He muttered a curse. “Good point.”
“There is some scaffolding in the back,” she told him. “It’s behind a bunch of old set pieces. I can dig it out and wheel it onstage tomorrow and take a close look at everything.”
“You have scaffolding?”
“Sure. It’s a common enough piece of equipment in a theater—not only to reach the tops of high set pieces, but for repairs to the lights, catwalk, flies, and even sometimes it acts as a moveable set piece itself. Haven’t you ever seenNewsies? That entire set was basically built around a huge piece of scaffolding.”
“Right. Never thought about that.” He looked back out over the top of the stage, where tattered backdrops hung in rows several yards from where they stood. “I see a filmy red something back there, behind theGO OR DIEpiece. I guess we know what it is.”
“I didn’t notice it earlier today. Did you?” she said.
“I didn’t look all that carefully. But now I wish I had,” he replied grimly. “Would be nice to know whether it was installed, so to speak, in the last few hours or not.”
Vivien definitely couldn’t control a shiver at that unpleasant thought. It was bad enough that someone was spying on her, but to have been in here while all the teens and old ladies were as well? And setting up something so ugly?
“I need a shower,” she said, suddenlydonefor the day. All this—the warnings, the eerie chill, the creepy shadow, the possibility that someone was watching her—was just a little too much. She felt sticky, hot, hungry, and utterly defeated.
Vivien was self-aware enough—meaning she’d been in therapy enough—that she knew the best way for her to combat feelings of anxiety and defeat was to remove herself from the situation and take some time to reboot. A shower, then a good cocktail while she put her feet up and checked out the social media on her clients, hopefully with some good news from Gab-Wear about the proposal from Louise London.
It was too bad Wicks Hollow was short on carry-out and delivery options. She’d probably have to settle for pizza.
“My house is really close,” Jake said. “You can shower there—although I don’t have much you could change into except a pair of sweats my sister left once—”
“Oh, no, that’s all right,” she said quickly. Not a good idea to spendthatmuch time with Jake. At his place.Showering.
Not a good idea.
He seemed genuinely disappointed. “That’s too bad, because I have a really excellent Pinot gris that’s been waiting for an excuse to be opened,” he said. “Seems like all this is as good a reason as any.”
She gave a short laugh. “Oh, thanks, Jake. Really. It’s better if I just head on back to my place. I’ve got some work to do. Besides, I think I’m going to need something s-stronger than a glass of w-wine.” She couldn’t quite keep the quaver from her voice there at the end, dammit, and she turned away before he could see her blinking rapidly.
“All right, then.” His tone was studiously noncommittal.
But Jake stuck with her as she locked up, then they walked outside together, with him carrying the Nutcracker headpiece for her.
“I could give you a ride home,” she offered, feeling a little churlish over having rejected his invitation.
But what had he expected, anyway? Just because they’d shared that icky theatrical display didn’t mean that she’d forgiven and forgotten what happened eleven years ago.
“I can walk,” he said in a cool tone. “Thanks—”
Their feet crunched and skidded to a sharp halt on the gravel-strewn concrete when they saw her car.
“Nooo!” Vivien cried, staring at the smashed windshield and the spread of glass shards glittering among the gravel in the afternoon sun. She stared in horrified silence at the destruction—which wasn’t only the windshield, but also two broken headlights.
“Geez, Viv,” said Jake, sliding a comforting, protective arm around her waist as he let the Nutcracker head slide to the ground. “I’m so sorry. Whoever the asshole is who’s messing with you…”
He trailed off and simply hugged her closer as she dug the phone out of her pocket, fighting tears of fury.
* * *
Despite her initial reluctance,Vivien ended up at Jake’s house anyway. Since she couldn’t drive anywhere, she capitulated when he again offered his place.
“You might even settle for a glass of wine instead of a cocktail at this point,” he said with a wry grin. “Although I might have something stronger.”
Instead of getting a ride from the attending police officer (not Helga, who was out on another call), Vivien and Jake decided to wait until after the tow truck came to pick up her poor, battered Accord, then walk to his house.
“I just bought that car,” she muttered as they started out of the parking lot on foot. “I never had one in New York. Didn’t need it.” Then she shook her head as if to clear it and hiked up the duffel bag she’d retrieved from her trunk. She’d taken to keeping a change of clothes and toiletries in there in case she made it to the gym or a yoga class after a day at the theater.
