The Ghost Light Read online

  A MESSAGE FROM CHICKEN HOUSE

  I love a clever mystery, one with real clues that readers can try and puzzle out too. And I also love our cool and sparky sleuthing companion, Alice Jones! Admittedly her annoying sidekick, Kevin, is back for another adventure too – but that just adds to the fun. Thanks, Sarah Rubin: I never guessed the solution – again!

  BARRY CUNNINGHAM

  Publisher

  Chicken House

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Acknowledgements

  Copyright

  For Mark Puglisi, Dan Mills, Frank Bachman and Casey Rush – four fabulous directors who inspired my love of theatre.

  ALSO BY SARAH RUBIN

  Dreamer Ballerina

  Alice Jones: The Impossible Clue

  ‘I can’t believe this is really happening. I’m going to meet Matthew Strange,’ Kevin said for the tenth time in as many minutes.

  ‘Yep,’ I said, again.

  We were sitting in the empty auditorium of the Beryl Theatre watching rehearsals for The Curse of the Casterfields. My twin sister Della stood onstage in an old-fashioned maid’s uniform helping her co-star Vivian pretend to get dressed for a ball. Della and my mom had both come up to Philly from New York to put on the play and save the Beryl, and now that it was February break they’d roped me into helping too.

  ‘How can you not be more excited? Matthew Strange is in a show with your sister. The Matthew Strange. Agent Zero. Jordan Severe. He’s only the best action star ever. And we get to meet him.’ Kevin’s voice rose to an excited squeak.

  ‘I thought you said you were going to be cool?’

  ‘I’m cool,’ Kevin said quickly.

  I turned and stared at him with both my eyebrows raised.

  He flashed me his most angelic smile. ‘I’m the coolest person you know.’

  I snorted and started to reply, but the show’s director turned in his seat and glared at me, as if I’d been the one making all the noise. Frank Vallance wore his scowl the way he wore his scarf, with flair. I glanced at Kevin but he was doing his best impression of cherubic innocence. There was no point blaming anything on him.

  I shrank down in my seat and closed my mouth. Frank held the glare for a minute, making sure I’d learnt my lesson. Then he gave a satisfied nod and turned back to watching the rehearsal.

  ‘You always get me in trouble,’ I whispered.

  ‘Shhh,’ Kevin said, halo still firmly in place. ‘I’m trying to watch the show.’

  The set reminded me of an old-style doll’s house, the kind where the front swung open revealing a cross section of the house inside. Each ‘room’ was separated by a thin partition of wood and some clever lighting. Downstairs, a large entry hall and study. Upstairs, a bedroom and balcony. A staircase painted to look like mahogany connected the two levels.

  ‘No,’ Vivian Rollins – the show’s leading lady – enunciated, holding up her hand as Della offered her a string of pearls. ‘Tonight I will wear diamonds.’

  Della’s eyes went wide as she played her part. ‘Diamonds? But, my lady, what of the curse?’

  Vivian sniffed and tossed her hair. ‘I am the daughter of Lord Casterfield. I will not be cowed by such foolishness.’

  I rolled my eyes. The Curse was over-dramatic even by theatre standards.

  Della gave a small curtsy and took the pearls to a safe that stood next to the bed like a night table. She mimed turning a dial and pulled the door open. It stuck slightly, but Della didn’t let it show on her face. My sister is a total pro. Then she put the pearls inside and pulled out a large diamond necklace.

  ‘Check out that rock.’ Kevin half whistled at the sight of it. ‘How much do you think that would be worth?’

  ‘It isn’t real,’ I said.

  ‘But what if it was?’

  Frank glared at us again and I snapped my mouth shut.

  Della fastened the necklace around Vivian’s neck, careful not to block the audience’s view.

  Then there was silence. A long, awkward silence.

  ‘That was your cue, Matthew,’ Frank said, rubbing the bridge of his nose.

  The upstage left door popped open and Matthew Strange stuck his head through the gap. ‘Sorry, sorry. Was I late?’

  ‘Matthew, are you sure you don’t want someone backstage to cue you in? Pete would be more than happy to—’

  ‘No, no. I’m just a cast member like everyone else. I don’t need any special treatment.’ Matthew flashed his trademark smile, so white it was almost blinding. ‘Just one more take. I’ll get it.’

  Della and Vivian traded concerned looks and Frank made a face like he’d swallowed a lemon. I wondered if Matthew Strange realized he wouldn’t get any do-overs on opening night. Kevin just sat there, grinning.

  ‘All right,’ said Frank wearily. ‘Let’s take it again from the pearls.’

  Matthew waved happily at Frank and then caught sight of me in the audience. ‘Annie!’ he called. ‘Be a dear and get me an apple water. I’m parched.’

  He didn’t wait for a response, just ducked through the door and shut it behind him. I sank a little lower in my seat.

  The actors went back to their places, and played the scene again. Della offered the pearls and Vivian demanded the diamonds instead. This time, Matthew made his cue, coming in through the front door of the set as Della did her bit with the safe. Or she tried to, but the door was sticking again. Frank scribbled a note, probably a reminder to get Pete – the Beryl’s stage manager – to oil the door.

  ‘Woah, Numbers.’ Kevin stared at me, his eyes wide. ‘Matthew Strange just spoke to you.’

  ‘Did he?’ I asked. The last time I checked my name was Alice, not Annie.

  ‘Well, aren’t you going to get him his drink?’

  I snorted. If Matthew Strange thought I was there to be his personal assistant, he had another thing coming. Besides, if I got the water now, it would be warm by the time they stopped rehearsing. Matthew Strange preferred his apple water chilled.

  ‘What’s apple water, anyway?’

  I turned to tell Kevin to keep quiet, and that’s when Della screamed.

  ‘Look out!’

  It wasn’t the scream so much as my sister breaking character that made my blood run cold. She’d only do that for a life-or-death emergency.

  Matthew Strange dived to the side like a hero in one of his action movies. Time slowed and I watched open-mouthed as the fake wooden safe came loose, tipping over the edge of the set and hurtling down.

  The safe missed the movie star’s head by centimetres and slammed into his shoulder, driving him into the floor with a sickening thud. Della stood on the edge of the set above him, her face completely bloodless, her hand raised as if she was still holding on to the safe’s door.

  ‘Come on,’ I said to Kevin, as I jumped over the seat in front of me and ran around the edge of the orchestra pit. Using my ha
nd as a lever, I swung myself on to the stage, and then hauled Kevin up after me. Frank was just a few steps behind us and I helped him up too.

  ‘Matthew! Matthew!’ Vivian wailed above us.

  Pearls littered the stage and I almost slipped trying to get to where Matthew lay in a heap on the floor. I skidded and came to a stop by his head, my heart thudding with relief when I saw he was still breathing.

  Up close Matthew Strange was just as handsome as he looked onscreen. It was eerie, like he was too perfect to be real. As I watched, though, an unhealthy greyness dulled his dark skin. That must have been the pain. His right arm bent out from his shoulder at an angle that made my stomach turn.

  Kevin knelt beside Matthew Strange, his star-struck expression replaced with one of calm assessment. Matthew’s eyes flashed open and he tried to sit up, yelping with pain.

  ‘My face,’ he cried. ‘Is my face OK?’

  Kevin pushed him back gently.

  ‘What do you think you’re doing?’ Frank snapped.

  ‘It’s OK,’ I said. ‘His mom’s an ER nurse. He knows what he’s doing.’

  Frank glared at me again, but there wasn’t much force to it. ‘Fine. Don’t let him move. I’ll go call 911. And Linda.’ Frank shuddered. I didn’t blame him. Linda Beharry was the president of the Save the Beryl campaign. She would not be happy if Matthew Strange was seriously injured. He was the show’s biggest draw.

  ‘This is just perfect,’ Frank groaned as he strode offstage. ‘Losing an actor during tech week. As if things weren’t bad enough already.’

  On the level above us, Vivian was still wailing like a banshee, her screams getting louder the longer no one asked her what was wrong. She hadn’t been anywhere near the safe, though, so I wasn’t worried about her. Della, on the other hand, had.

  ‘You got this?’ I asked Kevin.

  He looked up at me and nodded once. He was already pulling off his flannel shirt to make a sling for Matthew’s injured arm. Matthew didn’t move, just lay there gingerly exploring his face with his uninjured hand, searching for any injury to his striking good looks.

  I took the steps two at a time. They were more rickety than they looked. Pete’s paint job added depth and shadow and made them look solid from the audience, but they were really just flimsy plywood slats that bounced slightly underfoot.

  ‘Della,’ I said once I got to the top. ‘You OK?’

  That was the last straw for Vivian. She screamed one more time, and then fainted, coincidentally landing across the bed. I ignored her.

  ‘Della?’ I asked again, but my sister wasn’t listening. She just stood there staring over the edge at Matthew. Her mouth opened in a perfect O.

  ‘Is he . . .?’ She didn’t finish the question, just let the words fade out.

  I rolled my eyes. ‘No, he’s not dead. But I think he hurt his arm. Go find Jarvis.’ The Beryl caretaker was creepy, but he was in charge of fire drills and first aid. ‘Frank is calling an ambulance, but I don’t know how long they’ll take to get here.’

  Della nodded, shaking off the role of horrified witness and transforming into the plucky heroine who saves the day. She pelted down the stairs, exiting stage right.

  Vivian lay motionless across the bed, her black hair spread out around her like it had been arranged by an artist. I saw her eyes flutter open and then close again. Typical. Vivian needed more of an audience than just me before her dramatic recovery. Her eyes flickered again and I turned my back. She could wait all day as far as I was concerned.

  I walked carefully to the edge of the set. It wasn’t that high up, but I still shuddered slightly when I looked over the edge. I’m not good with heights. Below me, Kevin was busy immobilizing Matthew’s arm.

  I knelt down and examined the empty space beside the bed, where the safe had been before it fell. It didn’t make sense. The safe should have been bolted to the floor. It shouldn’t have fallen even if Della was trying to push it over.

  Deep, square-edged grooves cut into the plywood floor. I traced their outline with my finger. Someone had prised the safe loose with a crowbar. But why?

  The door between the theatre and the lobby banged open and I looked up with a start. Frank was back, and the rest of the small cast and crew followed close behind him, their faces all creased with worry. I took a slow breath and tried not to shiver as a cold chill crawled down my spine.

  The real question wasn’t ‘why?’ It was ‘who?’

  ‘But did you see the way he dodged it?’ Kevin said as we biked down 6th Street.

  ‘I guess all that stunt training came in handy,’ I puffed. My breath steamed out into the frosty night and my legs burnt from pedalling through the slush-lined streets.

  Kevin grinned. ‘He’s so cool.’

  More like lucky, I thought. The paramedics said Matthew Strange would be fine, he’d need to wear a sling for a few days, but he’d be OK in time for the show. His face would be fine too. But if the safe had hit his head it would have been a very different story. I shivered, remembering the gouge marks on the plywood platform. Why had someone prised the safe loose?

  ‘Are you worried about Della?’ Kevin asked when I didn’t reply. Mom had insisted on taking her to be checked at the hospital along with Matthew and Vivian.

  I shook my head. ‘No, my mom’s the worrier.’

  Kevin and I turned on to Passfield Avenue and pulled up outside the house I shared with my dad. It was a two-bedroom, brick front with three steps leading up to the front door and wrought-iron bars on the windows. Normally when Della was in town it got pretty crowded, but this time she and Mom were staying in a hotel.

  Kevin fell in behind me as I pushed my bike up the stairs and unlocked the front door.

  ‘Dad?’ I tossed my backpack on to the brown corduroy couch and shrugged off my coat. The kitchen was empty, and there was nothing on the stove.

  The ground floor of our house was one large room. Kitchen to my right and living room to my left. Dad’s office was off the back of the living room. I stuck my head through the door, but he wasn’t there either.

  ‘Dad?’ I called again.

  ‘Wait there,’ Dad called back from upstairs. There was a pause and then his bedroom door opened and shut and Dad came waltzing down the stairs. ‘Well, what do you think?’ he asked from the bottom of the steps. ‘Do I look like James Bond, or do I look like James Bond?’

  He was wearing a tuxedo, complete with bow tie. The Moleskine notebook he usually kept tucked in his back pocket poked out from the top of his cummerbund. I had to admit, he didn’t look bad. In fact, if I thought my dad was capable of standing still for more than three seconds at a time he might have a chance of pulling off suave. Then he started to fidget, and the illusion cracked. James Bond never fidgeted.

  ‘Look, there’s even a camera in the bow tie! Neat, huh?’

  ‘Looking good, Mr Jones,’ Kevin said.

  ‘Kevin! How nice to see you. Are you staying for dinner? I ordered takeaway.’ He looked behind us. ‘Where’s Della?’

  I winced. We’d been swapping dinners between Mom and Dad since Della got to town. Tonight was supposed to be Dad’s turn. Part of me was looking forward to when this show was over and things would go back to normal. My stomach twisted and I felt rotten for thinking it, but it was the truth. Things were just easier when Mom and Dad were in different states.

  ‘There was an accident at the theatre,’ I said, and then added quickly, ‘Della’s fine, but Mom insisted on taking her to the hospital.’

  ‘What happened?’ Dad asked, his voice full of concern.

  ‘Part of the set fell. It hit Matthew Strange, but he’s OK. And Della wasn’t hurt at all.’

  ‘Seriously, Mr Jones,’ Kevin added as he took off his coat and made himself at home. ‘Della was barely accident adjacent.’

  ‘Ah, I see,’ Dad said. He knew what Mom was like, but he still looked disappointed. ‘I’ll give her a call to check in later.’

  Back when I was eight an
d my mom and dad had split up, Mom had moved to New York City with Della and I’d stayed in Philly with Dad. We saw each other most holidays, but I knew Dad wished he could see Della more. Mom probably felt the same way about me.

  ‘So, what’s with the penguin suit?’ I asked, trying to change the subject.

  An unmistakable spark lit up Dad’s entire face. Story Fever. Dad’s a crime reporter for the Philadelphia Daily News. The only thing he likes more than nosing out a good story is telling the world all about it.

  ‘What’s the case?’

  ‘Nothing specific yet. I’m trying to get an interview with the elusive Rex Cragthorne.’

  I grimaced.

  The doorbell rang and Dad smoothed back his hair and did his best to look suave as he answered it. The delivery guy did a quick double take as he handed Dad a bag from Golden Empress. The smell of spring rolls and hot and sour soup made my stomach growl.

  ‘Who’s Rex Cragthorne?’ Kevin asked while Dad paid for the food.

  ‘He owns Kingdom Cinemas,’ I said. Cragthorne owned a lot of other media companies too, but that was the one he was famous for. He was also famous for his shady business deals, though he’d never actually been caught doing anything illegal. I bet Dad was trying to change that.

  Dad turned round, arms full, and elbowed the door shut. ‘He’s notoriously private. He almost never leaves his New York penthouse. And he never talks to the press. But thanks to Linda Beharry and my ex-wife, he’s here all week.’

  Kevin gave me a blank look.

  ‘He’s trying to buy the Beryl so he can tear it down and build a multiplex instead,’ I explained. ‘He’s the whole reason Linda started the Save the Beryl campaign.’

  ‘Oooh,’ Kevin said, snapping his fingers. ‘He’s the “illfaced, worse-bodied crook” Linda and Frank keep moaning about.’

  ‘That’s the one.’

  Dad started unpacking the takeaway bags while I grabbed a stack of plates from the kitchen and laid them out on the counter. I tossed Dad an apron from the hook next to the refrigerator. Dad plus chopsticks plus a rental tux was an equation for disaster.

  ‘I thought they were trying to save the Beryl because of some old fire,’ Kevin said, pulling up a stool.