Murder in Wax

by Holly Copella

  Although Devon wore soft-soled boots, she could still hear the gentle clomping of her shoes in the frighteningly silent museum. With minimal lighting, the displays were even creepier than usual. She paused before an amazing display depicting Cleopatra. The wax woman had been Cleopatra at the old, dilapidated museum as well. She cleaned up nicely. Devon was actually surprised he was able to get all the dirt from her excessively shiny, black hair. She couldn’t resist and walked into the display. Devon approached the wax woman and studied her hair in particular, although the lighting was dim.

  Some of the wax figures they’d rescued from the old museum were of poor quality, but Cleopatra was in amazingly great shape. The eyes, in particular, were quite realistic. In the dim lighting, her eyes appeared almost teal in color. Devon wasn’t a history genius, but she was pretty sure Cleopatra didn’t have teal eyes. It didn’t matter since the visitors wouldn’t get close enough to notice her eye color anyway.

  Devon heard a clunk from deeper within the museum. She jumped with surprise and scanned the creepy surrounding area. She suddenly realized she didn’t want to be alone in the museum. It was almost frightening, even though she knew everything was fake. She left the display and continued along the walkway toward the back. She finally reached the dungeon entrance and headed down the stone stairs.

  As she passed the horror displays, she eyed each one. A few of the horror sets also contained wax figures, which was even more surprising. The wax men and women depicted frozen looks of horror in their final fatal moments of existence. Each wax man and woman seemed to stare at her as she walked through, almost as if they were begging to be rescued by the non-existent monster not yet within the display. Devon shivered as she passed. If she found the displays creepy now, what would she think in a month from now when all the horror displays were completed? It was a chilling thought.

  Devon approached the partially open workshop door, which had a light on. She peered inside and saw Brant slumped over the counter with his head in his hands. There was a wax head and paint pens on the counter before him. He’d obviously been through a lot that night, and Paula had clearly gotten to him with her persistent advances. Devon felt sorry for him and wanted to console him. She figured he could probably use a friend right about now.

  She then noticed that there were more paint pens scattered haphazardly across the floor. She wasn’t sure what they were doing there. Were they defective? Devon was about to announce herself when Brant suddenly cast everything from the counter. Objects flew to the floor with a loud crash, startling her. Brant suddenly sprang to his feet with a sharpened putty knife in his hand and plunged it into the nearest wax woman’s head. Devon placed her hand over her mouth, held back her horrified gasp, and darted away from the doorway.

  §

  Everyone had left the tavern for the night. It was nearly three o’clock in the morning when Paula shook her brother where he lay slumped on the bar. He was out cold and wasn’t about to go anywhere anymore tonight. Paula shook her head and stumbled from her bar stool. She could barely stand on her own but the walk home in the cool, night air would clear her head. She drunkenly waved to the bartender, who was cleaning glasses.

  “Night, Stan.”

  “You need a ride home?” he asked.

  “No, I’ll walk,” she informed him. “The fresh air will do me some good.”

  Stan gave a slight wave as Paula left the tavern. She entered the parking lot and walked toward the dark, back road. She staggered and stumbled her way along the road while humming a tune. Her house was about a quarter of a mile from the tavern at the end of a private, wooded lane. Paula swung her house keys while staggering and giggling the entire way. She turned down the private, wooded lane, which seemed even darker due to the trees. A twig snapped within the dark woods. Paula stopped and looked into the woods. There was no one there. She passed it off and continued along the lane toward her house in the near distance.

  Rustling was heard within the woods. Paula stopped and scanned the woods surrounding her driveway. She squinted, attempting to focus in her drunken condition. Although the woods were mostly dark, she didn’t see anything moving. She heard the sound again and looked back. A deer appeared from the woods, stared at her a moment, and then continued across the dirt driveway. Paula laughed while placing a hand on her chest.

  “Someone’s jumpy tonight,” she muttered then continued toward the house.

  Her family home had seen better days. It was in need of new siding, a coat of paint, gutters, and a new porch roof. In addition to the creepy, dark house, which she’d again forgotten to leave a light on for herself, there were several beater cars scattered along what constituted a front yard. The front yard hadn’t been mowed in years, allowing tall weeds to grow between the junk cars. Joe’s fascination with classic cars led to the junkyard that was once the front lawn, but it was his lack of mechanical skills that kept them there.

  As she passed the collection of beater cars, she heard a loud clunk from one of them. Paula turned toward the cars and immediately scanned the area. There was a loud wail followed by excessive hissing as two cats ran across the driveway and darted under the front porch.

  “Damned cats,” she muttered and continued toward the house.

  Another cat sat in the driveway and casually washed its paws. She smiled and bent down to pet the cat, nearly falling in the process. The cat suddenly hissed at her and puffed twice its normal size. Paula straightened with surprise and struck something behind her. She spun around with a startled gasp and saw the phantom standing directly behind her. He placed his gloved hand over her mouth, spun her around, and pulled her against him while she attempted a muffled scream. She weakly thrashed against his hold, but she was too drunk to effectively defend herself.

  He dragged her toward one of the beater cars, opened the mostly rusted back door, and tossed her into the back seat. She attempted to gather her wits and reached for the opposite door as he jumped into the back seat with her. The door wouldn’t open and the handle came off in her hand. She screamed and turned onto her back to face her attacker. The phantom was already on top of her. He clutched her throat with one hand and squeezed until she could no longer scream. Paula gasped, attempting to catch her breath while struggling to loosen the grip on her throat. She could barely move her legs, unsuccessfully trying to toss him off balance.

  When he revealed the large dagger in his right hand, her eyes widened in horror, and she managed a weak, muffled gasp. He thrust downward with the knife and struck her in the chest, easily penetrating her bone with the sturdy blade. He ripped the knife free with some difficulty while keeping his hand on her mouth to muffle her screams. She stared at him while enduring the pain as she faded fast from the blow. The phantom sneered and thrust the knife a second and third time into her chest while staring into her eyes. She stared back but no longer moved. He removed his hand from her mouth, allowing her involuntary breath to escape.

  The phantom wiped the blood from the knife on the back of the front seat, moved off her, and climbed out of the car. He casually shut the door and replaced the knife to his sheath. He looked down and saw a small kitten purring as it rubbed against his black boot. He reached down, affectionately scratched the kitten’s head while it purred, and then straightened. He turned and walked away.

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Three o’clock Monday morning. The museum was mostly dark and peaceful. Two outside lights remained on; one in the front and one in the back as a security measure. Someone slipped through the shadows and approached the back basement door. A crowbar was used to pry open the less secured door, allowing the intruder to slip into the dungeon. The intruder set the gas can he’d been carrying on the floor. He shut the door behind him then turned and shined his flashlight around the dark workshop. The light fell upon a policeman.

  “Holy hell,” Karl exclaimed while jumping back in alarm.

  When the officer didn’t move, Karl took a closer look at the policeman in the uniform from
the 1920’s and realized it was just a wax figure dressed the role. It was probably Ross’ idea to stake a wax cop at the back door in the event of a break-in, which obviously worked. Karl smirked and shook his head at his own paranoia. He was about to pick up the gas can when he heard a clunk from within the lower level of the museum.

  With all the lights off, there couldn’t be anyone else inside. He reconsidered picking up the gas can and opted to check out the sound first. Karl used his flashlight to hurry across the cluttered workshop and approached the interior door. He doused the light and slipped along the walkway. There were a few security lights on, which barely provided enough light to keep from running into objects and only allowed him to see the walkway before him. The displays cast creepy shadows, sending a chill through him.

  After walking through three displays without hearing any further sounds, it was apparent he was alone. He turned on the flashlight and looked around, no longer concerned with giving away his location. He shined the light on the vampire display and saw a wax woman lying on the fake grass. He held his breath at how realistic she looked then was about to turn when he saw a flashlight not far from the wax woman. The flashlight puzzled him. He scanned the display with his own flashlight.

  A large blur suddenly came at him. Before he could cry out, he was tackled to the floor. Karl was momentarily winded from the hard tackle. Despite having lost his breath, he recovered quickly and raised the flashlight to strike the attacker on top of him. In that brief flash, he saw his attacker’s face and appeared surprised. Karl was punched several times in the face by the intruder’s gloved hand, nearly knocking him unconscious. The gloved hands clutched his throat and squeezed. Karl attempted to fight off the killer, but he wasn’t strong enough. His eyes momentarily bulged while staring at his attacker as he gasped for air. His eyes eventually rolled back, and Karl became still. He was then grabbed under his arms and dragged across the display.

  Chapter Twenty-two

  Later Monday morning. It was a dreary day outside, and the forecast was calling for heavy thunderstorms throughout most of the day. The rain seemed to be holding off, but the skies were dark and threatening. Devon and Martin entered the diner and looked around for a vacant booth, although there were plenty of empty tables. Martin immediately fidgeted when he saw Marlene was working that morning.

  “This is a bad idea,” he muttered to his sister. “Too soon.”

  Devon gave him a playful shove toward one of the few vacant booths. “Take your spittle eggs like a man,” she huffed.

  They sat at the booth near the window. When Marlene approached, Martin shifted uncomfortably in his seat, uncertain what to expect.

  Marlene smiled almost cheerfully while eying Martin. “Hi, Martin,” she announced in a strangely pleasant tone, surprising both.

  It was obvious it was going to be a sneak attack on the waitress’ part. Devon somehow felt nervous for her brother and waited for the bomb to drop. She’d heard about Marlene’s Jekyll and Hyde personality but had never actually witnessed it.

  “Uh, good morning, Marlene,” he responded while attempting to sound as pleasant as possible. “Uh, how are you?”

  She frowned at the question, causing both to tense and await the explosion that was sure to follow. With Martin’s womanizing ways, he was bound to cross the wrong woman eventually.

  “I’d be better if Jamie had shown up for work this morning,” Marlene scoffed with annoyance. “She left me stranded by myself with the breakfast crowd.” She shook her head. “Usually, she only does that sort of thing on Sunday mornings when she’s hungover. The nerve of her. After having the entire weekend off, you’d think she’d have the decency to show up this morning.”

  Devon and Martin were surprised that her hostility hadn’t been directed at him. Both relaxed, although remaining untrusting.

  “Don’t be too harsh on Jamie,” Martin replied, showing surprising compassion. “She has to help take care of her sister. That’s a lot of responsibility.”

  “It’s a tragedy,” Marlene remarked while frowning then shook her head. “They should’ve left the poor girl go.” Marlene stared out the window, and her expression immediately saddened. “See what I mean?” She gave a nod out the window.

  Martin and Devon looked out the window. Dorothy pushed the reclining wheelchair along the sidewalk with the young woman immobile within it. Chelsea wore a big, gaudy bow in her dull, blonde hair. Her once beautiful face was flaccid and heavily painted with makeup. Her eyes remained open with her usual fixed gaze. Devon looked down at her menu and felt both saddened and sickened by the tragedy that had befallen the girl only two years older than herself. Marlene continued to stare out the window and shook her head.

  “Poor Chelsea,” Marlene announced with a sad sigh. “She was going to graduate just a few weeks before the accident. Had a scholarship and everything.” She attempted to wipe the image from her mind. “Seven years she’s been stuck in that chair without a spark of brain activity.” She shook her head. “Poor girl. So much nicer than her sister.”

  “Jamie’s a spoiled, miserable girl,” Devon huffed without looking up from her menu.

  “You wouldn’t get much of an argument from anyone on that one,” Marlene remarked. “You went to school with her, didn’t you?”

  “Don’t remind me,” Devon scoffed. “She and her friends thought they owned the place.”

  “Didn’t she get expelled for lewd conduct with one of her teachers?” Marlene asked.

  “No,” Devon snapped and eyed Marlene. “She was the victim, as usual. The teacher was fired though.”

  “That girl has nine lives, I swear,” Marlene muttered while making a face. “Around here too. I don’t know how she still has a job. If I pulled half the shit she did, I’d have been fired by now.”

  Marlene and Devon again looked out the window and watched Dorothy and Chelsea until they were gone. Martin studied the menu, no longer interested. Marlene managed a cheerful smile despite her foul mood regarding Jamie’s disappearing act.

  “Can I get you some coffee and tea to start?” she asked while eying both.

  They nodded in response. Marlene left the table to get their beverages. Devon set her menu aside and sank into her own world.

  Martin finally relaxed. “I really dodged a bullet on that one, huh?” he remarked with a nervous chuckle. When Devon didn’t respond, he eyed her and appeared curious. “Is something wrong?”

  “Hmm?” she announced while looking up. “Uh, no. Everything’s fine.”

  “Why don’t you come to the city with me one of these weekends?” Martin suggested. “I’ll take you to my hunting grounds. It’s a place called the Ruby Club. Strictly highbrow people in this place. It’s where I meet all my best dates.”

  “Is that where you met your latest conquest, Suki?” she announced while grinning.

  Martin frowned at the comment and sat back in his chair. “She stood me up.”

  “I don’t think I’ve ever met any of your girlfriends,” Devon informed him.

  “When I find the right one, I’ll bring her home,” he announced then grinned. “No telling what excitement today may bring.”

  “The weatherman says thunderstorms with gusty winds,” Devon teased.

  “You’re so negative.”

  “I have reason to be.”

  “What’s wrong?”

  She shifted uncomfortably. “I didn’t tell anyone, but I went to the museum late Saturday night,” she informed her brother. “I saw Brant trash the workshop and brutalize a wax woman.”

  “Brutalize?”

  “He stabbed it in the head with a sharpened putty knife,” Devon informed him and cringed. “It was very scary.”

  “Maybe you shouldn’t go back there,” Martin announced while shifting uncomfortably.

  “I can’t just call off.”

  “Sure you can,” Martin replied then grinned. “It’s easy. I do it all the time.”

  Ross slid into the booth alongside D
evon, startling her. When she jumped, he chuckled evilly.

  “I wish you’d stop doing that,” she groaned.

  Martin hid his smile because he’d obviously seen Ross approaching since he was facing the door.

  “Mind if I join you for breakfast?” Ross announced cheerfully.

  “Depends,” Martin remarked. “Are you mooching off us?”

  “There’s a strong likelihood,” Ross casually replied without emotion.

  Marlene showed up with two cups of coffee and a cup of tea for Devon. As she walked away, Ross leered after her.

  “It’s like she’s a mind reader or something,” Ross remarked.

  “Considering she didn’t take our order, I assume she’s getting our usual,” Martin announced then shook his head. “I hate being thought of as predictable.”

  “You and me both,” Ross muttered while sipping his coffee.

  As if on cue, both noticed the scrapes on Ross’ knuckles.

  “What happened to you?” Devon announced while indicating his knuckles.

  She knew they didn’t look that way Saturday night when she’d left Ross and Tony at the tavern. He eyed his knuckles then chuckled in a jovial manner.

  “Oh, that,” Ross announced and met her gaze. “Well, you know how I sometimes drink too much and say what I’m thinking?”

  Devon rolled her eyes. “This can’t be good,” she muttered.

  “Actually, I think you’d be proud of me,” he remarked while grinning. “I got into it with Joe after you took Ivy home Saturday night.”

  “Joe?” Martin suddenly asked with surprise. “Former ranch hand Joe?”