‘Darn it,’ hissed Ruby. As she turned to leave, she spotted a whole stack of fish heads, giant ones. The fish heads were made from papier-mâché. Ruby recognised them; she knew the movie they came from, she had watched it over and over again squished in next to Mrs Digby on her settee. She had been just three when she first saw The Sea of Fish Devils.
Ruby picked up one of the heads and examined it. Worth a try, I guess. She pulled it down over her head so her face was totally hidden – she could see out all right but no one could see in. It was uncomfortable but it was bearable. She checked the rack of costumes and found what she was looking for. Pulling it from its hanger she wriggled into one of the fish tails. There was no telling who she actually was now. She was just a short Fish Devil. She opened the door and this time the woman ushered her in.
‘About time! Where’s the rest of your shoal?’
Ruby shrugged.
‘No one’s a professional any more,’ said the asymmetric woman, shaking her head. She looked more closely at the fish in front of her. ‘Kinda small, aren’t you? Your fins are dragging.’
The fish shrugged but said nothing. Then it indicated that it needed to go to the bathroom, the woman rolled her eyes and said, ‘OK, but make it snappy Bubbles.’
As Ruby threaded her way between the rails of costumes and boxes full of props and accessories, she overheard one of the models talking to the host. ‘I swear, one minute they were totally there and, like, the next, you know, gone – weird, right? Only I swear I felt something – like air moving past me. A breeze, you know?’ She sighed. ‘Not that it matters, I could never have modelled them anyway.’ She looked down at her feet. ‘No chance of squeezing these size 9s into those teeny tiny shoes – that Margo Bardem must have pixie feet.’
Ruby slipped out of the side door into the labyrinth of passageways. She shed her fish ensemble and tiptoed along the various backstage corridors. She had no real idea where she was headed but she followed the voices – they were coming from high up in the pagoda. Ruby had once been told that there was a strongroom up top there, built long ago for a famously difficult actress who insisted on having a dressing room at the very top of the building and insisted that her valuables be locked safely away in the room next door while she performed on stage.
As Ruby climbed the next set of stairs, the voices became louder. Using the extendable mirror that was one of the many attachments belonging to the Escape Watch, she managed to peep round the wall. Two guards were explaining to the show organiser how they had not moved one inch from the door of the room that contained prop 53.
‘Not only did we not move one inch from the place I am standing right now,’ insisted one of the guards, ‘but no one even so much as touched the handle of that door, let alone walked inside, at least not until the stagehand came to collect ’em.’
‘That’s right,’ said the other guy, ‘everything Stan says is exactly what happened – until you unlocked that door, no one went in.’
‘So you want me to believe that you’ve been standing here the whole time?’
‘Look lady, I don’t want you to believe nothing. I’m telling you, me and Al never moved an inch from where we are stood now.’
‘Not an inch,’ confirmed Al. ‘Everything’s been ship-shape and exactly as it should be, so far as we’re concerned.’ Al picked up a little piece of paper from the floor as if to illustrate his point. ‘Everything in the right place.’ He tucked it into his pocket. ‘Ship-shape, see.’
‘So prop 53 was just spirited away? Is that what you’re saying?’
‘It’s the only explanation,’ said Al, ‘and I don’t mind telling you, as of today, I’m never working here again. This place is haunted – no two ways about it. When your stagehand guy came up to fetch your so-called prop 53, I felt the weirdest sensation, like someone brushed right by me. So as of tomorrow lady, you can find another security guard for your grand finale premiere shindig.’
The woman shook her head, as if she couldn’t believe what she was hearing. But despite her protests Stan and Al were not to be persuaded otherwise.
‘Ghosts or no ghosts,’ she said, ‘could you at least assure me that all exits have security on them? No one – and I repeat, no one – costumed or otherwise, is to leave this building without being checked for stolen items!’ She turned to leave and then added, ‘And that includes me!’
The security guy nodded. ‘Affirmative,’ he said, ‘no one leaves without our clearance.’
If this was true, thought Ruby, then the thief was very possibly still somewhere in the building, lurking, waiting for his chance to escape. But how was he going to do that? She looked around.
Via a window? she thought.
She ran back down the stairs. There were no windows on the ground floor and the windows on the stairway did not open and there were no missing or broken panes of glass. No way out. She started down the corridor back towards front of stage.
It was when she rounded the next corner that she thought she heard something, something a little like soft movements. Coulda been a mouse. . . or a rat. She shivered. Pull it together Redfort.
By the time Ruby made it back to her seat the show was just wrapping up. The raffle had been drawn, the pledges of financial support all collected and now it was the showstopper finish – atmospheric lights, sinister sound effects, and a parade of the monstrous and villainous were playing out on the stage, complete with a shoal of Fish Devils.
Ruby tried to appreciate it all, but she was understandably distracted by what she had overheard. As the last outrageous costume left the stage, the theatre broke into applause.
Few of the audience seemed to have been bothered by the non-appearance of prop 53, there was so much else to look at. Sabina Redfort, however, was very disappointed.
‘Where do you think they got to? I thought they were supposed to be one of the highlights of the evening?’
‘I’m sure they were there,’ said Brant, ‘you probably just missed them.’
‘I don’t think I would just miss the Little Yellow Shoes Brant, get real,’ said Sabina.
‘Well,’ said Brant, ‘don’t be too disappointed – don’t forget, you did win the Ada Borland prize.’
‘Oh yes!’ cried Sabina. ‘Ruby, I won the raffle and you, you lucky kid, are going to have your portrait taken by the great Ada Borland!’
Ruby didn’t feel so lucky – she was never too thrilled about smiling for the camera. It was usually a very boring activity. But what she said was, ‘Super.’
‘You had lady luck on your side,’ said Brant.
‘Well,’ said Sabina, ‘I cut the odds a little. I did purchase a hundred and twenty-two tickets.’
The Redforts, carried by the tide, spilled out onto the street with most of the other theatre-goers. Brant glanced up at the old building. ‘Looking at it, you can’t help kind of believing this old place might just be haunted.’ He winked at Barbara Bartholomew. ‘Kind of exciting isn’t it Barb.’
Barbara gave an involuntary shiver. ‘Gives me the creeps,’ she said.
Ruby said nothing the whole journey home. Her brain was trying to make connections and bring a little logic into the evening’s events. She listened to her parents’ conversation but they spoke of nothing more interesting than their appreciation of the canapés and concern that the valet parking was understaffed – they seemed to have forgotten about the Little Yellow Shoes already.
Ruby took a juice from the refrigerator, bid her parents goodnight and climbed the stairs to