Alice Kimberley - The Ghost and the Femme Fatale

TWO HOURS LATER, Bud Napp was shaking his head at me. "Sorry to shoot your theory down, Pen, but there's no way Pierce Armstrong could have set that trap for Hedda."

The movie had finished playing by now and the theater was clearing out. Practically everyone was heading off to the open-air block party on the Quindicott Commons-everyone but me and Bud. I was standing on the stage next to him, listening as he shot my meticulously reasoned theory all to hell.

"Are you certain Pierce couldn't work the lock?"

"Look here," he said, moving the aluminum easel. "On this side of the trapdoor, there are no bolts, no hinges, no screws. That stuff is underneath. Otherwise people on stage would be tripping over the hardware all the time."

I studied the trapdoor; it certainly did look like part of the floor. I sighed. "So how does one go about unlocking it?"

"You have to go under the stage," Bud explained. "Which means if Pierce Armstrong is guilty of trying to harm Hedda, he had to have an accomplice working underneath this floor."

I nodded. "Show me."

Bud led me to the rear of the backstage area, where a narrow staircase led to an empty basement of newly whitewashed concrete. At the bottom of the steps Bud flipped a switch and a few naked lightbulbs dully illuminated the vast space. On the wall to my right, I saw a steel fire door marked EXIT.

"Where does this lead?" I asked.

"To the alley that runs behind Cranberry Street."

Bud flipped another switch, placed his hands on the door's horizontal handle, and pushed it open. Warm air streamed into the cool, damp cellar, tainted with a whiff of garbage from the Dumpster just outside the door.

"It was unlocked," I noted.

"It's always unlocked because it's a fire door," Bud explained. "It's only locked on the outside. You'll notice I cut off the alarm before I pushed it open." He pointed to a small metal circuit box that looked like another light switch. "If I hadn't, an alarm would have rung upstairs, alerting management to a break-in."

I scratched my head. "And there's no way someone could have slipped in through that door and gotten under the stage without anyone in the main theater noticing?"

Bud shrugged. "Unless they had an accomplice inside who came down here and opened the door for them. That accomplice would have had to know about cutting off the alarm switch."

"How likely is that?"

"Unfortunately it's very likely. And there's something else you should see. Follow me." He led me to a spot in the middle of the empty cellar. "Look up."

I did. After gazing into the shadows for a moment, I finally made out the bottom of the trapdoor fifteen feet above me. It looked like a square in the ceiling with hinges on one side. Two dead bolts held the door in place and they'd both been opened. The ceiling was so high, the only way to reach it was the folding ladder set up right under the door.

"The wannabe killer must have set up this ladder," I said.

"The truth is, I set this ladder up myself, just yesterday, to change a burned-out lightbulb." Bud pointed to the ceiling. "But it's obvious to me that whoever unlocked the trapdoor did know their way around this theater."

I mulled Bud's words while he climbed the ladder and relocked the dead bolts.

"Any way to get more light around here?" I asked him from the floor.

"Try the work light," Bud replied. "It's right over the bench."

I found the fluorescent light and turned it on. Powerful beams penetrated the shadows, making this section of the large cellar twice as bright as before. That's when I noticed a small dark object on the whitewashed concrete. I dropped to all fours and picked it up.

Bud watched me from the top of the ladder. "What have you found?"

"An earring. Looks like black onyx in a silver setting. It looks new, too. There's no tarnish or dust on it. Want to see?"

Bud climbed down from the ladder and crossed to the bench. He studied the earring pinched in my fingers while he used a rag to wipe soot off his hands.

"That's not from my crew," he said. "My guys have been down here plenty, but there are no women on my work crew- and no pierced ears, noses, or lips either."

Suddenly a memory flashed into my mind-a young woman in a white dress, accented by a choker made of black gem-stones, stones that may well have been onyx. Harmony Middleton.

"Sorry, Pen, but it's getting late," said Bud, tapping his wristwatch. "And I promised Sadie I'd meet her at the block party."

"Oh, yeah, the block party." "Aren't you going, too?" Bud asked. "I wasn't planning on it."

Well, change your plans, Jack immediately growled in my head. That earring is missing off some broad's earlobe. And if you find it missing off Harmony's, then you'll know you've got your man.

"Or woman."

Figure of speech, baby. 'Cause trouble is my business, and in my business, dames are the most trouble of all.

New York City May 10, 1948

"JACK, WHERE AM I?" "In my apartment."

"Your apartment! How did I get here?"

"I gave you a ride, baby. Don't you remember when we took that trip to Queens, and those lousy two-legged rats shot at us in the alley? Then I stashed you in that dark doorway?"

"Oh, yeah… I do remember."

"You were shaking like a wet kitten, and I took you in my arms-"

"And kissed me. That's right."

"Well, it led to a few more kisses, and one thing led to another, and I drove you back here."

I opened my eyes. I was nestled against Jack's solid form on a big, lumpy sofa. The PI's apartment was small but neat with an easy chair and a coffee table. A bar stood against the wall, holding bottles of liquor. A large radio sat between two tall windows covered in drawn Venetian blinds, and a bookshelf in the corner held paperbacks and a stack of magazines. I saw a small kitchen through one door, a bedroom through another.

Jack's deep-blue double-breasted jacket was thrown over the arm of a chair. His leather shoulder holster was hanging over its back. The PI's shoes were off, too, and his sock-covered feet were crossed on the coffee table in front of us. His shirtsleeves were rolled up, revealing muscular forearms. One strong arm was now draped around my shoulders. The other held a tumbler with wheat-colored alcohol. He was sipping the drink with one hand, caressing my shoulder with the other.

I looked down, a little worried about how many pieces of clothing I'd find missing. I was still wearing the skirt of the smart tweed suit that Jack had selected for me, but the jacket was gone and my blouse's top buttons were undone, revealing quite a bit of lace bra. I pulled away from Jack's embrace and did up the buttons.

The PI smirked. He rubbed his square chin now rough with stubble. "Don't look at me like that, baby. You were the one who unbuttoned them. You said you were hot."

I arched an eyebrow, thinking about his kisses. "Oh, I'm sure I was."

"So." He yawned and stretched, set down his drink on the coffee table, then leaned back again and clasped his hands behind his head. "Now that the fun's over… you want to tell me what happened tonight?"

I squinted. "Am I sleeping right now? Is this a dream?"

His slate-gray eyes held my gaze. "What do you think?"

"I think you've got Hokey-Pokey Pink lipstick on your collar-"

He smiled, with a little too much satisfaction. "And?"

"And I remember something about Bud Napp helping me under the Movie Town Theater stage, finding an onyx-and-silver earring, then running back to my bedroom above the bookshop and changing for the block party."