Author's note: Thanks for being patient with my updates, and I apologize in advance to Piano Ann. Please don't hurt me!!!!

Ahem. Oh, one other thing, Rainbow - I didn't know there was actually a play called "Five Flutes and a Black Rose". If you're serious, that is truly spooky!









"Holmes, what are you doing? Hadn't we better get over to rehearsal?" I tapped my foot impatiently, leaning against the doorframe of the chemistry lab.

"Watson, come here," Holmes said, without looking up from the microscope. "This is the hair we found in the wall yesterday. Look."

Holmes sat back up and I leaned forward, squinting into the eyepiece. After a minute I gasped. "That's not real hair - for one thing, there aren't any split ends and you can't see through the middle, which means..."

"There's no shaft in the middle. Right." Holmes removed the slide. "And there goes any proof we had. Fake hair at a theater? Of course there would be fake hair at a theater. How stupid. And when put with the wax, I've been chasing a dummy." Holmes sighed. "Let's go."


~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~


"Hey, Vicky," I said, and went to raise the music stand. The top popped out in my hand again. With an annoyed groan I jammed it back again and then raised it carefully.

Putting my flute together, I tried to locate all the suspects. Mr. Hailey was in plain sight on his podium, shuffling through papers. Mr. Johnson was ... with a suspicious shiver I found my makeup case and opened it. Yup, Mr. Johnson was standing behind the flutes. George was polishing the woodwork in the back.

Hm. Miss Basil was in the balcony again, so that ruled her out. She didn't even move the entire rehearsal.

As we started to play, I kept looking around. Two girls gone, already. Two murders, and it was all my fault. If I had only figured this out, they would still be alive. All... my... fault...

I shook my head and tried to stay awake. I was so tired, I had been losing sleep over this!

I kept my eyes of Naomi the entire time. No one approached her. No trap door opened. But right at the end of rehearsal, she paled and stammered, putting her flute away with trembling hands. Mr. Johnson helped her off the stage, despite my stammering protests.

Then Rachel gave a soft scream.

We all jumped and turned, to find her holding up the fourth black rose.


"Holmes!" I scrambled to him, hissing furiously. "We have got to solve this now!" I grabbed his arm. "After Rachel is Vicky! WE HAVE GOT TO STOP THIS! Have you talk to Myron?"

Holmes frowned at the mention of his brother. "He won't listen to me! Not one bit! But I've been thinking again. Wouldn't there also be rooms underneath the stage? Let's look, today."

I nodded and put my things together. We hid in the wings of the stage until everyone had left. Or, at least, we thought everyone had left.

"Holmes, look here," I said, pointing. "There's a stair case, hidden in the shadows." Quietly, we climbed down the stairs. There wasn't any light, and it was dusty and spooky, just like the attic. We hadn't taken five steps before Holmes stopped, listening.

"Do you hear that?" he whispered.

I licked my lips and listened closely. It sounded like a piano, and singing. We walked down the passage way at the end of the stairs, listening. There was a door at the far end, and a thin line of light struggled through the outline. We crept closer, and I could hear the words to the song.

"...Our strange duet," the voice sang. "My power over you, grows stronger yet..."

I recognized that song. I tugged on Holmes' sleeve. "The Phantom of the Opera," I mouthed, and he nodded. Holmes walked up to the door and put his hand on the handle. The music stopped, abruptly. Somebody laughed softly, and footsteps approached the door. Holmes pulled me close, and we hid behind the door as it opened. Unfortunately, the door opened all the way and squished us both against the wall. I was certain my nose was now plastered against my cheeks.

The person who had opened it didn't notice us as she walked down the hallway. I gasped as I recognized her, and Holmes elbowed me sharply. We waited until she had gone, then tumbled from behind the door.

"What on earth," I whispered. "Was Vicky DOING?"




(Authors note: 3...2...1... BWHAHAHAHAHAHA, Piano Ann!)




We both stood, brushing dust from our clothing. Holmes entered the room where Vicky had been, and I followed him. It was a dusty, icky old room with coarse beige carpeting. One the right, there was a faded orange and red striped coach, stained with paint and several suspicious looking liquids. On the left was a splintery wooden cabinet, and straight in front was an old, black, upright piano. Holmes paced around the room, briskly.

"She was playing the piano, you can see some of the keys aren't dusty, and she had sheet music, again seen in the dust. She was here for a while," Holmes said, pressing his hand against the bench, "The seat's warm."

"She also was at the cabinet," I said, pointing to some footprints and handprints on the dust. "Feminine hand prints, feminine foot prints."

Holmes went to the cabinet and pried it open. With a gasp, we both stepped back.

Out tumbled a bundle of black roses, and several sheets of paper.

I gulped and backed away, but Holmes carefully picked up the roses and put them back in the cabinet. Then he held the paper up to the light. He whistled softly. "These are the original deeds to the theater. Apparently, it's been in Miss Basil's family for generations."

"Holmes, let's go," I said, trembling. It can't be Vicky, I thought. It can't!

Holmes bundled up the papers and stuck them in his jacket. We turned to leave but them he stopped, abruptly, and glared at the floor.

"Holmes?"

"Odd," he said, narrowing his eyes. "Very odd. Did she change shoes while she was in here? One set of her footprints is an inch shorter than the other."

"Holmes! Let's go!"

He nodded and we hurried away. I felt cold suddenly, and glanced behind me. I didn't see anything, but I could feel a pair of eyes on our backs...