Third Time's a Crime

by Diana Orgain

  “It’s okay,” he soothed.

  One book flew open, the pages fluttering.

  “It’s a sign!” Ashley said. “She’s trying to tell us something!”

  “Maybe it’s just a draft,” I said. “The castle is full of drafts.” Although mostly I suspected the Ouija board and flying book were part of a dramatic setup, courtesy of Cheryl.

  The cast crowded around the books. The only ones who didn’t were Scott, Martha, and me. Martha clung to Scott like he was her newfound best friend. He gave her a reassuring pat on the shoulder. “It’s okay. Keep breathing.” To me, he winked and said, “We always have the rum to fall back on.”

  A flash of lightning illuminated the room, then the ominous sound of thunder claps. A cloud broke apart and rain began pounding on the window. Martha squeaked and grabbed Scott tighter.

  “Why is it flipping from page seventeen back to page ninety-seven?” Jessica asked. “Does it mean something?”

  She reached for the book, but Jack grabbed her hand. “Don’t touch it!”

  Just then was another flash of lightning with the thunder right on top; the castle seemed to jump. One of the oversized portraits on the wall leapt off, somersaulting straight toward Martha’s head. Scott and I both made to block Martha. He pushed her out of the way, while I wedged myself in front of her. The result was that Scott and I banged our noggins together, and I fell onto the floor. The portrait crashed down on top of me, the corner of the heavy frame knocking into my temple.

  The room seemed to spin for a moment, then a red haze clouded over my vision.

  A bloodcurdling scream filled the air, as darkness descended upon me.

  Ten

  INT. DINING ROOM DAY

  Scott is seated at the dining room table. In front of him is a tea place setting; he grips the teacup as if to drink, but sets it down again. He looks directly into the camera, his handsome face serious and earnest.

  SCOTT

  (smiles) Hello, America. Here I am again. The last time I was in front of this confessional camera was on For Love or Money. I poured my heart out about how much I loved Georgia, and today I’m here to plead our case to stay on this investigation. You see, Georgia would be here herself . . . (rubs at his shaved head) but some crazy stuff has been going on in the castle.

  (He glances down at the teacup. When he looks back up at the camera, his expression is grim.) I’m supposed to ask you to vote for Georgia and me. But the truth is, I’m not really capable of conducting an investigation. I can do research, sure. I can do that with the best of them . . . but Georgia is the real investigator. Only . . . (He closes his eyes, sucks in a noisy breath through his teeth.) She’s hurt. She’s been hurt twice here in this place and I’d really rather have her be safe and sound, than stay on this show and continue to be hurt . . . or worse.

  (He pauses and looks pained.) That makes me selfish. Doesn’t it? Georgia wants to stay. I know she does. What’s that stupid cliché? If you love someone, set them free?

  (He glances around the room as if looking for answers, then fidgets with the teacup and saucer in front of him.) Georgia can figure out who killed Jane Reiner. She can get justice for Jane. I know it, and you know it, America. Vote for her. She deserves your vote.

  My eyes fluttered open to Cheryl standing above me. “Again? Really?” she demanded.

  “What happened?” I asked. I looked around the room, trying to place myself. We were in the library, the cast and crew were huddled around an open book, some of them were absorbed by it, others were watching me carefully.

  It came back me, the Ouija board, the book, the flying portrait. I propped myself up on my elbows, my head pounding.

  “How long have I been out?” I asked. I pressed at my temple and found gauze.

  “Long enough for Jose to bandage you up. How do you feel?” Cheryl asked.

  I mentally assessed myself. My leg seemed to sting more than my head, so I mumbled, “I’m okay. Where’s Scott?”

  “He was hovering over you like a mother hen. I sent him off to do the voter plea. We’re editing footage for tonight, because we have the first round of voting. Eliminations are tomorrow, remember? I can’t let the schedule slip.” She reached out and helped me to my feet.

  “Well, between the Ouija board and the Harry Potter book, or whatever, I’m sure you got enough spook footage for the episode, right?”

  Once on my feet, the room seemed to give another twirl. I reached out and grabbed Cheryl’s shoulder to steady myself. There was a little twinkle in her eye as she said, “Don’t you believe in other worldly messages?”

  Before I could answer, she patted my hand. “You need your rest. We’re going to stop the formal filming now, serve dinner, and then get whatever we can overnight.”

  “Food?” Dr. Arch asked, making no bones about the fact that he was eavesdropping on our conversation.

  “Yup, the buffet is already set up,” Cheryl said.

  Dr. Arch laced an arm through mine. “You do need to fuel up. Two injuries in one day. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say the spirits are targeting you.”

  Jack followed us out of the room. “Well, I do know better, and that’s exactly what I think.”

  I ignored them and hobbled down the hallway, my nose leading the way. The fragrant scent of butternut squash soup and toasted bread beckoned. Once inside the dining room, the table was again set buffet-style. This time a large soup tureen was on the right, followed by a few chafing dishes to the left.

  Scott was already in the dining room and he rushed to my side, enveloping me in a hug. “Oh, my goodness. Georgia! How’s your head?’

  I leaned into his embrace and greedily soaked up his attention. “I’m fine,” I soothed.

  “Hot dish?” Bert asked, excitedly stroking his red beard. “Someone must have complained about the sandwiches!”

  “Guilty as charged,” Dr. Arch said, grabbing a plate and cutting to the front of the buffet line. “We can’t be expected to chase down ghosts on salads and sandwiches!”

  “That’s right,” Jack said, following closely behind him. “We need something that will stick to our ribs.” He pulled the top of the chafing dish off to reveal a concoction that must have alarmed him, because he dropped the cover back with a clang and said, “Vegan? Gluten free? How is that supposed to provide us any sustenance?”

  Dr. Arch grabbed a ladle and served himself the butternut squash soup. “I wanted to be considerate of the ladies. They’re always watching their figures. Karen will love . . . what is it exactly?”

  They peered into the dish together, then read the label neatly typed in front of the dish. “Potato and fenugreek curry,” Jack said.

  Dr. Arch wrinkled his nose. “Let’s try the next one.”

  “Tofu and broccoli stir-fry served with brown rice,” Jack whined.

  Scott stifled a chuckle.

  Dr. Arch moved to the final chafing dish and read, “Grilled Saba banana skewers with jicama and apple salad.”

  Jack put a hand over his heart and sucked in a breath as if gravely injured. Meanwhile, Bert lumbered past them and piled his plate with everything saying, “Super! Bananas, potatoes, broccoli—this is all brain food.”

  “Where’s the protein?” Dr. Arch complained.

  “Red meat?” Scott asked. “I don’t think that’s vegan.”

  I grabbed a piece of toast. “It’s a good thing we’re not hungry,” I said.

  Dr. Arch sighed. “I’m going to have to have another chat with that producer.”

  “Good luck,” I said, trying not to imagine the crew stuffing themselves on prime grass-fed beef over at the Indian casino.

  The women, Karen, Martha, Jessica, and Ashley, filtered through the buffet line and happily piled their plates with jicama and apple salad.

  Father Gabriel patted Dr. Arch’s shoulder. “I’
m sure we can all find something here that satisfies. Remember Proverb 10:3: ‘The Lord will not allow a righteous person to starve.’”

  “Speaking of righteous, father,” I said. “Can you tell me what you were doing on the third floor this afternoon?”

  He turned to me, a look of alarm on his face. “My dear! I was not on the third floor.”

  Dr. Arch stepped between us and growled, “I told you that already. We weren’t there. Maybe that little bump on the head was worse than we thought.”

  Scott snaked an arm around my waist. “Come on, G. You can’t squeeze blood from a turnip.”

  I let Scott pull me away, but I leveled a gaze at Father Gabriel. “I know Dr. Arch is a liar, but I expected more from you, father.”

  After eating we roamed back into the main living room where the sleeping bags were laid out in the same sort of arrangement as the night before. As night fell, the cast became a bit subdued. I wondered if they were more upset about the groundskeeper being found dead or the upcoming elimination.

  Then I overheard Jessica and Ashley grumbling about the elimination and my suspicions were confirmed.

  “Did you know the groundskeeper?” I asked Ashley.

  She looked over at me, surprised. “Me? No. Why would I know him?”

  “Well, you work here as the paranormal docent. I thought maybe you knew him.”

  Ashley shook her head. “I haven’t worked here long. I barely know anyone.”

  Scott uncapped the bottle of rum and passed it to Jessica, who eagerly took a sip. I tried to hide my annoyance.

  Bert tapped my shoulder. “I have some chocolate left.” He wiggled the near-empty white box under my nose. “Do you like dark chocolate? It seems to be the last solid piece.”

  “Then, I’m in luck,” I said, popping the piece into my mouth.

  He smiled.

  “Bert, what do you feel when you get a premonition?” I asked.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, about the groundskeeper. You said that you had a sense that he’d been drowned. What happens to you when you have that thought?”

  He nodded and closed his eyes, taking my question seriously. “It’s almost like I visualize it, Georgia, like when you read a book and you see the description, you can see it in your mind’s eye. That’s the best way that I can describe it. I saw it in my mind’s eye.”

  “Well, did you see how he could have drowned, given that it was an empty pool?” I asked.

  He shook his head. “No, no. He didn’t drown in the pool. He drowned away from there.”

  “So you’re saying you think somebody killed him and then dropped the body off at the bottom of the pool?”

  He nodded.

  “That doesn’t make any sense though. Why would anyone do that?” I asked.

  Bert shrugged. “Perhaps that wasn’t their intention. Maybe they were looking for a place to hide the body, and they got interrupted somehow.”

  A shiver zipped up my spine. I had been out in front of the pool.

  Had I interrupted the murderer discarding the body?

  I wanted to talk to Becca, see what she remembered, but there was no way to reach her. “Bert, do you have any idea how I can get in touch with my friend?”

  His face lit up. “You mean Becca?”

  “Yes,” I said. “We don’t have any phones.”

  He laughed. “What? You think because I’m psychic I can message her telepathically?”

  I reddened. I hadn’t thought that intentionally. After all, I barely believed in all this hocus-pocus, but somehow I’d figured he could help me.

  Bert stroked his beard thoughtfully. “Maybe you could ask the producer? Tell her it’s an emergency.”

  “Cheryl’s not going to let me call her,” I said.

  “We can always try,” he said with a smile.

  I pictured him and Becca together for a moment. It was clear he was smitten with her, but could she be interested in dating a psychic who looked like a lumberjack?

  “Not we,” I corrected.

  He looked chagrined.

  The best way I knew to get in touch with Becca would be through one of the crew members, somebody who wouldn’t mind bending the rules a bit for me. “If they haven’t locked us in the room, I’ll see what I can do,” I said.

  I turned to Scott, who was now lying on his sleeping bag with one hand covering his eyes. “I’ll be right back,” I said.

  He let out a soft snore in response.

  Everyone else seemed to be settling down to sleep now, too. I crept toward the door of the drawing room and found it unlocked. “I’ll see if my luck holds up,” I said to Bert.

  He nodded. “Let’s hope it’s the dark chocolate kind of luck and not the fall-through-the-floor kind.”

  I hesitated. “Do you have a bad feeling right now?”

  He shook his head. “No. That was my attempt at humor. Go.”

  I left the room and wandered through the dark castle. The hallway was so obscure, that I touched the wall as a guide, wishing I’d made nice with Father Gabriel, who had a flashlight. As it was, shadows seemed to dance around me, and for one horrifying moment, I thought I saw a pair of legs, complete with fifties-style cuffed jeans and loafers, jutting from the wall.

  My imagination was getting the best of me.

  I took a deep breath to calm my racing heart, and reached the little phone kiosk. Suddenly a ringing sounded as if there were a phone call, but the kiosk was empty. No phone. Only the sound of ringing.

  I shook it off, and hurried the rest of the way down the hallway, muttering to myself. These strange sights and sounds were either all in my head or some sort of gotcha for Cheryl’s hidden cameras.

  I reached the main spiral staircase and hobbled down the steps and out of the castle. A cold breeze buffeted my face, chilling and fortifying me at the same time. There was nothing like a California evening breeze after a rain. I glanced up at the night sky illuminated by the three-quarter moon. Orion the hunter and Sirius the dog were visible and for a moment I felt at home.

  Down the hill from the castle was a row of modular housing units. Some lights were on in one of the units and I hoped perhaps someone from the crew had stayed back and was in there editing footage or monitoring viewer votes.

  On my way, I saw a figure approach. I recognized him as Adam, my cameraman.

  He waved hello to me with his flashlight. “What are you doing out, Georgia? Isn’t that against the rules?” he asked.

  I shrugged. “I don’t know if it is or isn’t, but I wanted to make a phone call, and that’s probably, definitely against the rules.”

  He laughed. “Who are you going to call? Ghostbusters?”

  “Not funny,” I said. “What are you doing here? Babysitting us?”

  He nodded. “Sort of, but only for a little while more. I’m going to join the others at the Indian casino and grab some dinner.” He handed me his cell phone. “Go ahead, I won’t tell anyone.”

  I dialed Becca, but when I got her voice mail, I left her a brief message. “Becca, it’s G. I’m calling from my cameraman’s phone. Wondering if we could have a quick chat. Call me at this number when you get a chance.” I disconnected and looked at Adam.

  “I’ll come let you know if she calls back.”

  I handed him the phone. “Do you have any idea how the elimination’s going?” I asked.

  He shrugged. “That’s what everyone’s all working on. The first episode was incredible. The votes are coming in like crazy. I’m not supposed to say anything, but between you and me, you’ve got nothing to worry about.”

  “Is that so?” I asked.

  He nodded.

  I knew Cheryl had some favorites on the cast and then there were some she wasn’t quite fond of. How closely would she stick to audience votes? “Do y
ou think Cheryl’s going to ax the priest and the historian no matter what the viewers say?” I asked.

  Adam laughed. “No way! She’s a by-the-books person. She’ll strictly go by what the audience says. She never ever wants to risk the wrath of the viewer.”

  We giggled together.

  “You’re right. She wouldn’t want that,” I said.

  “But I get why you asked,” Adam said. “She sometimes comes off like she thinks she knows what’s best for everyone, sort of like giving you your medicine.”

  “Right,” I agreed.

  “Problem is, she’s usually right,” he said.

  Both my head and my leg ached, and I wondered if Cheryl had been right about everything. I was awfully accident prone these days. “Don’t tell anyone I was out here,” I said.

  “Don’t worry,” he said. “Your secret’s safe with me.”

  As I turned to go, a thought struck me. I stopped and faced him again. “Hey, Adam, do you know who put the voltmeter at the bottom of the pool?”

  “Sure,” he said. “That was Brendan.”

  “Do you know if he saw anything? Did the police question him?”

  “Yeah, they questioned him for a long time, but I don’t think he saw anything.”

  “Do you know where he is?” I asked.

  “He should be at the casino already, stuffing his face with the all-you-can-eat lobster.”

  My stomach rumbled and Adam looked alarmed. He glanced over his shoulder and flashed his light over toward the bushes. “Did you hear that?”

  “That was my stomach,” I confessed.

  He waved a hand at me. “No, no. Some noise from the bushes.”

  “Trust me. It was my stomach. You should see the vegan wonderment buffet Cheryl put out for us.”

  Adam returned his attention to me, unconvinced. “I don’t know. This place gives me the creeps. Ever since we found that poor guy at the bottom of the pool, I’ve been looking over my shoulder constantly.”

  “I’d like to talk to Brendan. Can you get him a message from me?” I asked.

  “Sure,” he said. “No problem. I’ll let him know to come find you in the morning.” Just then, Adam’s phone rang and he looked at the caller ID. “I think this is probably for you.”