The Saddle Creek Series 5-Book Bundle. Shelley Peterson

      “A long time. I’m not wearing my watch, but I’d guess half an hour.”

      “She should have waited for us,” muttered Bains darkly.

      “Abby,” requested Milo firmly, “you stay in the car. Don’t leave under any circumstances. And keep the doors locked. You hear?”

      Abby nodded. She felt a chill go through her body. “You think something’s happened to Mrs. James, don’t you?”

      The officers looked at each other. Milo spoke. “We’ll look after this, Abby. Just stay put so we don’t have to worry about you.”

      Abby could hardly sit still, but she stayed in the car, watching the path. Her eye caught Cody’s tail as it rose above the roadside weeds. His inquiring face popped up to look at her.

      Abby tried to open the window to reassure her coyote, but the car was off and the electric windows wouldn’t budge. She opened the door just a crack.

      Scraping sounds filled her ears. And sounds of rocks hitting metal. Shovelling noises, Abby deduced. What was happening?

      One little peek couldn’t hurt, Abby reasoned, as she got out of the cruiser. Followed by Cody, Abby tiptoed into the woods along the path.

      It was almost seven o’clock. Auditions were about to start at the Wick barn, now officially called The Stonewick Playhouse.

      Joy Featherstone and Robert Wick had completely transformed the theatre. The old, decrepit barn looked remarkable. The auditorium had been scrubbed clean. The walls were painted three shades of mossy green; the walls darkest, the wainscotting highlighted, and the trim the lightest. The chairs had been fixed and re-covered in a durable velvet of deep plum. A grand new purple curtain hung across the proscenium arch, sweeping the newly sanded and polished stage floor. The original sconces and overhead lights had been touched up and rewired, retaining the romantic atmosphere of old, and the rusted stage lights had been replaced by modern ones, all hooked into a state-of-the-art computerized lighting board. The smells of cut lumber, fresh paint, and new fabric intermingled with the exciting aromas of adrenalin and greasepaint.

      Joy and Robert had set up a station for themselves four rows from the front of the stage in the centre of the auditorium. A little table with a light sat over the two seats in front to facilitate their note-taking, and their seats had been raised to a level where they could comfortably use the table. On the stage, the organist of the Inglewood Church sat ready at a grand piano to accompany anyone who wished his services. Sitting along the outside seats were dozens of nervous-looking people, all waiting for their turn to audition.

      Among those people sat Lucy, saving the seat beside her. Every few minutes she looked around, studying the entrances. She hoped that Abby would show up soon, but she already felt a little better. Her spirits had lifted as she studied the crowd, for over there, near the back, were Sam and Leslie Morris. And there was Annie Payne sitting with Pam Masters. Even Leo Rodrigues and his mother had shown up. Everyone was coming to audition for the new playhouse.

      All these people, and how many parts? Suddenly, Lucy felt deflated. She didn’t have a chance. She thought over what she’d decided to do. She was going to sing her favourite nursery song “The Three Bears” because she remembered all the words, and recite “The Tyger” by William Blake, a poem she’d learned for school. But even though she’d been quite confident of her choices before coming, they seemed more and more inappropriate. Lucy wanted to get up and leave before she embarrassed herself beyond salvage. “Tyger! Tyger! burning bright, In the forests of the night . . .” The more she thought about the movements she’d rehearsed to go with it, the more demoralized she became. She’d never acted before. She’d never even auditioned before. For sure she’d be terrible. Lucy stood up to go.

      A bluish-grey glow three seats away caught her eye. Could it be Abby’s ghost? she wondered. Goosebumps prickled her arms. It must be. He’s really real. She wasn’t making it up!

      Lucy looked at the people around her. Nobody seemed to notice the odd light but her. He showed himself to me. She thought for a moment. He wanted me to see him. He must want me to stay! She looked back at the ghost. He was gone. She shivered, but resolved to do her audition. She would forget about the live people watching. She’d play to Abby’s ghost.

      The auditions began at seven o’clock sharp. Everyone hushed when Robert Wick stood up, and their eyes followed him anxiously as he strode onto the stage. The great hall was silent. Mr. Wick began to speak, tones mellow and full, words carrying easily to the back of the house.

      “Welcome to the first auditions of The Stonewick Playhouse. Let me introduce you first to my friend and theatre partner, Mrs. Joy Featherstone.” Joy stood and smiled graciously. Her presence was somehow reassuring, calming the fears of a good many people.

      “My name is Robert Wick, and tonight we’ll have some fun. Intentionally, we called the auditions with little warning. We didn’t want to give you time to get yourselves into a stew.” Everybody laughed. “Relax, and remember, you’re all in the same boat. Tonight we want to see you and figure out how to use your particular talent, which, we have no doubt, will astonish us.” Again, the entire auditorium laughed, perhaps a little over-enthusiastically. “Let us begin. We want everyone here to get a part.” He looked down at his notes. “Please take the stage, Mr. Ed Scaff.”

      As a short, roly-poly man with very little hair and a smile from ear to ear sprinted up the steps to the stage, Lucy assumed that Abby had chickened out. It wasn’t like her, though, to promise to come and not turn up. Lucy was disappointed. She took a deep breath to curb her nerves, remembered the ghost for good luck, and waited for her turn. Resting his bruised body in his favourite chair, Samuel Owens barked his orders. “Run! Don’t dawdle, you ungrateful wretch! When I say I want more ice in my scotch, I want it now!” Walter was back in the den with ice in a small crystal bucket before Owens had finished his tirade. Using silver tongs, he dropped three cubes into the cut-glass tumbler and watched anxiously to see if Owens wanted more.

      “Take it out! Two cubes only! You are such an idiot, Walter. Get me another scotch. I can’t drink this.”

      The telephone beside Owens’ chair rang. Walter rushed to answer it.

      “Get out, Walter! Don’t touch my phone!” Reaching to answer it, Owens groaned. His ribs hurt every time he moved. That cursed horse, he thought, remembering the impact of Dancer’s hooves.

      “Owens here,” he growled into the mouthpiece.

      “Payment’s due. Look outside your window.”

      Owens turned his head sharply to see the figure of a stocky man, facing him with a cell phone at his ear.

      “Payment in cash, or I don’t leave.”

      “I need proof that the hole is filled. I want no trace left.”

      “Go look, then.”

      “Okay, okay,” Owens grumbled, flinching at the prospect of moving his aching body from his chair. “I’ll trust you this time. I’ll want you for another job soon. Wait one minute.” Owens put down the receiver. “Walter! Get in here!”

      At the hole, Abby hid behind a thick maple tree and watched breathlessly. Secured to a big sugar maple tree were two men with resentful eyes. Milo Murski and John Bains had removed their police uniform shirts and were digging furiously. Their heads were visible above the ground, and Abby watched as shovelsful of earth flew over the lip.

      “We didn’t know anyone was down there!” yelled one of the handcuffed men.

      “Tell it to the judge,” snapped John Bains.

      “We’re here, Christine. Don’t try to move yet. Take small breaths. You’ll be all right.” Milo spoke steadily in a calm voice.

      Mrs. James? Is she down there? Abby was alarmed.

      “Okay, John. I think we’re ready. Easy now.”

      Christine