It took an awful lot of persuading before our parents would let us carry on with the show. In the end what swung it was the fact that the police had put the building under 24-hour surveillance. The stalker had slipped past them twice – they were determined he wasn’t going to do it again. Graham recited a seemingly endless stream of statistics about muggings and street crime, and finally managed to convince both our mums that we were safer in the theatre than anywhere else in the country.
Not everyone shared Graham’s powers of persuasion. When we were allowed back to work the population of Munchkinland had been decimated.
Graham and I didn’t have a clue what Tiffany and Jason were up to but we were pretty sure that something was going on. We were careful – two people had died already and we didn’t want to add ourselves to the grand total. But when we started rehearsing again – under the protective gaze of Daphne, Cynthia’s replacement – we watched both of them like hawks.
By now everyone was feeling the pressure – we’d lost three days and opening night was just a week away. Peregrine solemnly informed his reduced cast that we would have to “work like demons” if we were going to be ready in time.
It was a major challenge, particularly with the number of policemen crammed into the building. They were guarding every window and every door. It was hard to move without falling over one.
“Which isn’t much good if the stalker is one of us,” I said to Graham. “I know Maggie said Peregrine is obsessed with Tiffany. But suppose he isn’t?”
“What do you mean?”
“He could be pretending he’s smitten to cover up how he really feels. Suppose he’s trying to do away with her so he can claim on the theatre insurance?”
“As we know, money is frequently a motive in murder cases,” opined Graham. “But Peregrine wasn’t here in the building when Cynthia was killed. We were the first to arrive after she did.”
“So Maggie said. But someone must have already been here to bash Cynthia. I know it looked like he’d climbed the fire escape. Yet it would be easy enough to hide in here overnight, wouldn’t it?”
“Any one of us could have done that,” said Graham.
“True,” I conceded. I turned it over in my mind. “You don’t reckon Jason might have something to do with it, do you?”
“If he knew Tiffany at school it’s possible that he’s been obsessed with her since then. But why would he choose to act on it now?”
“Cynthia said he’d been trying to get a job with the company for ages. Maybe he didn’t have the chance before. Although he wasn’t here when Geoff died,” I pointed out.
“No. But he could have come up the fire escape and sneaked in to poison her tea.”
“Good point. And I suppose he could have written that first note and stuck it on the theatre door,” I mused.
“That wizard was too tall for Jason,” objected Graham.
“He could have been wearing platform shoes or something,” I suggested. “I didn’t look at his feet, did you?”
“No,” said Graham. “But if he did do all that he could have easily arranged the chocolates and flowers too.”
“And bashed Cynthia.”
“Yes,” said Graham finally. “It’s certainly a plausible theory. Jason could be our man.”
Which wasn’t a very reassuring thought considering our lives were literally in his hands. I mean, it was Jason who strapped us into our harnesses for the flying sequence. Jason who pushed the buttons that made our wings flap up and down. Jason who programmed the computer that controlled our trajectory. If the mood took him, Jason could send us crashing to the floor. We’d end up just like the Wicked Witch of the East. As flat as cowpats.
Graham and I were both tense and nervous but for almost a week nothing bad happened. Everyone was working their socks off, desperate to be ready for opening night.
On the morning of the dress rehearsal Mum needed to be at work extra early so once again she dropped us off at the end of the alley before any of the other kids had arrived at the theatre.
As usual, Maggie was at the stage door flanked by a couple of police officers. She waved to us as we approached.
I waved back but Graham didn’t. He was frowning and I recognized it as a sign of Deep Thought.
“What is it?” I asked.
He pointed to the building. “There’s the fire escape. If the stalker climbed that to poison Tiffany’s tea, how did he get up there without Maggie noticing?”
“Someone must have distracted her. Delivered flowers or something. He could have sneaked past then.”
“So he must have an accomplice,” said Graham.
“But Maggie’s not stupid. She’d have put two and two together. If she’d seen a stranger she’d have reported it to the police,” I said thoughtfully. “So she must have been distracted by someone she already knew.”
“Which means that one of the cast must have given him a hand…”
We reached the stage door and Maggie let us in, saying, “Hi you two! My, aren’t you keen? You’re the first in again. Peregrine should give you a prize for your enthusiasm!”
Graham and I headed towards the kids’ dressing room. We were planning to just sit and wait for everyone else to arrive but over the intercom we could hear Tiffany up on stage, singing the opening bars of “Over the Rainbow”.
“I thought Maggie said we were the first ones here,” said Graham.
“Maybe she just meant we’re the first kids to arrive,” I replied, shrugging. I was more interested in the sweetness of Tiffany’s song. “She’s got an amazing voice. Magical.” I suddenly remembered Cynthia’s remark. “It’s very consistent.”
“Which is odd, when you think about it,” said Graham.
“What do you mean?”
“Well in theory it ought to be impossible to reproduce exactly the same effect each time. The vocal chords change, you see, with variations in temperature and humidity. Strong emotion, diet, hot drinks – all sorts of things can affect the human voice.”
Graham and I exchanged looks.
“Shall we go up and watch?” I said.
“Yes,” said Graham slowly. “But we ought to be very careful.”
So we were. We crept like mice through the corridors. By the time we tiptoed into the wings Tiffany’s song had just finished. The last note was still hanging in the air but there was no one on stage but Jason.
Tiffany Webb had vanished. It was as if she’d clicked her ruby slippers and been magically transported home to Kansas.