Part 4 (1/2)

That slowed me down a little.

”Besides,” she continued before I could think of a response, ”we got the other reaction I was hoping for.”

”And what was that?” I asked cautiously.

”We picked up some new information. In case you haven't figured it out yet, Knowledge is Power.”

I looked at her as if she were from another planet.

”You can look at me like that if you want,” she said. ”The first time I saw that slogan carved on the doorway over my old school, I thought it was really stupid. Then I realized the more I knew, the more I could control what was going on around me. It's just a matter of what knowledge you want to have. Right now, we want to know as much about the ghost as possible, so we played a little trading game.”

”You played a game,” I said. ”I had nothing to do with it.”

”Suit yourself,” said Chris with a shrug. ”The point is, I traded a little information with your father. I told him we had seen the ghost, and he told us why. If that wasn't a fair trade, I don't know what is.”

I was trying to come up with an answer to this when the silver BMW pulled up to the curb and Melissa stepped out.

”Watch this,” Chris whispered.

”h.e.l.lo, troops,” said Melissa, walking over to us. ”You can stop worrying. The star has arrived.”

”What a relief,” said Chris sarcastically. Then, before Melissa could respond, she asked, ”Did you ever see the ghost, Melissa?”

Melissa looked at her in disgust. ”What do you think I am?” she snapped. ”Crazy?”

Chris winked at me, and I realized the trap she had set for Melissa.

”That's amazing,” said Chris, her eyes wide and innocent. ”According to the legend, the ghost only appears to young women who truly love the theater. So I was sure you would have seen her.”

My snort of laughter was cut off by a familiar scream.

”Lydia again!” said Chris grimly. ”Let's see what's bothering her this time.”

Working together, we managed to beat Melissa to the door. Lydia was standing in the center of the lobby, clutching shredded white fabric in her hands.

”It was her!” she screamed. ”She did this. She's out to get me! I tell you, the Woman in White is out to get me!”

”Lydia, for heaven's sake, calm down,” said Edgar, who was standing in front of her with his clipboard in his hand. ”What are you babbling about, anyway?”

”Babbling?” screamed Lydia as she shook out the bundle of fabric. ”You call this babbling?”

Without intending to, I gasped. It was the beautiful gown she herself had chosen to wear at the end of Act One.

It had been torn to pieces.

As I watched the blood drain from Edgar's face, I could feel Chris's fingers digging into my arm.

”What is going on in this theater?” she whispered.

CHAPTER EIGHT.

The Crowd Goes Nuts The theater was in an uproar. A couple of women from the chorus had spotted Lydia heading for the lobby with her tattered dress and tagged along to see what was going on. Once they heard what had happened, they started running around, spreading the word that the ghost was getting violent. It didn't take long until the entire cast was in a frenzy. People were demanding protection and wanting to know what the theater was going to do about the ghost. Half a dozen people announced they were going to quit the show. A couple of the women were crying. It didn't look like things were going to quiet down any time soon.

Gwendolyn Meyer did a good imitation of a bull elephant as she herded the entire cast into the first two rows of the theater. Except Lydia, of course. Gwendolyn gave Ken Abbott the key to her office and asked him to take Lydia there so she could lie down until she recovered.

Chris, Melissa, and I ended up sitting in the center of the second row. Somehow, Chris managed to maneuver things so I was sitting next to Melissa. I wish I could figure out how she did it!

Once everyone else was seated, Gwendolyn, Edgar, and the rest of the production crew lined themselves up along the edge of the stage to quiet us down. To me it was like trying to put out a forest fire by spitting on it. But little by little people became quiet and ready to listen to what was being said.

Gwendolyn spoke first. ”You people are acting like complete imbeciles, and I think it's time you stopped.”

It wasn't really the best way to calm everyone down. We all began muttering angrily.

Edgar rose to the occasion. Putting a hand on Gwendolyn's arm to warn her to back off, he said loudly, ”Listen, people. I know a couple of strange things have happened in the last few days. But I'm afraid you're letting your imaginations run away with you.”

There it was-the dreaded phrase. That was one of the reasons I hadn't wanted to tell anybody about seeing the ghost to begin with. I knew I would hear: ”Your imagination is running away with you.” It's one of my least favorite sentences in the whole world.

”Now, let's think about this rationally,” said Edgar, slowly walking down a set of stairs on the side of the stage. He walked over to the front row and began to stride back and forth just in front of it. ”What's really happened here? Lydia claims to have seen the ghost. And her dress has been cut up. What does all this mean?”

”It means this place has one cranky ghost,” said Ken Abbott, returning to the theater and sliding into a seat just ahead of us. This got a couple of nervous laughs and a few angry mutters.

”Does it really?” asked Edgar sharply. ”Or does it mean we've got a group of imaginative people doing a play about a woman who met a tragic death-and doing it in the very theater where she died. A theater where her ghost-it has been rumored-has been appearing for fifty years. Under the circ.u.mstances, it makes sense for poor Lydia to get spooked occasionally. In fact, I might be worried about how seriously she was taking her part if she didn't. But that doesn't mean the place is haunted.”

”What about the dress?” Marilyn Williams asked. Marilyn was a very pretty actress who was playing the part of Lily Larkin's best friend.

”Well, let's think about the dress,” said Edgar. ”Obviously there's something strange going on. But how strange? Again, let's think carefully. This theater is open all day long. We're located on a busy downtown street where a lot of crazies hang out. A dress is torn up. Does it really make sense to think it was done by a ghost? Or is it more likely that it was one of our local looney birds?”

Paula coughed, and suddenly Edgar began to blush and stammer. He got control of himself quickly, but it was clear something had upset him.

Chris leaned over to me and whispered, ”What was that all about?”

”I don't know,” I hissed back. ”But it was definitely weird. I'd like-”

I was interrupted by Mark Jordan, one of our dancers. ”Then you're saying this theater isn't haunted?”

”I'm saying so what if it is?” said Edgar. ”People have been saying the place is haunted for nearly fifty years now, and in all that time the ghost hasn't done one bit of harm. Why should she start now?”

”Maybe she doesn't like the script,” Ken Abbott said.

”Thanks a lot, Ken,” said Alan Bland.

”Hey,” Paula said. ”It's an old theatrical tradition. When something goes wrong, blame the writer!”

”That's what Lydia said,” chimed in Marilyn. ”Well, I mean, she didn't say she doesn't like the script. But she told me she thinks the ghost might not want us to do the play.”