.’
Benji took a step back, slipping and catching himself before he fell. ‘You can’t do that, you said you weren’t gonna get me in trouble.’
Kevin kept his arm firmly around Benji’s shoulder and ushered him towards the Stage Door.
‘Don’t worry, kid. As long as you don’t spray-paint the building again, Linda will forgive you. She might even commission a painting. She’s a big supporter of the arts.’
We escorted Benji directly to Linda’s office. I didn’t trust letting him out of my sight. Linda took one look at Benji and whisked him out of the theatre for lunch. I guess she figured she’d get more information out of him if chocolate cake was on the menu. Then Kevin and I headed back to the lobby.
