All Hallows' Eve Heist, Georgie Shaw Cozy Mystery #2 (Georgie Shaw Cozy Mystery Series Book 3)

by Anna Celeste Burke

  With that, Jack sprang into action. “Okay, so we’re back where we started, Georgie. What’s the fastest way to get to Catmmando Mountain?”

  “We cut through the park, guys. They have a head start whether they’re traveling above ground or below. I know a short cut. We can also move faster than they can if we use a Catmmando Tom version of the Park-Kart. Ralph and I have access to those—they don’t.”

  “They must also be carrying the stuff they looted from the Gallery. That might slow them down too, especially now that Damon’s dead, and they’re a man short.” Jack rubbed the back of his neck, a clear sign of stress.

  “Yes. With a little luck, we’ll get there ahead of them. If we spot them coming our way, maybe security can nab them without a shootout or some other big scene that creates panic in the park.”

  “You’re one of a kind, Georgie,” Jack said. “I’m fine with everything you’ve suggested except including you in this pursuit. Just show us the route on Ralph’s map and let us take it from here.”

  “I could do that, but you still might miss a couple of turns because it’s hard to spot the landmarks in the dark. Besides, how are you two going to pick out the phony Marley World characters from the real ones? My guess is we should be looking for two men decked out in Catmmando Tom-Trooper get-ups like the one Damon had on. I know what a regulation Tom-Trooper Cat's-Eye Warrior ought to look like, so that makes me better able to spot a fake than either of you. All we need is for your guys to grab a guest or an associate and scare the heck out of them or embarrass them. Or worse, make a mistake and alert the thieves that we’re on to them.”

  Ralph was on board, but Jack still appeared skeptical.

  I continued, “To be honest, I only heard about this back door recently because Max is talking about using something similar in construction of buildings in New Arcadia. I have an idea about how they can get into Catmmando Mountain, but I don't know what happens once you get inside. I've been on tours inside Catmmando Mountain, too, but I wasn't thinking about anyone getting out that way. Another reason to get over there as soon as possible is to give us a chance to figure that out.”

  “Technically, I’m still in charge, I think." Ralph said and paused, waiting for acknowledgement.

  "Matthew's shout-out about a shooting in the tunnels was in-house, so that's true for now," Jack agreed. He tugged at his bottom lip, no doubt wrestling with the decision about whether or not this was a police matter at this point.

  "We don’t have more time for debate,” Jack said. “Let’s get moving. Georgie, you call and update Max. Find out who would know how to get around inside Catmmando Mountain and arrange to have that person join us as soon as possible at Fortress Friendship.” Jack poked at the spot on the map still spread out on the table. “In the meantime, we’ll do what we can to head them off and be waiting when they reach Catmmando Mountain.”

  “Your idea about not tipping the thieves off is a good one, Georgie,” Ralph added. “I’m going to tell Crowd Control not to shut down the Conquest, but reroute traffic away from the point of entry they’re going to use. Where is it?”

  I shuddered a bit as I answered him. "There's a park maintenance entry point into Catmmando Mountain behind the picnic area where they discovered Mallory's body.” Jack’s dark eyes met mine. I knew he had been joking when he’d wondered out loud what was with this place. I don’t believe in ghosts, but it did feel a bit like that particular spot was haunted. Of all the places in the park, that was one I dreaded revisiting.

  Jack nodded. “Getting a team in there ahead of them makes a whole lot of sense. Can you do that, Ralph?”

  “No problem,” he replied as he picked up his phone to call Crowd Control and his security teams. I grabbed my phone, too.

  “Great. We'll stay out of the way and let the thieves go inside where we can grab them without endangering the public. That seems less risky than scuffling with them in the park. Let’s roll.”

  7 In Purr-suit

  Our drive through the tunnels was short. It had grown quiet as soon as I quit making phone calls. Jack was worried. A little miffed, too. After we had our first real fight a couple of months ago—about money, not my personal safety—I had learned to recognize the telltale signs. Jack doesn’t rant or rave when he’s ticked off. He goes silent. I glanced sideways at the man who even when unhappy with me set off those enticing snap, crackle, pop sensations. Now was not the time to get distracted by my handsome companion’s presence.

  Besides, I was peeved with him, too.

  When vexed, I do pretty much the same thing—shut down. I feel it’s unseemly to have a hissy-fit when you’re angry. Not because it’s unladylike, although I had that notion drilled into me at an early age. It’s more a fear of appearing foolish, which is what happens to a lot of people when they blow a gasket. Silence is more natural to me than to Jack, though. His garrulous side finds the humor in any dispute we’re having. Once he points out the funny part I get it, too, and the tension vanishes. Not tonight. Under the circumstances, there wasn’t much cause for laughter. I was as worried about him as he was about me.

  I used the silence to ponder the puzzles tumbling through my mind. What was going on between Clara and Max? Who was Damon? Was I right to be as convinced as I was that the ruthless gunmen on the run were planning to make their getaway from Catmmando Mountain? Had we made the right call not to shut down the Conquest? Keeping it open, but doing what we could to shield our guests seemed the surest way to keep two trigger-happy bad guys on the move toward an escape route. What if we were wrong? The stress I felt was almost unbearable. Jack and Ralph must have had to make such judgment calls many times. How could they stand it?

  My job at the Cat Factory wasn’t stress-free either, as my call to Max made clear. Like I had expected, the man was beside himself with anxiety. Learning that there had been yet another death made it worse, and his fear turned into anger. Unlike Jack and me, when Max Marley gets angry, he doesn't go silent, he barks. Rumpelstiltskin was on the loose again.

  “What?” he had shouted when I told him about Damon. I could imagine everyone in the Gallery turning to stare. I wanted to go home, throw myself down on the couch, and listen to Miles’ more benign caterwauling. Instead, I interrupted Max in mid-bellow.

  “Max, I know this is a nerve-wracking situation. We all need to stay calm and act quickly. Can we speak privately?” Silence followed. Blessed silence.

  “I’ll be right back,” he said to someone. “Okay, I’m alone. What is it?”

  I shared what we had learned from our brief discussion with Julie. Max gasped after it dawned on him that there were still two armed and dangerous men on the loose and in the park.

  “Stay with me, Max. We’re almost certain we know where they’re going and why. Ralph and Jack have a plan for how to handle them without creating a public disturbance. Once this is over, we’ll do a thorough review of the security arrangements we have in place. Ralph has some smart ideas about how to improve our protocols.” I smiled at Ralph, who frowned in response since he hadn’t had time to dredge up any new ideas, smart or not. I gave Ralph a reassuring wave, and then continued my conversation with Max.

  We were on the move even as I spoke. Ralph, Jack, and I walked to a golf cart near the entrance to 3 West, just outside the area now cordoned off by crime scene tape. I took my seat in the golf cart and continued speaking.

  “Max, I have a couple of questions for you. Who can help us navigate inside Catmmando Mountain? We need someone who knows how those thieves can get to that back door.”

  Max went silent again. “Dan Larson, head of the design team. You met him. Want me to call him and have him meet you there?” Oh yes, I had met the man. Drop dead gorgeous, but too full of himself for my taste. He had seemed competent enough in his role as a glorified general contractor for New Arcadia.

  “If you do it, he’ll move quicker.” That tickled Max, and he laughed. “Max, who else besides those of us who met recently about your pla
ns for New Arcadia know about the back door?”

  “Good question. I hadn’t even thought about it in years until Dan brought it up as a way to keep the streets of New Arcadia pedestrian friendly. Anyone who worked on the Catmmando Mountain project back in the 90s would know. We’ve had electricians and other repair teams in there a dozen times over the years. Dan can tell you who he's taken in there with him recently. Other than that I can't think of another soul, other than family, of course.”

  Family? Max is divorced, and his only child is dead.

  “You mean your ex?”

  “Yes, that’s right. Mallory and her mother both took a complete tour. Catmmando Mountain is a stunning example of design and engineering. That was years ago, before the divorce and all of Mallory’s troubles began.” I was losing him as his voice faded. Was he spiraling toward the dark place Mallory’s memory often took him? Whether or not Catmmando Mountain is haunted, Max is. Memories of his lost child hovered around him like a phantom.

  For years I’d been tormented by apparitions of a lost love, so I understood some of what he endured. In Max’s case, his recollections had to be filled with ambivalence, given that at the time of her gruesome death, Daughter Dearest had been scheming against him. That whole ordeal had aged him ten years. A ghostly image of Max Marley standing in the ransacked Gallery flitted through my mind. It was past time to wrap this up.

  “One more question. Does the name Damon mean anything to you? That’s either the first or last name of the deceased young man in that photo Jack sent to Bill Miller.”

  “No. I didn’t recognize his face, either. To tell you the truth, it's a relief not to have lost another person like Barry, who I know and care about. From what you’ve said, it sounds like this Damon crook knows something about how things work around here, and about that exit from Catmmando Mountain. When he meets you in the park, ask Dan about Damon. Show him that photo, too, and maybe he can identify him. I’ve got Dan on speed dial so it won’t take more than a few seconds to reach him and tell him to get there, pronto.”

  “Thanks, Max.”

  “I should be thanking you, Georgie. Those men with you, too. You heard what I said about not wanting to lose anyone else I care about. Be careful, okay? Pass that along to Ralph and your detective pal, please. If anything happens to you, I’m holding them responsible.”

  “Sure, Max. Will do. You have to promise to take care of yourself, too. Talk to you later.” I felt a little choked up by the concern in his voice. Maybe he was feeling guilty about sending me out on the front lines. Max also had a vulnerable side when he wasn’t mad with worry and in his imperious, ruler of the known universe mode. I made one more call, this time to my administrative assistant.

  “Carol, it’s Georgie.”

  “Georgie? Where are you? What is going on over there? It’s all over the news that somebody tried to burgle the joint. What on earth were they trying to steal—top secret plans for the next Dickey Duck movie?”

  “Believe it or not, you’re not that far off the mark. Nothing related to the new films, but the old ones.” I explained what had gone on at the Gallery as Jack released the brake and we took off in the golf cart.

  “Wow. It sounds like a huge mess. Do you need me to come in and help see that it gets cleaned up or something?”

  “Or something, Carol. You know your way around the company personnel data files. We’re trying to figure out if there’s a guy by the name of Damon employed by Marvelous Marley World. The problem we’re having is not knowing whether that’s his last name or his first name. He’s young and seems to be familiar with the theme park and the procedures used to get around underground. Ralph Emerson doesn’t recognize him as an employee in security, so he must be tied to the park some other way. We’ve rousted Yvette, but as Director of Park Operations, she’s got her hands full dealing with a situation that’s still unfolding as we speak.”

  “I take it you can’t ask Damon because he’s on the run, right?”

  “Worse, Carol. He’s dead.”

  “Oh no. I heard there was a fatality at the Gallery.”

  “I'm not sure how you found that out since it’s not public information." I was concerned that rumors might cause panic.

  "I'm an insider. You know I have ways of finding out things."

  "Fair enough. I wouldn't be asking for your help now if it weren't true. I hate to be the one to tell you that Barry Hall's the associate we lost tonight.”

  “No. Not Barry? That’s awful news. There’s another one?”

  “Yes. Damon's one of the thieves. Bill Miller shot him as he ran, but didn't kill him. We found him dead and half-dressed as a Tom-Trooper in Backstage Area 3 West. A witness claims he was shot by his confederates before they took off.”

  “No honor among thieves tonight, huh? What cruds.”

  “Yep, that’s about it. Mum’s the word, of course. Damon’s colleagues are still on the run and using his keycard. If we can figure out who he is, we might be able to use that information to help us track them down before they can cause more trouble.”

  Carol said nothing for a few seconds, and then, “Guys with guns in character outfits…in the park on All Hallows’ Eve. Say no more, Georgie. I’m on it.”

  “Thanks, Carol. I’m also emailing you a picture Jack took of this guy, Damon. Fair warning, it’s not a pleasant sight, but maybe it will help you find out who he is.”

  “Jack, huh? What is it about you two? Can’t you find something else to do on a date night?”

  “Not what I had in mind for the evening, trust me. You probably had plans to relax now that the trick-or-treaters have quit ringing the doorbell for the night.”

  Carol goes all out for the holiday, so her house is a kid magnet.

  “We had a record turnout. I'll have some cute pics from tonight that I'll share with you later on. Don't worry about me, though. I’m glad I can help.”

  “Good luck searching for a needle in a haystack. He used that card to get out of the Gallery once the sliders had come down. If I’m correct, his partners plan to use it again to gain access to Catmmando Mountain through a maintenance entrance.”

  Then the obvious struck me. His access required a Level 2 clearance or higher. “Carol, start your search for someone named Damon with keycard access at Level 2 or higher, okay? That ought to narrow your search.”

  Jack heard that, and gave me a thumbs up.

  “That makes sense,” Carol said, “given that he was able to override the security measures in the Gallery. Consider it done.”

  “Thanks,” was all I could think of to say. My long-suffering administrative assistant had worked with me for less than two years. Those had not been good years at Marvelous Marley World as I moved from the Food and Beverage Division to Public Relations and back again. Finding Carol had been the best outcome from those disruptive moves. She had proven herself to be flexible, resourceful, and trustworthy. All traits that would be useful to us tonight.

  Two minutes later, I was still lost in thought when Jack pulled over and parked. Ralph, Jack, and I climbed out of the golf cart and into an elevator. Moments later, the three of us stepped out into the park.

  An enormous full moon hung above us, its glow casting a silvery sheen on our transport vehicle. Mark, one of Ralph’s security team members, was at the wheel of an all-electric vehicle with a sleek, space-age design that mimicked the shape of a crouching feline. Catmmando Tom’s Catvenger Purr-suit Craft seemed oddly appropriate to the absurdity of the moment.

  We took our seats amid a kaleidoscope of lights, motion and sound. Colorful glow sticks and pulsing LED lights were everywhere. Ghoulish hoots, hollers, and shrieks of laughter clashed with the perennial cry of parents trying to control their children. The disinhibiting effects of being in costume were made worse by the sugar overload from treats being handed out to anyone carrying Marvelous Marley World tote bags.

  Tiny facsimiles of Marley World characters darted about as adult-sized characters pursued t
hem. An exasperated mother shouted as we stopped abruptly to avoid hitting a small child who hissed at us and spread a pair of oversized bat wings.

  “Slow down, Jimmy, now, or we’re going home.”

  “I’m not Jimmy. I’m Count von Batula.” he replied in a phony Transylvanian accent. It wasn’t too bad an imitation of the one used by the vampire bat cartoon hero in Max’s lexicon of animal superheroes. The misunderstood member of royalty in the animal kingdom hissed at the bad guys before hurling tranquilizing gas by spitting at his opponents. Gross on some level, but a big hit among eight to twelve year-olds. Max’s pastoral fantasy was an odd mix of humor bordering on bad manners, an almost medieval class structure, and simple moralizing about good and evil. In my career at Marvelous Marley World, I had focused on the fun. That was hard to do on a night like this. Still, I smiled as I heard Mom’s reply.

  “I’m Count von Batula’s mother, too.”

  There was more, of course, but it was lost to us. Jimmy and his mother were swallowed up by the crowd as we sped away. With the whirlwind swirling around us, we did our best to move through the packed streets of Arcadia Park. All that joyous chaos had a soundtrack. Marvelous Marley World tunes played loudly enough that we caught snatches of music as we passed speakers in the Park-Kart lane. I didn’t have to hear much of it for the rhythm and the rhyme to latch onto my brain.

  You’re out tonight to have some fun, be on your guard to harm no one.

  Catmmando Tom depends on you, to fight for good and all things true.

  Defenders of the peace. Protectors of the weak.

  A force unleashed to right the wrong. We raise our voices loud and strong.

  Fighters against crime. We strike in the nick of time.

  It continued in my head even though the strains of that song passed us by as we drove on. Before I knew it I was thumping my knee in time with the familiar beat—ta-da-ta-da, ta-da-ta-da. It reminded me a lot of a childhood favorite—Teddy Bears’ Picnic—but more strident as sung by Catmmando Tom to rally his troops. A Wagnerian take on a kid’s tune. Jack caught me and a grin spread across his face, ear-to-ear.