Whatever. He was probably just yanking her chain. Jerk. Some things never changed. She shook her head, blew out a frustrated breath, and put Elwood “Jake” DeRiccio out of her mind.
This time, she got the key properly inserted into the lock and opened the side door. At least there was one benefit to that unexpected encounter—her thoughts had gone from jittery and scattered about the creepy light on the stage to annoyed and disarrayed at seeing Jake again. It was too bad he still had the ability to affect her that way; you’d think after eleven years she’d be past that.
Over him.
Shewasover him.
It was just so unexpected, seeing him again—and here, in Wicks Hollow. What was he even doing here? Probably on vacation—the doctor with his lovely wife and maybe a kid or two. She’d be happy for him if he was. She really would.
Inside, the theater seemed darker than before—mainly because there were no windows in the backstage area. Vivien turned on her cell phone’s flashlight and used it to scan the space until she found the light switch. The ceiling back here was two and a half stories high to accommodate large set pieces, all of the flies—the scenery backdrops—and the rows of spotlights.
Everything was still and quiet and dark. There was no indication that anything crazy had happened only a few minutes ago—maybe ten?Onlyten? It felt like hours.
Just a few light bulbs in the wings and back area were working, of course, but it was enough illumination for her to make her way onto the stage without bumping into or tripping over anything. Her heart was beating faster and her hands felt clammy as she gripped the phone/flashlight and her pepper spray.
As she stood in the wings, the stage yawned before her: a large, open space ahead—empty and ready for anything; filled with promise and expectation.
To the left was the back wall, deep and dark in shadow, and to the right was the house with its rows of empty seats, almost equally as dark. Her small flashlight and the meager spill of illumination from backstage offered little in the way of light in comparison to the generous expanse of the void in front of her.
When she walked out onto the stage—something she’d done countless times when she was young, and yet not for a long time—her heart was in her throat, her stomach in knots as she waited to see if anything would happen.
She stood there near the edge, just out from the wings: silent, still, her breath rasping a little with nerves.
She thought of Liv, of course, as she stood there. The two of them had rarely been onstage at the same time, but usually whenever one of them was, the other would be in the wings watching. Silently rooting.
Everything remained dark and silent, but the ambience she’d experienced earlier—that sense of the theater itself, the spirit of the building, the memories of the words and songs and actions that had lived here—lingered.
“It’s going to be all right,” she said. Not in her stage voice. More like a murmur, but still loud enough to be heard.
Nothing happened. She relaxed a little more and stepped to center stage.
She turned, shining her flashlight upstage to see the threat that had been emblazoned on or near the back wall.
But all she saw was the black hole of nothing.
No words. No warning.
Nothing.
Chapter Four
“Oh my God,I’ve missed this,” Vivien said with a heartfelt groan.
She was on the floor stretching on her yoga mat in the asana known as Pigeon, with her left leg bent in a reverse-seven position flat in front of her while her right leg was extended straight out on the floor behind. Her hands reached in front of her, fingertips touching the floor, and she eased her torso down so her belly settled onto her left calf.
The position caused a beautiful sort of pleasure-discomfort that opened her hips and reminded her that sitting or even walking every day still required her to stretch her muscles to remain flexible.
Helga was next to her doing the same thing, but her forehead was actually resting on the floor, because she, unlike Vivien, hadn’t skipped yoga class for the last month. “It hurts so good,” she said, taking a deep yogic breath.
Vivien did the same, and when she released the long, steady breath, she was rewarded by sinking deeper and flatter into her mat.Oh yes…almost as good as sex.
“I know what you’re thinking,” Cherry Wilder murmured as she approached Vivien. Cherry, who was one of Maxine Took’s cohorts and a Tuesday Lady, was the studio owner and teacher. Somewhere over sixty, she looked like a very fit Sharon Stone with slender, cut arms bared by a skintight tank in neon blue and short platinum-blond hair.
“You do?” Vivien muttered. Hell, she certainly hoped not.
Cherry placed a firm hand on the center of Vivien’s back, right between her shoulder blades, and said, “Deep breath, Vivien, and now…exhale…” Her hand, flat and gentle, helped coax Vivien down into an even deeper stretch. “You’re thinking,When is she going to let me come out of this so I can do the other side?”
Vivien huffed a laugh as Helga snorted into the floor next to her. “She likes to torture us,” said Helga in a muffled voice.
