Southern Bred and Dead (Southern Ghost Hunter Mysteries Book 9) by Angie Fox

Author:Angie Fox [Fox, Angie]
Language: eng
Format: azw3, epub
ISBN: 9781939661630
Publisher: Moose Island Books
Published: 2020-08-27T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter Fifteen

The ticket taker sold Beau two tickets, ripped them in half, and gave us a schedule of upcoming events. “Enjoy the show.”

“We will,” Beau said, handing me a program.

I wondered if I could smother him with it.

Beau opened the physical door and I walked in ahead of him.

Gilded frames built into the wall housed show posters from past performances. Gold paint chipped off at the corners, exposing grayed wood cracked with age. On each side of the lobby, a staircase with a gold railing wound up to the second floor.

“I’ll bet this was a beauty back in the day,” I murmured, detecting the faint smell of dust and popcorn.

“Yeah,” Frankie said, gliding ahead of us. “I remember when this theater opened for Christmas of 1926. They had ushers with gold buttons on their jackets and spiffy hats. Christmas trees in the lobby. The place glittered like a palace.”

That sounded lovely. “Want to tune me in?”

I took in the red carpet, the gold ceilings. And this was the earthly side of things. No doubt it was even fancier on the other side.

Frankie hesitated.

“What’s wrong?” I asked, on immediate alert. Frankie jiggled his left leg, and I realized his foot had gone missing. “You’re losing power?” That was impossible. “You haven’t given me any yet.”

“This thing with Lou is really getting to me,” he said, stiffening. “I don’t have juice to spare.”

“We’ll take it easy,” I promised him. “Only turn me on when you need to.”

“I can’t believe I’m on a ghost-hunting adventure,” Beau declared.

“You and me both, buddy.” He was making it hard for me to forget he was there.

The lobby stood empty. There was no usher, just a “take one” table with local coupons and flyers advertising future shows. Frankie stood in front of it, fuming. “Am I going to have to separate you two?”

“Please.” Too bad Frankie was big on ideas and bad on the follow-through.

“This place might not be as safe as you think,” Beau said, his hand passing through Frankie to take a flyer.

“Watch it!” Frankie said, taking a quick step back through the table.

“My landscaper does maintenance for this building, and he said to beware of the ghost who haunts the old projector room,” Beau said, tossing the flyer back on the table and glancing toward the stairs to the second floor.

“Morty Levinson,” Frankie said, brushing himself off, clearly squicked out by Beau’s touch. “He built this place. Ran the projector for years. Swell guy. Kept his hands to himself.”

Beau looked both ways as if Morty was going to come rushing down one of the staircases. “This past winter, a big light fell down onto the stage and almost killed an actor. You see, they angered the ghost,” he whispered, drawing nearer than I preferred. “It was right after they unlocked the old projection room.”

I’d heard that story, too. “Lauralee said it was an accident caused by a faulty rope, not a ghost.”

You couldn’t blame everything on the deceased residents of Sugarland.

“It was totally a ghost,” Beau said as if he’d been there.

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