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presence. Not an audience, but some specific person. Maybe the vibrations of the dead Mr. Phelps.…
    â€œAccident,” she murmured. “Not the right word. So hard to find just the right word. Incident . One of our actors already left because of an incident .…”
    â€œFrank Hodges,” said Spraggue. Either Darien had been less discreet than he’d claimed or—
    â€œAnd I hardly think Greg was amused by that incident today. I was terrified.”
    She seemed more entranced than terrified now, thought Spraggue. “Have there been any other ‘incidents,’ Deirdre?” he said.
    She smiled. “Nothing to fuss about. I mean, it wasn’t voodoo or anything. No hair, no nail clippings—”
    â€œYou’ve lost me.”
    â€œThe doll in my hotel room. I think Gina got one, too.”
    At least someone called the blonde “Gina.”
    â€œIt was in my bed,” she continued. “Almost three weeks ago. Maybe the second or third day of rehearsal. Sit down and I’ll tell you about it. I haven’t told the others.”
    â€œWhy not?”
    â€œIt wasn’t funny enough to be a joke or scary enough to be a threat. It was just odd.… And there was never the right moment, you know. You need a mood for a tale like this one.…”
    â€œAn empty theater at night?”
    â€œExactly.” She settled back in the chair, ready to begin. How much truth will I get, wondered Spraggue. How much embroidery?
    â€œI’d gone out to eat after rehearsal, so I didn’t get home until nine. It wouldn’t have scared me at all if I’d come home before dark.”
    â€œYes?” Spraggue said. Deirdre seemed to have forgotten all about him. Was she really an actress or had Darien recruited her for the part out of a local coven?
    â€œThe light was out. I turned the switch but nothing happened. Do you know the Emory Hotel?”
    â€œNo.”
    â€œIt’s cheap. I was sorry to leave. At the Emory, broken light switches are de rigueur . I tried the lamp in the corner. That was dead, too. At least the two lower bulbs were dead. The third bulb was different. Someone had rigged it all up, with a baffle and a theatrical gel—midnight blue. It was shining on the doll in my bed.”
    She paused. “There was a resemblance. The doll had long dark hair, a pale complexion. But she also had a two-inch gap between her head and her body.”
    Decapitation. Nice little fixation for our prankster to have, thought Spraggue. The bat, Greg’s mask, now beheaded dolls. “You changed hotels.” he said.
    â€œYes.”
    â€œWas there anything else about the doll that frightened you?”
    â€œThe head was stuffed with garlic. There were two small marks on the neck, white with red centers, just like in the script. A trickle of blood from the mouth. Fake, like today.… Oh, and the doll was in a rather immodest position, dress hiked, legs spread, and anatomical details added with great care.… There was a little piece of paper stuck to the doll’s breast with a toothpick type of thing. A stake right through the heart.”
    â€œAnything on the paper?”
    â€œJust numbers, I think. Three or four different numbers. Not even threes and sevens and mystical numbers. Just regular numbers.”
    â€œA phone number, maybe? Did you save it?”
    â€œNo.” She was definite about that. “Not enough numbers.” She looked up. The story was finished. “What time is it?”
    â€œNine-fifteen. Are you late?”
    â€œI suppose. I never wear a watch. Time is so intrusive, you know. But I like to be in bed before midnight and I do an hour of yoga before I sleep. My cat howls if I don’t feed him on time. I’d better go. And I don’t think you should stay here all alone.”
    â€œIf you can—” Spraggue began.
    â€œBut I’m not at all afraid of ghosts, Michael