Murder in Wax

by Holly Copella

  “Yeah, that’s the one,” Ross announced cheerfully. “I defended your sister’s honor and gave him quite the shiner as a token of my affection.” Ross made a fist and slow punched in the air.

  Martin shifted in his seat while frowning. “What did the jerk say about Devon?” he practically demanded.

  “He didn’t say much of anything,” Ross reported. “It was just payback for groping her in the barn.”

  Devon suddenly stiffened and avoided looking at her brother. Martin stared at Ross and appeared ready to explode. He leaned forward on the table and glared at Devon.

  “What does he mean; Joe groped you?” Martin suddenly demanded. “You said he backed you into the corner and kissed you. I never heard groped.”

  Devon met her brother’s gaze and immediately shifted in her seat. “I didn’t say anything because you were already borderline when I told you he kissed me.”

  Martin strummed his fingers on the table and silently seethed a moment. He drew a deep breath, leaned back in his seat, and finally met her gaze.

  “Since Ross already punched him, and Dad fired him, I’m willing to let it go,” Martin remarked, although his eyes still looked devil red. He finally relaxed and stared into her eyes. “Please tell me dad doesn’t know. He’d kill him for sure. Even now a month later.”

  “No, dad doesn’t know,” she practically gasped and stared at him with a horrified look. “I definitely wasn’t going to tell dad. He knows all the good spots to bury a body.”

  Martin sighed with relief and gently rubbed his temples. “Okay,” he announced and nodded. “Let’s just avoid talking about Joe for a while.”

  Devon finally relaxed and nodded. “Agreed.” She then glared at Ross and smacked him on the shoulder.

  He yelped in surprise. “Don’t be mad at me,” Ross cried out. “You two talk about everything. How was I supposed to know you hadn’t told him?”

  “Because, you idiot,” she snarled. “Joe came out of it without any broken bones.”

  Chapter Twenty-three

  Martin’s black blazer pulled up to the front steps of the museum in the pouring rain. They were lucky to leave the diner and reach his truck just before it started to downpour. The rain didn’t appear to be letting up. Since Devon was going to be soaked regardless, she jumped out of the blazer and darted for the porch. She entered the museum and wondered if any part of her wasn’t soaked from her short sprint. She removed her wet jacket and hung it on a large rack just inside the lobby. As she ran her fingers through her wet hair, she wondered how bad it looked and wished she’d gone with a ponytail that morning. Devon turned to see Brant standing only a couple of feet away with a cup of coffee in one hand and a towel in the other. He offered Devon the towel, which she gladly accepted and dried her hair.

  “Beautiful day, isn’t it?” he teased.

  “This is just the beginning,” she informed him. “There’s a massive thunderstorm coming this way. There will be some flooded roadways tonight.”

  Brant frowned and looked toward the lobby window at the black skies beyond the glass. “I hope the power holds out,” he announced then made a face. “I’m afraid we won’t get much done if it doesn’t. We need a new generator. The old one died during the last power outage.” He drew a deep breath then managed a smile and handed her the cup of coffee. “It’ll just be the two of us today, so we’ll see how much we can get done before we lose power. Ross is running some errands.”

  “We had breakfast this morning at the diner,” she remarked then cast a look at him. “He mentioned he was running for more paint pens, although I thought we had plenty on Friday.”

  “Yeah, we did, but I used them rather aggressively yesterday. Would you like to see what I’d finished over the weekend?” Brant asked while grinning.

  Devon fidgeted slightly while staring at him. It seemed like a good time to ask him about the weekend he didn’t spend at his parents’ house.

  “I thought you were going to be gone all weekend,” she remarked.

  “I had a disagreement with my mother,” he informed her while frowning. “I’m lucky I made it through dinner on Friday night.” His grin then returned. “I got a lot of work finished though. Not a bad tradeoff.”

  She didn’t have the heart to mention seeing him at the tavern on Saturday, and she certainly wasn’t going to bring up what she witnessed at the museum in the early morning hours.

  §

  The vampire display was eerie with its crypt and tombs surrounding the cemetery setting, which was dimly lit with fake torches. Naturally, it was a nighttime setting, since vampires preferred it that way. Devon lingered around the set and took in all the amazing details while Brant eagerly awaited her reaction. A lavishly dressed male and female vampire attacked a cemetery full of men with swords and stakes. It was a gruesome scene depicting men with torn, bloodied throats.

  Devon recognized one of the wax men as a reconstruct from the old museum. She remembered uncrating him. She couldn’t be sure, but she swore he was supposed to be Teddy Roosevelt, even though Ross had heavily debated that theory with her. So Teddy Roosevelt was now a vampire-hunting villager. It was slightly amusing. Once Brant turned on the special effects, the vampires moaned and hissed. Teddy Roosevelt stood with his sword prepared to decapitate the vampire attacking his friend.

  Despite the noise and movement within the set, Devon took time to study Teddy’s eyes. Whoever had created the wax figures from the old museum certainly had access to the most realistic looking glass eyes. The eyes Brant provided looked good, but not nearly as good as the reconstructs.

  “Honestly, though,” Brant announced. “He looks like Teddy Roosevelt, right?”

  Devon looked at him with surprise then laughed. “That’s exactly what I’d been telling Ross when we uncrated him,” she announced. “He argued with me half the day over it.”

  “Yeah, me too,” Brant replied. “I think Ross needs glasses.”

  They were about to continue across the loud, animated display when she paused to look at the other villager victims. Despite the dirty blonde hair, one of the men looked a little like Karl. It was uncanny how so many of the wax men and woman looked like famous people or people she knew.

  In the next scene over, there appeared to be a man plunging a stake into an open casket. Devon heard the bone-chilling pounding of the stake supposedly entering the vampire’s body. The vampire flew up within the coffin with the stake in its chest and his long fingers clutching the wooden projectile. Devon jumped with surprise then placed her hand on her chest. She wasn’t expecting the hydraulic actions of the vampire, and it seemed unfair that Brant refused to share that information ahead of time with them. She was almost certain it was because he enjoyed scaring her. As she studied the vampire with the stake through his heart, there was enough gory detail to make her cringe. Brant did fine work on the stake through the heart and the gruesome corresponding wound.

  “What do you think?” Brant asked cheerfully.

  “It’s very, uh, realistic,” she informed him then shivered at the gruesome detail. “I’m guessing our younger visitors will have nightmares.”

  “I can live with that,” Brant teased with a pleased look on his face.

  She couldn’t stop thinking about what she’d seen on Saturday night within the workshop. After casting several looks at Brant, she finally turned to face him.

  “I wasn’t doing much over the weekend,” Devon informed him. “You could’ve called. I would have gladly come in.”

  Brant fidgeted slightly and managed a tiny smile. “I wouldn’t have been very good company,” he muttered while running his fingers through his hair.

  Devon returned her attention back to the violent, loud display. Brant turned off the scene with the remote control from his pocket and left the room. Devon looked around, realized he’d left, and hurried after him.

  §

  Devon and Brant sat at the counter in the workshop that afternoon and worked on a full-sized zombie
laid out before them. The zombie required a lot of decay on his exposed fleshy parts, so they tag teamed the job. Brant seemed less enthusiastic than usual with his work and was forced to correct half of what he did. He used enough turpentine to fill the room with fumes, making Devon slightly lightheaded. She eyed him several times while working on the zombie’s lower leg.

  “Would you like to talk about the party?” she finally asked.

  “I wouldn’t want to bore you,” he muttered with little enthusiasm.

  She looked back down and concentrated on her work. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to pry.”

  “It’s not prying,” he quickly chirped then looked up and fidgeted. “I don’t mind really.” He drew a deep breath, tossed down his rag, and stared at the wax zombie before him. “My mother’s always playing matchmaker. She thinks she has to bring women to the house in hopes I’ll find a suitable mother for my children. Needless to say, it didn’t start off very promising and gradually got worse.” He groaned and shook his head. “This one was so much like my mother; it was almost frightening.”

  Brant collapsed into his chair, snatched a paint pen, and worked on the zombie’s hand.

  “So my weekend sucked,” he announced with a sigh then eyed her. “How was yours?”

  “Uneventful,” Devon replied. “As usual, Ivy got drunk, and I had to drive her home.” She hesitated and considered her next comment carefully. “I, uh, saw you at the tavern on Saturday.”

  He looked at her with surprise then managed a humored smile. “Then you knew I wasn’t gone the whole weekend.” He casually shrugged. “I needed a few drinks after my Friday night fiasco. If I lived closer to my parents, I’d be an alcoholic by now.”

  She was too embarrassed to look at him. “I wasn’t sure I should mention seeing you at the tavern,” Devon remarked.

  He finally looked at her and appeared surprised. “Why not?”

  “Because you were sort of busy at the time,” she announced timidly.

  He stared at her a moment as if attempting to figure out what she meant. He then realized what she’d witnessed.

  “Yeah, busy,” Brant scoffed. “Busy eluding some trashy woman.”

  “Paula,” she informed him. “She attempted to seduce you, because she knew you were my boss and wanted to piss me off.”

  Brant hesitated a moment then glanced at her. “Why would you be pissed off by that?” he asked.

  Devon stared at him and realized she didn’t have a good answer. “Well,” she fumbled. “You know; because you’re my boss, and it would be awkward.”

  He returned to his zombie hand and nodded. “Yeah, I guess it would.” Brant then considered something else. “Pretty sad that the only offer I’d had in months was part of a revenge scheme.”

  “I’m sorry,” Devon suddenly announced while turning toward him. “I didn’t mean to make you feel bad. Obviously, Paula could never hope to attract someone like you if you weren’t totally wasted.”

  Brant cast a glance at her and laughed. “It’s okay,” he remarked. “You don’t have to spare my feelings but thanks anyway. I’ll survive.”

  Their eyes briefly met. Devon couldn’t help but stare into his eyes. It was true; he was a handsome man by any standards. The lights flickered and went out. Devon gasped with surprise and looked around the excessively dark room. Since there were no windows, it was nearly pitch black.

  “Guess that’s lunch,” Brant announced with a sigh. “Don’t move. There’s a flashlight somewhere around here.”

  She heard his chair roll across the floor as he had so many times before. A loud crash followed.

  “Brant?”

  “That works better when I can actually see,” he groaned, obviously in some pain. A small light brightened the area surrounding him. “It’s not much, but it’ll be bright enough to get us up the stairs to the kitchen. I have some kerosene lamps.”

  Chapter Twenty-four

  Devon and Brant sat at the small kitchen table while laughing over several glasses of wine as the storm raged outside. They’d already had too much to drink, although neither seemed to notice or care. The kerosene lamp did an excellent job of lighting most of the kitchen even if neither could see straight. Devon had never seen the sky look so black before, and the rain poured down like a waterfall outside the window. Despite calling it a lunch break, with the power out, it was more of a permanent break. It didn’t seem as if they would be getting any work done, so they were in no hurry and possibly in no condition to return to the dungeon.

  Brant refilled each of their glasses despite that they were both feeling a little too good already. Devon was enjoying their executive lunch and her mildly drunken state. She was having a good time talking with Brant, especially after the wine loosened him enough to speak his mind. Unfortunately, the wine also loosened her enough to entertain misguided thoughts regarding her handsome boss.

  “There’s always a party with Ross around, I’m afraid,” Devon informed Brant while giggling.

  “I’ve enjoyed working with him,” Brant replied honestly. “Try working in a lab some time. What a bunch of stiffs. Everyone is so serious.”

  “I couldn’t even imagine. I suppose I’ve been exposed to Ross for too long,” Devon remarked then carefully considered her next question, but large quantities of wine allowed her to ask it anyway. “Tyler doesn’t really have much of a sense of humor, does he?”

  He chuckled at the question, finding it amusing. “Tyler is a businessman. He’s only in it for the money,” Brant announced then sighed. “I suppose that’s why he makes a good partner. Someone has to run operations and deal with the public. I’m not exactly comfortable socializing with investor types. Or any type for that matter.”

  “Neither am I, but you don’t have much choice in this town,” Devon replied while sipping her wine. “Everyone pretty much knows everyone else’s business. You have to know who your allies are.”

  “I don’t think I have many of those,” Brant informed her. “I’ve only ever been accepted among other scientists. We talk the same language, I suppose.”

  “I grew up around cowboys. You can just imagine the language I’ve learned,” she teased and giggled. It was at that moment she realized she’d had too much to drink and attempted to sound less giddy. “After the incident last month, my father insisted if I wanted to work, I had to find a job in town away from horses and cattle.” She made a face. “Honestly, he’d prefer it if I just got married and played mommy to his grandchildren. He doesn’t really care for the idea of me working in the real world.”

  “Guess we have something in common then,” he informed her. “I wasn’t able to express myself growing up. My father molded me into his little protégé. This museum represents an entire fortune spent on a dream to find out who I really am. So far, it’s been the best time of my life. Whether it turns into something I can make a living doing is another story.”

  “Judging by your work, you’re a true artist, Brant,” she informed him. “It takes a lot of passion and commitment to be an artist.”

  Brant smirked and looked away. “I must be the exception,” he remarked timidly. “Passion has never been my strong point.”

  Devon placed her hand on his forcing him to look back at her as she stared into his eyes.

  “I disagree.”

  Brant gently cupped her hand and caressed it. She couldn’t deny his touch sent a tingling sensation through her body. Or was that just the wine? He pulled his hand away, smiled with some embarrassment, and replaced the cork to the third bottle of wine.

  “I think you’ve had too much wine,” he remarked then chuckled while muttering, “Me too.”

  She was actually enjoying her moderately drunk condition. Devon leaned back in her chair and smiled warmly while studying the handsome man. Brant was, without a doubt, the smartest man she’d ever known, and it was quite the turn-on. Her thoughts were actually starting to scare her. They heard a loud crack of thunder and simultaneously jumped. Devon was jolted bac
k to reality and attempted to push any lustful thoughts from her mind. Both looked out the kitchen window.

  “It doesn’t appear as if we’ll accomplish much this afternoon,” he announced with a defeated sigh. “You may as well leave early, although I hate the thought of sending you out in this storm.”

  “I’ll wait it out,” she replied. She couldn’t admit she was having too much fun drinking with her boss. “Martin is at work, so I don’t have a ride anyway.”

  “I’d give you a ride, but my car is at my house next door,” he announced then chuckled. “I fear we’d both drown before we reached it.”

  She laughed at the comment and smiled in response. “I’m sure we can find something to do until the power comes back on,” Devon boldly announced then immediately realized what she said and how he might take it the wrong way.

  He eyed her a moment in silence, almost confirming that he’d taken it the wrong way. His eyes then lit up at the thoughts racing through his mind.

  “Raid the wardrobe closet, dress like pirates, and have pretend sword fights?” he suggested almost without hesitation then grinned teasingly.

  It took a moment for his words to register. Devon was slightly stunned by the mischievous comment. Even though she knew he meant it to sound like a joke, she actually wondered if he was being serious. She fidgeted slightly and leaned forward in her chair, nearly collapsing on the table, and met his gaze.

  “I have a confession to make,” Devon announced while hiding her devious, drunken smile. “I’ve tried on half the clothes in that wardrobe closet already.”

  Brant stared at her a moment with a stunned expression then chuckled. “Me too.” His look then turned serious despite his buzzed state. “Not the dresses, of course. I don’t have the legs for them.”

  Devon suddenly burst out laughing and placed her hand on his lower arm while nearly falling across the table.

  Chapter Twenty-five