appointment that had left her realtor free), Vivien was on her way to the theater—her theater.
She could finally go inside, knowing it was hers. She had seen it twice during the buying process, which had taken over five months, because although she was determined, she wasn’t foolish enough to waste the money Gran had left her, and she’d negotiated the crap out of the deal.
But she’d always been with someone when inside. Never alone.
Never just her…and Liv.
The Wicks Hollow Stage had struggled with a few short-lived seasons in the late 1980s into 1990 before being shuttered permanently. Prior to that, it had been quite successful in turns as a vaudeville theater, a venue for silent films with an orchestra pit for live music accompaniment, and then the talkies that came out in the 1930s. But eventually, the old building had been abandoned sometime during the Second World War.
Whoever reopened it in the eighties had done a stellar job of updating and restoring the place, so fortunately for Vivien, she mainly had to clean it up and fix a few damaged areas, as well as update the lighting system and install new seats in the house. Her loan (she squealed happily inside) would more than cover those improvements, and she wouldn’t have to dip into her savings…which meant she might even be able to buy a house next year.
It was a short drive to the six-hundred-seat theater she intended to make a tourist destination during every season—not just the summer. She suspected part of the reason it hadn’t been successful in the past was because it wasn’t in the downtown area, nor was it near Lake Michigan—both locations being the main draws for tourists. Instead, it was on a residential side street that ended in a cul-de-sac just off the two-lane state route that angled led outside of Wicks Hollow to Wicks Lake.
The location didn’t worry her; it was only two miles from town, and tourists drove to and from activities in the area all the time. And Vivien didn’t have a solid track record in publicity and advertising for nothing. The bank agreed: Wicks Hollow needed a live entertainment venue other than the small outdoor music stage and a movie theater ten miles away.
And now, Vivien thought as she pulled into the side parking lot of the Olivia Dee Theater, she was going to make it happen.
The original red velvet seats had long decayed and been removed, but Vivien would replace the rows of folding wooden seats from three decades ago with something like the original. The interior was dusty, dark, and very dingy, but there wasn’t any indication of leaks or mold. The stage itself remained solid, and the catwalk above was stable and would be usable, with little need for repair.
However, the traditional red velvet curtains were a tattered mess (and would be the first thing Vivien would tear away once she got inside), and the dressing rooms and costume wardrobes needed a lot of work. She’d already ordered two fifty-yard Dumpsters to be placed in the parking lot, and they should arrive tomorrow. She’d have her work cut out for her, filling them up.
Vivien let herself in through the front door, the main entrance the theatergoers would be using hopefully six weeks from now, when Arsenic and Old Lace opened.
It was important for her to envision what it would be like when the place was illuminated and filled with chattering people milling about and filing down the aisles to their seats. She wanted to picture what the audience would see when they first walked in to the new, clean, renovated theater. Six weeks was an aggressive schedule, but Vivien had planned everything out and was optimistic it would work. She’d already had measurements taken for the new curtains, and had priced out audience seats and was ready to place the order. She would open the weekend after Labor Day.
She flipped on a row of light switches—flick, flick, flick—and a few stubborn bulbs sizzled to life, casting an uneven ochre glow in the small, gallerylike lobby. The place smelled of age, and dust motes glittered in the yellow light. Something moved in the corner, and Vivien turned just as she heard the rustle of old papers.
“I’d better get a cat,” she said. “We can’t have mice disturbing our show.”
Not that she thought Maxine Took or Juanita Acerita would be the least bit put off if a mouse ran across the stage during rehearsal. She suspected neither of them