"I thought this job would be so exciting." Sylvia rolled her eyes. " 'Wardrobe mistress' is only a fancy term for chief laundress and mender. And all the travel. After this, we're off to San Francisco." Elbows on the table, she rested her chin on her hands, wearing a decidedly glum expression.

Imagine feeling blue about going somewhere like San Francisco. Think of the doings in such a place! A person could write news stories there till her arm fell off. "Why do you keep with it?" I asked, sprinkling flour over the top of the potatoes in the baking dish.

She glanced around, then ducked her head close to mine. "Cecil," she whispered.

I wrinkled my forehead, trying to think. See sill? What? Then it hit me. "You mean Mr. Hall?"

Sylvia put her finger to her lips. "Our secret, promise?"

"Cross my heart."

"You're a peach." She gave me a friendly wink. "The coffee hit the spot. Thanks. Back to the salt mines."

She paused with her hand on the swinging door. "Say. Would you like to come to the show tomorrow night? I can get you a ticket. On the house."

A live vaudeville show. I'd never seen one before. And for free! "That's kind of you. I'd love it."

"It will be quite the performance." She flashed a mysterious smile. "One you won't want to miss."

Thanks to Sylvia's generosity, the next night I found myself in a plush maroon seat in the tenth row, center section, of the Grand Opera House. I held the printed program in gloved hands. Out of loyalty to my benefactor, the first thing I did was look for Cecil Hall's name. There it was, in minuscule print, near the bottom of the last page. Taking up most of the program were the names of Ellington Lancaster-"Founder and Princ.i.p.al, Venturing Varietals" and "Marquis of the Footlights"-and Vera Clare, who was not only "Empress of Emotion" but also "Queen of the Varietal Stage."

My neighbor was a chatty woman whose hat would've been better suited to someone with a face less like a pumpkin. She pointed to Cecil's name on the program. "I saw him in Helena," she confided. "He plays a magician that makes himself disappear." Her eyes twinkled. "My nephew told me how it's done. It's called a Hamlet trap. They rig up this door in the stage floor. The actor steps on it just so and poof! Gone." She sighed. "I come all this way to see him again."

The burgundy velvet curtain began to rise, earning me a poke in the ribs from my neighbor. For a plump woman, she had sharp bones. "Show's starting," she stage-whispered.

I nodded, edging myself a bit farther away from that pain-inflicting elbow as I settled in to enjoy the evening. The opening act was a comic duo from Great Falls. They performed a skit involving an accordion, a ridiculously large woman's hat, and a wheelbarrow. I laughed so hard, I thought I might slip right out of my chair and into the aisle.

Vera Clare was stunning in her role as a grieving mother in a short play called Mama's Boys. I wept as hard as I'd laughed earlier. For a small woman, she radiated great stage presence. All around me, audience members-even men!-were dabbing eyes with handkerchiefs. To think that Sylvia found traveling with such a troupe to be wearing! From my plush seat, the dramatic life seemed nothing but thrilling.

After the intermission, Cecil's time in the spotlight finally arrived. I had to admit, he did look dashing in that black top hat and red-satin-lined magician's cape. I found his delivery a trifle melodramatic, but my neighbor could not take her eyes from him up there in the footlights. She grabbed my arm as he moved center stage. "The line will be 'Exemptum exactum,' " she murmured. No sooner had she uttered the words than Cecil, too, p.r.o.nounced them, though much more theatrically.

"Exemptum exactum!" His baritone voice rang out over the hall. Then, with a swoosh of his cape, he vanished. A woman behind me shrieked in surprise. My heart raced and I gripped the seat arms. Even though I'd been forewarned, Cecil's departure was exceedingly dramatic.

It wasn't until later that I would learn exactly how dramatic it had been.

Excerpt copyright 2013 by Kirby Larson. Published in the United States by Delacorte Press, an imprint of Random House Children's Books, a division of Random House, Inc., New York.

end.