“You poor kitty!” Alma wailed, holding the silver and black tabby tight in her arms.
Everyone rushed to the girl’s side. Stone glared at the rafters and shouted, “Whoever did this, get down here at once! You have a lot of explaining to do!”
Susannah stood next to Alma. She patted the round cat’s chubby cheeks. “This poor cat could’ve been killed,” she said, hoping Stone heard her.
“Who cares about the cat!” Stone bellowed. “The sandbag could have fallen on one of us! It could’ve broken a prop! What imbecile did this?”
“I’m sure the rope was rotted,” Salvatore, the tenor of the opera company, suggested. He shook his head, his black hair shining in the stage lights. “No one would deliberately do such a thing.”
Phillip leaped from the orchestra pit and rushed to Susannah. “He’s right, Susannah. Any one of you might have gotten hurt or killed.”
“But the only person in the sandbag’s path was this kitty,” Alma pointed out, nuzzling the cat’s fur. The cat remained still, its eyes wide.
“It’s almost as if the cat is shocked, too,” Susannah commented. She didn’t understand why the cat realizing the danger it had been in bothered her, but bother her it did.
“I don’t blame him!” one of the musicians shouted from the pit.
“Poor thing,” Susannah mumbled. Her eyes fell on the sandbag’s rope. Tilting her head, she bent toward the rope and picked it up. “Look, Phillip.”
Phillip, Stone, Alma, and a cluster of other people gathered around Susannah. In her hand, the end of the rope stuck out like a poisonous snake. The rope’s end was smooth. Someone had sliced it.
“Perhaps someone was trying to kill me!” Maria wailed, flinging an arm over her forehead. “Someone poisoned me in my own home. Logically, wouldn’t my place of work be next for the killer to strike?”
Phillip, glaring at Maria, sliced his hand through the air. “Will you stop that nonsense? This has nothing to do with your delusions,” he snapped.
Stone groaned. “Both of you, stop bickering. First the paint can, now this!” He ran a hand through his curly hair. “Who is responsible for these acts?” He glared at the opera company, his eyes roving over each person gathered on the stage.
A stagehand raised his hand. “I’ll climb up there and inspect the ropes,” he offered.
“Go,” Stone assented. He pointed at Phillip. “You go too, since you’re always acting like a boy scout.”
With a shrug, Phillip said, “Of course.” He nodded at Susannah before following the stagehand to the catwalks.
“You know who did this, don’t you?” Alma asked Susannah in a hushed voice.
Susannah raised an eyebrow. “Don’t tell me. The Phantom Cat?”
“Who else would want to hurt a kitty?” Alma demanded.
“Well, I don’t think a cat, even a ghost one, would understand that a sandbag could kill someone if it fell from that height. Besides, how would a ghost cat know how to cut a rope in two?” Susannah asked.
“Ghosts can do anything,” Alma insisted. The girl’s serious insistence about the Ghost Cat would have made Susannah laugh if the situation had been different. Drastically different.
Maria snapped her fingers in the girl’s face. Alma jumped, startled.
“Cut it out, you little brat. Ghosts are not to blame for this,” Maria hissed.
Susannah gently gripped Alma’s shoulders in an attempt to calm the girl. Taking a deep breath, Susannah said, “She’s anxious, Maria, like we all are.”
Maria narrowed her eyes at Susannah and opened her mouth to speak when a voice from above called, “There’s no one up here!”
Murmurs and gasps rippled through the crowd. One singer blanched.
Upon witnessing the distress in his company, Stone waved his hands, effectively silencing everyone. “All right, people. I think it’s a good idea for an early lunch,” he muttered. “Meet here in an hour.” He strode off the stage and out the door.
Susannah cupped her hands around her mouth and shouted to Phillip, “Are we still on for Dottie’s?”
Phillip replied, “Of course!”
Despite the recent events, Susannah smiled. She knew she could use a break from the strange happenings, and she figured Phillip could do the same.
From backstage, Stone's Persian cat appeared. Norb stared at the stray cat and meowed before disappearing behind the curtains.
The stray cat clawed its way out of Alma’s tight grip and ran, limping, after Stone’s cat.
Alma grimaced. “That stung,” she whimpered, rubbing the fresh scratches on her arms.
“He’s a stray, Alma. He’s not used to being held. I don’t think he meant to hurt you.” Susannah patted the girl’s shoulder. She knew cats had no understanding of causing pain or the gentleness of some humans, but Alma was a child and understandably upset by the cat accidently scratching her. Susannah added, “Those cats are probably up to their own little shenanigans in this huge place. Come on, I’ll help you clean up.” Susannah grabbed Alma’s hand and led her off the stage.
“I know you’re right about the cats.” Alma brightened. “Do you think they put on cat operas?”
“I bet they do,” Susannah said, swinging Alma’s hand in her own.
“Yes, I bet they do, too! Imagine—Cat Faust. Cat Rigoletto. Le Cat prophete. Madame Cat-erfly. Maybe they’re even doing The Dream Cat!” Alma prattled on about different cat operas.
Susannah chuckled. It was just the thing to get the little girl’s mind off ghost cats and painful scratches.