Death by Pumpkin Spice (23 page)

I checked Buchannan next. He was smiling at a pretty young girl who was wearing a tiara. I think she was supposed to be a princess, but I couldn't tell for sure since her back was to me. Buchannan was shaking his head, even as he smiled. Chances were good she was trying to talk her way out the door, and he wasn't having any of it, though he did seem to appreciate the view.

It was now or never. Everyone was distracted. I moved slowly toward the hallway, eyes darting from Vicki to Buchannan, and back again. Neither looked up, but could at any moment.

I reached the hall and, for an instant, felt guilty for what I was about to do.

And then my usual sense of adventure kicked in.

“Forgive me,” I muttered, knowing my friends would. I wasn't so sure about Buchannan and, really, couldn't care less if he did.

And then I slipped into the hall, on the lookout for trouble.

24

Plastic wrap blocked off the hallway leading to the pumpkin room where Jessica Fairweather was murdered. It was taped to the wall high enough I was able to easily duck under it. More plastic wrap barred the doorway. The door itself was closed.

Feeling like a criminal, I pushed open the door and then ducked under the barrier. With a quick glance down the hall to make sure no one had followed me, I eased the door shut and then turned to look for a clue that would help me understand why Jessica was killed.

She was still lying where she'd been found but was now covered by a white sheet. I assumed she was left there to preserve the scene for forensics or whoever would arrive once the driveway was clear. There were no little numbered papers or cones or anything marking off clues since the site had simply been secured to the best of Paul's ability. It wasn't like he had any equipment on him here at the party, so it was no wonder he hadn't tried to investigate the body for more than the basics.

I made sure to stick to the edge of the room so as not to disturb anything. The smashed pumpkins were still there, as were the scarecrows. Because of the sheet covering the deceased, a large portion of the actual crime scene was concealed. If there were any clues in the room, chances were good they'd be on or very near the body.

With a nervous glance back at the door, I crept forward, placing each foot carefully in front of the next. I was worried I'd knock something over, or brush away some important piece of evidence with my oversized borrowed clothing. But since I wasn't about to strip down to my undies to do this, there was no help for it. I hoped as long as I was careful, I wouldn't do anything to compromise the scene.

I reached the corner of the sheet, near where her hand lay. I was breathing fast, both from nervousness about being caught and by what I was about to see. I really didn't want to look at her body again. Jessica's was the first I'd ever seen outside a funeral, and I wasn't looking forward to doing it again.

“Calm, Krissy,” I told myself under my breath. “You can do this.”

I sucked in a deep breath and crouched down.

My hand trembled as I reached for the corner of the sheet. My fingers touched cloth and I shuddered as if I'd actually touched her cold flesh.
On the count of three
. Just one peek to see if there was some overlooked piece of incriminating evidence I could take to Paul and then I'd be out of there. I didn't want Philip to find a way to talk his way out of an arrest, though since he assaulted an officer, I was pretty sure he was in some serious trouble no matter what he said or did.

“One,” I muttered, mentally prepping myself. “Two.” This was going to be horrible. “Thr—”

“What are you doing in here?”

I shot to my feet, just barely releasing the sheet before I did. I spun, hands going behind my back, and gave Buchannan my best innocent smile.

“Hi!” I said, heart in my throat. “I'm checking the scene for you.”

He frowned at me. “For . . . ?”

“Uh, clues?”

He crossed his arms over his chest and gave me a stern look. “I doubt Dalton gave you permission to be in here.” His eyes flickered to the body before returning to mine. “Did you think we wouldn't have someone check in here every few minutes?”

“I was hoping you wouldn't.”

Buchannan's frown deepened into his customary scowl. “Ms. Hancock, please step away from the victim.”

I took a couple of quick steps toward him. “I'm sorry,” I said. “I feel like there's something we missed that is vitally important to understanding why she was killed. I just wanted to peek to see if my suspicions were correct.”

“Ms. Hancock . . .” I really wished he would stop calling me that. “You have no business in here. I could have you arrested for this. You know better than to walk all over a crime scene.”

“It isn't official yet!” I said, gesturing toward the plastic wrap that separated us. “I only want to help.”

“You can help by returning to the ballroom and staying there. I'll overlook it this time.” He leveled a finger at me. “I won't be so generous the next.”

I was so shocked that he was giving me a pass, I could only nod at him. I was speechless. I'd been certain he was going to zip strip me up, toss me in a room, and forget about me until it was time to run me down to the station.

“I don't ever want to see you in here again,” he said, continuing to scold me. “It might not look official, but this
is
a crime scene. You don't belong here.”

“I suppose you're right,” I said, lowering my eyes.

“I am.” Buchannan took me by the arm and helped me past the first plastic wrap barrier. He started to lead me away, back toward the ballroom, when I stopped him.

“Maybe you should check to make sure I didn't disturb anything,” I said, doing my best to sound as if I thought I might have. I knew I hadn't touched anything more than the corner of the sheet, so it was unlikely. I just didn't want him following me.

He gave me a suspicious look before glancing back. The sheet wasn't thrown off the body, but the corner did look as if it had been moved. It was laying over the edge of one of the undamaged pumpkins.

“Back to the ballroom,” he told me with another finger jab. “I don't want to have to come looking for you.”

I made an “X” over my heart and smiled.

Buchannan sighed and turned his back to fix the sheet.

I didn't hesitate. The moment his back was to me, I bolted down the hall, away from the ballroom. If I couldn't inspect the scene, well then, I was going to look elsewhere for clues. If Philip really was the killer, he might have gone into Margaret's bedroom or any number of rooms. He might have caught up with Jessica in the bathroom Quentin said she'd locked herself inside. Maybe there was something there.

I still had Will's cane in hand, for which I was thankful. Roaming the halls with a killer on the loose wasn't exactly the smartest thing to do, but I couldn't stand around waiting anymore. I'd been a part of this from the beginning and I planned on seeing it through.

I hurried down the hall, throwing glances behind me to make sure Buchannan wasn't coming after me. I reached a set of stairs that were blocked off by more plastic wrap. This time, it was done in a way that made it impossible to cross without tearing it down.

With a silent apology to Paul for destroying his hard work, I yanked the wrap from the wall and then took the stairs by two, leaving what was left hanging.

The mansion was a maze. There were more staircases than any house should rightfully have, and the same went for rooms. From what I could tell, no matter which staircase you took, you could eventually work your way anywhere you wanted to go . . . if you could figure out which direction to turn.

Having only been in the house for a few hours now, I wasn't sure how best to find my way around, other than to check in each and every room I passed until I saw something I recognized.

The first door creaked ominously as I pushed it open—more than likely by design. The room inside was dark, and seemingly windowless. The only light came from a strange, green glowing substance on the ceiling and in the corners. I closed the door before I caught a glimpse of an alien or some creature from an H.P. Lovecraft story.

I continued on down the hall that way, peering into rooms as I passed, looking only long enough to see if I recognized it before moving on. I wanted to start from Margaret's bedroom even though I'd already poked around there. I still felt as if there was something in there I'd missed the first time around and wanted to have another go at it.

But none of the rooms looked familiar. My first impressions of the house had been right; it was gigantic. I felt as if I could go on forever and never find the end of it, which wasn't entirely bad, though it would make finding Philip that much harder.

I opened the next door and poked my head inside, already bored with the horror themes.

A horrendous shriek startled me backward. Someone lunged forward from across the room, arm raised, knife glittering in hand. Strobe lights from behind my attacker made it impossible to see who it was, but my money was on Philip.

I screamed and hit the wall across the hall hard. I raised Will's cane to protect my face in the hopes of deflecting the first downward strike. I squeezed my eyes shut—not the smartest thing to do, but I couldn't help it. Seconds passed and nothing struck my upraised arm, or any part of my body. The shriek turned into a sinister chuckle. I opened my eyes as a faint whirring sound accompanied the dark shape's retreat back into the room.

I remained pressed against the wall, heart pounding in my ears. The door hung open. The strobe lights had shut off, casting the rest of the room in gloom. It took a moment for my eyes to adjust, and when they did, I could just make out the grinning dummy with fake knife in hand, waiting against the far wall. A barely visible track on the floor told me how it had been propelled forward. I assumed there was a sensor in the doorframe that triggered the whole setup.

“Are you kidding me?” I muttered. I was so done with this house.

I didn't bother closing the door, not wanting the thing to come charging at me again. I moved down the hall, looking for another staircase that would lead me back downstairs. If Paul wanted to look for Philip in this house of horrors, more power to him. I was finished.

The first staircase I found led down into a short hallway. A clank came from ahead, telling me I'd found my way to the kitchen. I was starving, and with the snacks no longer being served, maybe I could convince the chef, Mitchel, to make me a sandwich or something.

I followed the sounds coming from ahead, stomach grumbling. The clanks turned into a crash that sounded like someone had dropped an entire tray of plates and glasses. It was followed by a shout.

“Paul.” My legs and feet, which were screaming from all the walking I'd been doing lately, propelled me forward without thinking. If Paul was shouting, it could mean only one thing.

He'd found Philip Carlisle.

I burst into the kitchen to find a few of the girls in the waitress outfits standing there, staring toward another exit in the room. Mitchel was there, too, hand over his mouth. I made straight for him.

“What happened?” I asked, out of breath.

He looked at me with wide eyes and licked his lips. “A fight. The police officer and another man.” He motioned toward where all of the girls were looking. “They went that way; toward the back exit.”

“Thank you.” Despite the stitch growing in my side, I started running.

The kitchen opened up into what I took as a large pantry filled with canned and bagged goods, but it looked as big as a storage barn. A double-wide door, which was currently closed, gave access to delivery trucks so they wouldn't have to tramp through the entire house. I guess when you host parties of this size, you needed a place like this.

On the far side of the room, Philip stood, a long metal pole in hand. His chest was heaving, his hat and glasses missing. His coat hung off one shoulder, the undershirt ripped.

At his feet lay the prone form of Paul Dalton.

My heart just about stopped in my chest. Always before, I was the one who managed to get myself hurt and in need of rescue. Paul had always saved the day.

Now, with him unconscious, or worse, dead, I was the one who was going to have to do the saving.

But how?

Philip raised the metal pole above his head, ready to finish Paul off. There was no time to think, so I did the only thing I could.

I shouted at him.

“Don't you dare!”

Philip jerked as if he'd been shot, before lowering his arm and turning. “You.” He laughed. “What do you think you are going to do?”

I hoisted Will's cane and tightened my grip. My hands were shaking, and I very nearly dropped it as I spread my feet in what I hoped was a close approximation of a fighting stance.

Philip laughed again, though his eyes never left me. “Please,” he said. “Do us both a favor and turn around and scurry back to wherever you came from. You don't need to get hurt.”

While it sounded like a fine idea to me, I couldn't leave him alone with Paul. “No,” I said, glancing at the shelving near me, hoping to find a weapon a little more suitable for taking down what was looking more and more like a trained killer. “It's over. We know you killed her.”

Philip started toward me. There were a few cans and utensils on the floor. He stepped around them without looking down, as if he could
feel
them there. “You
think
you know,” he said. “But you're just guessing.”

“If you didn't do it, you wouldn't have run,” I said, and then nodded toward Paul. “You wouldn't have attacked him.”

Philip glanced back, and I very nearly charged at him. My brain wanted to, my fear that if I didn't do something, he'd hurt Paul worse than he already had nearly sent me careening forward. It was my legs that wouldn't work. They felt rooted to the spot.

He turned back my way, and the moment was gone.

“This is your last warning,” he said. “Walk away now, or else you'll end up like your friend here.”

Paul still wasn't moving. At least he was breathing. A trickle of blood trailed from his forehead and ran down over one closed eye. I mentally prayed he would suddenly wake and take Philip down from behind, but he gave no indication he was going to regain consciousness anytime soon.

I was on my own.