Chapter 18

Do You Think We’ve Eaten Her?

I do mean disappeared.

I wasn’t worried at first. After all, something pretty scary had just happened, and whatever was up with Candy, she seemed jittery and easily spooked. I thought she’d probably gone back to her dressing room and maybe whatever was making her feel better these days.

But she wasn’t there. Her street clothes were draped across the back of a chair, though, so I was sure she hadn’t left the theater.

I texted her while roaming the hallways. No reply. I checked the green room (the actors’ break room). Nope. The costume shop. No. I made the rounds backstage, even peering in between flats in case she’d holed up there. No Candy.

A black-clad techie came up the stairs from the house, carrying a paper plate laden with goodies from the reception. “Have you seen Candace Moon?” I asked. He shook his head and kept going, out a door far upstage right. I followed him. The door led outside to the loading dock, where all the crew went to smoke. Maybe Candy was hanging out there. For all I knew she’d started smoking. I’d heard it helped you stay less hungry.

I stepped outside. No Candy, but a clutch of techies were there, smoking and scarfing down the remains of the free food. I started to wave away the cloud of smoke that enveloped me, then stopped. Didn’t think it’d be polite. “Anyone seen Candy?”

The group stared at me, mouths open.

“You know, she plays Glinda?” I said.

“Are…are you okay?” stuttered a girl with a blonde buzz cut.

“Yeah.”

“Your face,” she said. “It’s…”

“You’re, like, all bloody,” said a shaggy guy with an almost beard.

I touched my face. Sticky. “Oh.” I could see reddish brown clumps in my hair too. “Stage blood,” I said.

“Thank God,” said the girl. “After all the accidents lately.”

The door opened behind me. “Wow,” said a familiar voice. Logan checked me out as he joined us on the loading dock. “Nice. Can I get a picture?” He didn’t wait for me to say yes, just took a photo with his phone. “The Lady in White strikes again,” he said as he tapped on his phone, probably Tweeting.

“Pretty sure it wasn’t her,” I said. “So have any of you seen Candy?”

“Not since the show,” said the girl.

“Huh. I can’t find her.”

“Probably just taking care of business,” said a tall baby-faced guy.

“That’s the second time someone has said that. What do you mean?”

“Well, since Candy’s been here we’ve been going through lot of air freshener,” he said.

“Still not getting it.” Of course, I had my suspicions, but I needed to be sure.

“In the bathroom,” said Babyface.

“That’s usually where people use air freshener.”

“No, we use it a lot in the light booth.” The girl with the buzz cut looked pointedly at the shaggy fellow, who wore a not-so-clean t-shirt.

“Anyway,” I said.

“Come on, do we have to spell it out for you?” said Logan. “Candy uses the bathroom. A lot. After every meal.”

“She barfs up her food,” said the shaggy dude.

I nodded briskly, like I already knew it, but my heart sank.

“But you know,” said the girl, “I haven’t smelled it lately.”

“The barf or the air freshener?” said Shaggy.

“Maybe she’s getting better,” said the girl.

“Maybe it was just a stomach bug,” I said, though I wasn’t fooling anyone. “So now that we have that out of the way, any ideas where she might be?”

“I wouldn’t do this for Babette’s minion.” Logan opened the door to the theater and held it for me. “But I’ll do it for you. Come on, Ivy. We’ll find Candy.”

But we didn’t. We scoured the theater, top to bottom, but no Candy. I texted her a bunch more times too, with no result. The simple explanation was that she was more pissed at me than I’d thought, and had taken off so she wouldn’t have to face me or my questions.

I checked her dressing room again. Her street clothes were still there. So was her duffel bag. I looked at it sitting on the counter, then I looked at Logan, who was still with me.

“If you’re going to go through the personal belongings of an actor who’s working at this theater...” he said.

“Yeah?”

“You need to tell me so I can turn my head.”

“Turn, boyo.”

He did, even humming a tune, so he couldn’t hear me. Quite the professional.

I took everything out of Candy’s duffel. Makeup. An extra pair of tights. A spare pair of underwear (not too surprising—she once told me she always carried them. I didn’t want to know why). Brushes. Breath mints, real ones. I dug deeper. Oh no.

Her wallet. Her cell phone. No wonder she hadn’t texted me back.

Worry hit me like a fist. No matter how mad she was, Candy would not have left those behind.