Kate felt strangely numb as she hurried into the long hall lined with numbered doors. Hugo couldn’t be dead. She would have felt the new black hole in the universe. The sudden emptiness in her heart.
She hadn’t felt it when her parents had died.
“I just found him and was running to call the police.” Mrs. Fairchild reached for the latch on the third door, her hands shaking.
Kate rushed past her into the storage room and then halted, her gaze flying, only seeing Civil War uniforms and full-skirted dresses. Barrels of rifles and piles of hats. She spun, searching.
“There he is!” Ollie ran past her and crouched on the floor in the back corner. Kate hurried after him and saw Hugo curled on his side, his eyes closed, unresponsive as Ollie patted his cheek and tried to rouse him. “I don’t think he’s breathing.”
Kate dropped beside Hugo’s legs with a terrified whimper. The white catering jacket was covered in blood. She picked up his hand, and it was cold and lifeless. “Hugo” was all she could say. His fingers moved slightly against hers, and she nearly sobbed in relief. “He’s alive, Ollie! His hand moved!”
“Thank God.”
“Aurelio must have done it,” Mrs. Fairchild said in a quavering voice, still back in the doorway. “I’m so glad they arrested him.”
Ollie shot a furious look over his shoulder. “You did this! Over some stupid oil wells! You think I care about that?”
“You … you know about the oil?”
“Kate looked at the photo and figured it out. She’s smart that way.” He added bitterly, “Smarter than her grandfather.” He shifted out of the way, allowing Kate to move closer to Hugo.
“It’s Kate. Can you hear me?” She touched Hugo’s cheek, but he showed no signs of awareness, his eyes closed. “I’m … I’m going to call an ambulance.” Her arm brushed something wet, and she forced her attention from his pallid face to the blood-soaked jacket. He could bleed to death before the ambulance arrived. “I’m going to try to bandage you first.” Her fingers fumbled with the jacket buttons, which were slick with blood.
Ollie seethed, “What a fool I was, thinking you and Frank were my friends.”
“I didn’t know.” Mrs. Fairchild’s voice broke with tears. “Frank never involved me in his business—you know that. He didn’t tell me until he was dying. I was horrified.”
It was hard to open the small shirt buttons with him lying on his side. “Hugo, I’m going to move you.” He didn’t show any signs of having heard. Carefully, she rotated him onto his back. She didn’t want to hurt him, but the fact that he showed no pain at all didn’t seem good. Her fingers trembled on the last few buttons, then she opened his shirt to find his chest covered in blood.
She felt light-headed and had to drop her head, breathing through her mouth.
“I wanted to give the oil wells back,” Mrs. Fairchild said, still in the doorway. “But how could I? You didn’t come to the funeral. I wrote a letter, begging you to call me, but you didn’t.”
Kate inhaled and forced herself to inspect Hugo’s chest, searching for the wound. She found a small bullet entry—not as horrible as she’d feared—and then a worse opening around his side, perhaps the exit wound.
“You broke into my house and killed Lemmy over a stupid photo!”
“I didn’t mean for that to happen. He walked in as I was picking up the photo. Oh, Ollie, he was a horrible man! Said he had photos of Bonnie that would ruin her career unless I paid him off. I went home for the money, but when I came back—I don’t know—I can’t explain it. He said vile things, and I panicked.”
The wounds weren’t bleeding much now, which seemed like a positive sign. Or maybe a bad sign that his heart had slowed. Kate moaned and pressed her bloodied fingers to Hugo’s throat, feeling for a pulse.
“You’ll hang for this,” Ollie said.
Mrs. Fairchild sobbed weakly. “I know. I’ve been in hell, waiting for the police to show up. I knew my fingerprints were on the sword, but by the time I calmed down enough to go back, you were home. I called my attorney to change my will, sure I would hang. I wanted to prove to you that I wanted to give the oil back. That I wasn’t part of it.”
Kate felt a feeble pulse in Hugo’s neck and whimpered in relief. She wrapped her hands around his pale face. “I’m sorry I doubted you, Hugo.” She kissed his forehead, then his icy lips.
“Frank is gone now, Ollie, and we can be together.”
“You think I want to be with you after you’ve shot Hugo?”
“It was an accident. He forced me to come into this building. Said he would tell the police about the man I killed unless I gave you the oil. I wanted that too, Ollie, but he frightened me. I tried to take the gun—to protect myself—and it went off. I didn’t mean to shoot him. I ran to call an ambulance.”
“But you didn’t,” Ollie snapped. “You left him to die.”
“I ran into Stage Five to find a phone, and Bonnie’s tutor saw me with the gun. I tried to explain, and he insisted I sit down. I felt so faint. I don’t know what happened next.”
“You shot him in the temple,” Kate snapped over her shoulder. “Then hid the gun in Aurelio’s trailer. I don’t think you were quite as frazzled as you pretend. Ollie—we have to call an ambulance.”
“Yes, of course.” He started to rise.
Hugo moaned.
Kate and Ollie both cried out and bent over him. His eyes fluttered open, met Kate’s briefly, and then closed again. “We’re here,” she said. “We’re going to get you help.”
The shadows deepened, the light dimming.
The door closing.
Kate screamed and scrambled to her feet, lunging toward the opening, watching in horror as the door swung shut, taking the light with it.
The world went dark.
Her hands hit the door a second too late. She banged with her fists, her heart exploding in panic. “No, please, you can’t!” She ran her hands over the smooth surface, feeling for a knob she knew wasn’t there. “We won’t tell anyone!” Her fingers found the side edge and managed to get a grip. The door opened a crack, bringing a line of light.
A strong hand yanked it closed, and Kate heard a padlock slide into the latch.
“No, please,” Kate cried, her hands clawing at the edge. “You have to let me out—you have to let me out!”
“Dorothy, open that door!” Ollie shouted.
Mrs. Fairchild wailed back, “I went to your house so we could be together, so that photo wouldn’t come between us!”
“I’ll make sure you hang for this!”
There was a moment of silence before Mrs. Fairchild said in a leaden voice, “You don’t mean that, Ollie. I know you love me.”
“I never loved you! I felt sorry for you, and I felt sorry for Frank for having to deal with your constant moods!”
“Please,” Kate begged, struggling to hold back the terror. “Please let us out.”
Mrs. Fairchild said more calmly, “Tell me where that photo is, and I will. That’s why I came back after the police left, but the boy doesn’t have it on him.”
“It’s in the car!” Kate cried. “I’ll give you the photo if you open the door! Please—just let us out!”
Mrs. Fairchild’s footsteps clicked away.
“No,” Kate wailed, pressing her forehead against the door.
“She’ll be back,” Ollie said with false bravado, still at the back of the room with Hugo.
But Kate knew she wouldn’t. Her voice had been too calm. Ollie didn’t love her. If she came back, the truth would come out, and she would be arrested. Her only hope was to take that photo and leave them to die. The movie was canceled, and Stages Five and Six would be deserted for the next week or two until the next picture was scheduled. No one would find them until it was too late.
Kate heard the outside door opening. She pressed her fingers to the faint glow at the edge of the door, holding on to it as long as she could.
The hall light snapped out.
Kate’s eyes widened, straining but seeing nothing.
She screamed—a scream pulled from her lungs, filling the black void. Her legs buckled, and she sank to the ground. She curled her knees into her chest.
“Kate.” Vaguely, through the scream that wouldn’t stop, she heard Ollie calling her name, and then he was behind her, his arms around her. “I’m here. You’re not alone this time.”
The scream ran out of air. Kate needed air. Her lungs tightened in panic. She grabbed at Ollie’s arms around her chest.
His arms squeezed, holding her together, his cheek pressed against hers. “I’m here.”
She stretched up her chin. “Can’t … breathe.”
“Plenty of air in here. Let’s breathe together.” He made an exaggerated sound of inhaling.
She gulped a mouthful of darkness.
“Now let it out slowly.” He exhaled loudly, the warmth hitting the side of her face. She managed a weak puff. “Good girl. Now in again, deep into your lungs.” He made another noisy inhalation.
Kate drew a ragged breath and released it. Then another, pulling a little deeper, her lungs stretching.
“I’m here with you, Kate. I’m not going anywhere.”
Not going anywhere. Trapped forever in endless darkness. A tidal wave of panic rose inside her, the scream rising. Ollie seemed to sense it, pulling her against him. “Hang on, Kate. I’m here.” His arms squeezed, holding back the panic.
Slowly, breath by breath, heartbeat by heartbeat, her body relaxed and her lungs loosened, allowing more air.
“All my fault,” she croaked. “If I’d given the sword to the police—her fingerprints—”
“Wouldn’t have proved anything. She would have said they were from years ago.”
“I should have trusted Hugo.” Tears slid down her face. “I thought he killed Lemmy and Glenn. He would never think that of me.”
“We found him, and he’s going to be fine. Take a moment to catch your breath, and we’ll find a way out of here.”
“People are dead because of me. I write lists, but I keep making mistakes.”
“Hush, now. You’re the most capable person I’ve ever met.”
“It’s an act. People think my father was the fraud, but I’m the biggest fraud of all. I’m not smart. I’m not sensible.” She inhaled a shuddering breath. “Mommy died because of me.”
She sat perfectly still, listening to the dark silence.
She said it again with more force. “Mommy died because of me!” It felt good to finally say it aloud. She shouted it into the dark. “Your Evie is dead because of me!”
Ollie squeezed her arm. “Don’t say that,” he ordered, a new chill in his voice.
Kate liked that chill. Wanted to be punished. “I lied to the police! I lied to everyone, so no one would know it was my fault!”
His arms slackened around her. “What are you talking about?”
“There wasn’t any chloroform! He didn’t hide in the house and grab me! The newspapers wrote that, and Aunt Lorna talked about it, and the police asked me if he put a funny-smelling rag over my nose—so I went along with it. I made up a big fat lie about chloroform and the trunk of his car, but he never forced me to go with him.”
“Of course he did.” Ollie’s voice was as heavy as the dark. “You were kidnapped.”
Kate said it aloud for the first time, shouting it into the black void. “I went willingly! I packed an overnight bag!”
The confession echoed and slowly settled.
“That’s not true,” Ollie murmured, his arms loose around her.
She spoke more calmly, her throat raw. “It is true. He knocked on the door, and I walked to his car.”
“Why would you?”
Kate remembered it clearly. The evening sunset behind the quiet-looking man on the doorstep. Her parents gone to a cocktail party, as they so often were.
“Kate?”
“He said he’d been at the party with my parents, and they’d all decided to spend the weekend at his house in Woodside. To see his new horses. My parents were in the roadster, so they’d asked him to swing by and pick me up. He waited downstairs while I packed my bag.”
“You were thirteen. He told a convincing lie.”
“But it wasn’t convincing. I knew Mommy would have called and told me, but he was shy and awkward, and I didn’t want him to think I didn’t trust him. We drove out of the city on this dark road with big trees, and every time we stopped at an intersection, I knew I should get out and run, but I didn’t want to make him feel bad.”
Kate had thought about that car ride a million times in the last four years, wishing—so much futile wishing—that she’d jumped out and fled.
“He kidnapped you, Kate.”
“He didn’t trap me in that car; I trapped myself. I sat there making polite conversation while he told me about his niece in the hospital. And when I saw the house in the woods, I knew Mommy and Daddy would never stay at a place like that, but I didn’t want to embarrass him by saying his house wasn’t good enough. So I walked inside, but there wasn’t any furniture.” A sob escaped her. “I tried to run, and he grabbed me.”
Ollie’s arms tightened around her. “I’m so sorry, Kate.”
She wanted to tell him everything and never say it again. “There was a hole in the closet floor, and he threw me in. I fell on a mattress and looked up to see the latch closing. I heard it lock. He said there was food and water and he would be back. But he never came back. And it was all my fault.”
“It wasn’t your fault. He was a horrible man.”
Kate sniffed back tears. “He just wanted his money back. Daddy stole from him—over a million dollars.”
“That wasn’t your fault either. Your father fooled a lot of people.”
“He fooled me.” Kate worked her hands out of Ollie’s hug and wiped her face. “He’s still fooling me. My head knows he was a bad person, but sometimes I still feel like I love him.”
“Of course you do. He was your father.” Ollie patted her gently.
“I don’t feel like I’m allowed to love him. Or remember the good things, like decorating the Christmas tree, and the way he used to sing in this loud, silly voice. If I remember those things, it’s like he’s fooling me all over again.”
“His love for you was real, Kate.”
A low moan came from the back corner.
“Hugo!” Kate scrambled up, appalled she’d left him—and then froze, facing darkness. She carefully felt her way around a barrel of rifles, her heart racing, then used a rack of costumes as her guide, her hands moving along the wool sleeves. She sank to the floor and crawled the rest of the way. “Hugo, I’m here.” Her hands fumbled over his bloody jacket before finding his shoulders, and then the sides of his face. She kissed his lips, which were tight and cold. “You’re freezing.”
Ollie said behind her, “I’ll find something to warm him up.”
“I’m so sorry about last night, Hugo. Ollie and I drove to Long Beach. We figured it out and came to find you.”
“Mm” was all he managed.
Ollie dropped heavy wool soldiers’ uniforms over Hugo’s legs. “Bundle him up.”
Kate tucked the coats around Hugo. “I thought you were dead.”
“Acting,” he said in a thin voice. “Didn’t want her to shoot me again.”
“Kate, come help me with this door,” Ollie called. “Maybe we can pull off the hinges.”
She didn’t want to leave Hugo. She ran her fingers over his face to orient herself and kissed his lips again. “I’ll be back.”
“Counting on that,” he rasped.
Kate made her way carefully in the dark, her arms outstretched. She stumbled into the barrel of rifles, then touched Ollie’s back.
“Hinges are on the inside,” he said. “There’s a bolt we need to slide up, but my fingers are too big. You try.”
They switched places, Kate moving close to the door. Her fingers found the metal hinge just over her head. It felt rusted and immovable. “I wish my hands would stop shaking.”
“I’ll get something to warm you up.” Ollie shuffled behind her and returned to drape heavy fabric over her shoulders. She tried to put her arms into sleeves, but only found slits—a cloak, she realized. She slid her arms through the slits and did the top button, and the warmth felt good.
She kept working on the hinge. “Are you all right, Hugo?”
“Still breathing,” he said weakly.
Ollie murmured near her ear. “How long do you figure we’ve been in here? A half hour?”
“Maybe.” She hesitated. “Why?”
He kept his voice low. “I expect she’ll be back with a gun soon.”
Kate drew a sharp breath. “She wouldn’t shoot you, Ollie.”
“I think we left her no choice. She can’t take the chance of someone finding us or us escaping.”
He was right. “I’ll try the lower hinge.” Kate crouched on the ground.
“I think we better prepare for battle. You keep working on that, and I’ll get us some weapons. At least we have plenty of options in here.”
“Ollie—they’re all fake.”
“A fake sword still strikes a hard blow—I should know. And we’ll have the element of surprise.” She heard him searching behind her. “What do you fancy? A rifle with bayonet? Dagger? Pistol? The Civil War had everything.” Something toppled over. “Aha! I found the swords, my weapon of choice. Good reach with a sword.”
“Ollie, we can’t fight her with movie props!” Kate’s fingernail was in shreds, digging into the hinge.
“What you need is a hat. That’ll help you get into character.”
Kate growled in frustration. “I don’t need a hat!” She stood to work on the top hinge again. “Hugo, say something so I know you’re all right.”
“You need a hat,” he said in the ghost of a voice.
She laughed weakly.
A moment later, Ollie placed something on her head, and she reached up to feel a straw bonnet. “Hold still while I tie the ribbons. It’ll help you stay warm.”
She lifted her chin, her fingers tugging at the rusty metal.
Ollie asked quietly, “Any chance with the hinges?”
She lowered her hands, her fingertips burning. “I don’t think so.”
“Here, I brought you a sword.” He pressed the handle into her palm. “Are you right-handed?”
“Yes, but—”
“We’ll go over a few basic moves. It all starts with good feet. En garde position.”
“Ollie—”
“Spread your feet a little, right foot pointed forward, left pointed out. I wish I could see you. Are your feet about a foot apart?”
“Yes,” she said to appease him. Then, so it wasn’t a lie, she positioned her feet as he’d said.
“Hold out your sword to touch mine. Where is it?” Their swords tapped. “There! Bend your knees a little. Advance on your right foot, retreat on your left—but we don’t have enough room for that, so we’ll just tap the swords a few times. Ready?”
His sword banged into hers, nearly knocking it from her hand. She stiffened her hold.
“Now hit my sword back,” he said.
Kate complied, tightening her grip so her sword met his with equal force. They repeated the move a few times, the swords striking each other a little differently each time, her body moving with the hits. The metal made a satisfying clanging sound.
“How is this going to help us fight off a gun?” she asked.
“It isn’t. Just warming our blood and calming our nerves.” His sword knocked hers out of her hand. “Sorry. Good job, though. Better than Hugo.”
“Hey,” he protested weakly.
“We better get into position. We need the advantage of height. I always leaped on my enemies from higher ground. Help me stack boxes near the door.”
Kate didn’t argue, knowing it was pointless, and it felt good to move. She and Ollie fumbled about in the dark, finding crates and stacking them on either side of the door. She asked, “Shouldn’t we be stacking them in front of the door, so she can’t open it?”
“We’re not trying to barricade ourselves in, we’re fighting our way out. Here.” He pressed a sword back into Kate’s hand. “We’ll each take a side.” He nudged her toward the side of the door with hinges, and she heard him move to the side that would open.
She climbed onto the crates, a foot or two off the ground, and then cautiously straightened, her legs shaking. She gripped the fake sword, knowing it was completely useless against a gun. “Are you there, Hugo?” Her voice trembled.
“I’m here, Kate.” His voice sounded stronger.
She heard the outside door open, and a bright light appeared around the edge of their door. Kate squeezed her sweaty palms around the fake sword, listening as the click of Mrs. Fairchild’s footsteps drew closer. They could attack, but all Mrs. Fairchild had to do was pull a trigger. They couldn’t outrun a bullet.
Ollie declared fiercely, “We fight for our lives, our liberty, and the people we love!” In the glow from around the door, Kate could just make out his shadowy form. He had his sword raised above his head, and she copied his stance.
The padlock rattled as Mrs. Fairchild removed it. She must have left it unlocked, only looped through the latch, knowing she would come back. Knowing she had to kill them. The door cracked open and the barrel of a handgun appeared. Ollie swung down, and a deafening shot rang out. The gun flew from Mrs. Fairchild’s hand, skittering across the floor.
Kate jumped down and yanked the door open, filling the storage room with glorious light. “Are you shot?” she cried.
“Not a scratch.” Ollie grabbed Mrs. Fairchild’s arm and shoved her into the wall, then stood back with the tip of his sword pressed against her back, looking completely legitimate in his Civil War uniform and general’s hat.
“Ollie,” Mrs. Fairchild whimpered. She tried to turn to see him, but Ollie tightened his grip on her shoulder, the sword touching her spine.
Kate picked up the handgun and tried to give it to Ollie, but he didn’t flinch. “Put it in my pocket,” he ordered, and she complied. “Now, run for reinforcements.”
An ambulance. Kate glanced at Hugo, who lifted a feeble hand in approval, then darted into the hall. The long cloak got in her way, so she lifted it with both hands. The straw bonnet slid off the back of her head, held on by the ribbons beneath her chin. She ran out the door, into a beautiful October sunset.
There would be a phone in Stage Five. Kate ducked under the roll-up door and ran around the theater set, trying to guess where the phone would be, glad they’d left the lights on. She rounded the front corner of the stage set—and pulled up short.
Clive Falcon and two men with cameras stood near the front row where Glenn had been shot. “That’s the seat, boys. You can see the red stain.” A flashbulb popped. “Are you sure we can’t make the evening edition?”
“Hey!” Kate shouted, her blood boiling.
The men turned.
“Kitty Hildebrand!” Clive Falcon cried, delighted. “She’s the one who found him. Kitty, can we get a photo of you standing next to the chair?”
“I’ll give you something better than that,” she shot back. “You want the publicity photo of your life? It’s in the storage building behind us. The killer has just been captured by a true hero—my grandfather, Oliver Banks. Put that on your front page!”
Kate saw a phone on the wall, lifted the cloak, and ran.