Backstage with a Ghost (5 page)

“If it does,” Miss Beezly said in a theatrical voice, “instead of running I shall confront it and find out who it is and what it wants!” Her face crinkled into a smile, and she patted Brian on the hand. “Now run along and enjoy the tour. I'm sure you have a little ghost hunting in mind.”

“We are not here to go ghost hunting!” Mr. Peabody scowled down his long nose. “Over all these years, I have never seen a single ghost in the Culbertson Theater—not even the ghost of Horatio Hamilton.”

“So you say,” sighed Miss Beezly as she wiggled into a comfortable position. “Off you go!” she said, shooing them on their way.

Brian would have felt better if they had all stayed together, but there was nothing he could do about changing Miss Beezly's mind, so he followed Mr. Peabody.

“To begin with,” Mr. Peabody explained as he walked down the aisle, “the ornamental arch that separates the stage from the auditorium is called a proscenium arch.”

“Is it true that you've never even seen Horatio?” Sean asked.

Mr. Peabody stopped. “Do you want a backstage tour,” he barked impatiently, “or do you want to talk about ghosts?”

“Both,” Brian said. “We want to understand more about the theater because we want to help our dad solve the mystery of who—or what—has caused the accidents to Mr. Marconi and his inspector. We'd like to hear whatever you can tell us.”

“Even though you don't believe in ghosts,” Sean added.

“As for the inspector,” Mr. Peabody said, “he should have known better than to walk under hanging equipment.”

“Where did the sandbag fall?” Brian asked.

Mr. Peabody pointed. “There,” he said, “right center. If he had been standing just a foot closer…” He gave a shudder. “As to the existence of ghosts,” he said, “I didn't say that I didn't
believe
in ghosts. I said I hadn't
seen
them.” Lowering his voice, he leaned forward and murmured, “Lately I have noted a few…odd occurrences that might cause some people to think that ghosts may indeed haunt the Culbertson.”

“Oh yeah?” said Sean, his eyes widening. Mr. Peabody nodded gravely.

“For example,” he said, “certain objects in the dressing rooms have been moved. Since the building is locked, there was no one here to move them. Just this afternoon I found the wardrobe door hanging open in one of the dressing rooms.”

Sean shivered. “Do you think Horatio was responsible?” he asked.

Mr. Peabody shrugged. “It's hard to say.”

Brian was less interested in ghosts than in discovering more about the theater. “The women from the historical society said a city inspector classified the building as structurally sound,” he said. “Would you agree?”

“Hmmmph!” Mr. Peabody snorted. “Given half a chance those dreadful women would bring decorators in here to change the character of the theater completely.” Mr. Peabody sighed. “On the other hand, if the theater is torn down, it will be even more of a tragedy. The Culbertson is a magnificent old building. It should be left in peace exactly as it is.”

Mr. Peabody took a deep breath to steady himself. “Okay. Let's get a move on,” he said. He snapped on a flashlight and puffed his way up the stairs to the stage. The kids flicked on their flashlights, too, and followed him.

“Watch your step,” he called back. “And whatever you do, don't touch anything, especially the ropes.”

“Jeez,” Debbie Jean whispered to Sean, “what a grumpy old sourpuss.”

A forest of ropes ascended into the darkness. Mr. Peabody insisted that the kids stand back as he pointed out the tattered remains of the different kinds of curtains and showed them the pipes with lighting instruments hung on them.

“These things are called battens,” he explained, “and they're pulled up and let down by the stagehands who are in charge of moving the scenery.”

Sean made sure the flash was in the On position on his camera and began snapping pictures. He took pictures of the ropes, the curtains, the sandbags, and the battens. He even accidentally photographed Debbie Jean posing as a famous movie star.

“Guess who I am?” she cooed.

“Quasimodo?” said Sean.

“The battens look heavy,” Brian said, changing the subject.

“They are,” Mr. Peabody told him. “Now come along and I'll show you the stars' dressing rooms, which are just behind the stage.”

Sean wanted a closer shot of the battens, so he stepped over some equipment and steadied himself by grasping one of the ropes. As Sean aimed his camera, Mr. Peabody turned, and a look of terror suddenly came over his face. “Look out!” he yelled. The battens above Sean's head began to waver.

“Sean!” shouted Brian.

He grabbed Sean's arm and jerked him to one side of the stage just as one end of the battens snapped and slammed to the floor.

Sean stared, his heart banging so loudly it hurt his ears. “It crashed right where I was standing!”

“I told you to stand back!” cried Mr. Peabody. “I told you not to touch the ropes!” Brian noticed at once that Mr. Peabody was as frightened as Sean.

“I was just taking pictures,” Sean said.

“Where you shouldn't have been!”

“The battens didn't fall by themselves,” Brian said.

Mr. Peabody walked out to center stage and looked up before he answered. “They might have. The ropes are old, and the equipment is probably unstable.”

“I'd like to look at that rope,” Brian said.

“No! Stay back! It may not be safe,” Mr. Peabody warned, but Brian had already taken the end of the rope in his hand and stepped far enough back so that he was no longer under the hanging equipment.

“It's frayed,” he said as he studied the feathered ends of the rope.

“I told you all this equipment is old,” Mr. Peabody said.

Brian dropped the rope and wiped his hands on his pants. The rope had been awfully dirty and dusty.

“It could have been the ghost,” Debbie Jean whispered. She turned to stare at the spot on the stage where the greenish glowing ghost had appeared during their last visit.

Sean stared, too, holding his breath. “Brian,” he said.

But Brian was pointing at the empty seat in the back row of the theater. Where was Miss Beezly?

B
RIAN AND SEAN RAN
down the aisle, with the others following. But they froze in their tracks when they heard the same strange creaking sound that had accompanied the appearance of the ghost the day before.

They turned slowly toward the stage. The severed head of Miss Beezly, in its frothy pink hat, was resting on the stage floor. The eyes in its head looked directly at Sean.

“It's exactly as I suspected,” said the head matter-of-factly.

“She can still talk!” Sean yelled.

Debbie Jean screamed at the top of her lungs.

“You have a powerful set of lungs, dear, which is a distinct advantage for an actress,” Miss Beezly said. “But please don't scream again. It hurts my ears.”

Slowly the head of Miss Beezly rose up from the stage floor. In a few seconds Miss Beezly's arms and legs and shoes became visible, too. She stepped forward. “I don't know why I didn't think of it before,” she said as if scolding herself.

“Think of what?” Sean managed to ask.

“I followed a little side corridor that led to the basement, and sure enough there was a ladder right under the trapdoor. It's obvious that our so-called ghost had no one with him to work the levers that raise the platform, so he used a ladder.”

“A trapdoor!” Brian exclaimed. He rushed back onto the stage.

“Oh, yes,” Miss Beezly said. “The trap is very cleverly hidden from the audience in the orchestra level, and even onstage you'd need much better lighting than this in order to see it clearly.”

She giggled. “Do you remember, Tyrone dear, when we produced
Blithe Spirit
and my lovely flowing white dress got caught in the trapdoor?”

“I remember only the excellence of your performance, Nora Ann.” Mr. Peabody gave a stiff little bow.

Leaving the two of them to talk about old times, Brian, Sean, Sam, and Debbie Jean rushed to look at the open trapdoor and the short folding ladder that stood open beneath it.

“Shine your spotlight down there,” Sean told Debbie Jean. “I want to take a picture.”

“Look at all the footprints in the dust!” Brian said. “There are a lot of big ones Miss Beezly didn't make. And ghosts don't leave footprints!”

“That's weird,” Sam said, and pointed. “Do you see those places where the ladder's glowing?”

Brian climbed down a few rungs to take a closer look. “It's green phosphorescent paint,” he said.

“I bet it's the same stuff that was on whoever was pretending to be a ghost,” Sean said.

“You mean the ghost isn't real?” groaned Debbie Jean. Sean thought she sounded disappointed.

“
That
ghost may not have been real. But don't forget,” said Sam, slipping into his scary voice, “Horatio's supposed to be hanging around here somewhere.”

“Don't do that!” Sean snapped nervously.

“What's the matter, Sean?” asked Debbie Jean. “Are you scared?”

“No,” said Sean defensively. “And anyway, I'm not the one who practically set a world record running away!”

“Oh yeah?” said Debbie Jean.

“Yeah!” said Sean.

“Cut it out, both of you,” Brian said as he climbed up the ladder of the trapdoor onto the stage. “We're dealing with somebody who's pretending to be a ghost, and we don't know why.”

“So what do we do now?” asked Sam.

“We look for a motive,” Sean said, and Brian nodded. Sean knew how Brian's mind worked when they were investigating a case.

“You've got a motive,” Sam said. “I could see those women from the historical society being real interested in the idea of a ghost that would lure tourists to the theater after it's restored.”

“But why would the ghost want to scare
us
away?” Sean asked. “We're not working for Mr. Marconi.”

“But we
are
working to help Dad on this case,” Brian said. He stared at Sean. “And some of us might believe in ghosts and spread the word that the theater is haunted. You saw how interested that reporter was about Horatio.”

“Yeah,” Sean agreed. “Since that article came out I bet most of Redoaks believes the Culbertson is haunted.”

Brian pulled out his notebook and turned back a few pages. “Let's go over some of what we already know.” He began reading. “A heavy flat almost hit Mr. Marconi. A stair railing broke, and he fell. Then on Saturday a sandbag landed on his inspector's shoulder.”

“And don't forget that today the battens nearly clobbered me!” Sean said.

“And don't forget that both Mr. Marconi and Mrs. Hemsley have big investments in the land around the Culbertson,” Debbie Jean added.

“What's really strange,” Brian said, “is that the ghost didn't appear to Mr. Marconi or the inspector. We were the first—and only—ones to see it.”

“Aha!” Sam said, jabbing a finger into the air. “That sounds like a clue.”

“The
answer
might be an important clue,” said Brian as he tucked his notebook into his pocket. “But before we can know for sure we'll need to see more of this theater, like the dressing rooms and all the backstage places where someone could hide and put on costumes and paint. It might make it easier to learn who our ghost is.”

“Yeah,” Sam said. “Mr. Peabody said somebody had disturbed the theater stuff.”

“Are we going back there now?” Sean asked.

“Sure. Now,” Brian told him.

Sean turned to Debbie Jean. “I'll trade you my flashlight for your superspotlight.”

“No way,” Debbie Jean said.

Brian walked toward the backstage area, but Mr. Peabody suddenly called out, “Wait, young man! Where do you think you're going?”

“We want to inspect the rest of the backstage area, Mr. Peabody.”

Sean was amazed at how fast Mr. Peabody hopped up the stairs to the stage. “No, no! We can't have that!” he said.

“You said you'd take us on a tour,” said Brian. “We haven't seen the dressing rooms yet or the basement or—”

“And you won't,” Mr. Peabody said firmly. “In spite of what happened to the land developer and his employee, I hadn't fully realized the dangers of this old theater. As I just told Miss Beezly, I made a dreadful mistake in allowing you to be here.”

“We'll be careful! We promise!” Brian said quickly.

But Mr. Peabody shook his head. “No. We're leaving right now,” he said. He shooed them up the aisle and out of the theater.

With a dramatic flourish, he locked the doors and pocketed his key.

“Thank you, dear,” Miss Beezly said as she waved farewell to Tyrone Peabody. “Now then,” she said brightly, “how would you like a cup of cocoa? With marshmallows?” She included everyone in her smile.