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

“That’s it,” I said excitedly. “Why she couldn’t understand us! She only speaks Hungarian. Nobody spoke Hungarian to her! I’m so happy, Mrs. Tucker. She’s going to be going to people who can take care of her.”

“Hmmph,” Mrs. Tucker said. “I’d like to get a good look at him myself, before I let her go with him. Why didn’t she meet him at the boat? That’s what I’d like to know. And what if he was the one she ran away from?”

I hadn’t considered this.

“We’ll take a good look at him tomorrow,” I said. “We won’t let her go if we don’t like the look of him.”





THIRTY

I could hardly get through the rest of the day, I was so excited. Whatever terrible thing had happened to her, our girl Annie now had a good chance of recovery among those who loved her.

I went off to the theater earlier than usual, determined to get somewhere at last with this baffling case I was pursuing. There was a crowd around the theater, even at that time in the afternoon. A big sign across the glass doors read SOLD OUT and men were waving tickets. “Five dollars,” one was shouting. “Five dollars for a front row seat. See the ghost up close.” People started fighting to get their money out and pay him. It seemed that a lot of people were dying to see our elusive phantom.

“People are fighting for tickets out there, Henry,” I said as I arrived, rather battered and windswept at the stage door, having run the gauntlet of reporters as well as ticket hunters.

“Oh yes. Everyone wants to see the ghost for themselves,” he said. “You wouldn’t believe the trouble I’ve had fending off newspaper reporters all day.”

“Henry,” I said, “you see everyone who goes in and out. Has anyone suspicious or unsavory showed up, wanting to talk to one of the stagehands, maybe?”

Henry frowned. “I’d have sent him packing if he did. They can leave messages with me, but I’m not going to leave my post to fetch anyone from the stage.”

“I see.” This wasn’t going to get me anywhere. I left him and made my way upstairs. I found Martha alone in Blanche’s dressing room.

“The mistress hasn’t arrived yet,” she said, scowling at me in her normal unfriendly fashion. “Gone to her doctor to get more tonic for her nerves, poor thing.”

“As a matter of fact, it’s you I wanted to talk to,” I said, “because I’m sure you know Miss Lovejoy better than anybody. I want to know whether she might have any enemies outside of the theater.”

“What do you mean by that?” Martha asked sharply.

“I mean that the falling pillar almost killed her yesterday. I was wondering if somebody could have paid off a stagehand to give it a push at the right moment, somebody who had a reason for wanting Blanche out of the way.”

Martha’s old face stared at me, puzzled. “Who would ever want to do that? Everyone loves her. She’s the most beloved actress in New York. Always has been.”

“Another actress maybe? One who is jealous of her? Or a jilted lover?”

“The only jilted lover is that Barker fellow, and he never gives up. She won’t have him, you know. She’s holding out for something better.”

I came out of the dressing room with all kinds of crazy thoughts in my head. What if Robert Barker’s devotion had turned to hate? He was a small man and small men often have an exaggerated sense of pride. He was also the director, with the power to hire or fire anyone in the theater. He could have enlisted the help of anyone to do his dirty work. Maybe he had bribed a couple of stagehands to be in it together, each the alibi for the other. But how would I ever prove it?

I walked slowly along the passageway, wondering if I would dare to confront him. He might have been a small man, but he was probably stronger than me and not hampered by tight and impractical women’s clothing. No, I’d have to be more subtle than that.

And then there was Desmond Haynes, whom I hadn’t seen at all yesterday. Was it just that the choreographer’s work was done as soon as the show opened, or was he lying low so that he could be the ghost and create an accident? Again, I had no good reason for his wanting to kill or harm Miss Lovejoy, just tidbits of hearsay and gossip. I wished I knew more about the theater, which taverns theater folk gathered in, for example. I’d have to go back to Ryan and see if I could enlist him as my spy in places where gossip might be overheard.

I came around the corner and bumped into Miss Lovejoy herself.

“Molly, what are you doing here so early?” she asked.

“In case you’ve forgotten, you hired me to get to the bottom of the ghost story,” I said. “I thought I’d take a peek around backstage for myself before the show opens today, just to make sure there are no contraptions rigged up to harm you.”

“Contraptions?” She shook her head. “You mean deliberately rigged to fall on me?”