“Come on. Why are we waiting out here? This is not how I like to spend my Friday nights. It’s not even how I would spend my Saturday days.” Nathan groaned. “Same with the boring venture we went on yesterday to the Halifax Museum, and that stupid visit to the Citadel Clock the day before, and then to the pier the day before that. What are we, tourists?”
Liam held back his own groan. If he could get out of spending time with the redheaded emo, he would. But there wasn’t another Van Helsburg in the vicinity.
Rotten garbage stung Liam’s nose, and he craned his neck, searching for fresh air. “Your father loved this theater. Did he ever tell you anything… interesting about it?”
“I told you, like the last ten times you asked, no.” Nathan kicked another can. “I don’t talk about my father. If your friend isn’t here in five minutes, I’m out.”
Liam sighed. Where was Thomas? The thickheaded Scot should’ve been here by now. His job was building scenery, and the stage crew was likely finished for the evening.
Hopefully the new prank tonight would work. If tonight’s expedition failed and the fake stunt didn’t bond Nathan to Liam—enough for him to spill his family secrets—then he’d have to find another way to gain Nathan’s trust. Liam didn’t have time to build a friendship the old-fashioned way.
Recollections of him and Thomas running amuck together in the theater made Liam’s lips twitch. All the endless practical jokes he and his best friend used to play on the cast members were some of his best memories. He’d never forget the time he and Thomas superglued the hotheaded Spaniard’s sword to his hand during Don Quixote. After the fight scene, Don was forced to carry the sword around for the rest of the play, which was a disaster when he was supposed to “lay down his arms.” Don was so mad, he refused to show up for curtain call.
Liam still didn’t know the Spaniard’s real name. He had always just called him Don—or Quixote.
Raindrops continued to sprinkle down, dusting the top of Liam’s coat. Clouds lumbered over the gloomy sky, moving in and out of the moonlight.
“Do you remember…” Liam cleared his throat. “…all the strange events that happened at the theater when you were a kid?”
“You mean when we were kids?” Nathan gave him a dirty look. “Yeah, I remember you acting all hoity-toity in your social circles. And me, playing hide-and-go-seek in the theater alone. But sure, I remember. Meg and I—” He broke off and looked out in front of him, his eyes glazed over in memory. “I didn’t live at the theater then, but I was around enough because Dad practically lived there.
“I was young, but I remember all the crazy things that happened during both the ballet and theater productions. Blood on the dressing room walls. Ballerinas locked inside closets. Laughter heard down the halls even though no one was there.
“And then all the deaths, of course. Only men were killed… not women...” His face turned a sickly pallor and he tugged on his t-shirt. “Men… like… my father. Because of the…” Nathan paused and swallowed.
“Bridegroom Killer,” Liam offered.
“Yeah.” Nathan blew out a breath, white fog in the chilled air. “Dad said it’s why the old owners left. He was shocked your parents bought the theater. Thought it was a wasted investment. After all the bad press, who would take on such a”—he lifted his fingers into air quotes—“‘doomed venture?’”
Liam nodded. His heart ached at the memory of Stewart Van Helsburg.
“Your father… he knew the directors before my parents took over?”
Nathan blinked, like he’d just woken up from a dream. His eyes narrowed. “I thought I told you I don’t talk about my father!”
They were silent, staring at each other, until footsteps clicked down the street. A slight figure moved toward the two men.
Nathan made a disgusted face, though he was clearly grateful for the interruption. “Oh, great. You better brace yourself.”
At first, Liam thought the figure was Thomas. But judging from the slim stature, turned-out walk, and long legs, she was a dancer. In the past, he would have been a slave to that kind of beauty, but now he was too exhausted to harbor thoughts of women.
“Liam,” the girl said, bounding up to him, her blonde curls almost white in the moonlight. “May I call you Liam? Director Reynolds seems too formal.” She flashed him a large smile. “I’ve heard rumors about you. Heard you were going to turn this theater around. Heard you were taking your parents’ position as director. Heard you were our… savior.” She looped an arm through his. “I’m Charlotte, the principal at the ballet company. I’m sure you’ve already heard of me.”
Nathan snorted. “Heard you whining.”
Charlotte shot Nathan a glare. “And I’ve heard you rumbling around outside emptying the trash.”
The freckles stood out on Nathan’s skin.
“Right,” Liam said, his face unaffected, unhooking his arm from hers. “It’ll be great to see what you can do in class tomorrow. Have a good night, Cheryl.”
Charlotte’s cheeks reddened in the dim light. “I was wondering if the fall performance was still on schedule. We’ve been rehearsing Giselle, and of course I’m the title role. I think you’ll be quite impressed with the mad scene right before Giselle dies. My acting skills are impeccable.”
“I’m sure. If you’ll excuse us.”
“You studied with the Bolshoi ballerinas, correct?” Charlotte asked quickly.
“Not ballet. I studied at their school for the arts. Piano performance and composition. But I know enough.”
“Oooh. A composer. Perhaps you can write me a song.”
Liam squinted, eyes fixed across the street. He’d dated enough ballerinas to know she was only using his status to further her own gain. Sure, they were entertaining for a day or two, and he’d often used his widely-known name to secure some hot dates, but none of the ballerinas had ever understood him. Had never truly “got” him. His playboy days back in Russia were over. He didn’t have time for distractions, blonde curls or no.
Thomas cleared his throat from across the street, his kilt swaying in the breeze.
Finally.
“Right. Good,” Liam said, patting Charlotte on the head. “If you’ll excuse us.”
Nathan barked out a laugh. He tried to pat Charlotte on the head too, but she dodged his touch and swatted his hand away. The two stepped off the sidewalk.
“Dude, I’ve never seen anyone blow off Charlotte like that. It’s about time. Her ego is as big as her flared nostrils.”
Liam raised an amused brow at Nathan. Maybe Nathan wasn’t as bad as he’d originally thought. Sure, he’d done nothing but complain all week, but he had a good head on his shoulders—at least as far as girls were concerned. All his pals back in Moscow would have been drooling over Charlotte, regardless of her horrid temperament. Maybe there was more to Nathan than he thought. Maybe he ought to give Nathan more time before resorting to this prank to gain his trust.
He eyed the boy, then shook his head. No, he needed to continue with the plan. Time was running out.