The Phantom of Oz, Installment #27
Plus "The Pit and the Pendulum"
If you’ve been reading The Phantom of Oz, you know that the book revolves around a touring production of The Wizard: A Space OZpera. I’ve made the tour sound glamorous, with lavish parties and nice hotels. Actors do get invited to nice receptions on occasion, and comfortable lodging may be the reality for Broadway on Tour (and I hope it is), but my experience as a traveling actor was a bit different. With the exception of some nice summer theatre apartments in Flagstaff, AZ, my lodging was motels instead of hotels. An old house in Illinois that was so drafty in the winter that we wore layers of clothing and finally put plastic sheeting over all the windows on all three floors. An old Victorian house, one of a pair nicknamed, “The Pit and the Pendulum.” I lived in The Pit.
Though the “The Pit and the Pendulum” was a favorite film when I was a kid (I’d watch any movie that starred Vincent Price), The Pit was such a pit that when my grandma came to visit, my parents insisted I meet them somewhere else. The house had the expected peeling paint and saggy porch, but also a kitchen always full of dirty dishes. And I mean full. Stacked high enough on counters that it was hard to get to the cupboards. A few of the actors living there basically cooked and ate, then left their dishes in the kitchen until someone got annoyed enough to wash them. The scam worked at first, but as those of us who washed dishes caught on, the mountains of plates and cups and pans grew. That may be why we had ants. In the freezer. No kidding.
(That is an undoctored photo of a Giant Amazonian Ant. The ants in our freezer were much smaller but I couldn’t resist that photo.)
A Smidge of Book News
There’s still time to enter the giveaway for a signed copy of Echoes of the Lost at King’s River Life Magazine, where you can also read a (great:) review and check out an interview with me. But hurry, the giveaway ends May 30th!
Bookclubs get a 10% discount and free shipping (to one U.S. destination) when they order five or more paperback copies of Echoes of the Lost. All the copies will be signed, and I’m happy to come to your bookclub on Zoom, or in-person if I can. Interested? Email me at info@cindybrownwriter.com or…
Find more posts, articles, and interviews here, as well as a list of upcoming events.
Want a sneak preview of Echoes of the Lost?” Follow this link to a hidden tab on my website, where you can read the first two chapters.
Now, on to Phantom!
Chapter 19 (Part One)
The First Investigations After the Disappearance
In the last installment, Ivy goes to the cast’s hotel to look for her missing best friend. After following cast members to the fifth floor of the hotel, she needs to find Candy’s room.
Now I just had to figure out which room was Candy’s, and how I would get in. First things first. “Desirée,” I said as I followed the group down the hotel hallway, “I’m worried about Candy. Do you know which room she stays in?”
“Why would I?” she said. “As I said before, she didn’t speak to us—”
“Little people. Right.”
Madison spoke up. “I know. In fact I have a key.”
“You do?” said her mother. “Why?”
“Candace gave it to me a couple of days ago. She forgot her pills, so I got them for her.”
“Pills?” Desirée said. “What kind of pills?”
“Probably birth control pills.” It was the first thing that popped into my mind that wasn’t diet pills.
“What?”
Guess that wasn’t any better. “No, probably her high blood pressure pills. She takes those other pills at night.”
“It doesn’t matter,” Madison said. “Eden says that birth control is a gift to womankind. Or maybe a right?” We stopped in front of room 508. “Anyways, it wasn’t a big deal. And this is Candace’s room.”
I knocked. No answer. “Candy,” I said loudly. “Are you in there? Hello?” Nothing. I knocked again, louder. “Candy, I’m really sorry about what I said. Really.” Still no answer. “Are you sure this is her room?” I asked Madison.
“Positive,” said Madison. “Do you want to go inside?”
I nodded. She set down her backpack, unzipped a compartment, and fished out a keycard. “I’d better come with you,” she said. “Candace trusted me with her key.”
I didn’t want her coming in with me. What if Candy was passed out on the floor, or worse? I met Desirée’s eyes. She must have understood, because she nodded. “You know, hon,” she said, putting a hand on her daughter’s shoulder, “you told me yourself that Candace said Ivy was a friend. I think it’s okay to let her go in by herself.”
“Okay.” Madison reluctantly handed over the keycard. “But we’ll be right here outside the door.”
“Thanks.” I swiped the key, pushed open the heavy door, and slipped inside. Two double beds, both unoccupied, both made up (probably by housekeeping—Candy was a notorious slob). I walked around the room. No one there. I held my breath as I opened the bathroom door, fighting off images of Candy lying next to the toilet, unconscious on the cold tile floor. But no. I pushed open the shower curtain just to be sure. Empty. I looked in the medicine cabinet: makeup, cleanser and moisturizer, a tin of Band-Aids, some Tylenol. No blue pills, but no antihistamines, either.
I went back into the bedroom. I peered under the beds. Not even a dust bunny. I checked the closet. Full of clothes, empty of bodies. I opened the drawers, which were filled with a jumble of underwear. I rifled through them, pawing through bras and lacy thongs, all the while feeling like a bad snooping friend instead of a PI. Nothing suspicious there. I put Candy’s underwear back in the tangled heap I’d found it in, shut the drawer, and went to open the hotel room door. “She’s not here,” I said. “Madison, you said you were in here before?”
“Yeah.”
“If it’s okay with your mom...” I tried to silently communicate with Desirée again, but she was looking at her phone. “If your mom says it’s okay...” I said louder.
“Sorry,” Desirée said. “Babette’s stirred up a social media storm.”
“Can I see?”
She handed the phone to me. Babette’s bloody face (stage-bloody face) filled the tiny screen. “The #LadyInWhite tried to kill me!” said the caption. I flipped through Babette’s other social media posts—all about the newest “accident.” Nothing about Candy.
“Hey,” I said, handing the phone back to Desirée, “didn’t I hear there were a couple other accidents on this tour? Do you think they could be related to what happened to Candy? Maybe’s she’s scared, and hiding out somewhere?”
Desirée shook her head. “I don’t think so. The other accidents were mostly costume malfunctions, a few issues with lighting and sound, that sort of thing.”
“Wasn’t the last Scarecrow hurt?”
“That fire was his own fault,” said Madison. “He was stupid. What were you trying to ask me about Candace’s room?”
“Oh, right.” I turned to Desirée. “If it’s okay with you, I’d like Madison to take a look at the room. Maybe tell me if anything looks different.”
“Sure. Go on in, honey.”
Madison walked into the room. Desirée followed. Madison took her job seriously; opening the drawers, checking inside the closets, and studying the skin potions in the bathroom. Then she stood in front of me like a student giving a book report and said, “Three things are different. Her bed is made.” A little huff of disapproval. “Her MoonPie stash is gone, and the picture of her and Arrestadt in front of the Eiffel Tower is missing.”
“What? Where?” I squeaked.
“It’s in Paris,” Madison said seriously. “The Eiffel Tower.”
I nodded, though of course I knew. That wasn’t why I’d yelped. Candy had gone on a romantic trip to Paris with Arrestadt.
And she never told me.
Watch next week for the next installment of The Phantom of Oz!
And if you haven’t read the first four books in the Agatha-nominated Ivy Meadows series:
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