Much Ado In the Moonlight Read Online Free PDF Page B

otherworldly enough to have acquired a few ghostly companions along the way.
    With a snort, she shut the bathroom door, dug out her toothbrush, and applied herself to the very pedestrian task of brushing her teeth.
    It seemed the most sensible thing to do.
     
She was sure she had just closed her eyes the moment before she heard Thomas banging on her door, saying something completely unintelligible. Victoria rubbed her eyes and fumbled for the clock. She couldn’t make out the numbers, but she had the feeling they weren’t in double digits.
    Thomas opened the door and tossed a phone at her. “It’s for you.”
    Victoria fumbled for the phone, then took a moment to figure out which end to talk into before she managed to get the other end to her ear. And then she wished she hadn’t.
    There were shrieks in the background.
    “It’s Saturday morning,” she said grimly. “This better be good.”
    “It is.”
    It was Fred, her stage manager. Victoria sighed and dragged a hand through her hair. “What’s wrong?”
    “You won’t believe this,” he began.
    Victoria could hear the shrieks fading in the background. That, at least, had to be an improvement. “Believe what?” she asked unwillingly.
    “That was Gerard,” he finished.
    “Why was he screaming?”
    “He says the prop room is haunted.”
    She was fully awake now. “But it’s a prop room.”
    “So I told him.”
    “Prop rooms aren’t haunted.”
    “I told him that, too.”
    Victoria counted to ten. When that didn’t work, she tried counting laid-back-looking sheep. In reality, all she wanted to do was count the ways she could have made Gerard suffer if she’d just been in a different century where thumbscrews and the rack were considered appropriate basement accoutrements. She needed him cataloging tights and doublets, not indulging in hallucinations. She ungritted her teeth. “Where is the coward now?”
    “Nursing his nerves with a double-tall double-mocha latte down the street.”
    Victoria pursed her lips. Gerard wasn’t important; he was indispensable. If he wasn’t there to manage the costumes, she was sunk. She sighed. “Will he come back? Does he think,” and she could hardly say the words, “that just the room is haunted? Or is it that just the costumes themselves are . . . um . . .”
    “Possessed?”
    “Something like that.”
    “He was screaming too loudly for me to tell.”
    “Then go ask him. Tell him I’ll pay him extra if he gets on that plane and plies his needle for the summer at Thorpewold Castle. Tell him we’re positive it’s the room and not the clothes. Tell him England doesn’t have any ghosts. Tell him anything to get him on the plane.”
    “Will do, boss.”
    “I don’t suppose he packed up everything before he saw what he thinks he saw, did he?”
    “Nope.”
    She paused. “What are you doing today?”
    “I’m on my way home. Marge has tuna casserole on for lunch.”
    Victoria squinted at the clock. “It’s too early for lunch.”
    “I need time to recover for rump roast tonight. It’ll leave us enough for leftovers tomorrow as my last meal in the States.”
    Victoria smiled in spite of herself. “Is she afraid you’ll starve this summer?”
    “She hasn’t heard good things about English cooking.”
    Victoria had eaten at Marge’s supper table more than once and suspected Fred would survive British fare well enough. “All right,” she said with a sigh, “I’ll catch a flight home this morning and do the packing myself.”
    “Boxes and tape await you. The moving boys will be here Monday morning to cart the stuff to the cargo flight.”
    “And the rest of the gear? Lights? Sound?”
    “It arrived in England two days ago. It’ll be delivered on Monday to the locations your brother set up.”
    “All right,” she said, surrendering. “I’ll see you next week at Thorpewold. Have a good flight. And make good notes of what you find at the castle. I don’t know that I trust my brother’s