An Agent for Opal

by P. Creeden

  “Pardon me,” he said gruffly as he continued forward and to the side. “Have a good day.”

  The man’s gaze slipped past as he continued to walk away. He wore a woolen, flat cap of brushed tweed—the kind often worn by newspaper boys and delivery men. The vest he wore over his white button-up shirt matched the hat in the same tweed. Opal leaned in toward Caleb. “Do you know who that is?”

  Caleb shook his head, but his gaze never faltered from looking at him. “He might have been part of the lighting crew maybe?”

  Mr. Turner’s voice answered from inside, “He was just a delivery boy. But he does have a distinct resemblance to Mr. Collins on our lighting crew. Anyway, please come in, I’ve been expecting your arrival.”

  The two of them entered the grand foyer, their footsteps echoing on the marble tiles. Opal was once again struck by the opulence and the lighting. Caleb cleared his throat. “What was the delivery, sir?”

  “Some flowers for one of the actresses. I had him put it in the dressing room.” The older gentleman waved his hand dismissively. “Now, the reason why I wanted you to come early today is that the actors will be here at one o’clock to have their full-dress rehearsal at two. It will be a short one, approximately an hour, and some of the patrons on the board are invited to watch. If you’re here watching as well, it will solidify our story that you are part of the board of patrons. Additionally, it’s good to have you here when no one but myself is in the theater. It makes me feel that the place is safer knowing that it is guarded by the Pinkertons.”

  “Yes, sir,” Caleb said. “We will do our best.”

  Opal stepped forward. “Since we’re here an hour before everyone else, it’s best if we look around for anything out of the ordinary.”

  “Precisely,” Mr. Turner said. “I figured you would want the opportunity.”

  He led them to the door of his office and grabbed the same sconce out of the alcove. Opal and Caleb agreed to be as discreet as possible, once more, and then started toward the auditorium. Naturally, the first thing they checked were the ropes where the sandbags were tied. Each knot held tightly to its hook and the ropes seemed to show no signs of cutting or fraying. They continued to inspect the auditorium for anything else that might be out of order. Nothing seemed out of place. They headed to the backstage area and the dressing area, finding nothing out of the ordinary. The bouquet of white flowers sat upon a makeup table toward the front of the area. Above the mirror, the name, Elaine Prescott had been painted in an arc, just as there were signs over a few of the other mirrors as well. Opal stepped over toward the white flowers and touched the petals. White lilies. “Hmm,” she said, “Curious.”

  Caleb stepped over, his citrus scent enveloping her a moment and causing her heart to pick up speed. “What is?” he asked as he peered over her shoulder.

  He was close enough that she could feel his body heat against her back and his breath lightly caressed the back of her neck. She shivered in response. Clearing her throat, she put a hand to her chest to try to calm her racing heart. “Um. I just find it curious that the sender of these flowers chose lilies, and even the fact that they sent a bouquet before the show is bizarre.”

  “Bizarre?”

  Opal shrugged and stepped slightly away from him so she could turn toward him. “I used to want to be an actress when I lived in Richmond. The Richmond Theater was housed nearby. Although the architecture is more ornate here, there were enormous murals painted on the wall that I used to imagine would rival the Sistine Chapel. Anyway, the reason it’s bizarre is that it’s bad luck to send flowers before a show, and roses are typical fair for opening night, rehearsals and such, though lilies are occasionally given at a final production of a show, they are generally considered flowers you give at a funeral.”

  Lines formed between his brows. “Anyone who is a fan of theater would know this then?”

  She nodded.

  He studied the lilies for a moment, but then his eyes went wide. He reached for the bouquet and lifted it closer to him, taking one of the green leaves to the side of the flowers between his fingers and rubbing it. “I knew it. This is poison ivy.”

  “What?” Opal asked, taking a step toward the bouquet and looking for herself. “Each of the stems has three leaves on it and they are shiny, just like poison ivy. Why would anyone decorate a bouquet with poison ivy?”

  After rubbing his fingers on his trousers, he said, “Yes, they have oil on them. I imagine someone wanted to harm Miss Prescott. Let’s go see Mr. Turner and ask where this delivery came from. You didn’t touch it did you?”

  She shook her head. “I touched the petals of one of the flowers, but none of the greenery.”

  “Good.” He let out a slow breath as he took the bouquet and started from the dressing area for the theater owner’s office. When they arrived, they pushed the drape aside and knocked upon the hardwood door.

  After a moment, the doorknob turned and the door opened inward, Mr. Turner standing just within. He glanced at the flowers in Caleb’s hand and lifted a brow. “Did you make a discovery?”

  “We did,” Caleb said as they stepped inside. “A rather morbid one. Did you happen to see this bouquet when it was delivered, or know who sent them?”

  Slowly, Mr. Turner shook his head. “The young man came with the delivery for Miss Prescott, and I escorted him to the dressing room and escorted him back out. I didn’t take more than cursory glance at the flowers themselves. Is there not a note attached?”

  Opal peered over Caleb’s shoulder as he looked for a note as well, turning the bouquet in his hands. “There doesn’t appear to be a note.”

  Mr. Turner’s brow furrowed. “That’s strange. Usually a gentleman wants the actress to know who the sender of the flowers is. I only assumed it was a fan who could not attend tonight’s showing for the patrons and decided to send the actress a bit of love and good cheer, regardless.”

  “But the bouquet is made from lilies, a flower associated with death. Sometimes lilies are given on the final show, but not for a rehearsal,” Opal said.

  Mr. Turner scratched his chin. “That is true. I noticed the flowers were white when normally red roses are given during a show.”

  Caleb shook his head, his lips becoming pursed. “But that’s not the worst of it, sir. The greenery decorating the bouquet is poison ivy. I believe someone wanted to harm Miss Prescott with this bouquet.”

  Mr. Turner’s eyes grew wider. “Poison ivy! That’s ludicrous. Who would do such a thing?”

  Caleb nodded. “We’re beginning to feel this case is less about the theater and more about the actress herself. Right now, we have nothing more than circumstantial evidence, but the culprit is becoming clearer. Who would want to harm a lead actress more than her understudy?”

  Mr. Turner frowned. “Miss Smith?”

  Opal tilted her head and kept her voice low. “Though we are not accusing her yet, we have good reason to suspect her and her alibi during the sandbag incident is tenuous.”

  The theater owner’s frown deepened. “I’ve known both the two ladies for years and cannot imagine Miss Smith would be capable of this.”

  “We don’t know the full story,” Opal said, drawing closer to them both. “What if Miss Smith experienced great hardship the past year with the theater in reconstruction, just as Mr. McFly did? Do the lead actresses not get paid a bit more than the understudy?”

  “Only a little bit more,” Mr. Turner said, shaking his head.

  “But maybe that little bit makes all the difference,” Opal offered.

  Mr. Turner shook his head harder, his brow furrowing more as his hands formed fists at his side. “No. I refuse to believe it. Certainly, Miss Smith isn’t capable of trying to kill Miss Prescott, which could have happened if she’d been hit by that sandbag last night. And I don’t believe that she would have set fire to the theater. This place is a sanctuary for actors, a holy place. She would not have purposefully harmed it.”

  Caleb nodded. “You�
��re quite possibly right. It’s better to believe that Miss Smith does not have anything to do with this for now. We don’t want to be so focused on our one possible suspect that we neglect the true culprit. For now, we ask that you do nothing. Do not discuss this incident with Miss Smith or anyone else.”

  Mr. Turner procured a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his brow. His pallor remained ashen. “I asked you to keep your identities and this whole incident in the strictest confidence, surely I can do the same.”

  After setting a hand on Opal’s back, Caleb began to usher her out of the office. He set the bouquet in the waste receptacle next to Mr. Turner’s desk. “I also think it best not to alert Miss Prescott to the dangers around her at this time. It’s best if we just discreetly dispose of that bouquet and leave her none the wiser.”

  “Agreed.” Mr. Turner remained pale as he stared at the bouquet in his waste bin.

  As they left the office and shut the door behind them, Caleb leaned in toward her and whispered, “We’ll need to keep an eye on everyone, including Mr. Turner.”

  Her eyes went wide as she turned her head toward him in surprise. “Mr. Turner?” she whispered.

  He nodded. “He protested a bit too much in defending Miss Smith, I think. It’s one of the reasons I left the bouquet in his office.”

  Opal swallowed the lump forming in her throat. What if Mr. Turner was involved with Miss Smith and that was his reason for defending her? Would he truly keep their suspicions from reaching her? They needed everything to be discreet if they wanted to catch her in the act and have enough evidence to convict her of the wrongdoing. Otherwise, they would fail this mission.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Caleb

  Caleb sat stiffly in his theater seat. He didn’t like to sit still for so long while other people remained active around him. He’d much rather be watching the goings on from backstage where he could surveil his suspect and the other people around his potential victim and know for sure she was not being harmed in anyway. Instead he was stuck in a red velvet seat watching the same rehearsal he’d seen the day before, only in a bit more costume and makeup. His only solace was in drinking in the spiced apple scent of the woman next to him. His shoulder rested against hers, and the feeling of her warmth grounded him. Even though he felt as though patiently waiting through this play was asking too much from him, it seemed that Opal enjoyed herself. She laughed at the appropriate times and during one sad scene, she sniffed, though he didn’t see her shed tears. Watching her reactions to the play gave him far greater entertainment than watching the actors on the stage. Opal had said that she was a fan of the theater and seeing her tonight had proven it to be true.

  Finally, the final curtain fell, and the actors came to the front of the stage to take their bows. The small crowd of patrons stood and gave their ovations. Several members of the small crowd ran forward and gave the actors flowers. Caleb couldn’t help but grow tense as he kept an eye on what kinds of flowers were given to the actors and who did the giving. He wondered for a fleeting moment, if one of the patrons could be the culprit. What he’d said to Mr. Turner earlier about not ruling out anyone had been true. He had no intention of getting so focused on the one theory that Miss Smith was the villainess that he allowed other evidence to be pushed to the side. However, none of the actors seemed to receive any flowers besides roses, which gave Caleb a small amount of comfort.

  At the end of the show, the stage had been set with several small tables and chairs where the donors came up to sit. Actors intermingled with the patrons over tea and sandwiches. Caleb chose a seat closest to the wall so that he could survey all the tables and keep an eye on all who were there. He felt much more focused now that it seemed this case was more about Miss Prescott than it was about the entire building. A structure was much more difficult to protect than a single person. No one appeared to do anything suspicious during the tea after the show either. Though a few of the patrons introduced themselves and shook hands with him and his “wife,” he could scarcely remember any of their names, and he hardly said more than two words to any of them. He hoped that Opal had done a better job of that than he did. He hardly understood why she wrote down so many notes when it seemed she could remember everything from plain memory just as easily.

  “Yes, of course,” Opal said as she squeezed his arm, where she held his elbow. “We will try to make it if we are still in town then, right, darling?”

  He peered down at her and found her looking up at him expectantly. He hadn’t heard what the question was. But he nodded and patted her hand, glanced toward the woman across from them and said, “Of course.”

  Opal squeezed his arm, and when he met eyes with her again, she rolled hers slightly. He barely held back a chuckle. She knew he hadn’t been listening and he had given the answer that she’d wanted him to. How is it that the two of them understood each other so well? They fit together like two peas in a pod. He’d worked with partners on assignments before, but they typically butted heads with each other, both trying to do things their own way. Instead, working with Opal had been like a delicate dance. Most of the time it felt that he was leading, sometimes, though she could feel her gentle guidance.

  Not soon enough, the tea service ended, and the patrons finally began to make their way toward the door. Although Caleb had been undercover in the past, he still didn’t feel entirely comfortable in a three-piece suit and tie. He couldn’t wait to loosen the thing from its hold on his neck. But as they stepped out into the grand foyer, Mr. Turner smiled and nodded toward the other guests, but his smile was strained and his eyes wide with worry as he made his way straight toward Caleb and Opal. Once he reached them, he continued to hold onto his smile though it had begun to slip toward grimace. “Mr. and Mrs. Wade, if you’d be so kind to join me in my office for a moment? I need to discuss your donation from this week.”

  Caleb lifted a brow and nodded. “Certainly.”

  Then the two of them kept up the charade until they stepped into Mr. Turner’s office. The moment the door closed behind them, Mr. Turner reeled, his hands reaching for his shaggy gray hair. “We’ve received another notice of threat!”

  Sitting on the desk was another large piece of cleaned newspaper with the words scrawled upon it, “If opening show commences, Miss Prescott may not survive.”

  Opal frowned at it, wrinkles marring her brow. “The ink is brown. That’s unusual.”

  Caleb picked it up and took a closer look. “It’s dried and cracking when I bend the paper.”

  She peered over his shoulder and sniffed it. “Do you smell that?”

  Caleb took a whiff. “Ink, paper, the faintest hint of whiskey... and copper.”

  “It’s blood,” she said with a firm nod.

  Opal

  “Blood!” Mr. Turner shouted, falling into his chair and wringing his hands through his hair. “What kind of person are we dealing with here? They must be crazy. To write a note in... blood?”

  Caleb frowned. “Maybe it’s time to get the police involved.”

  Suddenly, Mr. Turner sat up straighter in his chair. “No, we cannot afford the scandal. Today’s event was a success. If we can keep up this winning streak, then the theater might just make it back into the black. We need to pay back our creditors.”

  Opal’s frown deepened. “If you won’t call the police, perhaps you should consider postponing the show until we have apprehended the villain?”

  “Absolutely not. The show must go on—every actor knows that. Even in the Royal Globe theater, they would continue the play through any weather. I believe we can weather whatever storm comes against us with this. You two just need to do your job. Find clues, find the culprit and bring him to justice. Nothing else matters. No compromises.”

  Opal let out a slow breath and looked over at Caleb. His lips were pulled in tightly. Inside her chest, her heart beat wildly, and the slightest bit of dizziness struck her. Whoever the culprit was, they were a bit touched. Each time they didn’t get w
hat they wanted, they pushed their limits just a little bit further. If they were willing to write a note in blood, what else were they willing to do? And besides... whose blood was that anyway?

  With a frown, Caleb said, “We’re going to need to stick close to Miss Prescott. The play is tomorrow night. Is it possible to put each of us into a role behind the scenes so that we can remain close to our potential victim instead of sitting in the audience?”

  Slowly, Mr. Turner nodded. “I’ll talk to Mr. McFly about finding you a job working backstage with the scenery. Mrs. Wade could help with costumes and makeup if she’s able.”

  “I’ll do my best in either capacity,” Opal assured him.

  “Do you know approximately when this note arrived?” Caleb asked.

  “Fortunately, yes.” Mr. Turner’s vacant eyes still stared at the piece of paper with the blood letters. “It was during the performance. I was here in my office from shortly after the first act until it was close to the third act. Then I went out to arrange that the tea social went without a hitch. Afterward, I stopped back in here to get my jacket before saying goodbyes to the patrons. I found the note on my desk then and didn’t move it.”

  “Miss Smith and the other actors were on the stage during all of the social. I kept an eye on them. Whoever left this notice either works behind stage or not with the theater at all.”

  After leaning on his desk to help himself to his feet, Mr. Turner stood, shaking his head and looking broken. “I wish things didn’t have to become like this. I don’t know who is behind this, but I know that I can’t let him bring down the theater again. If the actors get wind of this, they will quit as sure as my name is Elias Turner.”

  “We will continue to be discreet, Mr. Turner. I’m sure we’ll find out who the culprit is. He is likely to reveal himself before the show tomorrow,” Caleb said with a firm nod.

  “I hope so,” Mr. Turner said, his hand fluttering to his chest. “I hope this is all over tomorrow, as I don’t think my heart can take this strain another day.” He let out a slow breath. “Let’s go have that discussion with Mr. McFly and Mrs. Mauney. Both will likely be happy to have an extra hand on opening night.”