by Gibson, Jo
Mary Beth had been busy all afternoon, preparing for Michael’s private show. She’d pushed the leather couches to the side of the room, and carried the ladder up from the garage. Even though she was afraid of heights, she’d climbed up to reposition the spots on the track lighting. The area in front of the window would be her stage. She’d use the dark blue drapes for a backdrop and the wicker peacock chair would be her prop.
A car door slammed, and Mary Beth raced to the window. Was Michael here already? But his car wasn’t in the driveway where he always parked. It must have been one of the neighbors coming home late. At least she hoped it was one of the neighbors!
Mary Beth shivered. She didn’t like to admit it, but she was getting scared. The wind was howling even harder now, and every time the house creaked, she felt like screaming. She had to calm down or she wouldn’t be able to do her dance. It was impossible to be sexy when you were scared out of your skin.
Suddenly, the neighborhood dogs started to bark. Mary Beth raced to the window again, but she couldn’t see anything. Her father had wanted to buy a dog for protection, and Mary Beth wished her mother hadn’t talked him out of it. Who cared if a dog chewed the furniture and left messes on the rug? Dogs were loyal and they defended you with their lives.
Mary Beth took a deep breath and let it out again. She was perfectly safe. There was nothing to worry about. But just as she’d managed to calm down, the lights flickered and there was a terrible crash. Thunder? In L.A.? They only had a couple of thunderstorms a year in Southern California!
Rain started to fall, a little patter at first, like tiny feet scampering on the roof. Then there was another loud clap of thunder and rain gusted against the windowpane. It sounded like a snare drum, growing louder and louder as rain pelted down from the sky. The sound made Mary Beth even more frightened. She’d never liked snare drums. They reminded her of executions.
Mary Beth screamed as the lights flickered again. She tried to tell herself she was being silly, but. every horror movie she’d ever seen flashed through her mind. There was always thunder and lightning whenever anyone got killed. Perhaps that was because the scriptwriters knew that thunderstorms made people nervous.
There was another loud crack, and the lights went out. Mary Beth raced across the rec room and stumbled against the couch. She’d forgotten that she’d moved it, and now she’d have a sore toe when she danced. This night wasn’t turning out at all as she’d planned.
She was just feeling around for the box of matches that sat on the end table when the lights came back on. Sometimes a storm knocked out the power for hours. She had to prepare for an emergency. She grabbed the box of matches and hurried to the gas fireplace. At least the gas wouldn’t go out, thank goodness. She’d light a fire and that would be very romantic. If she couldn’t do her striptease for Michael tonight, she’d have to settle for cuddling in front of the fire.
It only took a moment to light the fireplace, and Mary Beth sighed in relief as she glanced at the clock again. It was ten-thirty. An hour and a half to go. The lights could go out now and she wouldn’t care. The fireplace would provide plenty of light.
But how about the security system? Was it electric? Mary Beth wished she’d paid more attention when her father had explained it to her. Did she have to reset it, or would it go back on automatically?
It paid to be safe. Heart pounding, Mary Beth hurried down the stairs to the box in the entry way. The red light was flashing and that meant the system was armed. Or did it? She could check the instruction book, but she wasn’t sure where her father kept it. She’d turn it off and re-arm it. Then she’d be safe.
Mary Beth turned off the system and punched in the code to re-arm it. But the red light kept flashing. What did it mean? She thought about calling her mother to ask, but there was no reason to worry her. Michael would be here soon, and he was better than any security system.
She was about to start back up the stairs to the rec room when the telephone rang. Mary Beth rushed to the kitchen and took the call there.
“Standby Security.” The caller was a lady with a thick southern accent. “Code, please?”
For a moment Mary Beth was completely stymied. What code? Then she remembered what her father had told her to say if the security company called. “Uh . . . this is Mary Beth. And our code is seven forty-seven.”
“We just got two alerts from your place. Is there a problem?”
“No, nothing’s wrong. I just re-set the system because our lights went off, but the red light’s still flashing.”
“Okay, Mary Beth.” The female voice sounded much friendlier. “The storm must have knocked something out on your system. We’ll ignore all alarms, and send out someone to fix it.”
“You’re going to send someone out now?”
“Absolutely. It’s part of our total protection package. We’ll have our technician at your door within the next two hours.”
Mary Beth was puzzled. “But what if someone breaks in? Will the alarm still go off?”
“No. We’ll have to take you off-line. But don’t worry, hon. If there’s any problem, just hit the panic button, and we’ll send an armed guard right out.”
Mary Beth was frowning as she hung up the phone. This was just great! Her Dad had bought the best alarm system money could buy, and it had gone out already. What if someone broke in and killed her before she could hit the panic button? And even if she managed to press the button, would the armed guard get here in time? Perhaps she should have agreed to go to someone’s house, or have a couple of the girls come here. Was winning the contest really more important than her safety?
There was nothing to do but wait, and Mary Beth scowled as she climbed up the stairs to the rec room. Her plans were ruined. There was no way she could do the dance for Michael, not when she was expecting the technician from the security company. This night was a total disaster.
She flopped down on the couch just as the lights flickered again. She tried to look on the bright side. At least she didn’t have to go back down and reset the security system. It was off-line and it would remain off-line until it was fixed.
It was a scene straight out of a thriller, and Mary Beth shivered. The thunderstorm was bad enough, but now the security system was on the blink. The lights were flickering, the rain was pounding against the window like an enraged animal trying to gain entrance, and Michael would probably be late because everybody in L.A. drove like an idiot when it rained.
Gradually, Mary Beth began to calm down as she watched the fire. She remembered her mother talking about the mystery of an open hearth, and how she used to sit in front of the fireplace as a girl, imagining fairy tale scenes in the flames. Maybe that was possible if you had a real fire with real wood, but it didn’t work with a gas fireplace. All Mary Beth could see were little blue flames that turned into red and yellow as they curled around the fake logs. Still, there was something relaxing about the hiss of the gas and the constant pattern of the flickering flames. It was cozy and it was nice. Almost like Michael.
Mary Beth kicked off her shoes and leaned back against the couch pillows. Let the wind howl. Let the rain rattle against the windowpane. She didn’t care. She was toasty warm and very tired. Maybe she would close her eyes and take a quick nap. Then she’d be alert when Michael came.
She was about to doze off when the doorbell rang. Mary Beth jumped up and slid her feet into her shoes. That was fast. The technician from the security company was here already. Maybe he’d be finished before Michael arrived, and she could do her dance after all.
But what if it wasn’t the technician? It could be the killer. The police seemed to think he was out there somewhere, stalking his next victim. But that was ridiculous. Killers didn’t ring doorbells. They just broke right in and murdered you, didn’t they?
She’d never know who it was if she didn’t look. Mary Beth hurried down the stairs and tiptoed to the front door. She didn’t turn on the lights. She’d seen a movie where a lady had been
shot when she put her eye to the peephole, and there was no way she’d take a chance like that.
Everything was distorted through the peephole, but the motion lights her father had installed made the front step as bright as daylight. The figure at the door was standing near the bushes, face tipped away from the peephole. All Mary Beth could see was the back of someone’s head.
Mary Beth clicked the intercom on. “Who is it?”
“It’s me. Are you okay, Mary Beth?”
Mary Beth gave a relieved sigh. It wasn’t the technician, but it wasn’t the killer, either. “I’m just fine. Wait a second, and I’ll open the door.”
She started to punch in the code to turn off the security system, but then she remembered. It wasn’t working anyway. Mary Beth pulled back the dead bolt and twisted the doorknob so the other lock popped. Then she opened the door with a smile on her face.
“What’s that?” Mary Beth’s eyes widened as she caught sight of the tire iron. “Did you have car-? Oh, my God!”
The tire iron was whistling through the air, straight at her head. Mary Beth ducked and reached for the panic button. She’d almost managed to press it before everything went completely and permanently black.
Nine
“It was awful, Jude.” Michael slumped down in a chair. “I listened to the traffic report on the radio. It said the freeway was impossible, so I took Sepulveda. And the pass was bumper to bumper all the way. By the time I got there, the police had the whole area roped off.”
Judy slipped her arm around Michael’s shoulders and gave him a sympathetic hug. “I know, Michael. It must have been horrible for you.”
“Not just me. Mary Beth’s mother was so hysterical that they had to sedate her. She kept blaming herself for not staying home from work to take care of Mary Beth.”
“That’s too bad.” Judy shook her head. “I guess it’s natural to blame yourself when something like this happens, but she had no way of knowing.”
“That’s what I tried to tell her. And then I started feeling guilty because I went to that student performance and I didn’t take Mary Beth along.”
“But you didn’t know, either!” Judy hugged Michael again. “And you told me that Mary Beth was getting too serious about you. If you’d taken her with you, she might have gotten the wrong idea.”
“But she’d still be alive! And I could have handled it. I was running away from my problems, and that’s never a good thing to do.”
The front door opened and Andy came in, followed by Ingrid and Carla. As they took their places around the table, Andy looked solemn, Carla was frowning, and Ingrid looked just plain scared.
“Where’s Linda?” Ingrid sounded nervous. “She said she’d meet us here.”
Judy nodded. “She just called in. Her father’s bringing her.”
“Thank goodness!” Ingrid looked relieved. “For a minute there, I thought maybe . . .”
Ingrid’s voice trailed off, and Judy knew immediately what she’d been thinking. “Relax, Ingrid. Linda’s father is going to drive her here every day, and her mother’s picking her up after every performance. Her parents are totally freaked.”
“Of course they are.” Carla was still frowning as she took a chair next to Judy. “Linda’s a performer, and only the performers have been killed.”
A little color came back to Ingrid’s face as she sat down next to Michael. “I never thought of that, but it’s true. Deana, and Becky, and now Mary Beth. Do you think it’s a pattern?”
“Maybe,” Andy said. “My uncle thinks it is. And so does Detective Davis. They ruled out the random violence theory because the killer knew where Mary Beth lived, and she opened the door for him.”
“Do they think it’s someone she knew?” Carla shuddered slightly.
“Not necessarily. The storm knocked out the burglar alarm at Mary Beth’s house. She reported it, and the company sent out a technician. Mary Beth may have thought the killer was a repair man from the security company.”
The front door opened again, and Linda walked in. She looked as if she’d been crying and her face was very pale.
“Sit down, Linda.” Carla patted the chair next to her. “Mr. Calloway’s in the office with Detective Davis, and he wants to talk to us when we’re all together. We’re just waiting for Berto and Nita. They went to pick up Vera.”
Linda nodded, and sat down. “This whole thing is awful! I just talked to Mary Beth yesterday, and now she’s dead. Somebody’s killing us off, one by one. It’s just like that movie, Ten Little Indians!”
“Except we’re not on an island,” Andy reminded her. “And the killer in Ten Little Indians turns out to be a member of the group.”
Ingrid’s mouth dropped open. “They don’t think any of us did it, do they? I mean . . . what reason could we have for . . . for . . .”
“Relax, Ingrid. We’re not on their suspect list. They think the killer is someone who came in to watch the show.”
“Someone in the audience?” Linda looked shocked. “But we know almost all the regulars. They’re our friends!”
Carla shook her head. “Not all of them. We get tour groups once in awhile, and Mr. Calloway advertises in the paper. I’m at the ticket window every night, and there’s always some new faces in the crowd. And don’t forget, it could be somebody who just came here once to see the show.”
“I didn’t think we were that bad.” Judy cracked a joke, and they burst into nervous laughter. But Linda didn’t laugh. She just stared at them in disapproval.
“How can you laugh about something like this? It’s horrible!”
Carla nodded. “You’re right. It is horrible. But we weren’t laughing at what happened. We were laughing to relieve the tension.”
“That’s right. And Judy’s joke was pretty funny.” Andy gave Judy a thumbs up sign.
“Think about it, Linda.” Michael took up the argument. “If we can’t laugh, we can’t carry on. And if we can’t carry on, we might as well give up and die right along with Deana, and Becky, and Mary Beth.”
Linda looked thoughtful, and then she nodded. “I guess that’s true. I’m sorry, Judy. What you said was funny. I just didn’t think it was right to laugh.”
Just then the front door opened again, and Berto, Vera and Nita came in. They looked solemn, too. This was almost like a funeral, and Judy hated funerals. Her mother had died when Judy was only two, and she hadn’t gone to that one. But she still remembered her father’s funeral. She’d been in fourth grade, and the neighbors had driven her to the church. Everyone had cried, especially her father’s partner. Mr. Roberts had been so upset, he’d broken down in the middle of the service. Of course, that had been an act. Rob Roberts had claimed the business was bankrupt, but Judy had never believed it. She was sure he had cheated her out of her inheritance, and that was why Judy had ended up as a charity case at the church orphanage.
“You’re right on time.” Carla motioned to three empty chairs. “I’ll go tell Mr. Calloway we’re all here.”
A few moments later, Mr. Calloway came out of the office with Detective Davis. They took chairs, and the detective flipped open his notebook.
“You’ve all heard what happened to Mary Beth Roberts?” Everyone nodded, and Detective Davis looked straight at Judy. “That theory of yours was good, young lady. But Mary Beth’s parents haven’t had any dealings with the courts. I’m afraid we’re back to square one.”
Judy sighed. “I’m sorry I even brought it up. Your men probably wasted a lot of time.”
“Don’t worry about that. Let’s go over our list of connections and see what still applies. Then we’ll all try to think of some new connections between the three girls.”
Everyone nodded again, and Detective Davis glanced down at his notebook. “All three girls worked at Covers, they were approximately the same age, and they went to the same high school. Is that right?”
“No.” Michael spoke up. “Mary Beth went to a private school. The other two girls went to B
urbank High.”
Detective Davis scribbled in his notebook. “Okay. Any other connections?”
“It’s not exactly a connection.” Andy frowned slightly. “But Carla mentioned a distinction that might be important. All three girls were performers.”
Detective Davis looked pleased. “That’s a good point, son. How many female performers work here?”
“There were four.” Linda sounded very nervous. “I’m the . . . the only regular left.”
Detective Davis turned to Mr. Calloway with a frown, and Mr. Calloway nodded. “That’s right. We usually have eight acts a night. Five are regulars, and the other three are hired for limited, one-week engagements.”
“I see. Did you hire any new talent to replace the acts you lost?”
Mr. Calloway turned to Carla, and she flipped open her stenographer’s notebook. “We’ve got seven new acts signed up. There’s a magician from North Hollywood, a three-piece band from Northridge, a singer from Canyon Country, two stand-up comics, one from Studio City and the other from Van Nuys, a honkytonk piano player from Simi Valley, and a juggling team from Burbank. We signed them for one week only, and we’ll pick the replacements after we see how they do. They’re all guys.”
“Is that intentional?”
“Not really.” Mr. Calloway sighed deeply. “We hold open auditions every Tuesday, but we haven’t had a girl show up since Deana was killed.”
Judy nodded. She wasn’t really surprised. Underage performers needed parental permission, and after what had happened, most parents wouldn’t let their daughters work at Covers.
“Excuse me.” Berto spoke up. “Could you tell us, please . . . was there another arrow?”
Detective Davis nodded. “Yes. It was in the same location as the other two.”
Judy looked around the table, and she saw several people shudder. They all knew the location Detective Davis was talking about. The arrow had been thrust into Mary Beth’s chest.