Third Time's a Crime

by Diana Orgain

  Excitement stirred inside me, and despite my wound, I hustled back up the hill toward the cruiser. “News!” I said.

  Cheryl hurried behind me, but her impractical high heels proved to slow her down worse than my bum leg. “Let me handle this, Georgia!” she yelled after me.

  “No way,” I called. “This is right up my alley. There must be some development.”

  “I need you to get into hair and makeup! I can’t risk the show,” Cheryl screeched. She clicked and clacked behind me, and reached out to grab me, but I hobbled quicker, grateful for my hiking boots.

  “Stop! Georgia!” she hollered.

  We must have made a sight, and I absently wondered where the cameras might be. Although Cheryl would never air her image, especially if she happened to look foolish.

  She made a last ditch effort to lunge at me, but she was too slow. I was already cresting the hill to the parking lot. I waved at the officer from the other day, as he stepped out of his car. He turned to watch the taillights of Mr. Martin’s black rental car as it exited the parking lot.

  I limped up to him. “Hello, officer. What’s going on? Have you found something?” I asked.

  He looked grim, but said nothing as Cheryl closed the distance on us. She waved both hands in the air in an effort to make us wait for her before discussing anything. Then she carefully tucked behind her ear a strand of blond hair that had freed itself during her mad dash.

  “Officer! Officer Holtz. Can I help you?” she asked, stepping in front of me.

  I sidestepped her, but she pushed at my waist, clearly indicating that I should hightail it back into the castle.

  I ignored her and seemingly the officer did, too, because he said, “Well, it wasn’t an accident. The autopsy reports are in. It looks like the groundskeeper was definitely murdered.”

  Cheryl sucked in a noisy breath. “Murdered? No, no. It must have been an accident—”

  “How can you be so sure?” I asked him.

  “There was water in his lungs. He drowned, and there was no water at the bottom of the pool, so he was drowned off-location and was discarded in the pool.”

  I shuddered. This seemed to match what Bert had told me. But how could Bert have known? I really had my doubts about Bert being psychic.

  Could he be the murderer?

  But if he was, then why would he alert us to the cause of death?

  I turned to the officer. “Have you spoken with a crew member named Brendan?”

  Officer Holtz nodded. “I did. He was the one that left the contraption in the pool, right?”

  “The voltmeter. Yes,” Cheryl said.

  The officer glanced around the parking lot as if looking for a clue. “Right. Yeah. He left that thing in the bottom of the pool before the groundskeeper was in there apparently. He said that he hadn’t seen anything. Still, he was very helpful. Helped us nail down the time of death.”

  Something wasn’t quite right. I wanted to talk to Brendan myself, but in the meantime, I asked the police officer, “Have you spoken with Kyle?”

  “Who’s Kyle?” he asked, turning to Cheryl.

  “He’s my lead hair and makeup person.” She frowned at me. “What does Kyle have to do with any of this?”

  I relayed to them what Kyle told me about overhearing Brendan and the groundskeeper arguing. The officer pulled out a notebook from his pocket and made a note. A strange sensation filled me as I thought about Kyle.

  How quickly he’d thrown Brendan under the bus.

  Was he hiding something?

  After all, he was the one who had sent me up to the third floor for makeup. Could he deliberately be pointing a finger at Brendan in order to have us focused in the wrong direction?

  “Do you have any information on the groundskeeper?” I asked the police officer.

  “What do you mean?” he asked.

  “Well, on his history, how long he worked here, that sort of thing.”

  The officer frowned. “Look. I know you may have worked for SFPD in the past, but I’m handling this investigation.”

  Cheryl beamed. “Yes, you are! And we will leave you to it!” She slipped her arm through mine. “Come on, Miss G. Let’s get you into hair—”

  I wiggled out of her grip. “Where did he work before here?” I wondered out loud.

  The officer squinted at me, “Oh, he’s worked here for the last twenty years.”

  He turned to Cheryl. “I’m going to need to take statements from your cast.”

  Cheryl looked as if she’d swallowed a lemon. “But we’re already behind schedule! I have to film an episode that airs live tonight.”

  The officer glared at her. “Lady, this is a murder investigation.”

  “I understand,” Cheryl said, sounding contrite.

  The officer nodded. “I need a list of the cast and crew. The one you promised me yesterday. I’d like to speak with them one-on-one. I’ll try to be brief. Hopefully that won’t impact your schedule too much.”

  After I left Cheryl and the police officer, I was startled to see Scott sitting on the front porch of the castle chatting with Father Gabriel. Scott was dressed in a tan coverall suit and Father Gabriel had on his traditional black cassock.

  In the distance, I waved, but upon seeing me Father Gabriel stood. He gave Scott a blessing, then they hugged. Father Gabriel left the porch to go back inside the castle before I could reach them.

  I climbed the rickety wooden steps of the porch to where Scott had settled back down. Next to him was a white paper cup and small plate with a croissant on top.

  “Hi there!” I said awkwardly. “Nice outfit,” I remarked.

  He smiled warmly at me. “My stylist is an idiot. I think he’s convinced this makes me look like a ghost hunter.”

  “Then he should have Jack wear it!”

  Scott laughed. “Jack refused. So I guess that makes me the idiot. He handed me the plate and cup. “Got your favorite, but I’m afraid it’s probably cold by now.”

  I took it from him and placed both items on the step next to me. “Thank you.” I nodded to the door where Father Gabriel had just disappeared. “What was that about?” I asked.

  Scott looked at me sheepishly.

  “We were just having a nice chat,” Scott said.

  I wondered if I had interrupted some sort of confession. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt.” I sipped my cold coffee, hoping he’d share a little about his conversation with Father Gabriel.

  Instead, Scott said, “No problem. How’s your head? Your leg?”

  “My head’s fine. My leg hurts, but it’s getting better.” I took a bite out of the croissant, suddenly realizing how hungry I was. I finished it in three bites. “Cheryl made me sign a waiver, promise not to sue,” I said.

  He laughed. “I thought we’d already done that.”

  “Her fancy Hollywood attorney wanted the extra insurance.” I fidgeted next to him, running a finger along the wood grain of the steps. I wanted to tell him about the officer and the autopsy findings, but it seemed like he was biding his time to tell me something. My stomach churned at the thought, the croissant I’d just gobbled twisting my belly into a pretzel.

  Please, God, not another chat about his lack of feelings for me.

  A splinter jammed into my finger and I recoiled. “Ouch!”

  He took my hand in his. “Georgia! You need to be more careful. One of these days, something bigger is going to bite and it won’t be easy to recover.” He deftly plucked the splinter from my finger.

  We were silent for a moment and then I brought him up to speed on the autopsy report. He listened quietly. When I finished, he said nothing, only stared out in the distance at the rolling hills.

  I asked, “Anything you want to talk about?”

  He shrugged. “Did you know that Father Gabriel atte
nded this reform school when he was a boy?”

  “He did?” I asked.

  Scott nodded. “Yeah. He said he had a real sketchy past, used to steal and do drugs.”

  “Wow,” I said.

  “Yup. Life takes some funny roads, right? Reform school student turns priest. I guess that’s real reform.”

  “Was he here at the time that Jane was murdered?”

  Scott shrugged. “He didn’t want to tell me.”

  An uncomfortable sensation squirmed through my belly. The kind of stirring I always felt when my body knew I was onto something before my brain caught up. “I bet he was,” I said. “I bet he knows Jane. It would be just like Cheryl to cast someone who knew her, don’t you think?”

  “Possibly,” Scott said, rubbing at the back of his shaved head. “He did seem very hush-hush about it.”

  I nodded.

  “You know the other thing he told me?” he asked.

  “What’s that?” I asked.

  “He said the groundskeeper was also here as a boy. They were friends.”

  Alarm bells went off in my head. Well, that was quite a coincidence. The groundskeeper had attended the reform school as a boy and so had Father Gabriel?

  I jumped up. “We have to talk to him,” I said.

  Scott looked offended. “I just did! He told me all that in confidence. I don’t think he wanted the rest of the cast to know.”

  “But that was before we knew the autopsy results.”

  Scott nodded reluctantly. “Right.” He stood. “We can find him inside. Let’s go.”

  Scott pulled open the heavy front door of the castle and I followed him inside. Harris, our ever-fearless host, appeared out of nowhere. “What are you doing here?” he said. “It’s time to film the next episode. We have an elimination to take care of.”

  “Can it wait a moment—”

  “What? Are you crazy?” Harris snapped. “Broom Hilda waits for no one!”

  He meant Cheryl, and I had to giggle at the reference. Broom Hilda was the nickname I’d given her on the first show I’d been on. I shuddered to think that the name had gotten traction. If she knew it was me who had invented it, she was liable to make things even rougher for me.

  Harris ushered us inside, muttering under his breath, “Not my job! Corralling the cast! I have to call my agent.”

  Thirteen

  I was pushed into Kyle’s capable arms. He’d laid out a pair of burgundy capri pants paired with a low-cut black tank top for me. He made short order of curling my hair and applying a quick makeup job.

  “The others are waiting for you,” he said. “What took so long with Cheryl?”

  I bit my lip. It wasn’t my place to discuss the autopsy findings with Kyle. Anyway, I figured he’d probably already told me what he knew on that topic. There was something else, however, that I could ask him.

  “Kyle. When I was in Cheryl’s office, I saw a file—”

  Kyle took in a sharp intake of breath and his eyes widened.

  “What’s in the file, Kyle? Do you all already know who killed Jane Reiner?”

  Kyle shook his head in a very unconvincing manner. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he shrieked.

  “Yes, you do! Otherwise, you wouldn’t be acting all panicky like that!”

  Kyle made an exaggerated show of interest in the array of eye shadows on his makeup palette. “I think we’ll go with the brown and gold.”

  I growled at him, the sound resounding from deep within my throat.

  “Down, girl,” he said.

  “I’m going to find out soon enough and I know who’s on my side and who’s not,” I threatened.

  Kyle, now focused on his element, seemed unmoved as he dipped his brush across the brown shadow powder. “Oh, I’m on your side all right. Otherwise, you’d be wearing a canary yellow top that I know for a fact pales you out and would make you look nasty.” He graced me with a tight smirk before saying, “Close your eyes, Georgia, and trust me.”

  Within a few minutes the cast was lined up in front of Harris. Standing next to Scott were Ashley and Jessica, looking ridiculously cute in matching teal pantsuits. Jack, the ghost hunter, was decked out in a Sherlock Holmes–looking outfit, complete with a tweed jacket and an unlit smoking pipe. His partner, Bert, the psychic wore all white, contrasting Father Gabriel’s black cassock. Martha, the historian, wore a smart A-line skirt and peach-colored silk blouse, and Dr. Arch and his partner, Karen, were outfitted in jeans and blazers.

  On Cheryl’s cue, Harris pressed his shoulders back, put on his host expression, and boomed in his over-the-top voice, “Hello, America! And welcome back to Cold Case in the Castle! Where we’re committed to solving the brutal and disturbing murder of Jane Reiner, the lovely, innocent youth working as a librarian in training, here”—he waved his hands all around him in a dramatic fashion—“on the premises of this reform school.”

  “As you know.” He pointed a finger at the camera. “Last night we asked you to vote, dear viewers, and vote you did!” He pressed a hand over his heart. “We were overwhelmed by your support, flooding the phone lines. We heard you loud and clear!”

  As Harris droned on, I thought about the file in Cheryl’s office.

  Could it be true that the production already knew the identity of the killer?

  Harris looked out at the cast and the cameras slowly panned us.

  “Cut!” yelled Cheryl. “Georgia, you’re supposed to look concerned now. You might be voted off!”

  I shrugged. “Don’t I look concerned?”

  “You look like you want to murder Harris,” Cheryl retorted. “Now, come on. Game face. Daylight’s burning.”

  “Jack, Bert!” Harris called out. The camera zoomed in close on their faces. “America has spoken!”

  Jack looked disappointed and Bert pressed a hand to his temple.

  Ha! Psychic. Well, he hadn’t seen that one coming!

  “They would like you to continue on the show!” Harris said.

  A rush of air escaped Jack, and he appeared visibly relieved. Bert, on the other hand, nodded as if that was the outcome he’d expected all along. His hand didn’t drop from his temple, though, and that left me wondering.

  “Jessica, Ashley!” Harris called out. The girls clutched hands. “You are safe from elimination.”

  They hugged excitedly, and then as if on cue, the four safe players looked over worriedly at the rest of us.

  For a moment I thought back to Adam last night. He’d said I was safe.

  Was I really?

  Anxiety rippled through my chest as Harris called out, “Dr. Arch, Karen Kenley! The viewers have spoken—”

  Suddenly a dark shadow crossed over Harris’s face.

  Goose bumps rose on my arms.

  “Cut,” Cheryl cried out. “What’s going on with our lighting?”

  One of the techs standing at the main spotlight checked the cord. “Nothing,” he said. “Everything is working fine.”

  “Then why is there a big shadow on Harris’s face?” Cheryl asked, her voice full of sarcasm.

  Harris looked alarmed. “A shadow?”

  “It’s a presence,” Father Gabriel announced.

  Jack stepped closer, his voltmeter at the ready.

  Harris jumped back from him. “Don’t zap me with that thing, you idiot!”

  Bert clutched at his temple with two hands and shook his head back and forth.

  “Not again,” Martha wailed. “Let’s get on with it! Please tell me we’re the ones voted off. Gabriel, did you pray for that like I asked you?”

  “All right, everyone, calm down,” Cheryl said. “Harris, move back into the light.”

  When Harris did, the shadow was gone, but the goose bumps on my arm remained.

  Harris, like the professio
nal he was, picked up right where he left off. “Dr. Arch, Karen Kenley! Your fans from Hunting Bones called in droves. They are confident you can help solve the mystery of Jane Reiner. You are safe from elimination.”

  Harris drew a breath. “Scott and Georgia.”

  Scott grabbed my hand, and squeezed my fingers.

  Harris continued, “Father Gabriel and Martha. One team will be leaving the castle immediately.”

  Harris continued to talk as my mind whirled. I’d wanted to speak with Father Gabriel and if we were eliminated now or his team was, my chance would be lost.

  “Scott, Georgia,” Harris said. “You are safe from elimination.” He bowed his head. “Father Gabriel, Martha. I’m sorry. The viewers have spoken, and they’ve voted for you not to continue on the journey of solving the mystery of Jane Reiner.”

  Father Gabriel looked crestfallen, but Martha clapped her hands together. “Thank goodness. Our prayers have been answered, Gabriel! Let’s get out of this godforsaken place.”

  “Wait!” I screamed out. “I need time with Father Gabriel. He can’t be eliminated so quickly.”

  But Harris ignored me, saying, “Father Gabriel, Martha, please say your good-byes.” The cameras panned around the cast while Father Gabriel and Martha hugged each of us.

  When it was my turn to hug Father Gabriel, I whispered into his ear, “We need to talk.”

  He looked at me, and I saw something in his eyes. Was it fear? “Of course, Georgia, of course. Anytime. I’m not leaving right away.” He glanced away from me, toward the windows. “I have a few things I need to square up before I go. I’ll be in the garden later if you want to meet with me.”

  “Yes, father, please,” I said urgently.

  Father Gabriel and Martha were ushered out of the room, and then Harris announced the next challenge. “Now, my dear contestants,” he said. “As usual, we have another challenge that will help you solve the mystery. Each clue will give you access to certain parts of the castle that have been previously closed off to you, like the kitchen where the body of Jane Reiner was recovered, and the portion of the library where she worked.”