Bridie put Barney down, attached the lead to his collar, and started walking, Oliver by her side. She did not give Jack a backwards glance.
Chapter 49
Oliver and Bridie were already halfway along the promenade when Jack realised that Bridie hadn’t locked up the theatre.
‘Bridie!’ he called after them. ‘What about locking up the theatre?’
If they heard him at all, neither turned around. The wind had picked up, whipping in hard from the sea, the waves crashing violently against the shingle below. The evening had drawn in fast, the sky bruised and threatening, the lamps along the promenade casting long, distorted shadows.
They disappeared into the darkness.
Jack stood there for a moment, hands on his hips, irritation prickling beneath something colder. He didn’t have the spare key Bridie had given him to use while he oversaw the renovations. If someone really was still inside the theatre, if someone had been tampering with the electrics, then leaving it unsecured was madness. And if he didn’t find out who it was, he couldn’t prove he’d had nothing to do with it.
He exhaled sharply and turned back. ‘I’ll deal with it,’ he muttered, more to himself than anyone else. The trouble was, he didn’t have his phone. He’d carelessly tossed it on the desk in hisstudy. All he had was the small torch attached to his keyring – a weak beam, but better than nothing.
He stepped inside, swept the torch around the foyer and stopped short. Someone had been busy. Very busy.
The little shop area was stocked, neatly, thoughtfully, with sweets, crisps, popcorn. A drinks machine stood quietly in the corner, offering tea, coffee, hot chocolate. Jack frowned, genuinely taken aback. None of that had been there when he’d last been in.
He moved into the auditorium. The beam of light slid across rows of seats, up the walls, over the balcony. The place was immaculate. The dust sheets were gone. The paint pots, brushes, mops, buckets – everything was cleared away. The air even smelled clean.
On the stage, painted scenery glowed faintly in the torchlight – detailed, imaginative, alive with colour. Whoever had done this knew what they were doing.
Jack felt a reluctant flicker of admiration.
Then he heard something. A sound. Soft. Indistinct.
‘Hello?’ he called.
Nothing.
He wasn’t surprised. If someone had been sabotaging the place, they weren’t going to announce themselves now.
He made his way backstage, his footsteps echoing unnervingly. He knew exactly where the fuse box was – he’d overseen the electrical work himself. When he opened it, his jaw tightened. The switch had been deliberately pulled.
‘So, it wasn’t a power cut,’ he murmured. His electricians had done a solid job. He’d made sure of that.
He reached to flick the switch back on – then paused. If someone was still there, restoring the power would announce his presence. There was another explanation, one he didn’t care to dwell on.
Jack suddenly shivered, thinking of the rumour that the theatre was haunted. He said under his breath, ‘I do not believe in ghosts,’ though his skin prickled.
Then he saw her. Or thought he did. A figure, down the hallway. A woman, pale and indistinct, appearing and vanishing in the gloom.
Jack’s breath caught. For a split second, every instinct screamed at him to bolt. Instead, he snapped the switch up.
The building flooded with light.
The corridor was empty.
No one stood there. No one moved.
But he could have sworn he’d heard a door close.
‘Hello?’ he called again, his voice tighter now. ‘I don’t know what game you’re playing, but I want to speak to you.’
He swallowed and squared his shoulders. ‘I do not believe in ghosts,’ he told himself and started down the corridor.
He opened door after door, shining his torch into rooms where he couldn’t immediately find switches; prop rooms thick with dust, costume racks draped in sheets, empty changing rooms markedHisandHers. Storage rooms untouched for years. He had booked professional cleaners to come in and clean the entire theatre, including these rooms. If they needed redecorating, then he’d send in the painters and decorators too. Jack’s priority had been the auditorium. But Bridie wouldn’t want him there, or his tradespeople, unless he could prove it wasn’t true – he’d had no hand in sabotaging the place.
