Alice Kimberley - The Ghost and the Femme Fatale

I shook my head. "I'll save your seat," I promised her.

Maggie got up and joined the crush. In the next row, Seymour stood up and stretched, then faced me. "Man, Pierce Armstrong was really funny. I couldn't believe that story about Howard Hawks…"

As Seymour continued to chatter away, the theater partially emptied. Like Maggie, people took advantage of the break to visit the restrooms or concession stand. I spied Bud Napp in the wings: the young Dixon Gallagher was with him, and the two appeared to be tinkering with the sound system. I noticed the new speakers sat on the floor on either side of the stage. Bud was obviously determined to avoid any more falling speaker "accidents."

Dean Pepper and a young usher started transferring Pierce Armstrong's wheelchair from the stage to the auditorium floor. On stage, Pierce waited for them to finish, his wrinkled hands clutching the black vinyl handles of an aluminum walker.

Finally, big Barry Yello appeared. The young Webmaster with the blond ponytail walked on stage from the wings. He and Dean Pepper each took the old man's arm and guided Pierce down the short staircase and back into his chair. Just as Dr. Pepper began to push the chair up the center aisle, Hedda Geist-Middleton entered the auditorium.

Attired for the upcoming festival party, Hedda wore a simple but elegant black cocktail dress, belted at the waist. A string of flawless pearls hung around her neck. Her silver-white hair was down, just brushing her shoulders, the ends curled into a 1940's-style pageboy.

I saw no sign of Hedda's granddaughter, Harmony, and the elderly actress seemed momentarily flustered. Her haughty airs were gone, and she began to fumble inside her black clutch bag.

As Dean Pepper continued to wheel Pierce up the aisle, I held my breath while those around me-apparently oblivious to the drama about to unfold-chatted and munched popcorn. I was sorry Maggie Kline was not here to see this. She, at least, was aware of the significance of the situation.

Hedda finally closed her bag and looked up, right into the eyes of Pierce Armstrong. The shock of recognition registered on her face, and she took a step backward, mouth moving soundlessly. Pierce clutched the arms of his wheelchair and slowly pushed himself to his feet. On unsteady legs he took a single step forward.

"Hello, Hedda," he said evenly.

Hedda's acute anxiety appeared to vanish, as if a curtain came down-or went up-and a performance began.

"Pierce," she said, her chin raised, her voice strong and confident, "so lovely to see you after all these years."

There were no hugs, no air kisses, not even a smile. Her greeting was civil, but cold and formal. The two former lovers stood face to face for a long moment. Then Hedda broke the deadlock. Her eyes drifted away from Armstrong and over to the man standing behind the elderly actor.

"Ah, Dr. Pepper. There you are!" she declared. "I sent my granddaughter off to find you and now she's vanished."

Pepper smiled. "I'm right here."

Hedda tilted her head and forced a smile of her own. "I believe you asked me to give a little introduction before the screening of Tight Spot. Am I on time?"

"You are," Dr. Pepper replied, "and I see my colleague Brainert Parker is here to escort you to the stage."

Brainert appeared at Hedda's side and offered the woman his arm. She took it and without another glance at Pierce, sauntered toward the stage. Pierce sat back down. As Dr. Pepper wheeled the man away, I noticed a smirk on the old actor's face, an unmistakable look of amused triumph.

That's what it looks like to me, too, baby.

"Well, Jack, I guess if anyone knew Hedda was acting, it would be her former leading man."

Suddenly, someone rushed up to me. "Whew, I almost missed it!" It was Maggie Kline, acting like a kid in an amusement park. Her face was flushed, as if she'd crossed the lobby in a dead run. "The bathroom was so crowded, and then I heard someone say Hedda had arrived, and I raced back!"

"So you got a good look?"

"From the theater doors," she said, and then shrugged. "I'm a little disappointed. I guess I was expecting more. Fireworks, explosions, something… "

Maggie's reference to explosions suddenly cast Pierce

Armstrong's smirk in a whole new light. Tensing in my seat, I flashed back on that giant audio speaker sparking and flashing above the stage and nearly crushing the elderly Hedda Geist, right in front of her adoring fans.

"Jack? Peirce is such an old man. You don't think he could be a threat, do you?"

The ghost grunted. Back in '46, a cop I used to work with went to arrest an eighty-two-year-old man for smacking his wife around. The guy didn't shine to a buttoned-up yancy telling him what he could or couldn't do with his little woman.

"What happened?"

Long story short, the cop was clocked twice with a ball bat before his partner iced the old fart. "Excuse me!" I told Maggie. "Change your mind about the ladies'?" "No, the man."

"What?"

I climbed out of my seat and hurried down the aisle to the far end of the stage, where I called to Bud in the wings. Smiling, he approached me.

"Hey, Pen. What's up?" he asked, crouching down on one knee.

I jerked my head toward Brainert and Hedda, who were locked in conversation at the bottom of the steps that led up to the stage. Harmony had arrived, too. She looked stunning tonight-a photo negative of her grandmother in a white summer dress, a choker made of shiny black gemstones, and her blonde hair pulled into a high ponytail.

"Listen," I said softly, "you remember what happened the last time Hedda was on stage. Have you checked this place out thoroughly?"

Bud frowned. "You don't think-"

"Oh, but I do."

To my relief, he didn't question me. While I watched, he checked the curtains, walked the length of center stage while peering up, into the catwalks. He checked the microphone wires, the chairs. Bud even glanced under the tablecloth, presumably for anything that looked like an explosive device. Then he stepped behind the chairs and walked toward the staircase, using small, cautious steps while following the path Hedda would take to her seat.

Suddenly, Bud froze. He took a step backward. His head jerked in my direction, and when Bud's eyes met mine, I knew he'd found something.

While I watched, Bud called an usher, whispered something to the teenager. The kid took off backstage, returned a moment later with an aluminum easel under his arm. He and Bud set the display up so that its tripod legs straddled the spot where Bud had paused. The usher ran off again, and returned with the sign advertising Hedda's appearance that had stood in the lobby. He placed it on the easel.

Bud approached me, his face pale. "The trapdoor was unlocked," he said. "I felt it give under my foot. Put more weight on it and the door would have opened right up. Anyone standing on it would have fallen through. It's a fifteen-foot drop to a concrete floor. At Hedda's age, a fall like that could be fatal."

"Could this be an accident?"

Bud shook his head. "Someone had to do it. A trapdoor doesn't unlock itself-"

"When?"

He shrugged. "I don't know, but it had to have happened recently. I've been back and forth across this stage for the past two hours. The door would have popped open before."

I frowned. That spot was exactly where Pierce Armstrong had been standing while he waited for Dr. Pepper to help him down the stairs.

"Bud, do you think Pierce Armstrong was the one who unlocked that trapdoor-"

A burst of applause drowned out my words. Barry Yello had walked onto the stage to a raucous greeting. As he began his introduction of Hedda, Bud gestured for me to go find a seat. He tapped his watch and mouthed, "Later." Then he moved to the wings.