Chapter 23

Chapter Twenty-Three

"Sam's right over there." The PA pointed in the direction of a couple of chairs and a stationary camera set up against one wall, before she headed off in the other direction.

Natalie straightened her spine, lifted her chin high, pretended her leggings and oversized sweater were battle armor and headed for the producer.

"Hello," she said, taking a seat before being asked to. "You asked to see me?"

"Yes, I did. Would you mind answering a few questions?" Sam asked.

"Not at all. Shoot." She forced a smile.

"During tonight's investigation you told Doctor Finch the spirits communicate with you. With words. Can you tell us what they've said?"

How the hell— That had only happened seconds before the assistant appeared. Sam must be watching a live feed from Jake's camera.

Fine. She could handle this.

She had plenty of information she'd gleaned from those she'd spoken with. She'd tell it all to Sam, on camera. Everything she remembered. Then later, when their microphones were off so they could shower and change, she'd just tell Harper and Alice that she'd made it all up. Or researched the building before she'd come. Just to get one up on Letisha.

It was a good plan. Happy with it, Natalie nodded. "Of course. They said…"

"Could you repeat the question or give a little exposition for the viewers about what you're talking about before you answer?"

"Oh, yeah. Sure." God how she hated interviews and cameras. Drawing in a breath, she opened her mouth, then closed it again. Moving her gaze to Sam she said, "I'm not supposed to look at the camera, right?"

"No. You can. Please do. This is a confessional recording. All the cast members will make them. We want you to speak directly to the viewer at home."

"Oh. Okay."

Wishing they'd make up their mind and stop changing the rules, Natalie considered how to word her response since now it seemed it was her job to introduce the question as well as give the answer.

"Since arriving here at the Stanley Theater, I've encountered a number of spirits who reside here. And I've learned some of their stories. It's been really fascinating. It seems there was not one but two murders here back in the early days after the theater was built."

"Murders?" Sam exclaimed.

"Yes." Natalie nodded. "Apparent poisonings. On the night of her movie premiere, film star Evie Hartwell died. She told me the doctor determined it was poison. And that same night right here at the same movie premiere, leading man Vincent Carlisle also died. Vincent believes he stumbled upon the poison meant for Evie. And Evie confirmed Vincent did take a bottle of champagne from her dressing room."

She'd been really getting into telling the story. Not only was it fascinating, but she would bet she had inside information the authorities at the time didn't have. Maybe, though it was almost a hundred years later, the mystery could be solved. Maybe they'd even exhume the bodies and test them both for poison.

Was that even possible this many years later? And how would Evie and Vincent feel about that? They might not like that idea. Gabe hadn't been thrilled about Liam cutting up his body in the cadaver lab.

Coming out of her own thoughts, Natalie glanced at Sam and got a look at the producer's expression. It wasn't good. It was the kind of look you gave a deranged person you were afraid of. Or at least afraid of setting off.

She'd better throw a few more facts out there. Things that would be documented and provable so she didn't look like a loon. "There's also a young girl named Clara here. She was a performer in a traveling vaudeville show with her parents. She died of the flu."

Sam's brows rose but she remained silent.

"There's an usher named Horace who worked here from the time the theater opened for business. He died of tuberculosis." When Sam's expression didn't change, Natalie continued. "There's a costume designer here named Bobby LaRue. He died in the early eighties."

"Of what?" Sam asked.

"You know what? He didn't tell me."

"You didn't ask?"

"No. I don't know. That seems kind of rude, you know? It's personal. I didn't feel right asking if he didn't offer up that information."

"Yes, of course." Sam's words didn't match her tone.

Worried she was coming off badly here, Natalie did what she always did. Dove in even further. "I do have one piece of information. Art, the projector operator who worked here for years and is said to haunt the projection room? He was here but he's since moved on."

"And you know this how?"

"Evie and Bobby confirmed it. He was apparently very nice and well liked among the other ghosts while he was here though."

Sam nodded with a noncommittal, "Mm-hm."

Natalie swallowed. "There's also an older gentleman who had a heart attack in his seat in the back row of the theater. He doesn't talk much, or at all that I've seen, but he's still here. He sits back there for every performance, even today. And then there's a screen writer. He is apparently quite the critic when it comes to reviewing the shows."

Natalie's enthusiasm waned with each revelation she made as Sam struggled and failed to maintain a passive expression.

Yup, those marching orders were going to come any second now.

"Anything else?" Sam asked when Natalie went quiet.

"No. That's it. So far."

"You think there's more?" Sam asked.

Natalie couldn't control the short laugh that escaped as memories of the ghost bat and Sybil and her horse flashed through her mind. "There's always more."