Chapter 12

There’s an old Hollywood truth about how you succeed in show business: give the people what they want. It was clear by the line stretching down the block from the Palace doors that the people wanted Tracy and Hepburn.

“I didn’t realize there were this many pencil skirts in the city,” Callie said when I went to check on the ticket booth. She was wearing a severe gray suit with cat-eye glasses, her hair pulled ruthlessly into a low chignon. “Or fedoras.”

“Everyone’s here tonight,” I said, mentally running the numbers on how much all those lovely ticket sales would amount to.

“So, like, about that...” She shot me a glance while outside a customer fumbled for his credit card. “My parents said they’re coming, and you’re literally forbidden from talking to them.” She gave me her strictest look, which the glasses helped.

I grinned at her. “It’s hilarious when you tell me what to do.” Then I caught sight of Hector and Gabriela about ten people back in the line. “I’ll see you later.” I backed out of the little booth, saying one more thing just before I closed the door. “And I’ll see your parents, too.”

  

I ushered Hector and Gabriela into the lobby, bypassing the ticket booth. “People who fix the theater’s Wi-Fi get in for free,” I told Gabriela when she protested. I was a little guilty that she’d become our unpaid computer troubleshooter in the last few months, but I’d get over it. I knew it would have cost a fortune to pay someone for the sort of thing she was happy to do while chatting about Ginger Rogers between the seven-thirty and the nine-fifteen.

Gabriela was wearing a skirt and soft sweater in shades of gray-blue. She never let her chair get in the way of her fashion sense. Her long dark hair was pinned under to look like a classic fifties wave, and her lipstick was Technicolor red. “Okay, but what about him?” She nodded toward Hector.

“He fixes other things,” I told her, looking at her cousin.

Hector hadn’t attempted a retro costume, which wasn’t a surprise, but it was a shame. I’d spent a few moments in the shower that morning imagining him in a gray flannel suit with his hair combed back away from his face. But tonight he wore his usual impeccable jeans with buttery soft leather jacket. His hair, as always, was perfect. “Anything you need,” he said quietly.

It took a moment for me to realize Gabriela had spoken again.

“Nora, I think that guy is trying to get your attention.” She waved at someone a few paces away to my left.

Hector and I both looked. “Detective Jackson,” Hector said, in a tone that fell short of welcoming.

The detective was looking in my direction and nodded when we made eye contact.

“Why don’t we go get some cookies or something,” Hector said to Gabriela, gesturing toward Lisa’s station. “Nora has work to do.”

“I’ll see you in there,” I said as they moved away.

“I’m counting on it,” Hector replied.

  

I worked my way through the crowd to the detective. “Tommy May has been released?” I greeted him.

“Hello to you, too.” His deep voice was easy to hear above the increasing din in the lobby.

“Hello,” I said. “What happened? What have you heard?”

Of course he didn’t answer. Instead he turned my question back on me. “What have you heard?”

I opened my mouth to say “nothing” before realizing that wasn’t exactly true. “He sent me a text.”

The detective’s eyebrows raised at the same moment the EMERAC machine made its boop-boop-be-do sound. A cheer went up.

I answered over the noise. “He said he wants my help.”

Judging from the look on his face, it took considerable self-restraint for Jackson to withhold his opinion on that.

“I know, I know,” I said. “I have no idea why. It wouldn’t break my heart to see him in jail for the rest of his life, but he said he was sending a car for me to go down to Palo Alto tonight.”

Jackson gave me a sharp look. “Are you going?”

“Of course not.” Then, “Should I?”

I expected him to come back with something standard about staying out of it and letting the police do their jobs, but he hesitated.

I looked at him more closely. “Do you want me to?”

The detective looked distinctly uncomfortable.

“You do!” I stared at him. “Why…?” And then I got it. “You want me to tell you what he says.”

Jackson cleared his throat. “I would never ask you to do that.”

“Right.” I nodded. “You never would.” But that didn’t mean he wouldn’t listen if I found something out.

“Are you going?” Jackson asked.

“How can I with all this?” I made a gesture that took in the increasing madness in the lobby. People were lined up to take selfies at the old-fashioned desk. Brandon and our other two high-school staffers, Claire and Mike, were selling popcorn, candy, and drinks as fast as they could. Albert was greeting everyone who came through the lobby doors like they were lifelong friends, while subtly keeping everyone moving in the direction of the concessions stand or Lisa’s dessert table. And Trixie was scampering around waving and…wait. Trixie? What was she doing?

“What about going to see him in the morning?” Jackson asked.

I gave him a blank look. “Tommy May,” he reminded me.

“Right. Tommy. I told him if it was urgent he should come here tonight.”

“Here?”

I grinned, moving away from the detective, heading toward Trixie. “Fasten your seatbelt,” I said over my shoulder. “It’s going to be a bumpy night.” Which was not a line from Desk Set, but it seemed to fit the occasion.

  

“Trixie.” I kept my voice low. “How are you? What are you doing?”

Trixie usually didn’t hang around for the midnight movie parties. There was too much commotion. Mainly she just flitted into view now and then, here and there, like something you see out of the corner of your eye. Like a ghost.

And since she was a ghost I motioned for her to follow me out of the busy lobby. I could mutter one or two things in the mix of the crowd, but for a conversation of any length we’d need some privacy. Because I’d hate to be hauled away by those nice gentlemen in the white coats before Reference Desk Trivia even started.

She followed me into the stairwell of the employee stairs. “Are you okay?” I asked her when I’d closed the door. “You don’t usually like crowds.”

“I don’t,” she agreed. “Everybody’s always walking through me and yelling in my face without knowing it, and not seeing me no matter how hard I try. It’s—” She shivered. “It makes me feel even more like a ghost than I normally do, if you know what I mean.”

“I hadn’t thought of it like that.” I forgot, sometimes, that however much Trixie bubbled with excitements and interests, she had a very lonely existence.

She must have seen a look on my face because she waved her hands. “Oh, I don’t really mind. It’s just that tonight I thought I’d give it a try—being seen, or felt anyway.” She straightened her shoulders. “The way I figure, the more people I try with, the more chances I have that someone might notice me—like Callie’s mother did that one time, remember? Maybe there are other people like her, who can just sort of tell when I’m around. Don’t you think?” She bit her ruby red lip, her eyes wide with hope.

“Of course I think. There’s no way to know without trying. But listen, I’ve got good news. Callie’s mom is going to be here tonight.”

Lillian Gee had visited the theater not too long ago. She considered herself sensitive to the spiritual world, which would have caused massive eye rolling if I’d met her before Trixie. Now I knew better. The fact was that Lillian had felt cold when Trixie hugged her. It wasn’t much, but it was something.

“Really?” Trixie clasped her hands together. “Oh, Nora, do you think she’ll sense me again?”

“There’s only one way to know.” I opened the door.

“Gee, I can’t wait. I’m going up to the balcony landing where I can keep an eye out for her.” She shimmered back into the crowd. “I just have a feeling that good things are going to happen tonight.”

She couldn’t knock wood, but as I closed the door, I did.

  

I spotted Detective Jackson, head and shoulders above most of the customers, moving toward the balcony stairs. I assumed he planned to watch the movie with Marty from the projection booth. I was just wondering how comfortable the large detective would be in the small crowded room when I realized Hector had come over to join me.

“Where’s Marty tonight?” he asked.

“Upstairs. I’ve banned him from human contact at these things ever since the lollipop incident with Some Like It Hot.” I gave him a significant look. Some Like It Hot (1959, Tony Curtis, Jack Lemmon, and Marilyn Monroe, who always got the fuzzy end of the lollipop) had been our Valentine’s Day midnight movie a few weeks ago.

Hector winced at the memory of the lollipop incident.

“Where’s Gabriela?” I asked him. At some point I wanted to ask her opinion about an app for the Palace.

“She invited some friends from work,” he said. “They’re already in the theater, strategizing for your trivia game.”

“Did someone say ‘trivia’?” Monica had arrived without me noticing. She was wearing her usual workout clothes and was accompanied by a young woman in shorts over tights and a sweatshirt bearing the logo of the Potent Flower, Monica’s shop. “Because I’m the worst at trivia,” Monica said. “But I’m really good at eating popcorn while other people play.”

I hugged her in greeting and Hector leaned down to give her a peck on the cheek.

“You must be Kristy,” I said to the young woman, assuming she was the sales assistant who had spent so much time with S the day before he died. “Welcome to the Palace.”

“This is so cool,” she said, looking around. “Is it like this every night?” She was probably in her early twenties, tall and willowy, with shoulder-length lavender hair and striking green eyes. It was no surprise S had been taken with her. She seemed like a geek’s dream girl.

“Not exactly,” I admitted. There were more people in the lobby at that moment than had been in the theater for the past week. Unfortunately, that meant there were really too many people around for me to have the kind of conversation with Kristy about S that I wanted to.

I was just trying to figure out how I could whisk her away somewhere quiet for a moment when we were joined by Monica’s custom-blend supplier, Abby.

“Here you are.” She was wearing jeans and an olive green jacket with dozens of pockets. She hugged Monica, then Kristy, then me in quick succession. “This place is amazing! And I just love Desk Set, but you can keep Tracy and Hepburn. For me it’s all about Joan Blondell.”

“You’re a woman after my own heart,” Hector said.

I couldn’t help noticing that Abby gave him the same sort of look most women give him upon first meeting. Something like the look Audrey Hepburn gives Cary Grant at that ski resort in Charade (1963, Cary, Audrey, and Paris). It’s a look that says “Yes, please,” and it seems to be largely involuntary. I blame his hair.

He smiled and Monica introduced them as I checked my watch. I was supposed to be onstage in ten minutes to start the trivia.

I scanned the crowd. There was no sign of Tommy. Of course there wasn’t. Aside from the fact that he probably wouldn’t dream of going to see someone at their convenience rather than having them come to him, he was out on bail facing a murder charge. He might not even be allowed to leave his house.

I was just taking a moment to enjoy the thought of him wearing an ankle monitor when I glanced up at the balcony landing and saw Trixie waving furiously at me. She pointed to of the bottom of the stairs, yelling “Callie’s mother!” Then she fizzled out of sight.

Reference Desk Trivia might have to wait.