Devon and Brant laughed while she clung to his arm as they headed down the stone dungeon steps into the basement. Brant carried a battery-operated lantern while Devon clutched a large flashlight. They decided to take the longer route rather than the kitchen shortcut to the workshop. In their drunken condition, they had the strange desire to explore the displays in the dark in an attempt to scare themselves silly.
“Ross can never know about this,” Brant warned her with a stern look while partially holding her up. “He screws around enough when he thinks I’m not watching. He can’t know I actually condone this sort of bad behavior.”
She laughed almost uncontrollably, giddy from too much wine. “Trust me; I’m not telling Ross you and I played plundering pirates during a power outage.” Her eyes widened dramatically as her look turned serious. “He’s been trying to get me into those shackles in the torture chamber for days. I swear; he’s hell-bent on playing out some depraved sexual fantasy in that torture chamber.”
Brant chuckled, humored by the confession. “I suppose I’m a hopeless romantic,” he announced while grinning. “Mine involves the altar in the church scene.”
He suddenly stopped on the steps, apparently realizing he’d spoken aloud. Devon also stopped and looked at him with surprise. His eyes widened as he stared at her.
“I am so sorry,” he practically gasped. “I shouldn’t have said that aloud. That was so inappropriate.”
As she stared into his eyes, she was almost speechless. “That’s my fantasy too,” she gasped enthusiastically as she fell against him, knocking him against the wall.
Devon stared into his eyes while grinning uncontrollably at the sexual fantasies racing through her mind. She groaned softly as her free hand traveled his chest.
“That would be so much fun,” she announced with her mouth close to his.
Brant stared into her eyes unable to speak as their mouths practically touched. He was slightly stunned while she barely controlled her grin.
“So, uh, you want to do that instead of the plundering pirate thing?” he announced timidly almost unable to get the words out and allowed his lips to brush past hers.
Devon turned enthusiastic and practically crawled up his body. “Yes, let’s do that instead.”
He held her hand to his chest to keep it from caressing him then brushed his lips past hers. She shut her eyes and groaned in anticipation of his kiss.
Brant drew a deep breath and resisted kissing her. “I think you had too much to drink,” he gently insisted.
Her eyes opened, and she immediately met his gaze while maintaining her grin. “I’m fine,” she giggled.
“You know,” he announced and affectionately caressed her hand. “The full effect will be lost without the candles and the backlight from the stained glass window.” He gently cleared his throat. “Why don’t we do the pirate thing first and save the other thing for when the power is restored?”
She stared at him a moment, considered the comment, and then nodded. “You’re probably right.” Devon moved away from him and headed down the stone steps as if the entire conversation had been forgotten already.
Brant groaned softly, ran his fingers through his hair, and followed with less enthusiasm. “Chivalry sucks,” he muttered.
As they neared the bottom, they heard what sounded like running water and looked at each other with confusion. Both hurried down the rest of the stairs and saw a foot of water covering the basement floor. Brant and Devon stood at the bottom of the steps and stared at the flooded basement.
“I don’t believe this!”
Brant stepped into the water, hurried along the water covered walkway, and entered the first display. Devon hurried behind him and saw Dr. Frankenstein’s lab under a foot of water. The sets were already saturated.
“It’s ruined,” he cried out. “All that work straight to hell!”
Devon remained silent while standing in the water a few feet behind him. She didn’t know what she could possibly say to comfort him. She did find it a little surprising that the water was practically clear enough to see the floor. She somehow thought the water would be murky. Of course, she doubted Brant would care to hear that at the moment.
“This can’t be happening!” Brant announced as he turned in the water to face Devon with a look of defeat on his face.
“We’ll call someone to pump out the basement,” she gently informed him while attempting to clear her head. “It may be okay. I’m sure we can fix it.”
“Nice try,” he announced with a groan. “I’d better cut the circuit, just in case the power comes back on.” He ran his fingers through his hair and sighed. “Wouldn’t want to be electrocuted.”
Brant trudged through the water and headed past the displays on his lengthy journey to the workshop. Devon looked around, gasped softly, and hurried after him. As they entered the graveyard display, Devon and Brant watched wax zombies float face first in the water past them. Both stopped, unable to take their eyes off the worst affected display since there had been a lot of activity located on the ground. Brant stared at the zombies and headstones floating in a layer of fake moss.
“Lovely,” he scoffed showing no emotion. “I’m ruined.”
The wax zombies gently floated around the room with their tattered clothing drifting behind them. A female zombie bumped into their legs. Devon looked at the blonde zombie face down in the water and noted the alluring red dress. She didn’t remember a zombie wearing a dress like that. She pulled away from Brant and turned the wax woman over. Devon stared at Jamie Smyth floating in the water, her dead eyes staring back. Devon then saw the bruises on her neck and the gruesome, excessively clean stab wounds to her chest and abdomen. She then realized that Jamie had been murdered! Devon let out a shrill scream and jumped backward into Brant.
“Oh, my God,” Devon cried out unable to take her eyes off the dead woman. “Jamie!”
Jamie’s corpse once more bumped against her legs, causing Devon to scream again. Brant gathered Devon in his arms and physically pulled her away from the floating dead woman while staring with his own look of horror. He turned, forcing her through the water back toward the steps. They crashed into a floating wax zombie and fell together into the water. Devon splashed in the foot deep water attempting to get her feet under her. She stared at the male zombie and screamed hysterically while pushing it away even though it was just wax. Brant pulled her to her feet and hurried her from the display.
Chapter Twenty-six
Brant stood in the museum kitchen with the phone to his ear while nodding at what the person on the other end was saying. Devon had her arms folded across her soaked body and trembled from the chill and her shock. She purposely stood only inches away from Brant, hoping she’d feel secure, but it wasn’t working.
“Thank you, Deputy Havens,” he responded then hung up the phone and turned toward Devon. “The police are on their way.”
Devon continued to shiver while staring at him with fear in her eyes. “She was murdered, wasn’t she?” she asked with a quiver in her voice, although she already knew the answer by the gruesomeness of her injuries.
Each time she shut her eyes, she could see the deep stab wounds in Jamie’s chest and torso, the blood washed away from soaking in the water. Brant gently pulled her into his arms and attempted to comfort her. She immediately clung to him despite their wet bodies.
“The police can handle it,” he announced in a comforting tone while gently rubbing her shoulders, which was possibly his own coping mechanism. “You’ll be more comfortable next door at my house. You can change into some dry clothes.”
She mechanically nodded without moving from his arms. He attempted to pull away, but she didn’t release him. Brant hesitated then resumed holding her.
§
There was a fire burning in the living room fireplace within Brant’s house, which gave off enough light to brighten the entire room. The home was older, but it contained beautifully detailed woodwork and a large, m
arble fireplace. Brant, already changed into dry clothes, kneeled before the fireplace while poking the fire to keep it burning. Devon approached from the hallway wearing one of Brant’s shirts and a pair of his shorts. She continued to rub her chilled arms as she approached the fireplace. She kneeled beside him and shivered. Brant glanced at her as she stared at the fire and didn’t look away. He set the poker aside and touched her shoulder.
“Are you okay?”
“I’ll be fine,” she whispered and stared without emotion at the flames.
Brant moved back a few feet, removed a tea mug from the coffee table, and extended it to her.
“Drink this,” he announced reassuringly. “You’ll feel better.”
Devon moved closer to him, accepted the mug, and sipped the contents. She immediately made a face from the warmed alcohol mixed with cider. Brant sat on the floor and rested against the sofa. Devon immediately moved across the floor and sat surprisingly close to him. Brant uncertainly placed his arm around her shoulder and held her against him. She set her cup on the table and clung to him with her head to his chest. She didn’t care that he was her boss or that she barely knew him; she just wanted him to hold her. He circled his arms around her and held her close, perhaps for his own security as well as hers. Through the pouring rain just outside the large, bay window, they could see the red and blue flashing lights of the approaching police vehicle. He affectionately kissed the top of her head.
“I’ll deal with the unpleasantness next door,” he gently informed her. “You just stay here. If they want to talk to you, I’ll bring them over.”
Devon didn’t want to release him, but she knew someone had to greet the police at the museum. She wasn’t sure how long he was gone before she moved to the sofa, collected into a small ball, and shivered with the tea mug in her hand.
§
Nearly two hours later, Sheriff Carter stood by the fireplace in Brant’s home while writing on his notepad in chilling silence. Devon and Brant now sat on the sofa huddled together while the sheriff questioned them. Devon appeared completely relaxed now and possibly drunk after drinking the entire contents of her mug as well as Brant’s that he’d left behind when he went next door. Brant remained tense regarding the sheriff’s line of questioning while Devon clung to him happily clueless.
“I understand Karl had been working on the museum last week,” Sheriff Carter announced. “When was he here last?”
“Friday afternoon,” Brant informed him then fidgeted. “I’d dismissed the construction company for improper conduct.”
Sheriff Carter eyed Devon as if reading between the lines then looked back at Brant. “There have been complaints about Larry’s Construction in the past,” the sheriff remarked then wrote something in his notebook. “The outer museum basement door appears to have been forced open. It’s not noticeable at a glance, but there are fresh notches in the wood.”
“We used that entrance last Thursday for our delivery,” Brant informed him. “I’m positive I locked it when we were finished, although I’m not sure what I did with the keys.”
“Was there anyone here Friday evening?” Sheriff Carter asked. “That’s the night she’d disappeared.”
Brant only briefly considered the question. “No. Ross, Devon, and I left about five o’clock on Friday,” he announced. “I went to a dinner party at my parents’ house in the city and didn’t get home until early Saturday morning.”
“What about your partner, Tyler?”
“He was either at his beach house or in the city, as he is most weekends,” Brant replied.
“Anyone else at the museum on Friday?” Sheriff Carter asked.
“Just the construction crew and the four of us,” he replied then hesitated. “And Tony.”
Carter raised a curious brow. “Tony O’Brien?”
“Yes,” Brant announced. “He brings lunch on Fridays. He’s Ross’ friend.”
“Once they’re finished pumping the water from the basement, we’ll conduct a more thorough search,” Sheriff Carter informed him.
“Thank you, Sheriff.”
Brant freed himself from Devon’s grip and walked Sheriff Carter to the front door. Only a moment passed when Devon heard a familiar voice from the front door. Ross entered the living room and hurried for Devon as she sprang up from the sofa.
“Devon, are you all right?” he practically gasped.
Devon staggered toward Ross and drunkenly fell into his arms. “Oh, Ross. I’m so glad to see you,” she cried out and hugged him.
Ross held her to keep her from falling. He stared at her with some surprise then cast a look at Brant, who stood nearby.
“Is she drunk?” he asked with surprise.
“Maybe a little,” Brant replied.
Chapter Twenty-seven
It was late Monday afternoon, and the storm had finally passed, although there were plenty of flooded roadways, downed trees, and power outages. The small town was particularly hit hard, especially along the back roads. The resort area seemed less affected by the aftermath of the storm since most of the power lines were underground and there were few older trees with weak limbs. A few smaller branches scattered about parking lots was the extent of the damage to the newly developed resort area.
Tamara walked across the mostly filled hotel parking lot toward her lightly used, powder blue compact car. She was dressed in her black housekeeping uniform and comfortable shoes looking exhausted from her morning working the seven to three shift at the hotel. She pressed the button on her keychain, electronically unlocking her car door as she approached. Tamara got into the car, sat behind the wheel a moment, and then looked at herself in the rearview mirror. Although only twenty-three, she looked much older. She frowned, started the car, and pulled out of the parking lot while avoiding larger puddles.
The light blue car drove away from the resort area and headed for town along the back road, which was the quickest route to her apartment on the other side of town. There were several tree limbs down, and the back road was covered in puddles and debris. As she drove down the lightly traveled road, Jamie’s red sports car appeared behind her. Tamara glanced into her rearview mirror and immediately recognized the car.
“Great,” Tamara scoffed. “Probably wants to gloat about getting the job.”
Jamie’s sports car picked up speed while entering the oncoming lane and drove alongside Tamara’s car. She glanced to her left, half-expecting to see Jamie gloating, when the sports car picked up speed and swerved in front of her. Tamara cried out with surprise and turned the wheel to avoid hitting the sports car. Her car ran off the road, hit the gravel, and struck an embankment. Tamara was thrown against the seatbelt, which held her in place upon impact. She clung to the wheel a moment while panting from the near collision. The sports car stopped on the street and backed up until it was on the road a few yards in front of Tamara’s disabled car. Tamara sneered and sprang from her car.
“What the hell is wrong with you?” she cried out demandingly while flinging her arms around wildly at her former friend. “You could have killed me, you stupid bitch!”
The car suddenly rocketed backward in reverse. Tamara saw the car coming and attempted to jump out of the way. She was nearly clipped by the sports car while leaping over the hood of her own car. She slid off the car hood and fell onto the gravel before it. Jamie’s car pulled alongside her. Tamara slowly picked herself up from the gravel while gingerly rubbing her shoulder. She looked at the car with anger and was about to scream at Jamie when she saw the phantom lunging for her. Tamara let out a startled scream as a stun gun was thrust against her midsection. She jerked and jolted before falling to the ground.
§
Tamara opened her eyes and stared at the old, partially rotted ceiling above her. Within the dimly lit room, she could make out a cobweb-covered chandelier. She groaned softly and looked around while attempting to sit up. Her arms were immobile, stretched out on either side of the dining room table, and somehow tied to it. H
er ankles were tied together and to the table as well. Tamara gasped and immediately fought her bindings, but she couldn’t free herself. A tear in the old, heavy curtains allowed the setting sun to shine partially through, indicating she’d been out for several hours. A strange scraping sound alarmed her.
“Help,” she cried out, although it was possible no one would hear her.
The scraping sound got louder and seemed to be coming from behind her head. It was the only area she couldn’t see from her tied position on the table.
“Please, let me go,” she sobbed. “Why are you doing this?”
The scraping sound stopped. Tamara nervously looked to her right and saw the phantom standing over her where she was tied to the table. Tamara screamed when she saw him. He raised an ax above his head. She continued to scream while fighting the ropes holding her to the table. The ax came down and struck her in the abdomen. Tamara cried out then gasped as her body jerked, and she spit up blood. The ax was pulled from her body and thrust downward again. She managed a faint whimper then became motionless. The ax was pulled from her body and struck her again and again, sending blood flying across the room. When the phantom had cast his final blow, he left the ax in her torn abdomen and walked away. Blood seeped through the splintered table and dripped into a puddle on the floor below.
Chapter Twenty-eight
It was a little before noon on Tuesday. Ross, Devon, and Martin appeared uncomfortable as they sat in the front, left parlor of the funeral home. Voices were heard within the right side parlor across the hall from them. Tony was comforting his grieving client. Dorothy Smyth sobbed into her handkerchief as she stepped out of the front parlor and walked along the hallway with Tony by her side.
“You’ve been so kind in my time of need, Tony. Jamie would appreciate you taking care of her like this,” Dorothy announced while fighting her tears. “You’ll make all the arrangements?”
“I’ll take care of everything, Mrs. Smyth,” Tony informed her while gently touching her elbow. “Why don’t you go home and rest?”
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