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

“It’s possible,” I said.

She was still shaking her head in bewilderment. “I can’t believe that anyone would want to harm me. Who would want to do that? Everyone here is so grateful that I’ve given them a chance to be in one of my hit shows.”

“What about your friend Mr. Barker? Is it possible that he has grown tired of waiting for you?”

“Bobby?” She gave a merry peel of laughter. “Bobby will be faithful to me until his death, I assure you. And as for rigging up contraptions—he is the most meek and mild little fellow. He once turned a horrible shade of green when he found a mouse caught in a trap.”

“And Desmond Haynes?”

“Dear Desmond? Well, between the two of us, my dear, his interest doesn’t lie in girls. We had a brief relationship once but it led nowhere. I could see at the time that his thoughts were straying in other directions. And he is the consummate professional. He would never do anything to damage the success of his show. He’s with the girls now at the rehearsal studio, you know. Putting them through their paces once more before they take to the stage tonight. He’ll work himself into an early grave, will our Desmond.”

“Then somebody else?” I said. “Can you think of anybody who might have joined this company harboring a secret desire to get revenge on you?”

She laughed again. “If it was a secret desire, how would I know about it? But the answer is that nobody in the cast knows me well enough to want revenge. Our paths have only crossed when we have been part of the same company, and frankly, I was always the star—set quite apart from the rest of them.”

She patted my shoulder as if I were a slow child. “I’m sure you mean well and you’re trying really hard, but I think you’re wasting your time, and mine. You haven’t been able to find out the truth or to protect me so far, so I’m afraid I have to conclude that you don’t possess the skills to solve something as bizarre as this. So maybe we should call our relationship quits. I’ll pay you for the time you’ve put in and that will be that.”

“Miss Lovejoy,” I said, angrily now, “last night you were almost killed on the stage. If you had been standing another foot to the left, that pillar would have crashed onto your head. Now, I don’t believe it was a ghost that gave that pillar a shove. I believe it was someone backstage. Maybe more than one person in a conspiracy, and I would like to get to the bottom of it. It appeared to me that your mark onstage had been deliberately moved, although I can’t prove this. I ask you to give me another week at least. Either that or call in the police right away and have guards stationed around the stage area.”

She considered this, frowning. “It would make everyone so nervous, having great burly men stationed everywhere.”

“And it doesn’t make them nervous having pillars fall and nearly kill people?”

She sighed. “Maybe you are right. I wish I knew what was best. I tried to keep this away from the newspapers, but now look what’s happened—everyone witnessed that pillar falling last night, so now the whole country knows about it. I don’t want to be defeated but I don’t want to live in constant fear, either. I am at my wit’s end, Molly. My wit’s end.”

She put her hand up to her head in a wonderfully dramatic gesture.

“Give me a few more days, Miss Lovejoy,” I said. “Then I really think that you should call in the police.”

“Very well,” she said. “I am in your hands, Molly.”

I left her and conducted a quick tour backstage. No wires attached to pillars, nothing suspicious or dangerous to be seen. I went back to my dressing room and got ready for the evening’s performance. The curtain went up. The house was packed. One could sense the electricity in the air. Was the ghost going to make an appearance? I could feel them all holding their breath, prepared to be scared and delighted at the same time. But for once the ghost was well behaved, and we went through the whole performance with no incidents at all.

“Maybe the ghost has realized he can’t make Miss Lovejoy quit,” one of the girls was saying as I came back into the dressing room after the curtain calls.

“She’s a tough lady all right,” someone else agreed. “Look how she stood there calmly last night and said the show must go on. I got chills up and down my spine.”

“It didn’t hurt our attendance, did it?” another girl chimed in. “Miss L. was terrified it would keep the people away if the news got out, but look at tonight’s crowd. They couldn’t wait to see the ghost for themselves.”

“Yes, well, I have some ideas on that score,” Lily said, then went on calmly untying her ballet slippers.

“Meaning what?”

“Oh, nothing.” She flung a ballet shoe into her box.