that must have run half the length of the house over their heads. It was cozy, with narrow horizontal windows along the top of the cinder block walls peeking out over ground level to let sunlight in, wall to wall carpeting, and a short set of steps at the other end leading up to metal hatchway doors like cellars sometimes had.
And along the walls were dozens of framed newspaper articles.
Belinda looked at several of them in turn, her face taking on the look of a woman viewing masterpiece paintings in a museum. "Dominic made this space for me, so that I would never forget him. He loved me so. I loved him, too." A tear ran down her cheek. "I miss him. So much."
Darcy and Jon read some of the clippings, all of them from different newspapers, with dates carefully written in a strong hand in the lower right corner of their colored paper backings. They were reviews of different Broadway musicals. Some of the titles Darcy recognized, and some of them she didn't. But all of them had to do with the same Broadway actor. Dominic Franco.
Belinda's treasures.
"Did you know he was a Broadway star?" Jon asked in a hushed whisper.
"I had no idea." Darcy noticed that the reviews were all positive, some of them comparing Dominic to Walter Matthau and Laurence Oliver. His turn as the lead in Phantom of the Opera was referred to as the "standard by which all other performances would be forever judged" in one. It was a very impressive trip down someone else's memory lane. Who knew they'd had a celebrity living right here with them in Misty Hollow?
"How much do Broadway actors get paid?" Jon asked, a little too loudly.
"Oh, enough to get by," Belinda answered, turning from a full page ad for Les Miserables. "We met when he was just coming to the attention of the right people. His Bella Linda . That's what he called me back then. I loved him for who he was, of course, not for his paychecks. After he retired he had some royalties coming in, for a while. Those have mostly dried up by now. No, my Dominic was an extremely talented man but he was never going to be rich."
Darcy had to wonder. Movie actors lived in luxury, at least the most famous ones did, but what about Broadway actors? Maybe there really was more money than Belinda knew about.
"Have you felt anything?" Jon asked. There was no need for him to explain what he was talking about.
"No," she answered. She had tried again today, but if there was a ghostly presence in this house she couldn't sense it. "I don't know—"
"Oh, my," Belinda said now, her voice dismayed. "However did this happen?"
She was looking at one particular article, the yellowed paper ripped in the middle, nearly from side to side. "This doesn't even belong in this frame. It belongs in that one, and that one belongs in here."
The two frames were side by side, but it was obvious that the long, narrow one had the wrong newspaper clipping in it. The article barely fit, crumpled at the bottom where someone—obviously not Belinda—had shoved it in behind the glass.
Now who would have switched those articles, Darcy wondered. More importantly, why?
"Oh, I know." Belinda smiled suddenly, nodding her head. "My Dominic has been playing his tricks."
Darcy wasn't so sure. Piling books up into teetering stacks was one thing. It seemed a little beyond the scope of what even a poltergeist was capable of to expect that Dominic had come down here in spirit form, taken the frames down, removed the articles, swapped them, and then put the frames back together and up on the wall.
So, if it wasn't a ghost, and wasn't Belinda, then who had switched the articles in their frames?
"Belinda," Darcy asked as a thought suddenly occurred to her, "who built that hidden door for you? Do you remember?"
"Oh, certainly." She nodded, but then scrunched her brows in thought. "I've used the same people for different things since then. A contracting company
And along the walls were dozens of framed newspaper articles.
Belinda looked at several of them in turn, her face taking on the look of a woman viewing masterpiece paintings in a museum. "Dominic made this space for me, so that I would never forget him. He loved me so. I loved him, too." A tear ran down her cheek. "I miss him. So much."
Darcy and Jon read some of the clippings, all of them from different newspapers, with dates carefully written in a strong hand in the lower right corner of their colored paper backings. They were reviews of different Broadway musicals. Some of the titles Darcy recognized, and some of them she didn't. But all of them had to do with the same Broadway actor. Dominic Franco.
Belinda's treasures.
"Did you know he was a Broadway star?" Jon asked in a hushed whisper.
"I had no idea." Darcy noticed that the reviews were all positive, some of them comparing Dominic to Walter Matthau and Laurence Oliver. His turn as the lead in Phantom of the Opera was referred to as the "standard by which all other performances would be forever judged" in one. It was a very impressive trip down someone else's memory lane. Who knew they'd had a celebrity living right here with them in Misty Hollow?
"How much do Broadway actors get paid?" Jon asked, a little too loudly.
"Oh, enough to get by," Belinda answered, turning from a full page ad for Les Miserables. "We met when he was just coming to the attention of the right people. His Bella Linda . That's what he called me back then. I loved him for who he was, of course, not for his paychecks. After he retired he had some royalties coming in, for a while. Those have mostly dried up by now. No, my Dominic was an extremely talented man but he was never going to be rich."
Darcy had to wonder. Movie actors lived in luxury, at least the most famous ones did, but what about Broadway actors? Maybe there really was more money than Belinda knew about.
"Have you felt anything?" Jon asked. There was no need for him to explain what he was talking about.
"No," she answered. She had tried again today, but if there was a ghostly presence in this house she couldn't sense it. "I don't know—"
"Oh, my," Belinda said now, her voice dismayed. "However did this happen?"
She was looking at one particular article, the yellowed paper ripped in the middle, nearly from side to side. "This doesn't even belong in this frame. It belongs in that one, and that one belongs in here."
The two frames were side by side, but it was obvious that the long, narrow one had the wrong newspaper clipping in it. The article barely fit, crumpled at the bottom where someone—obviously not Belinda—had shoved it in behind the glass.
Now who would have switched those articles, Darcy wondered. More importantly, why?
"Oh, I know." Belinda smiled suddenly, nodding her head. "My Dominic has been playing his tricks."
Darcy wasn't so sure. Piling books up into teetering stacks was one thing. It seemed a little beyond the scope of what even a poltergeist was capable of to expect that Dominic had come down here in spirit form, taken the frames down, removed the articles, swapped them, and then put the frames back together and up on the wall.
So, if it wasn't a ghost, and wasn't Belinda, then who had switched the articles in their frames?
"Belinda," Darcy asked as a thought suddenly occurred to her, "who built that hidden door for you? Do you remember?"
"Oh, certainly." She nodded, but then scrunched her brows in thought. "I've used the same people for different things since then. A contracting company
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