and leaned against the door behind them. Candy turned left, then right, trying to figure out what to do next, when she spotted another narrow staircase, heading up. “Not yet,” she said. “There must be another floor. Maybe we can get up to the roof and find a way down from there.”
“The roof?” The words practically exploded from Maggie. “Oh my God! I wish I still had my umbrella!”
The stairs led up to the control booth, a small, dingy workspace with sliding windows along the entire interior wall, overlooking the auditorium and stage below. A trio of ancient arc spotlights, sitting atop their three-legged stands, were spaced evenly across the room. Centered in front of the window were light and sound boards, and sitting on a table nearby was a fairly new laptop computer. Folding chairs, empty coffee cups and soda cans, abandoned jackets, and even a moldy old pair of sneakers were scattered about the room. A bank of lockers had been pushed up against one wall, and narrow shelves, overloaded with assorted equipment, hung from another.
Candy looked up. In the ceiling she saw a hatch, and leading up to it, a black-runged steel ladder, set into the back wall. “That’s where we’re going,” Candy said, dashing to the rungs and taking them quickly.
Maggie stood in the center of the room with a confused look on her face. “Where?”
“The widow’s walk.”
“But…”
Candy gave her a fierce look. “No buts. Bertha will be here any minute. Now come on!”
So Maggie went. It took Candy a few moments to figure out how to unlatch the hatch, but finally she threw it open, letting in wind and rain. Tilting her head down and squinting her eyes against the storm, she pushed up through the opening.
THIRTY-SEVEN
The widow’s walk of the Pruitt Opera House was a small, octagonal space, about six or eight feet across. Candy emerged into the middle of it and was immediately assailed by the raging wind, which carried with it the remnants of the storm that, for the most part, had passed over them. Though the dome over their heads sheltered them from the worst of the rain, the raw wind tore at her as she bent to help up Maggie, who complained the entire time. “I can’t believe you brought us up here,” she huffed as she planted her feet beneath her and stood unsteadily. “When I said I wanted to escape, this wasn’t what I had in mind.”
Candy barely heard her. She turned completely around, looking down over the waist-high stone walls of the widow’s walk, down at the sloping slate roof, slick with rain, and down over the side of the building to the ground far below. “Whoa. I didn’t realize we’d be up so high.”
“How are we going to get down?” Maggie whined, looking out over the roof. “I don’t see a ladder or anything.”
Candy felt her stomach tighten. “I don’t know but…”
That’s when she caught movement out of the corner of her eye… and turned to see Bertha emerging from the hatch behind them.
In one hand Bertha held the gun, wielding it like a spatula at a church social dinner. With the other hand she pulled herself up into the widow’s walk, grunting just a bit, all the while keeping a wary eye on Candy and Maggie.
For one wild moment Candy was tempted to dash forward to try to kick the gun from Bertha’s hand, as she had seen done so often in the movies and on TV. But this wasn’t a movie, she quickly reminded herself, and she knew she couldn’t move faster than a bullet. So she and Maggie backed away, to the far side of the widow’s walk, as Bertha stood on shaky legs.
She was huffing heavily. It was clear the chase through the opera house had winded her. But she looked no less angry. If anything, she looked more furious than before. She was seething, literally shaking with fury.
“That was a stupid,
Candy and Maggie both yelped and shut their eyes as Bertha pushed the gun toward them, about to fire, but she was distracted by a shout.
“Hey! You there, up on the roof!”
The words were carried oddly by the wind, and for a moment none of them knew from which direction the shout had come. Candy opened her eyes and looked around desperately. It took her a few moments, but she finally spotted a figure on the street below. It was a man, dressed in black, standing under a street lamp. He was waving his hands frantically, as if to catch their attention, and shouted again. “What’s going on up there? Is everyone okay?”
Candy knew instantly who it was-Judicious F. P. Bosworth, the town’s sometimes-invisible mystic, who obviously was being seen on this stormy night. She waved back at him, leaning into the side railing and shouting at the top her lungs: “Judicious! Help us!”
“Shut up!” Bertha yelled, turning the gun first toward Judicious, then back to Candy and Maggie. “Shut up!”
“Are you all right?” Judicious called up to them.
Candy jumped up and down frantically. “No! Get help!”
Caught out in the open, and apparently thinking it would be better to get rid of any witnesses first, Bertha swerved, took aim at Judicious, and fired once, twice, just as a car came up Ocean Avenue, its headlights cutting into the darkness. Just before the car reached Judicious, it swerved and bounded up on the sidewalk, its horn blaring… and that’s when Candy saw something she would never forget for the rest of her life.
Maggie, crouched over like a football player, lunged forward with her shoulders lowered. She covered the space between them and Bertha in an instant, tackling Bertha around the waist. They slammed back against the railing on the far side, both of them grunting. The impact knocked the gun from Bertha’s hand. It flew over the side of the widow’s walk and clattered down the roof, falling over the edge into darkness.
Bertha was stunned momentarily but quickly regained her senses. She wrapped her arms around Maggie’s head and squeezed tight. The two of them fell to the floor in a tangle of arms and legs, kicking and punching.
For a moment Candy was stunned. Maggie? Tackling Bertha? She was sure that hadn’t just happened. She turned to look back down at the street. Judicious had disappeared, but the car door opened and Ben spilled out, looking up at her on the widow’s walk. She waved to him, screamed for help, then looked back at Maggie and Bertha.
They were still fighting, and she realized with a jolt that her friend needed her. She crossed the space in a near dive, landed on her knees beside Bertha, and wrapped her hands around the chairwoman’s thick arms. But rather than being big and flabby, they were strong and muscular. She hadn’t known Bertha had been working out, and was impressed as well as surprised. It was like wrestling with a python, she thought vaguely as she tried to pull Bertha off her friend.
They struggled for a few moments until, temporarily able to free herself, Maggie pulled away. Her hair was a terrible fright, her face red and distorted. Bertha kicked out at her while pushing herself back against Candy, and twisting, she turned her attention from one of her attackers to the other. Her eyes were red with fury as she reached out with thick fingers, wrapping them around Candy’s throat. She hooked her legs around Candy’s, then pushed her back and rolled onto her, pinning her to the floor.
Candy felt the panic rise inside her as Bertha leaned close, breathing into her face. “I waited too long to do this,” she snarled, tightening her fingers. “You’ve meddled in my life for the last time.”
Candy clawed at Bertha’s fingers, trying to break their grasp on her neck, but it seemed an impossible task. She saw spots in her eyes, felt rain pelting her face and fire in her lungs. Panicking, she tried to kick up with her knees, to push Bertha off, but it was like trying to free herself from the grasp of a bear. She felt her air being cut off and let out a raspy breath, her eyes rolling back into her head.
And then she saw another arm move across her face and tighten around Bertha’s neck. Suddenly Bertha was pulled back, off her. Candy sucked in a deep breath. She rolled to her side, rubbing at her throat, trying to get her
