Deviled!: Lake Erie Mysteries Book 2 (6 page)

M
urder investigation aside
, I was looking forward to a nice lunch chatting with the actors who would be performing in the miniproduction of
Much Ado About Nothing
at seven o’clock. Was it too much to ask for one hour void of drama or intrigue except for what was happening on stage? I was also hoping to run into Angelina or Damien again. I wanted some answers as to why Angelina was continuing to let the police believe my scarf had been lost somewhere rather than being left in her care at her own insistence.

As June and I made our way over to the Great Hall shortly after noon, I noticed a disquieting theme among the people in our vicinity. “June, am I seeing things, or are there zombies about?”

“Huh?” June looked up from her cell phone, where she had been posting or tweeting or texting or something.

“Earth to June. Could you please return to the moment and help me figure out why there are zombies milling about? I expected to see Leonato, Hero, Beatrice, and Margaret, not the cast from
The Walking Dead
.”

When a shuffling, rotting, corpse-like figure bumped into June, she finally reacted. “Hey! Watch where you’re going!”

She should talk
. She finally focused on our surroundings, turning in a complete circle in the middle of the hall.

“Hey, Francie, what’s up with the zombies? I thought you said we were lunching with Shakespearean characters. It’s been a long time since I’ve read anything by old William, but as far as I can recall, there weren’t any references to the undead in his plays. Zombies are much cooler though. I wonder if I could get one of them to talk to me.”

My initial shock at seeing the place overrun with the ghoulish creatures gave way to a professional appreciation for what was happening. “They’re coming out of the elevator and heading for the Great Hall. I wonder if they’re on the hunt for sandwiches or ladyfingers.” Then it hit me. “I remember now. The theatrical makeup session was up on the third floor at the same time our session was scheduled. Wow! They really went all out. Kind of makes me wish we had picked that class instead of ending up being harangued by Eddie Sneed and questioned by the detective.”

“True, but at least we got to meet Gabriel DeVille. Did you see how he kept looking at me? He even complimented me on my fashion sense.” She twirled the end of her borrowed scarf around her finger absentmindedly. “I told you not to get so worked up about me wearing this scarf today. It’s not like I’m wearing a smoking gun around my neck.”

“Yes, June, I saw. Not to take away from the power of your charms, dear, but he had pretty limited options, wouldn’t you agree?”

“Spoilsport!”

“Just don’t spill anything on this scarf or leave it behind anywhere. I’d hate to have another accessory taken into police custody—unless, of course, it’s the fashion police.”

“Hmmph.”

“How soon you forget. Jack Morgan hasn’t been out of your sight more than a day, and you’re already mooning over a guy you don’t even know.”

“Hey, we’re not engaged, so what’s the harm in a little flirting?”

“Suit yourself. I just think you ought to think things through for once. Oh, the heck with it. Let’s go get something to eat.”

Standing in the buffet line gave us an opportunity to get the full effect of the results of the theatrical makeup class. In addition to the zombies, there were apparent victims of various types of violence: gunshot wounds, stabbings, burns, and all sorts of unappetizing special effects. Maybe I would write a suggestion for the organizers to rethink the timing of this particular workshop. Then again, maybe they did it on purpose hoping people might have smaller appetites when they came down for lunch.

June elbowed me in the ribs. “Ouch! What’s the deal?”

“Look over there, next to the beverage table. Isn’t that Sasha, the girl with the spa tickets?”

“Stop pointing, June, it’s rude. But yes, it sure is.” Sasha, the Russian Jill-of-all-trades, was standing against the wall, a terrified look on her face. Or maybe it was sheer exhaustion. She seemed to be turning up everywhere we went, and so far, she never appeared relaxed or happy. “She must be working nonstop over the summer to pay for college. I wonder if she’s thinking about going into show business or special effects makeup. That black eye looks very convincing.”

We made our way across the room, careful not to tip our trays or collide with any of the shuffling, swaying bodies who seemed to be multiplying by the second. Knowing they were fellow seminar participants did little to deflect the overall effect their appearance inspired. I was torn between asking for the name of the makeup artist for future reference and avoiding them like the plague.
Did I just say that?
Oh well, I really didn’t want to get up close or personal with the milling monsters. Finally, we settled on a round table and claimed two of its six vacant chairs. Eating a meal surrounded by zombies was more interesting than frightening, but when a trio of clowns in full costume and makeup pulled up seats at our table, I nearly choked on my potato salad.

I diverted my eyes and concentrated on my watch. “Would you look at the time? We better get going, June. We don’t want to be late for our next session.”

June got it. She isn’t a big fan of sinister circus entertainers either, so she left her uneaten mashed potatoes and macaroni and cheese and followed my lead. The clowns remained still and silent. They didn’t even have lunch trays. I couldn’t tell if it was the makeup or if they were really leering at us, but I wasn’t about to stick around to find out.

T
he afternoon was more
like what I had expected when I signed up for the conference. We were seated near the back of the Armstrong Lecture Hall attending a special lecture—Puppetry: Bringing Life to Marionettes. It was proving to be informative, if not a little creepy, after our lunchtime encounter with the zombies and clowns. Puppets were about halfway down on my list of freaks, so after an hour and a half, I felt a bit antsy and started daydreaming. Plus, my butt was getting numb.

I fumbled in my handbag and located my cell phone. Pressing the wake-up button, I saw 3:45 displayed on my home screen and decided we had officially learned everything we needed to know about marionettes. “June,” I whispered, “let’s bug out now before the lecture ends. I need to stretch my legs, and we can stop at the bar for a glass of wine before we meet Gabriel in the theater. What do you say?”

“I say let’s do it. I can’t believe we’ve been sitting in these uncomfortable seats for as long as we have. Who knew puppets could be so fascinating?”

I wasn’t sure if she was being serious or sarcastic, but I didn’t really care. She was out of her seat and down the aisle ahead of me.

When we got to the lobby, the lounge was deserted except for the bored-looking man polishing glasses behind the bar. None of the conference workshops had officially let out yet, and the other hotel guests were most likely clinging to safety bars and screaming on the thrill rides in the amusement park or wending their way down the Lazy River in the water park. No one was giving up the glorious afternoon sunshine in favor of a dimly lit bar. It was perfect. We pulled out two barstools, made ourselves comfortable, and placed our order.

“Now this is the life. An afternoon cocktail with my best friend and no questions or disconcerting stares from inquisitive strangers or investigators.”

“Cheers to that, Francie!”

We clinked our glasses and savored the first cool sip of our wine. As I set my glass down on the bar, I noticed Angelina walking past the lounge. I raised my hand and tried to make eye contact, but she quickened her pace and became suddenly preoccupied with the phone in her hand.

“Did you see that, June? I think Angelina is trying to avoid us. What do you think she’s up to?”

“Maybe she’s just busy. I’m sure it takes a lot to run this resort, and with the added stress of planning a funeral while trying to appease all the people who aren’t allowed to leave the hotel, I’m sure we’re the least of her worries.”

“You’re right, of course, but something feels off.”

Fortified with a handful of mixed nuts and a glass of chardonnay, we hopped off our barstools and made our way over to the theater for our meeting with Gabriel. June was a bit anxious, considering we were going to plan the logistics of a mystery dinner theater put on by virtual strangers. She swung open the doors, ready with the bright smile and self-confident swagger she somehow managed to make look cute and sexy at the same time.

“Hello!” Her greeting echoed back to us in the cavernous space. Other than the stage lights, the huge old theater was dark. The place looked deserted. I stood for a moment, inhaling the essence of my college years, remembering all the possibilities of the empty stage.

June, deflated now, stood beside me still as a stone. Her voice was soft and tentative. “He did say four o’clock in the theater, didn’t he, Francie?”

“It’s only five after four. He’s probably just running a little late. Let’s see if we can find the light switch.” I made my way around the perimeter of the dimly lit room, locating a bank of switches near the emergency exit door.
Click, click, click
. Bright light flooded the space, illuminating the rich burgundy velvet of the theater seats. I’ve been in a lot of theaters, and this one was definitely up there in the top three for opulence, comfort, and cleanliness. It was hard to believe the Starlight Theater was no longer used on a regular basis.

Now that the lights were on, I spotted a note taped to the wall beside the entrance door. I could see the gilded
D
at the top of the creamy, embossed stationery from across the room, a clear indication of the author’s identity. Retracing my steps, I retrieved the note and read it out loud.

“Had to go to the prop room to grab some supplies. Be back in a flash. Make yourselves comfortable. —G.D.”

“See? Just like I said. He’ll be here in a few minutes. Let’s just—” I paused as the theater went dark. “What the heck? Did you turn the lights back out?”

“Shh. Do you hear that Francie?”

I stood still and listened in the dark; the soft swishing sound was coming from behind and above us. I turned just in time to see a bright beam of light coming from the old-fashioned projection booth and spotlighting a screen on stage that I hadn’t noticed until that moment.

June and I slumped into seats in the last row and stared straight ahead. I had a bad feeling about this.

Scratchy black-and-white images appeared on the screen. After about five seconds of indecipherable film, a series of distinct pictures emerged. It looked like one of those news clips where people tell their stories by holding up a series of placards, only this wasn’t about a courageous teenager, a mother’s love, or a patient who beat the odds. In fact, there was nothing uplifting whatsoever in the message.

The first clip was an ominous-looking clown dressed all in black. He wore a black wig, and a leering, black smile slashed his chalk-white face nearly in two. He held three posters in front of him. After a three-second zoom on the first one, proclaiming
You Knew Bob
, he tossed it on the floor, and the camera held steady on his second message:
Bob Knew Us
. His final poster read,
We Know You
. Next, the film transitioned in a fade-out to a second video clip. It was another clown, but this one was dressed in white from head to toe. He wore a tall, pointy hat with a big pom-pom at the tip. His blood-red smile had no mirth in it. In his white-gloved hands was his own series of poster messages which he held and tossed in the same manner as clown number one:
If You’re Smart/Learn the Plan/And Follow Through
. By the time the third escapee from Camp Creepy appeared, we were clutching each other’s hands so hard my fingers were numb. I stared at the ghoulish figure, praying his performance was the last part of the message. This clown, decked out in crimson, had a devilish quality about him. He wore a close-fitting hood that met his neck in a bouncy flounce of red ruffles. His skin was painted the same shade as his costume, but, unlike the other two, there were no exaggerated facial features added to his countenance. Truth be told, his eyes looked a little scared. The messages he held at arm’s length in front of him were scrawled in white paint on black posters:
Get The Proof/Pack Your Bags/Seal Your Fate
.

The screen melted back into gray snow, and then the light from the projector went out, plunging us into inky darkness for the second time. My nerves were jangling, my hands were shaking, and my teeth were chattering. Finally, I screamed. June’s own wail of distress matched mine octave for octave.

Could this get any worse? Oh yes, it could! A real-life, flashlight-wielding clown in full regalia peeked out from behind the curtain and ran across the stage and out the exit on the opposite side. Really? Had one of our earlier lunch mates followed us to the theater? It wasn’t like we needed to continue our sparkling conversation. Was he trying to find his two buddies or just making sure we had received the intended special feature? Before I could give it more thought, I was startled by a velvety voice asking, “What’s going on in here? Why are you two sitting in the dark? And where is Mr. Sneed?”

I
had completely forgotten
that Eddie was part of our class and by rights should have been with us in the theater. He had been so anxious to join us. We hadn’t run into him at lunch, but with all the other interesting characters in the Great Hall, his absence never even registered with me. Now, though, it did seem odd that he was nowhere to be found.

Gabriel flicked the light switch, and the theater was once again illuminated as if nothing strange had happened. However, here in the light, I could tell that June’s hands were shaking as much as mine, and beads of perspiration stood out on her forehead. Although I couldn’t see it, I was pretty sure her heart was racing in her chest. Mine was.

June was able to regain her composure before I was, so she recapped the entire incident for Gabriel—from our arrival at the theater, to the terrifying video messages, to the appearance of the flesh-and-blood mystery clown.

“You’re going to want to look at the video, Gabriel. It’s disturbing. I don’t know who this was intended for, but either I’m being paranoid, or this message was meant for Francie and me. Who would want to do such a horrible thing and why? It doesn’t make sense. We don’t know anything about Bob’s personal life, nor do we care about it. I’d like to know who is trying to pull us into this whole sorry mess.” June stopped her monologue and looked at Gabriel. “Oh, I’m sorry. I guess that remark was insensitive.”

“There’s no need for you to apologize, June. It sounds like you’re the victim here. And as for my brother, it wouldn’t be the first time his presence disturbed someone.”

I thought Gabriel’s assessment was fair; however, although true, it seemed a little coldhearted under the circumstances. But then again, people dealt with grief in many different ways.

“Let’s calm down and think this through,” Gabriel suggested. “My recommendation is that we call the police and give them the video. I’ll go up and get it and keep it in my office safe until we can turn it over. They can dust the projection booth for fingerprints and look for other clues. Did you see anyone besides the mystery clown in the theater, anyone at all?”

“How could we?” I said. “It was pitch-dark when we first got here.”

“The creepy clown didn’t stick around to chat,” June added.

“Oh, I’ll get to the bottom of this, don’t you worry, ladies.” Gabriel’s self-assured voice gave my own courage a kick in the pants.

Tucking my fear away, I made up my mind to be proactive. “I’m not going to stand around and let some demented clowns terrorize us. If this is supposed to be a joke, I’m not at all amused. I’m going upstairs to that projection booth myself and see if I can find out what’s going on. Are you coming, June?”

I didn’t have to ask. She was already heading for the lobby door marked
Projection Booth—Authorized Personnel Only.
Her don’t-mess-with-me expression was impossible to misconstrue.

The room looked perfectly innocuous. There were three, old-fashioned, reel-to-reel projectors mounted to the floor, each pointed at its own square window to the stage and screen. Set apart a short distance, at the end of the row, was a single digital projector. All three of the old-school projectors were still warm, but there wasn’t a filmstrip to be found among them.
What did we expect, a signed note
? I headed over to the modern machine and examined it. More nothing.

“Hey wait. What’s this?” I bent down near the wall and reached behind the projector to retrieve the red object.

June stared at the rubber sphere in my outstretched hand. “Looks like a clown nose to me. Yep, definitely a clown nose. Did you notice whether or not that jogging jester was missing any clown-type body parts?”

Now that I had spoiled the one piece of potentially helpful evidence, I felt my cheeks flush with embarrassment. We were no closer to figuring out who was behind the incident, and now it seemed like calling the police would only draw unwanted attention to ourselves. And to top it off, Eddie Sneed was still AWOL.

“It’s unfortunate, I know, but I see no reason to do any mystery dinner theater planning or set designing now. I apologize for the inconvenience and am more than happy to refund you both the price of the seminar. When I find out Mr. Sneed’s circumstance, I will deal with him accordingly.” There was an undercurrent of suppressed anger in his voice. “Dinner is scheduled from five until six thirty. It’s already close to five, so you might as well head out. Please enjoy your dinner and don’t worry too much about what just happened. I’ll get to the bottom of it.” With that, Gabriel left us.

“Let’s get out of here,” I said. “I’ve had just about enough of this. I could use a drink. Or two.”

“I’m right there with you.” June pulled the door shut behind us, and we made our way back through the hotel and out into the warm evening.