"You just have a lot going on," said Rhonda. "You can't cut loose, and it makes you edgy."
"Murders do that to me."
At the top of the stairs, we stopped before another door. Tiffany knocked. "It's another guest bathroom. This one has a chandelier and a couch. Everyone waits in line downstairs, and there's this one up here. The waiter told us."
"Jeremy," sighed Rhonda.
"Jeremy told us," said Tiffany. "Anyway, Mr. Theodore locked the bedrooms. Smart man. Dahlia must have gone in here."
"Thanks. You want to help me corner her?"
"Alright."
I watched Tiffany crack her knuckles. "We're not going to jump her."
"Unless she tries to get away."
"Lord have mercy," said Rhonda. "Tiffany you can't jump peoples at a party like this. I'll block the bathroom door. But if she comes at me, I'm leaving. I don't want anyone messing with my Beyoncé hair. And if anything happens to this dress, Aunt Carmen will kill me."
"Nobody is doing anything," I said. "We're just talking. Then tell the police what Dahlia says."
"I'm out. I ain't talking to any cops." Tiffany turned from the bathroom door and sped down the hall.
I fisted my hands on my hips, then let out a sigh. "You go, too, Rhonda. I don't want to chance your dress. Do me a favor and text Mr. Nash. Tell him Theodore knows the mystery woman. Her name is Stella Craven. And if you see Theodore, make him wait for me."
"Okay, baby." Rhonda charged down the hall. "Wait, Tiff."
I banged on the door again. "Dahlia, let me in." I rattled the doorknob. It turned in my hand. Pushing the door, I entered a marble and oak bath. Sinks and a glass shower lined one side of the generous space. A velvet chaise lounge rested below the glass chandelier. On the far end, a pair of matching oak doors remained closed. Built-in closets flanked a large, mirrored vanity where a delicate stool lay on its side.
"Dahlia?" I righted the stool. Then acknowledged the oddness of its fallen state.
Downstairs, the din grew. A heavy bass thrummed through the floor. A lit candle scented the space with orange spice. The flame flickered. I glanced over my shoulder at the closed hall door, then at the facing twin doors. They stood like sentinels.
The lady or the tiger.
Taking a deep breath, I grasped the knob of the door on the right. Toilet and bidet. Shut the door. I gripped the left-hand knob. Closet.
A big, dark closet. Found the light on the wall.
Then wished I hadn't.
Twenty-Eight
#HereLiesLana #Flamingoed
My shriek bounced off the marble tiled walls. I backed away from the closet. I yanked open the hall door, realized I was still screaming, and clamped a hand over my mouth. Downstairs, the music had stopped and the crowd hushed. I locked the bathroom door, pulled it shut, and flattened myself against the wall. Dizzy, I sank to the floor and laid my head on my knees. Closing my eyes, I saw Stella Craven lying on the floor of Cam-Cam's bedroom. Then saw myself on the floor of Theodore's closet. But it wasn't me on the floor of Theodore's guest closet. Rather Lana Miles. With her head bashed in.
I opened my eyes. A thunderous racket reverberated on the front staircase.
The party was coming to me.
Crab-like, I scuttled around the corner, hopped to my feet, and ran. Stumbling down the backstairs, I caught myself from falling and spotted half the kitchen staff watching me.
"Where's Theodore?" I called. "Call the police. 9-1-1. There's a woman in the upstairs bathroom closet. She's badly hurt."
A cook wiped her hands on a towel. "I'm a volunteer EMT. What's wrong?"
I pinched my thumb. "She's fallen. An injury to the back of the head. It looks bad. I left her… I locked the door to the bathroom so…" I couldn't say, "so the crowd wouldn't mess with a crime scene."
"So she didn't get trampled in the crowd,” I continued. “Oh, my God. Why did I even leave her?"
I knew why. Because someone had thought Lana was me. I'd freaked out.
Oh, my God. How could I flake at a time like this?
Another cook rummaged in the kitchen desk. "Theodore keeps his keys here." He tossed a ring to the EMT volunteer. "I'll go with you."
I grabbed the arm of a seersuckered waiter. "Jeremy? Find Theodore. Tell him what happened."
Halfway up the stairs, the EMT stopped. "There's a million people in the hallway."
The other cook glanced at me. "You coming?"
"She's shaking." Wiping his hands on a towel, the dishwasher approached me. "Maybe you should sit down. Do you want a glass of water?"
Shaking my head, I staggered to the back door. "Fresh air."
The veranda crowd had dispersed, but small clusters of people milled around the garden. Evidently they hadn't heard the screaming and subsequent stampede. Staying in shadows of the house, I gazed out beyond the fairy lighted railings and searched for recognizable faces. Rounding the corner of the porch, I ran into one.
Shizzles, it was not my night.
A tall, auburn-haired beauty spoke into a phone. She wore a flowing white sundress that made her look like a Grecian goddess. Nash's ex-goddess.
Craptastic.
She narrowed her eyes and said to her phone, "Call you back."
"Just passing through, Jolene." I pivoted to get around her.
She blocked my pass. "What are you doing here?"
"I was invited by Theodore? "
Landing a hand on her hip, Jolene slanted me a look. "Is Wyatt here?"
"God, no." I whooshed out a breath. "I came with Leonard Shackleton. And Tiffany and Rhonda. And I need to get back to the party? Because there's an emergency?"
"I know what you're doing." She pursed her lips.
"I know. I uptalk when I get nervous." I stammered. "It's not you. It's the emergency. And I need to get back to work?"
"Work." Jolene barked a sharp laugh. "Enjoy your work. I doubt it lasts much longer."
She shoved past me. "Amazing how Theodore's parties get lamer as this town becomes more famous."
"He calls it irony." My comeback was half-hearted. Dead body double flashbacks kept me from focusing on Jolene's cryptic digs. I sank onto a decorative stool. With a trembling hand, I pulled my phone from my small bag.
"Nash."
"I got the text from Rhonda. What's the story?"
"Later. I found another body." My words tripped over my tongue fighting their way through the story. "Maybe she's not dead? Lana Miles. Oh God, but she looked like the others. Except she also looked like me. Now I'm worried about Theodore. Someone might have overheard us talking. I hope not. I hope they were just trying to kill me like before. God, they have horrible luck with that. Good for me but…Oh God, it's horrible. Poor Lana. I'd blame Vicki, but she might be dead, too." I moaned.
"Slow down."
"My double. Lana Miles. Hired by Vicki to act like Maizie Albright for the show's B-roll. Someone hit her on the back of the head and hid her in a closet. Probably with a cement flamingo. There's just so many of them. Theodore stocked his party with murder weapons and didn't even know it."
Nash swore. Then swore again. "I'm coming."
I stared at the porch rafters. The ceiling had been painted sky blue. I focused on the blue and took a deep breath. "I was looking for Dahlia when I found Lana."
"Black Pine police?"
"One of the cooks called 9-1-1.”
“Are the police there now?”
“Not yet.”
“Wait for the police. Whoever did this is going to figure out it wasn't you pretty quick.” Nash took a deep breath. “Dammit. No. Too risky. Maizie, get out of that house. Find a neighbor to take you in until the police gets there.”
“A neighbor?” I rubbed my temple. "What about Ed Farmer? Is he still with the police?"
"I don't know." The curses he used made me blush. "Should I get someone to stay with Cambria? Dammit. Where's Tiffany and Rhonda?"
"Somewhere inside. We came with Leonard."
“Stay away from Leonard. Avoid everyone at the party.” He paused. "Malthus. That's a Black Pine name. Does he live in the old district? That's not far from downtown. Can you get to the office and lock yourself in?"
"Um." I looked at my feet. T-strap sandals again. Would I ever learn? "I'll try."
* * *
From the corner of the house, I group texted Rhonda and Tiffany. "Get out. Get out. Get out."
Then typed, "DON'T RIDE WITH LEONARD. Uber? Xoxo Sorry. xoxo.”
Around the corner, a cacophony of voices grew. My cue to get the hells out.
I dashed down the veranda steps and into the garden. Surely Theodore had a back gate. Most of these old Black Pine streets had alleys. Ornamental trees, bushes, and statues hid the garden walls. The sunset we had enjoyed from the pergola had long passed. Unless an area was wrapped in Christmas lights, I couldn't see worth a darn. Theodore and his family had done a good job making a person forget they were trapped.
Not trapped, secluded.
I stepped off the path and into a flower bed to walk along the hidden wall. A shed loomed behind a vine-covered colonnade. An old wooden gate was set into the fence.
Behind me, a swell of voices had grown. I squinted into the dark. People lined the veranda and some began to spill out into the yard. I grasped the handle and pushed on the gate. The wooden door creaked, moved a few inches, and stuck.
Someone called my name. Someone not Tiffany and Rhonda.
I held my breath and slipped a leg through the gate. Wiggled and pushed. Shoved my shoulder through.
"Please don't let the killer find me stuck in this door," I said to the inky sky. “It’d really be hard for them to miss me here."
Using my butt cheek, I heaved my weight against the old door. It groaned. Loudly.
"Is someone back there?" called a man. A flashlight beam swooped to and fro, lighting up the pergola.
Sucking in my stomach, I squirmed through the crack. Felt my sequins scratch against splintered wood. My heels slid in the gravel. Panting, I left the gate open and squinted into the alley. Lights gleamed behind me. On the other side of the street, the houses were dark. The neighbors were probably at Theodore’s party. In the distance, I could see a streetlight.
I ran for the streetlight. My flushed skin felt clammy, and my insides had knotted again. I thought back to poor Lana Miles, lying on Theodore's closet floor.
What if leaving her for dead hadn't caused her to die?
That thought — one I had fought off until now — brought me to a halt. I leaned against a fence and gagged. "Please forgive me, Lana. And Stella Craven. Billy Goodwin. Orlando Feelzen."
I bent over and lost the ham and pimento. "I am the worst private investigator. The worst." Sagging against the fence, I found a tissue and a mint in my gold handbag and made a mental tally of people I knew at the party. Individuals who wanted to literally kill me. People who would benefit from the death of Stella Craven, since she was corpse numero uno.
Leonard. He stood to lose the most. Of course, murder wasn't even good for bad publicity.
Dahlia. She'd escaped from my "where's Vicki" interrogation.
Anyone working for Cambria would lose serious moola if Cambria lost her role in Pine Hollow. Most of Cambria's entourage had been there. Minus Vicki. Alvin Murphy was there with a date. I couldn't see Cam-Cam's spindly publicity assistant, Holly, whacking Billy Goodwin with a hotel iron.
Could Ed Farmer have snuck into the party? It was possible the police didn't have enough to hold him.
What about Theodore? Maybe he didn't want to go to the police that badly? What did he gain? His reputation?
Sirens wailed. A patrol car roared past the alley. Flashing patrol lights bounced around the sky.
Shuddering, I turned back toward Theodore's house. I couldn't run away from this. My mother and Giulio were still missing. Another woman might be dead because someone thought she was me. I couldn't put another person in danger. I also didn’t want to hang out with the police. But with the attack on Lana Miles, I couldn’t deny my involvement to Mowry. If it got me in trouble with my probation and landed me back in California, so be it.
Hopefully that wouldn’t happen. Because I needed to flush out the killer before they got to Cambria.
* * *
I snuck through the garden and onto the veranda. Announced my presence and learned, "the movie people are inside." In the kitchen, a policewoman spoke to the caterers. The living room had been cleared. I found Leonard and Dahlia in the library "green room."
"You're okay? Where've you been?" Leonard rushed forward and pulled me into his arms.
"I'm not dead," I said, pushing away.
"I can see that." He folded his arms. "Somebody's hurt upstairs. They told us we can't leave. I knew this party was a bad idea."
Internally, I rolled my eyes. Externally, I said, "Dahlia, you're not getting away this time. I've got contacts on the police force. Why did you take off?"
"You bore me. I didn't want to talk." She shrugged. "Sorry, but I have to keep it real."
"Dahlia, where's Vicki?" I shouted.
"I don't know." She folded her ropey arms. "She turned me down. I hope you're happy."
"She? Vicki? What, wait?"
"You child stars and your mommy issues." She rolled her eyes. "Vicki said she decided not to manage anyone outside her show."
"And then what happened?"
"I left? Because there was no reason to stay?"
Shiztastic. What happened to Vicki? Maybe the killer returned to the scene of the crime and found Vicki. And that same person could still be here. I turned to Leonard. "Where's Ed?"
"Oh God, Ed." Leonard shook his head. "Last I heard he was being questioned by the police. Why is this happening to me?"
"Happening to you? You haven't been murdered." I saw his face and apologized. "You're in shock. Okay, that's understandable."
"Maizie Albright?"
Detective Mowry stood in the doorway to the library.
"Funny how we keep meeting." My voice shook.
"Not funny." Mowry beckoned. "Mr. Shackleton, we need this room."
"It's about time. They wouldn't let me leave." Leonard strode forward a step and took my hand. "I'll give you a ride home, Maizie. Dahlia, you too."
Dahlia scooted toward the door.
Mowry blocked her exit. "We need statements. You'll find an officer in the hallway to take each of yours."
"Maizie?" said Leonard. "A little help here?"
"I can't help you make a witness statement," I said. "But if you need to make any kind of confession, I'll sit with you. I'll even hold your hand through it. You know what they say, confession is good for the soul."
"You'll go alone," said Mowry. "I'll talk to Maizie here."
"She works for me," said Leonard.
"And I work for the city of Black Pine. This woman needs to make her own statement," said Mowry. "If you really need someone to hold your hand, I'm sure we can find a substitute. I know several excellent policewomen."
Grumbling, Leonard stalked into the hall. Dahlia followed.
Mowry closed the door. "Let's hear it. Everything."
I spilled. Everything.
"Remind me to take you fishing," said Mowry. "I wonder if you have the same luck with fish that you do with finding victims."
"I'm sorry we did our reporting anonymously, but my probation officer isn't very understanding."
Mowry thumbed his lip.
"Why Cambria wanted a professional video of this nature, I don't know. But I do know someone found out and decided to stop them. And me."
"That sounds like a Kung Fu Kate plot."
I gasped. "The Kung Fu Kate audience was intended for preteen girls. I'm appalled you'd think that."
"Not the dirty movie part. The stopping 'them and me' part."
"It sounded better in my head. Why do you know Kung Fu Kate?"
"I have a six-year-old daughter."
"Oh."
"You're surprised?"
"I didn't see a ring… I mean, you seem kind of young," I stammered. "It seems weird because I have a six-year-old sister. I hope Kung Fu Kate isn't too violent for your daughter. Remi's not allowed to watch anything but Sesame Street. Although she said Elmo gets on her last nerve."
"Divorced." Mowry placed a hand on his hip. "And thanks for your concern."
I studied my garden-stained T-straps and hoped I hadn't insulted his parenting skills. Parents tended to feel touchy about TV content.
"I'm worried about you. Judging by the victim's injury, she had her back to them, like the others. I'm not ruling out it's because she looks a little like you, but we'll have to investigate."
"You don't see the resemblance?"
Mowry's cheeks grew rosy. "I don't like to draw conclusions until I have all the facts."
"What about Vicki and Giulio? Any news?"
"Nash did have me look into it. I don't believe it's related."
"Are you sure? I last saw Vicki with Dahlia. And Giulio disappeared after we found Billy Goodwin." I saw his look. "I know, I'm sorry. As soon as we saw Billy, we got out of there. We reported it."
"I know. Anonymously. You also trampled over a crime scene."
"But is it really trampling when you don't know it's a crime scene?" I gave him my sincere Teen Vogue smile. "You can see why I'm worried about Giulio. And Vicki? I don't trust Dahlia, and I couldn't reach either of them all day. Dahlia says she doesn't know, but Vicki is not answering her phone, and no one's seen her."
I placed a hand on his arm. "Some don't know this, but Vicki's my mother."
His stance relaxed, the stern cop face replaced by a softer, more understanding look. "I did look into their disappearance. On the day you found the body, Giulio took a cab to Black Pine airport. Vicki was also seen at the airport. Took a private plane to Atlanta. Flight details are Homeland Security jurisdiction, and that's a whole lot of red tape. I'm not investigating further. I really don't think it has anything to do with this case. They're not suspects."
"They're peripherally related?"
He shook his head. "Can I send you home in a car? I'd take you myself, but kind of busy here."
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