Devil's Trap

III

When he arrived at Phoenix Theatre, he was in involuntary agreement with Claude. That marquee was difficult to miss. It was flashing in patterns around a colossal sign advertising an original play that was going up soon. He walked in through the gilded doors to the box office, his feeting sinking in just a little too deep in the stained red carpet.

The person in the ticket window was terribly unfriendly.

"Hello, I'm with the New York Police Department. I'm looking for a Stella Augustine?" he asked.

"There is a dress rehearsal in an hour. She's in her dressing room," the man in the box office said. Jack waited for him to continue. He didn't.

"May I see her?" he asked, trying to seem polite. "It's urgent, sir."

"That isn't possible, I'm afraid," he said blandly. Jack forced a quick smile.

"Can you just give her a message, then?" he asked. "Tell her that Claude Lawrence is looking for her."

"What about Mr. Lawrence?" said a voice behind him. Jack spun around, quickly taking off his fedora. Before him stood a girl, about his age, with cerise lips and rings of thick kohl around her eyes. She had a scarf wrapped around her neck, matching the cloche hat that was now hanging from her fingertips. "I didn't mean to intrude, I just..."

Jack cleared his throat. "It's all right, ma'am," he said. "You wouldn't happen to be Stella Augustine, would you?"

Her mouth curled into a gorgeous grin. "Actually, I am. May I help you?"

He nodded. "Claude Lawrence told me that you would remember him. We need your help in a case."

Stella raised her eyebrows. "I'm not sure how much help I can be to the bulls," she murmured. "I'm terribly busy, but if you want to talk to me while I prepare you're welcome to come with me."

He bobbed his head. "Of course."

Stella lead him down a spiral staircase that oscillated as they trekked beneath the building. All of the dressing rooms branched off of one hallway; Stella's was the one residing at the very end, the door open slightly ajar.

She threw open the door, spinning in the center of the room before lifting her arms in pride of her little apartment. "Home sweet home," she said, motioning for him to sit. "I have to change, but I'll listen if you chat about why you're here. There's some champagne on the vanity."

She grabbed a few articles of clothing and stepped behind a folding screen. Jack drummed his fingers on his knee. "Well, I came to ask you a favor on behalf of the police department," he began. "I work with the homicide unit, with your friend, Claude."

"You don't say..." she said, her voice suddenly losing color. "You're a detective?"

"Yes, I joined the force a few months ago."

"Please don't tell anyone about the champagne!" she whispered. "I can't lose this job."

Jack looked at the floor, confused. "Your secret is safe with me," he promised.

Stella sighed. "You seem awful young to be on the force. I didn't think you were such a big cheese when you first waltzed in here."

Jack just sat there with his mouth open, unsure of how to respond. Stella emerged from behind the divider, a corset around her waist over a blouse that exposed her shoulders. Burgundy lace underlined her collarbones as she gathered her petticoat in her hands. The most accurate way to describe the costume was demonic.

"Can you tie this for me?" she lifted her curls above the back of the corset, gesturing with a nod of her head to the laces. Jack awkwardly fumbled with the ribbon, not wanting to somehow suffocate her. "I'm still a little balled up over why you're here."

"There has been a string of homicides, the second one this morning, and we have a lead," he said, his thin fingers refusing to tie a bow over the top. "The only way we can get some information is to go in disguise and talk to a suspect. I was supposed to do it, because like you said, no one expects me to be with law enforcement."

"What does Mr. Lawrence have to do with anything?" she said, painting her lips with some more crimson stain. "Oh! Can you pass me the little kneeduster on that chair?"

She pointed to an old, upholstered chair with her left hand while she powdered her face with her right. Jack tossed it to her and continued. "Our supervisor doesn't want me to go alone. Claude thought you might be up for the challenge." He smiled timidly, half-hoping she would refuse the offer.

He wasn't so fortunate. "Of course!" she said, still staring into her mirror. "As soon as we finish this run I will head back to the police station."

Jack bowed his head, placing his hat back on. "Thank you very much, Miss Augustine."

"Wait! You're leaving?" she said, batting her eyelashes. "I was hoping you could stay and watch the show, and we could take a ten cent box back to the precinct. There seems to be a lot of background I'm going to need to know before going in." She chuckled lightly.

Jack looked at his feet, frowning. "I apologize, but I have a lot of work to do back-"

"Please, I insist," she said, beaming. "It isn't every day you get to horn in on such a ritzy little show."

Hesitantly, Jack nodded, taking his fedora off again. "If you insist, but I do have a lot of debriefing to share if we are going to wait until your rehearsal finishes."

"You're a true blue serge, you know." Stella cracked her knuckles and grabbed his hand. "The easiest way to the mezzanine is this way."

Jack followed her down another hall, his gait warily keeping up with hers. Stella looked back at him, lifting a corner of her mouth as she opened the door for him. The house was completely empty except for the director and his entourage in the front row.

"Thank you, Miss Augustine," he said quietly.

"Call me Stella." She brushed a loose curl behind her ear.

He smiled. "My name is Jack. Jack Winona."

They shook hands quickly before Stella ran off to the wings. Jack took a seat in the back row, again realizing how tired he was. If it weren't for the lights and loud orchestral accents, he would have passed out, his head thrown over the back of the decaying velvet folding chair.