Tell Me, Pretty Maiden (Molly Murphy Mysteries, #7)

Elise caught my eye and shook her head. “Don’t let them upset you, Molly. Most of us are good girls, just wanting to earn a living, same as anyone else. And if we happen to strike pay dirt and catch the eye of a rich young man after the show, then who is to blame us if we do what we can to make sure we hang on to him?”


“I’m not blaming anyone,” I said. “But it seems to me as if Lily is courting trouble.”

“She is, Molly. She knows she’s a looker and has got what they call sex appeal, pardon my language. One day she’ll go too far.”

“So you all hope to meet a duke standing at the stage door, do you?” I asked as I reapplied makeup to my lips.

“Doesn’t everyone? Of course not all the stage-door Johnnies can be trusted, you know. Some of them want too much in payment for a nice dinner, and some of them—well, they’re just twisted, if you know what I mean. They don’t just want normal things. I worked with a girl last year who went off with a young man she met at the stage door. He looked harmless enough but her body was found floating in the Hudson with signs of horrible torture all over it. They never did find the guy responsible, or if they did, his family was powerful enough that they paid off the investigation. So stick with me after the show and I’ll let you know if I see a wrong’un.”

“Thank you,” I said.

I had no time to hear more as we were summoned down to the stage for the second act. The girls ran down ahead of me eagerly, already thinking ahead to exciting post-theater parties and glamorous dinners. The orchestra started playing and the curtain went up. We were on. As predicted the bathing scene was a great success. There was a gasp of horror (or was it delight?) from the audience when the girls appeared in their bathing suits with their legs exposed from the knee downward. If only they’d seen me swimming in the ocean at home, I thought. Then they’d really have had something to be shocked about!

I sensed the audience too had settled down in the second act. The laughter no longer had that tense, nervous quality to it. They applauded often and loudly, clearly enjoying the show. We reached the ballroom scene and I heaved a sigh of relief. The wind machine had been removed from the stage area. The wings were empty. In ten minutes it would be over. The band struck up the waltz number and the partners whirled around. “The waltz, the waltz, most romantic of dances, the mood that entrances, just as if we were in Vienna,” they sang.

Then Arthur, the male star, led Miss Lovejoy out onto the floor. The couples moved to the side as they began to waltz—first, fast to the tempo and then slower and slower, until they were rooted to the spot, staring into each other’s eyes. I was watching them so intently that I only caught the movement out of the corner of my eye. Then someone shouted, “Look out!” Someone else screamed as a pillar toppled across the stage. Miss Lovejoy leaped aside at the last second and the pillar crashed onto the stage, exactly where she had been standing.

The audience was in an uproar. Flashbulbs went off from reporters’ cameras. Some people were still screaming, already fighting their way to the exits. I slipped off stage and rushed around the backstage area, keeping one eye on the pass door, through to the front of house, and the other on the stairs that led up from the stage. All I saw were stagehands and prop boys, standing wide-eyed.

“Did you see anyone back here?” I demanded. “Was there anyone here who shouldn’t have been? Anyone out of position?”

“No, miss,” they answered. “There was nobody here at all but us.”

“And you could see each other? You’d have noticed if one of you slipped away to give that pillar a good push?”

“Oh yes, miss. We’re not allowed to loiter in the wings unless we’ve got a job to do and then we have to stand in a particular spot, so that we’re not in the way of the actors’ entrances and exits.”

Over the tumult I heard Blanche’s powerful voice. “Ladies and gentlemen, please take your seats again. I’m sorry for the interruption, but we won’t let it spoil our evening. We are professional performers. We won’t let a little accident prevent our grand finale, will we? The show must go on.”

There was huge applause at this.

“Maestro?” Blanche indicated the conductor who lifted his baton, glancing around shakily. “From the last reprise if you don’t mind.”

The band struck up again and Blanche began to waltz with Arthur as if nothing had happened, leaving everyone onstage staring at her in open-mouthed admiration. I was staring at her, too, because something was wrong. I had watched her through the rehearsals and something struck me as different. Then I realized what it was. When I watched her before, I could see her absolutely in profile. Now I could also see the back of her head. Someone had moved her mark.

As soon as the curtain came down and we lined up for our curtain calls, I went over to examine. I could see where the first chalk mark had been erased and the new one put in. For the first time I knew what I had suspected all along: this was no ghost. Somebody had a personal vendetta against Blanche Lovejoy!