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eye on his assigned entrance, I did not place any such confidence in Dale Gordon.
    One possible threat had been taken care of. There was a large trapdoor in the center of the stage, but since it was not needed, Bryce had nailed it shut. I was still doubtful that Biggers planned to injure any of the students, but if he was unhinged enough to attack the new drama coach, he might be desperate enough to hurt the kids.
    Finally the lights dimmed. The curtain lifted and the play began. I took up a place stage left, a few feet away from Thomas Wallander , and tried to keep from twitching.
    Lightning, quite bright and followed with realistic thunder, shattered the quiet. The three witches appeared, floating out like ghosts made of billowing shadows.

 
    When shall we three meet again?
    In thunder, lightning, or in rain?

 
    And they were off. In spite of myself, once again the play sucked me in. Surrounded by costumed actors and effects, I was ready to believe that I was standing on a blasted heath in Scotland. And I knew Coach Wallander was feeling it too. His lips moved to the dialogue but his expression was rapt as he watched the players.

 
    Fair is foul, and foul is fair:
    Hover through the fog and filthy air.

 
    The witches faded away. The lights faded too and one canvas was pulled up while another was lowered down in near silence. King Duncan entered stage right.

 
    What bloody man is that? He can report,

 
    A flash of yellow near my feet. I looked down at the aged planks and saw what I belatedly recognized was a second small trapdoor. It was much less obvious than the large one in the center of the stage and visible only because there was someone below with a powerful flashlight. Wallander was standing where he habitually did, which was half on and half off the door.
    My brain ran through the play with a haste that would have horrified the Bard. Finding no reason for there to be anyone below stage, I reached out an urgent hand and jerked Wallander away. We both fell as the trap banged open like something on a gallows.
    Blue, thinking that I meant to keep the drama coach on the floor, promptly sat on him and began licking his face.
    “Dale!” I gasped at Althea’s gaping husband who was seated in a folding chair beside the side door. In case he didn’t get my meaning, I pointed at the square hole and the retreating flashlight.
    For once, Gordon did not stop to argue but got a lumbering start and jumped straight through the trapdoor. It was a tight fit and I said a prayer that he didn’t break anything.
    I couldn’t hear much above the renewed thunder and stamping soldiers, but I thought maybe there were two echoes of footsteps running away.
    “Up, Blue,” I said, recalled to the coach’s plight by his hands and feet flailing on the floor. Free of the weight, Wallander drew in a wheezing breath and rolled onto his hands and knees.
    A moment later the Chief appeared, having made record time down the old iron ladder and he also dropped down into the trap. I got to my own hands and knees and crawled to the edge of the hole, trying to see what was happening. There wasn’t enough light to tell anything definite, just a few lines of green spotlight shining through the ill-fitting boards of the old stage, nor could I hear anything above the actors’ voices.
    What seemed an eternity later, the Chief and Gordon reappeared with a handcuffed Delbert Biggers being dragged between them. By then Bryce had joined us and Delbert was hauled out of the hole and then out of the building with no one else being the wiser.
    Wallander might have wanted to discuss the matter with me, but there was a show to put on.
    “Thank you,” he whispered, rubbing his chest, and then took up a position about two feet from where he normally stood. Duncan exited. The scenery changed again and the witches returned.

 
    Where hast thou been, Sister?

 
 

Act 1, Scene 5

 
    Halloween arrived. Blue, who knew exactly what day it was, thanks to