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

“I’d be glad if you did call on her,” I said. “I’d like to know she was safely settled and being looked after well.”


“I will report back to you then,” he said. “But I shouldn’t keep you out here in the cold. Were you looking for me at the hotel?”

“No, for Ryan, actually. But he’s not home.”

“When is he ever home? He flits around like a dragonfly, that one. So may I offer you some tea before you go on your way?”

“It’s kind of you, but I have to make my way back to the theater,” I said.

“Ah yes, the famous play. Were there any ghostly manifestations last night?”

“No, the play went smoothly.”

“Fascinating.” The doctor stroked his light blond beard. “What is your own deduction, Miss Murphy? Have you personally seen this spirit?”

“I have seen its acts,” I said. “I have seen a jug of lemonade throw itself over Miss Lovejoy. I have seen a pillar topple and nearly hit her. But I can’t believe it is the work of a ghost. I’m sure it’s a vindictive person, but I can account for everybody’s movements and I have no idea how these tricks were done.”

“If it were an illusionist show, like that rascal Houdini’s, then you’d have your answer. Those fellows can make things appear and disappear before your very eyes. Most unnerving.”

“Unfortunately, this is a simple musical comedy. No illusionists as far as I know.”

I left him and went on my way to the theater, deep in thought. This was a suggestion that might be worth pursuing. Somehow I should be able to check whether anyone in the cast had worked as an illusionist or with an illusionist at any time. At least this gave me something positive to do and I walked up Broadway from the trolley with a more sprightly step.

There was another large crowd milling around the front entrance. I even overheard a bookmaker taking odds on whether the ghost would appear tonight. I pushed through to the stage door and was on my way up to the dressing room when Robert Barker called to me.

“You, girl.”

I stopped and looked back at him.

“Miss Lovejoy wants you onstage.”

“Onstage? Now?”

I could feel my cheeks flaming. Had I got something wrong? Was the performance on Fridays at an earlier time and nobody had told me?

“Yes, now,” he snapped. “Hurry up. She needs you there.”

I ran back down the stairs, past the prop room, and negotiated the backstage area. Through the side curtains I could see that the stage lights were full on. I stepped out into their glare, shielding my eyes. I saw that Blanche was standing alone at the front of the stage. The curtain was up and she was addressing invisible people in the audience.

“Here she is now,” I heard a male voice say.

Blanche turned around, saw me, and held out her hand in a welcoming gesture.

“Oh, Miss Murphy. I’m so glad you’ve come. Do join me. I decided the time for secrecy was passed, so I called a meeting of the gentlemen of the press.”

I took her hand and she pulled me beside her.

“As I was saying, gentlemen, it was perhaps na?ve and foolish of me to think that I could ever keep this strange phenomenon a secret from the world at large. You see I feared, again wrongly, it seems, that word of a phantom haunting this theater would drive away our potential audience and spell ruin for our show. But you heard about it anyway. You always manage to, don’t you? You are so clever that way. So I called this conference today to bring things into the open and let the world know what we’ve been going through these past weeks.”

Her voice cracked at the end of the sentence.

“So there really is a ghost, is there, Miss Lovejoy?” a voice shouted from the blackness.

Blanche glanced around her, as if fearful that the ghost might overhear.

“I can come up with no other explanation,” she said. “Strange things have been happening since we started rehearsing here. A jug of liquid hurled over me. The wind machine suddenly came on at full strength in the middle of a scene. A strange face at a window when I looked out.”

“You don’t suspect that someone is playing tricks on you? Someone wants you to lose your nerve and close down the play?”

“That did cross my mind,” she said. “That is why I hired this young woman. Gentlemen, may I present to you Miss Molly Murphy? Miss Murphy runs a private detective agency. I had friends who spoke highly of her skills. So I hired her to do some snooping around and to find out who might be behind these strange events. She has now been with me for two weeks, taking part in every performance, and I regret to say that she is as perplexed as the rest of us.”

“So you don’t think these acts were carried out by a normal human hand, Miss Murphy?”