Zack froze again. This time in midstep. “What?”
“A lot of theaters attract ghosts, Zack. Every playhouse I’ve ever worked in had at least one.”
“Really?”
“Sure. There was this theater where the balcony seats kept folding down all by themselves because a bunch of ghosts wanted to see our show.”
“Unh-hunh.”
They started walking down the steps again.
“There’s this theater in Ohio that’s haunted by a wealthy woman whose husband shot her when he found out she had, like, a major crush on the show’s leading man. You can still see her up in the balcony, waiting for her handsome hero to make his next entrance, which, of course, he never does, so she just sits there and sighs forlornly.”
They clunked down to the second floor.
“Meghan,” said Zack tentatively, “do you really believe in ghosts? Do you really see them?”
“Well, duh. Don’t you?”
“What about this theater? Is it haunted?”
“Uh, I think so.” She pointed down the steps. “That girl down there? Come on. She has to be a ghost. Nobody would wear a dress like that unless they were dead.”
Zack whipped around just in time to see the little girl disappear.
This time she was juggling bowling pins.
28
This was so cool!
Meghan McKenna was a kindred spirit. A fellow Ghost Seer!
“Not everyone can see them,” Zack said as they raced across the lobby and headed for the curving staircase leading down to the rehearsal room.
“I know,” said Meghan. “Especially not adults!”
“Yeah. Except at night. Just about everybody can see ghosts at night.”
“Only if the ghosts want to be seen.”
“Or if the living person really wants to see the ghost. Like at a séance, or something.”
“True,” said Meghan. “And even when you can’t see ’em, you can usually hear ’em—if they want to be heard.”
“Exactly!” said Zack.
“You can sort of feel ’em, too,” said Meghan. “Wind, chills, goose bumps.”
“I know! I felt the Pilgrim walk right through me!”
“What Pilgrim?”
“Oh, he’s this guy who hangs himself in the stairwell.”
“Neat. Must’ve been one of the original stars here at the Hanging Hill. Guess he’s stuck here.”
“Yeah. They keep him on a short leash.”
Meghan laughed.
“I think Juggler Girl is afraid of him.”
“How come?”
“She said some stuff that made me think she and the Pilgrim weren’t playing on the same team.”
“Like what?”
Zack did his best Juggler Girl impression: “Don’t listen to that one. He’s one of the others. Whooo-oooh!”
“Wow! What did she mean? One of the others?”
Zack shrugged. “I don’t know.”
“Well… we need to find out.”
“We do?”
“Definitely. Aren’t you curious?”
“I guess.”
“Come on, Zack. Curiosity helps us see just how lively life can be!”
“Hey, that’s from Curiosity Cat!”
“I know. I sing it in the first act! Best number in the whole show!”
They entered the rehearsal room.
The cast, including a gangly guy with googly eyes and a goofy face—Zack recognized him immediately as Tomasino Carrozza—sat around cafeteria-type tables set up in a horseshoe.
A ghoulish-looking man with a mustache as thin as an eraser smudge sat in the center of the middle table. Zack figured he must be Reginald Grimes, the world-famous director. A dark-skinned man wearing a red hat that resembled an upside-down sand bucket with a tassel on top sat next to him.
Judy was at the first table to the left. Zack gave her a nervous wave and found a chair in the back of the room, near the coffeepot.
“Sorry I’m late,” said Meghan as she hurried to an empty chair at a table full of actors. “The elevator’s still broken.”
Then nobody said anything.
A few adults coughed or cleared their throats.
Some nibbled on baked goods. Meghan chomped into a doughnut, which was a good thing as far as Zack was concerned. Meant his new friend wasn’t a ghost. The spooks he’d met in North Chester never ate anything, not even the chubby ones!
Everybody kept waiting for the director to speak.
Only, the director wasn’t speaking. He was sitting at that center table, eyes glued to the pages of some musty old book that wasn’t the script to Curiosity Cat. It was too thick, the size of the New York City Yellow Pages.
“Sir?” said the company manager.
Nothing.
“Mr. Grimes?”
It seemed as if Mr. Grimes couldn’t hear her. It also looked like he hadn’t slept in weeks.
“Reginald?”
“Hmmm?”
Finally.
“Everybody’s here, sir.”
“Hmmm?”
“Everyone’s assembled for the table meeting.”
Grimes sighed. Seemed perturbed.
He stood up and traced a finger across both eyebrows and his mustache, maybe to make sure they were lined up just the way he liked them. Zack noticed that Mr. Grimes never used his left arm. It looked paralyzed, cocked at a slight angle by his side.
“Welcome to the Hanging Hill Playhouse,” the director mumbled quickly. “Hakeem?” Grimes sat down, returned to his book. The even scarier man in the red hat stood up.
“Greetings. I am Hakeem. I will be assisting Mr. Grimes on this, his most glorious production ever.”
The actors applauded.
Grimes’s eyes remained glued to the big book. He flipped forward a page.
“While our esteemed director studies his production notes,” said Hakeem, “let us all read the script out loud.”
Grimes slammed the book, sending up a puffy cloud of dust. Derek Stone sneezed.
“Finished!” said Grimes.
“Excellent,” said Hakeem. “We are about to read out loud from the script.”
“Read?” said Grimes. He glared at the cast. “Haven’t you people memorized your parts?”
Now Zack heard Derek wheeze.
Grimes turned toward the adult actor who would be playing the children’s father. “Mr. Woodman?”
“Well, uh, my agent just sent me the script. Last week. Friday, actually.”
“And?” inquired Grimes, his left eyebrow arching up nearly to the tip of his pointy hairline.
“Well, I, uh, I haven’t really had time to …”
“To do your job?”
The actor looked down at his lap.
“What about you?” Grimes snarled at Judy.
“Me?”
“Did you fix those insipid song lyrics?”
“Excuse me? I don’t remember you having a problem with any lyrics.”
“Then perhaps you weren’t listening!”
Zack was ready to whip out his iron fist, but Judy gave him the slightest head shake to let him know she was okay.
“Where exactly do you have a problem, Mr. Grimes?” Judy asked calmly.
He fumbled through his script. “Here. This song. The one Claire sings. Bah! These lyrics need work.”
“What kind of work?” asked Judy, refusing to let Grimes bully her, her voice steady and strong.
Grimes narrowed his beady black eyes and looked like he might start hissing steam out both ears like a double-cappuccino machine. “The kind of work that will make it better. Fix it, Mrs. Jennings! I’m sorry if you thought you were coming here on vacation! You are here to work. Maybe you should send your stepson home so you can concentrate on your job!”
Great. Grimes knew Zack existed. Knew he was in town.
“The rest of you? Go home and memorize your lines! All of them!”
Grimes stood up and stormed out of the room. The man named Hakeem followed him.
Apparently, the table meeting was over.
Zack had intended to tell Judy about the juggling ghost he and Meghan had just bumped into in the stairwell, but from the look on her face, Judy had bigger things to worry about right now.