Gypsies, Traps & Missing Thieves

by Rachael Stapleton

  Nana smirked and disappeared with Eve. No doubt they were off to whisper some more about Mallory’s date. Apparently, everyone was entitled to know about him but Mallory.

  “What’s your boyfriend’s name, Geneviève?” Mallory asked, turning her attention back to their blue-haired guest. “Dan or I can look at the front desk and see if he’s checked in yet.”

  Geneviève grinned. “That’s okay, I’m sure he’ll be along any moment. I guess, as the owners, you guys play these mystery games all the time?”

  Danior, who’d been lingering beside Mallory, shook her head. “No, not at all. We do themed events for groups but this is our first time playing a murder mystery game—that’s why we hired this outside company to run it. We’re amateurs compared to them, and now we get to experience it the way our guests do. If we like it, then we’ll add it to our package. What about you, have you played something like this before?”

  “Never,” Geneviève said, “I’m looking forward to it though.”

  Mallory noticed a muddied flash through the girl’s aura as she spoke. She was lying, either she had played before or she wasn’t looking forward to it.

  Geneviève glanced down at her pocket, which was now vibrating, and her spine straightened. “Anyway, it was nice meeting you, but I think this might be my new mystery man calling. Tootaloo.”

  Mallory watched her flit through the room only to disappear down the hall. There was something off about her. Oh, well. She was probably one of the actors. Mallory paused to examine the flatware, water cups, and napkin fans placed on the empty tables. Everything was polished to a high shine and precisely arranged.

  Nothing more she could do here. Instead she searched the room to see if she could find her own mystery man. The front lounge room was full of people but there were only a handful of guys and none of them seemed to be on their own. Near the open pocket doors to the dining room, she could see a gentleman in glasses perusing the occult cabinet. He seemed fascinated by the wide array of paranormal antiques: Ouija boards, tarot cards, divining rods and ceramic palmistry hands. Was he her mystery date? He was a little too mature looking for her taste. Not that looks were everything but attraction was important.

  Mallory decided that it couldn’t be him and wandered over to the large oil painting that hung on the wall above the fireplace. It showed three adults and seven children standing in front of a gypsy caravan—the same caravan that was now parked down by the beach. The determined face of her great-great-grandmother in the center of the portrait dominated the painting. The flesh tones of the oils were so realistic that Mallory could imagine the figures bursting free of the ornate wooden frame. A brass plate beneath the painting was etched with the words Horvath Family circa 1933.

  Mallory moved closer to the fireplace where flames blazed in the hearth, all yellows and oranges. She glanced to her right at the guests milling at the bar beside her. Their attire ranged from tennis shoes and ripped denims to leather pumps and designer labels. A motley crew to be sure.

  “Lovely, isn't it?” came a deep voice. Mallory spun to her left, nearly knocking the glass from the man’s hand. Before her was the gentleman she’d been silently observing only moments ago—his smile fixed on his face as if chiseled. “The painting, I mean,” he clarified. “The woman in the center looks, dare I say, like she’s not someone to be crossed.”

  Mallory turned her gaze back to the painting. She studied the eyes—they were familiar—dark, fierce, as if searching the room even now. Mallory had never met her great grandparents, let alone her great-great grandmother Nadya Franz, so she had no idea of her personality aside from what her mother had once told her, and yet she felt like she knew her.

  “Yes,” Mallory said. “I guess. I think she had to be. Those weren’t easy times for my people.”

  “Your people?”

  “Roma.”

  “Fair enough. I’m Harley Ace,” he said with a grin.

  “Mallory Vianu. Nice to meet you.”

  “Vianu, huh? So, you are one of the owners. I apologize if I offended you with my comment. Are these your ancestors, then? It says Horvath.”

  “Yes, but no apology necessary. This is my great grandmother Simza’s family. Her parents were Beta and Hanzi Horvath and that was her beloved grandmother Nadya. Simza had all of these paintings done of her family to remember them. She died in childbirth, so we never met, but according to my grandfather Ion… they were a proud, strong family.”

  “You said their life was hard. Were they caught up in the war?”

  “Actually, their hardship started even earlier. Did you know the persecution of the Roma—Gypsies, as they were called back then—actually preceded the Nazi takeover. The police in Bavaria maintained a central database as early as 1899. My ancestors were pursued constantly, escaping a workhouse in 1926 and sterilization in 1933, but eventually they were caught.”

  “A terrible lot to have in life. No doubt I would have failed. What happened to them?”

  Mallory frowned. “Rounded up in Bavaria and transported to the Dachau concentration camp. Only my great-grandmother Simza, who was thirteen at the time,” she pointed to the girl with the large blue eyes in the painting, “managed to escape.”

  “How?”

  “That’s a good question. I only know she was taken in by the Vianus and she married their son at eighteen.”

  “Quite the story. Did I overhear you say that you were playing the murder mystery game with us this weekend?” Harley questioned.

  Before Mallory could respond, a blonde woman with a bob approached. She toyed with the strand of pearls around her neck as she wrapped an arm through Harley’s and introduced herself as his wife, Lana.

  Mallory reached out her hand and introduced herself.

  “You heard correctly. We are all players here.” Mallory nodded.

  “That hardly seems fair. We simply must join your team.”

  “There are no teams,” Mallory laughed. “And don’t worry; we’re at no advantage. That’s why we hired an outside company. We just want to see the mystery game from our guests’ perspective to decide if it’s going to become a regular event.”

  Harley nodded. “I’m teasing, anyway. I think that’s a great idea.” He turned to Danior who had arrived late to the conversation. Others were following her. “As I said, I’m Harley, this is my wife Lana… and the lovely dark-haired woman in glasses there is Michèle—or maybe it’s Mitch. I’ve heard her called several names now, not all of which I’ll repeat. Anyway, watch out for her, she was married to a detective for five years. She came with those French ladies raiding the snacks table, Denise and Gloria. We just met them, and the other lady is Michèle’s sister, um...” Frowning, he pursed his lips together.

  “Eve,” Mallory said. “We know them very well. Eve lives here in Bohemian Lake and she and my Nana go way back.”

  Nonplussed, Harley snapped his fingers. “Right, Eve. She’s the journalist—or is she the law expert? It seems everyone here is in on ‘the know’ but us.”

  “I highly doubt that,” Michèle sniggered, as she and Eve came to stand in the circle. “Eve doesn’t know much of anything anymore. She used to know how to get the bad guys off but it’s been a while.”

  “Sweet mother-of-pearl. They weren’t all bad guys. Some of them were just wrongly accused.” Eve defended.

  “Who said anything about your clients?” Michèle said in a quiet, mousy voice then laughed so hard she snorted.

  “Oh, you are incorrigible, Mitch.” Eve shook her head. “You know that’s why we call her Mitch, right… rhymes with b—”

  “Okay, that’s quite enough, you two,” Mallory cut in. Mallory had only met Michèle once before but she could already see these two were trouble together. Eve alone was a handful; add in someone with a similar genetic make-up and, well, there just wasn’t enough alcohol on hand.

  Eve ignored Mallory with a wave of the hand, “Truth is, I work for the Trubble family now at Bohemian Private Eye Invest
igations & News, but I really just answer the phones and fact check.” She leaned forward and winked, “At least that’s what we like people to think.” Eve took a sip of her mimosa and smiled when she realized she still had the floor. “My second husband was a criminal lawyer. I used to work for him but he’s passed on to the great justice system in the sky.”

  Lana shook her head. “Wow, I guess your background will really come in handy here.”

  “Why?” Michèle straightened her glasses. “You thinkin’ about committin’ a crime?”

  Lana took a step back. “Heavens, no, I just meant it would be beneficial while playing this game.”

  Mallory couldn’t help but snicker, then she felt a poke in her side.

  “Speaking of criminals, where’s the old bat?” Michèle asked.

  “She disappeared when Joelle arrived—I think she’s up to something.” Eve barked.

  “What else is new?” Mallory smiled and shrugged. “I wonder why Rebel isn’t here yet. I think Penny’s dropping her off on the way to the airport.”

  “Oh, where’s she going?” Michèle asked.

  “Somewhere warm. Cody’s been in the city all week for work, so she’s meeting him.” Mallory answered.

  “She’s a brave soul to drive to the airport in this.” Michèle said.

  “Actually, one of Cody’s colleagues, Detective Bones is driving her. He has something to do in the city too.” Eve said.

  “Bones?” Michèle repeated, her sly half-grin growing wider. Thankfully a loud bell chimed and ruined whatever great punchline she had lined up.

  One of the manor’s long-time employees, Emilion Grastari, threw out his arms and addressed the group in a thick Romanian accent. He was holding a string of balloons. “Ladies and Gentlemen, welcome to the Manor, your home away from home for the next few days.” He wasn’t in his usual costume, an open-chested pirate-style shirt that showed off his chest. Today he was in the classic circus strong man’s costume which also happened to show off his muscled pecs. His bovver boots were scuffed and manly, and his hair was chic and grungy—most of it was pulled up into a man bun, leaving a few pieces that had escaped and now framed his handsome face. Unlike usual, he was sporting a thick black moustache. “Step right up and make yourself comfortable. Not too comfortable, of course,” he added with a creepy smile, as he motioned for everyone to enter the lounge area.

  A heavy mist appeared at the other end of the room, and as it cleared, Mallory could just make out the form of a man and two women—a butler, a maid and a ringmaster.

  “Come one. Come all. To the greatest dinner party of them all,” the maid sang out.

  Michèle hooted with laughter. A nudge from Eve’s elbow caused her to double over slightly. Michèle gave Eve a dirty look before looking back at Mallory and Danior, and winking. Mallory couldn’t help but compare them to evil twins.

  The group of guests had now formed a semi-circle around the three, and clearing her throat, the woman in the maid’s costume stepped forward to stand beside the ringmaster, who Mallory realized was Nana. “My name is Joelle Mackay, I am Madam Murter’s trusted confidant and advisor,” she said in a Quebecois accent. “As you know, Madam Murter, Lady of the Manor and Ringmaster of the Traveling Romani Carnival, has decided to close down the carnival for the weekend to throw a celebration in honor of the baby girl who was mysteriously left on her doorstep eighteen years ago today.”

  Mallory’s jaw dropped. Nana wasn’t kidding; they really had weaved some real-life facts into the game plot. She looked over at Danior to see how she was taking it, but she seemed amused. Emilion had appeared at her side to hand her the bouquet of bright red balloons emblazoned with, “Happy Birthday!”

  “Madam Murter has invited you, her treasured carnival employees and guests, to wine and dine with her tonight at 6pm. There will be food, drinks and live music. You will be expected to dress in your best carnival attire.”

  “And just what is our best carnival attire?” Michèle said loudly.

  “We have delivered basic wardrobe pieces to your rooms that you may use for the duration of your stay.”

  “Costumes?” Michèle complained.

  Joelle looked at her with disdain. “Naturally, we expect that all of you will enjoy participating in this sort of thing. Madam Murter has many activities prepared tonight for everyone’s entertainment, and since she does so enjoy the occult, we shall communicate with the other side. One of your fellow acts, Ms. Claire Voyant will hold a séance to communicate with the dearly departed tonight after dinner.”

  Harley raised his hand. “When do we find out our act?”

  Lise Trix, the manor’s administrative assistant and guest services agent, dressed in red pants, suspenders, and a white hat, stepped forward, carrying a basket. “Inside this basket is an envelope for each of you, containing a nametag which you are to pin to your outfit, as well as a complete biography of your character. The instructions are simple. You have the afternoon to read and memorize your biographies. You may only tell the others the basic information about your character: name, occupation, family ties, things like that. And you must stay in character when you are around others. You’ll have a list of secrets to share. Oh, and one lucky person will have a list of victims that they must get alone and knock off without any other player suspecting. If you are that person, you are to keep that to yourself, or the game will be over before it begins. There will be a monetary prize at the end for the best sleuth, and for the murderer, if he or she lasts to the end without being caught.”

  Lise set down the basket and gestured to it. “Your identities await you. All meals are served in the dining room. The game formally begins at dinner so please get ready. You will find that your outfits have all been delivered to your rooms. The manor also has a costume room available that you can rent from if you like.”

  “This is so exciting,” Danior whispered, as the envelopes were passed out to everyone in the room.

  “There is one more important rule that must be followed. If and when you are murdered during the game. Please refrain from being seen. It does detract from the game’s ambiance when the murder victims continue to interact. There are four of us designated as keepers of the dead, and we will see that you are sufficiently tended to so there is no need to worry about food or entertainment.” Joelle looked inside the nearly empty basket and picked up the last three remaining envelopes. Calling each name with a moment’s pause between. “Rebel Rouse, Elizabeth Bowler and Geneviève Edmondson.”

  “We’re still waiting on two of those people,” Lise said. “But Geneviève Edmondson checked in already. She should be here.”

  “Very good, has anyone seen Geneviève?” Joelle shouted.

  “How could anyone miss her?” Eve mumbled in Mallory’s ear.

  “Pardonne-moi?” Joelle asked.

  Danior and Mallory glanced about the room looking for their new friend with the bright blue hair, but no one responded.

  Mallory peered down at the invitation she held in her hands. French Medium. Well, that wasn’t too much of a stretch. She leaned over and peeked at Danior’s. German Songstress.

  She looked up just as Gloria passed her invitation to Denise and crossed her arms over her chest. “Dress attire: A fedora, a trench coat and a press pass? Oh, God, we’re writers?” She huffed. “They never get anything right!”

  “Look again, we’re journalists, dear.” Denise clarified.

  “Even worse. There has to be some mistake. How am I not the witty detective?”

  Eve opened her envelope and pulled out the invitation. A broad smile crossed her face as she read. “Oh, I like mine.”

  “Good, then you’re willing to trade.” Gloria reached for the envelope in Eve’s hand.

  Eve quickly moved away from her friend. “You wouldn’t like this, either, trust me.”

  “Attention mystery guests!” the man in the butler’s costume called out. “My name is Bronson but I’ll be playing the role of Remy Martin this weekend
. If you haven’t formally checked in as of yet, please see Lise at the front desk, and we will hand out keys and provide a tour. For the rest of you, please get changed and meet back in the foyer for drinks and appetizers at 4pm.”

  Danior puffed out her chest. “I am the guest of honor, Lovey Singer, and yet I still must sing for my supper.” Reaching for Mallory’s invitation, she asked. “What are you here to do?”

  Mallory moved her invitation away from Danior’s fingers. “Apparently, I’m able to summon the dead.” She looked over at the girl next to her, who was standing on her tiptoes, looking lost.

  “Hi, I’m Mallory.”

  “Hmm?” she asked distractedly. “Oh, forgive me,” she said, stretching out a hand. “I’m Vee.”

  “Where are you from?”

  “Oh!” Vee reached into the envelope and brought out her invitation. “I’m not sure.” She carefully read her invitation before answering. “I’m British. Miss Lil Scammer. That doesn’t sound good.” Biting her lip, she read a bit more. “Madam Murter’s gal Friday, publicist and executor of the will.”

  “Sounds like fun to me,” Eve said.

  “Yeah, if you like pantsuits and tea.”

  “Tea, heavens no.” Eve said, and stuck out her tongue. “Eww.”

  Mallory laid her hand on Danior’s forearm. “I’m going to go talk to Lise about our blue-haired friend’s disappearing act. We can’t have a guest wandering off without knowing the rules.”

  “Maybe she found her online date and they’re getting to know each other, if you know what I mean.” Eve said playfully and elbowed Danior. “Wink, wink, nudge, nudge.”

  Danior laughed. “True, and don’t forget if it’s part of the show, Lise isn’t gonna admit to anything. She signed a form with Joelle’s company, remember, so that would be cheating.”

  “You really think Geneviève’s little disappearing act during orientation was part of the show? I mean, we haven’t even really started yet.”

  “What are you all gabbing about?” Denise asked looking back and forth.

  Mallory quickly described meeting Geneviève.