by Unknown
“Briefly scanned it.” He handed me the folder. “It seems Samuel only makes an appearance once a year.”
“Let me guess, on Halloween?” I flipped open the file.
“Exactly. That’s why we were assigned to it tonight and not earlier this year.” He twisted in the seat and leaned against the door, resting his arm across the steering wheel. “And Carron—” No humor lurked in his expression. “The guy has a real thing for blondes.” He paused. “Just sayin’.”
“Oh, great.” My eyes darted to him and I pointed at my head. “Can’t get much blonder than this.”
“You might want to stick close to me tonight. I don’t want him getting the drop on you.”
I ignored the happy flutter his comment incited. “Wow, that almost sounded like concern.”
Though I hated to admit it, Nate was the only person in my life who looked out for my physical wellbeing, and that did things to my insides—things I didn’t want to analyze too deeply.
“Of course I’m concerned.” A smirk curled the corner of his lip, accentuating his dimple. “Concerned I’m going to have to train a new partner.”
“Well, if I do die…” I pulled my gaze from his face and returned it to the file. “I’m coming back to haunt you. I’m going to sit right here and chatter away non-stop.”
“So…” He nodded. “Pretty much like usual.”
A snort of laughter erupted from me, but that was all the response I gave his insult. I flipped over the first photo and read the back. “Irene White. It says she was his stepsister, and his first murder victim in 1955.” Turning the picture over again, I stared at the woman grinning back at me. “She’s beautiful—was beautiful.” I shook my head. “What kind of monster murders his own sister?”
“The serial killer kind.” Nate leaned across the seat and angled his head to see the photo. Mint mingled with the smell of his soap and tickled my nose, tempting me to lean into him. Instead, I shifted the picture closer so he could see better, and forced my body to stay where it was. “Maybe she knew what he was,” he continued, as if the warm cab and close quarters totally wasn’t creating sexual tension between us. “And he silenced her before she could tell.”
“Maybe.” My answer came out a bit breathy, so I cleared my throat and shuffled to the next photo. “Pammy Caldwell, murdered May, 1956 inside the City Center Theater.” My shoulders sagged. “Great, no doubt she’ll be floating around in there tonight.”
“Pammy was an actress, an understudy for the main star, and only nineteen when she was murdered, so I wouldn’t doubt it.” Nate pulled the last photo from the bottom of the stack. “And this is Carolyn Turner, Samuel Parker’s longtime girlfriend. Supposedly, he murdered her in 1957 and then killed himself.” He paused and looked at me. “Right here in the theater.”
“Awesome.” This night just kept getting better and better. I scrutinized Carolyn Turner. She looked like a Marilynn Monroe wannabe. Too bad her rising star had been snuffed out so early. “So, Parker killed her and then killed himself?”
“That’s what the police report said.”
I shook my head. “That doesn’t make sense. If he was a serial killer, wouldn’t he want to keep killing?”
“Evidently not. Maybe it was one of those weird suicide pacts.” He settled back in the seat. “There isn’t a lot of information surrounding their deaths, but tons about their lives. Carolyn was the lead actress at the theater, and Samuel was the wealthy owner.”
“A match made in Heaven,” I said.
“Or Hell.” Nate glanced in the rearview mirror. “Lizzy Git is here.”
My stomach lurched, sending a wave of dread through me. I inhaled and forced myself to open the car door and exit the warmth—and safety—of the Suburban.
Lizzy Git looked a lot like her dead aunt’s photo. She wore no makeup and her blond hair frizzed in all directions, giving her an earthy appearance—just the kind of woman I imagined Nate going for. “Mr. Cramer?” She smiled brightly, her big brown eyes sparkling with outward appreciation. She extended her right hand. “I’m Lizzy Git.”
“Nice to meet you.” Nate shook her hand and then turned toward me. “This is my partner, Lisa Carron.”
“Hello.” Her smile dimmed slightly, but she offered me her hand.
“Hi.” I shook it twice and let go, not saying anything more. Neither Constantine nor Nate had explained how much Ms. Git knew about us, so I let lover boy take the lead so I didn’t stick my foot in my mouth.
“I sure hope you guys can do something about the haunting.” Her mouth and brows pinch simultaneously. “We’d planned on renovating and reopening the theater a few years ago, but weird accidents kept happening and people got hurt.” Her face relaxed. “My family and I thought it was better to cut our losses before any real damage was done. Besides taxes and the utilities, the building doesn’t cost us. Not as much as a lawsuit would.”
“That was probably smart,” Nate said. “But hopefully, we’ll be able to clear out any unpleasant spirits tonight.”
“Constantine was kind of vague when he said he knew people who could help.” Her eyes tracked to me and then back to him. “So, are you guys like…Ghostbusters or something?”
“Something like that.” Turning on the charm, Nate hit her with one of his smiles. “We’re more like cleaners.”
A giggle tittered from her. “I’m sure you’re really good at your job.”
I repressed the urge to roll my eyes and make a gagging sound. Instead, I patiently waited for the two of them to stop ogling each other, which was a fraction more preferable than heading into the theater of death.
“City Center Theater has been in my family since my aunt bought it in 1962. After she was murdered at a Halloween party she hosted, it was passed to my uncle—then to his son—another cousin—” She paused and shrugged. “—Well, the truth is, I inherited it because nobody else wanted it. But I truly believe it could be spectacular again if…well, you know...it gets cleaned up.”
“We’ll do our best to make that happen for you,” Nate said.
She continued to smile at him and didn’t appear to have any intention of unlocking the door. I wasn’t jealous of her obvious infatuation with Nate—I seriously wasn’t—but my damn toes were getting cold.
“All right then.” I rounded my eyes and clapped my hands once. “Let’s go check out this glorious theater, shall we?”
“Of course.” She started a bit and then lurched forward as if she’d been poked with an electric prod. “I’ll unlock the door and leave you to it. No sense in me getting in your way.”
“Yeah, that would probably be best,” I agreed a little louder than I intended. Nate frowned at me. I returned his glower and mouthed, “What?”
Of course, it was a rhetorical question, but his stare lasted about three seconds longer than was necessary, driving home the point that he thought I was being rude. Hey, she was the one who said she wasn’t coming in. I just agreed with her.
I grabbed my bag and scythe cylinder out of my car, and jogged to catch up with them. I’d made sure to stock my essentials for reaping, scythe, phone, hat and gloves in case it was cold inside, bottle of water, and the two-pound bag of Halloween candy I’d bought for trick-or-treaters. What? I couldn’t leave the candy sitting on the counter. It looked so lonely and dejected.
After pawing through the mass of keys on the large ring, Lizzy finally found the right one and unlocked the back door. The hinges squeaked in protest when she pulled it open, and the musty smell that reminded me of my grandmother’s attic hit us.
She stepped back. “There you go. Lights to most of the backstage are right inside the door. Throw the big lever and it will turn on enough lights for you to maneuver through the theater. Each area and room has its own panel just inside the door if you need more lights.”
I peered into the darkness. It was really, really, really dark in there. Hopefully, she’d tucked away extra cash for utilities this month, because I had every inten
tion of lighting up the inside of City Center Theater like it was midnight in Time Square.
“We’ve got it from here,” Nate said. From inside his backpack, he pulled out the biggest flashlight I’d ever seen. The flat front was the size of a small dinner plate, and when he flicked it on, it nearly blinded me. “Constantine will give you a call tomorrow and let you know how things go.”
“Okay.” Her voice trembled. “You’re sure you’ll be all right?”
“We’ll be fine.” He laid a hand on her shoulder and my smile pulled a tad bit tighter. “We do this kind of work all the time.”
I was glad he was so confident; because even the million-candle-watt monster flashlight hadn’t chased away the feeling of impending doom gnawing at me.
“All right then.” Her eyes cut to me. From the uncertainty playing across her face, the woman clearly had no confidence in my abilities. “But call me if you need anything.” She descended one step. “Even if it’s one o’clock in the morning.”
“Thank you, Ms. Git, but I’m sure we’ll be fine.” Wow, I actually sounded like I meant that.
She nodded, turned, and jogged down the concrete steps. Before pulling out of the parking lot, she gave us a stilted wave. I knew how she felt. Just because I was a grim reaper didn’t mean I was brave. It simply meant I was stupid. I pivoted and followed Nate into the theater of death—and possibly my own demise.
3
Backstage of the theater was about forty times scarier than when I was standing outside looking in. Every rope, mop, and prop looked like a hovering specter, waiting to pounce.
“Tell me again why I agreed to work for GRS,” I said, pulling the door closed behind me.
“Great benefits.” Nate stopped and swung the flashlight left to right. “And you needed a job.”
“Oh yeah, money.” As casually as possible, I inched closer to him. He’d told me to stick by him tonight, and I planned on taking that to heart. “Where’s the light panel?”
“There.” The blaze from the flashlight landed on a large metal box hanging against the far wall. He moved toward it. Clutching my bag to me, I shuffled after him. Another loud squeak echoed through the backstage when he pulled the breaker box open. What was it with creepy places and squeaky hinges? It was like you couldn’t have one without the other. “Let’s hope this does the trick.”
He wrestled a long lever at the side of the box upward. Sweet glory, the backstage lights flared to life, and everything that had once been uber scary in the dark took its true nonthreatening form.
“Nice job.” I held up my hand for a high-five. Nate’s eyes cut from my hand to my face. “Come on, don’t leave a partner hanging.”
He stared at me as if I was acting sophomoric. Didn’t he know the importance of bonding during life-or-death situations? This definitely qualified. He walked past me, leaving me unhigh-fived. I spun and glared at his back. Not demonstrating proper partner etiquette was like slapping me across each cheek with a glove. Challenge accepted! By the end of the evening, Nate Cramer would show me appropriate partner camaraderie or I might have to reap him.
Backstage was big, but the auditorium was ten times that size. Pink upholstered seats spread up the slanted floor and along two upper balcony rows. The dim interior faded to dark shadowed corners at the edges of the palatial room. We stood at the center of the stage, neither of us speaking, taking in the expanse of the theater.
After a minute, I said, “I’ve never been interested in acting, but I get it.”
“Get what?” Nate walked to the edge and looked into the orchestra pit.
“The thrill of being up here in front of a packed house.” I joined him, also staring into the dark pit. “Performing. Hearing the cheers after you’ve put your heart and soul into your performance.”
“Sadly, Parker took that a little too literally.” He straightened. “Let’s check out the lobby.”
“All right.” Slinging my bag across my body, I tromped behind him. As we made our way up the aisle, I dug inside and tore open the bag of Halloween candy. Sugar always made me feel better. “Want some?” I held out a handful of mini candy bars to him. “I’ve got a whole bag.”
He didn’t even glance down, just kept walking. “No thanks.”
“Seriously?” I shoved my hand toward him again, certain he hadn’t heard me correctly. I mean, this was Halloween candy. “It’s Halloween candy. Nobody turns down Halloween candy.”
“I do.”
“Suit yourself, freak.” The crinkling wrappers sounded exceptionally loud in the silent theater. I caught the disgruntled look and barely contained sneer Nate shot at me, but preferred to ignore him. Nobody could stop me from enjoying my candy. Not Nate. Not ghosts. Not even a serial killer. Yeah, I meant business when it came to Halloween. “More for me.”
He quickened his pace, and I had to jog to keep up with him, but still managed to unwrap three tiny candy bars before we made it to the foyer. Though I’d seen old photographs of the City Center Theater at the museum, I hadn’t expected it to be so grand.
My eyes tracked upward to the opulent chandelier hanging sixty feet above us. He let out a long whistle. “That’s a lot of crystal.”
“And mirrors.” Eight-foot tall mirrors framed in gilded gold hung between each arch leading into the theater. Below the mirrors, art deco torch-lights cast a yellow glow onto the frames, making them glisten. “And gold.” I walked to the spiral staircase and bent to eye the gold ornate railing. “Do you think it’s real?”
“If it was real somebody would have stolen it by now.”
“True.” I straightened. “Too bad.”
“Why? You planning on a little larceny, Carron.”
“It might clash with my 1970’s split-level décor.” Gliding back to where he stood, I let my gaze travel around the expanse of the room. “Just trying to get a feel for Samuel Parker.”
“It doesn’t appear as if money was a problem.”
“I’d say.” I turned to him. “So, what now?”
“Let’s find a place to store our stuff. Somewhere centrally located in case we get separated.”
“Well, let’s not get separated.” I swallowed down the lump of fear that rose in my throat. “Remember that whole loves-to-kill-blondes thing?”
“I remember.” His gaze leveled on me, and he gently gripped my shoulder. “Don’t worry, Carron, I’ll protect you.” There was that little flutter again, the one that made me too aware of his blue eyes and broad chest. “If you don’t do something stupid, like trying to reap Samuel alone.”
Aaaaand, then the mood was broken. I shook off his hands. “Not a problem. Being alone with Samuel Parker ranks right up there with oral surgery.” Crossing my arms over my chest, I stuck out my hip and glared at him. “Besides, I don’t do stupid stuff.”
“Las Vegas? Ferrying the dead without telling me. Fighting demons.” He tapped my head with his index finger. “Any of this ringing a bell?”
“Uhhh, excuse me, saving mankind, being a team player. If that’s what you’re talking about, then I guess I’m guilty.”
Okay, so the one time I hadn’t clued Nate into the bigger picture, and now he was going to hold it against me forever. It wasn’t my fault I’d been the only one who could have pulled off the job. Besides, the bigwigs at GRS told me not to tell anybody. And when I say bigwigs, I’m talking beings from both upstairs and downstairs. Who knew Heaven and Hell worked together to maintain balance? Anyway, this was not Vegas, and I had no intention of cozying up with Samuel Parker.
“Let’s look for a room, somewhere not so out in the open.”
“Good call.” I straightened. “Maybe a dressing room.”
“Right.” Nate headed toward the theater again.
Trailing after him, I glanced at one of the gilded mirrors hanging beside the arched doorway and stopped. A woman stood in the reflected opening, watching us. She was young and blond, probably not much older than twenty. Our eyes met and I recognized her. Pammy Caldwel
l. That had to be an all-time record. In the haunted place for five minutes and I’d already had my first ghost sighting.
After a few seconds, she faded away. I blew out a breath. It didn’t matter how long I’d been a grim reaper, seeing spirits still gave me a jolt of surprise, and that would probably never change.
Corridors branched off in a labyrinth of halls and rooms. Thankfully, Nate opted to set up camp in one of the first rooms on the left.
“Good call.” I scanned the room, moving deeper into it. “This looks like the cast break room.” No sense in delving deeper into the bowels of the sinister theater just yet. There would be plenty of that on our nightly schedule. I dropped my bag onto the hunter green velvet couch, triggering a puff of dust from the cushion. The cloud shot into my face and made my nose tingle. I waved away the ancient swirl of filth, and then sneezed. I’m allergic to dust—well, actually, I’m allergic to cleaning—or maybe I’m just opposed to cleaning—still, I don’t like dust. “I think I just inhaled five decades of dust motes.”
“That’s nasty.” Expending the bulk of his sympathy on that one statement, Nate set his backpack on a long wooden table, and then walked to the row of cabinets at the end of the room. “It’s like this place has been frozen in time.” He opened the first door and pulled out a familiar dark blue tin with yellow writing. “Spam. I bet it’s still good.”
“It was never good.” I flared my nostrils. “Don’t even think about opening that.”
“This might save our lives if we get trapped in here.” He turned back to the cabinet. “If I could only find some Pilot Bread.”
Pilot Bread was an Alaskan staple, large Saltine-looking crackers with a fraction of the taste and a hundred times the toughness. Dressed up with a thick slab of Spam, a person could survive for weeks on a container of each, as long as they had enough water to choke the delicacies down.
“I’ll pass, thanks.” He was right about the room being frozen in time. Old Playbill theater posters hung on the wall. Guys and Dolls, South Pacific, and my favorite, Seven Brides for Seven Brothers. Faded turquoise walls still gave the room a festive feel, which was good, because beyond the break room door was a whole lot of spookiness. “So, I think we should check out the upper balconies first.”
