by Melissa Marr
Ms. Dowling leads us to the spot where Lisa Lake disappeared. I follow the group while keeping my eye on Ani and Jonathan, ready to distract them if they notice Kennedy and Aiden are missing. They’re busy pointing out something to each other inside the auditorium.
As we assemble, the two police officers move into the aisles and begin sweeping the theater. In other words, the chief knows perfectly well that last night was a setup, and her officers are making sure no “ghosts” are crouched between the seats.
Only when they give the “all clear” signal does Ms. Dowling begin.
“The group stood right where you are,” she says. “The same spot where every group stood for this tour. There was even a mark on the carpet to show the guides where to stop. While the carpet has long since been replaced, you can see a replica of the mark there.”
She points, and everyone cranes to see it.
“Of the Lake family, only Lisa was with the group. Her parents remained backstage, arguing over how to proceed. Mrs. Lake wanted to go after her younger daughter, while Mr. Lake wanted to continue on and hope no one noticed her absence. He was embarrassed by her outburst and the fact that it concerned a bodily function.”
Ms. Dowling turns to the right and waves at the wall. “The guide would have steered gazes to that wall, allegedly pointing out an architectural detail but really drawing their attention in preparation for the power outage and the shadow play. He had done that when—”
The lights go out. Ms. Dowling sucks in breath. She says something, but it’s drowned out by the murmur of the tour group—a cacophony of yelps and titters and excited whispers. A light flickers and someone shouts “There!”
I follow the light to see someone on the catwalk. It’s a light-haired young woman in a plaid dress. It’s still too dark down here to see, and I’m easing back to take Marius’s arm when my hip bumps a hand. As I pull away, murmuring an apology, I feel a tug on my purse strap. I wheel, grabbing my bag, and there’s a hand inside it. The hand withdraws fast. A yelp. Light flashes. It’s Marius, raising his cell phone. His other hand encircles the wrist of a young man with my credit cards pinched between his fingers.
“Officers!” Marius calls.
The young man lashes out, punching at Marius with his free hand. Marius doesn’t even stumble. He gives one twist and pins the pickpocket’s arm behind his back.
“And where do you think you’re going?” one of the officers calls as she steps into the path of a young woman edging toward the exit.
“Uh-uh,” says a voice, and I glance to see Jonathan grabbing another man by the wrist. He lifts the man’s arm and plucks out a cell phone in a flowered case.
“Hey!” a woman says. “That’s mine.”
Jonathan passes over the phone.
“What’s going on here?” Ms. Dowling says.
“Seems you had some pickpockets in your tour group,” Rian says as he checks his own pockets, everyone else doing the same. A few exclamations ring out—someone missing a cell phone, a few others missing cash or cards.
“Oh my goodness,” Ms. Dowling says. “Thank you for catching them, officers. I can’t believe anyone would do such a thing.”
“Oh, I think you can believe it,” Jonathan says. “Considering I saw you with this guy.” He waggles the arm of the man he’s restraining.
Ms. Dowling blinks. “Because he was asking about the tour. Which he joined with two friends.”
Jonathan lifts his cell phone, showing a photo of Ms. Dowling and the guy he’s holding. They’re getting out of a car together. In the next photo, she’s giving him a kiss before they presumably went their separate ways.
“I got suspicious this afternoon when someone told me you weren’t following the old tour properly,” Jonathan says. “That seems odd, since I presumed you’d borrowed our archives, which included a resident’s full accounting of the tour—she’d been the assistant guide that night. But it turns out those archives have been missing for years. That got me digging. You didn’t quite represent yourself accurately on your application, Ms. Dowling. You’re not a historian, and you never went to Columbia. You run a vlog on ghost stories.”
She bristles. “It’s a history vlog. My angle may be ghosts, but I run an academic site specializing in the history surrounding ghost stories.”
“Well, this isn’t an actual ghost story,” Hope says, waving at the rafters where Ms. Dowling’s accomplice had appeared. “You faked it, together with your pickpocket boyfriend and his buddies.”
Ms. Dowling continues to protest, but the police are already calling in backups, who are apparently just outside waiting.
“This was a sting, wasn’t it?” I say to Jonathan as I walk over to him. “You knew.”
“Ani and I figured it out. We told Chief Salazar, who’d already had her suspicions.”
“There were reports of thefts last night,” Ani says. “Coinciding with both the tour and the chaos afterward. Chief Salazar downplayed it so she wouldn’t spook Ms. Dowling and her gang.”
“That’s the real reason they shut down stores last night,” Jonathan says. “A would-be thief set off a security alarm at the jewelry store, and the police were worried it wasn’t just a crime of opportunity.”
Ani nods. “They thought it might have been orchestrated. They just didn’t believe Ms. Dowling was involved.”
“They thought someone was taking advantage of her tour, because she seemed legitimately startled,” I say. “Who else knew about this?”
“Not me,” Hope says.
Rian raises his hands.
I turn a narrow-eyed look on Marius.
“Yes, Jonathan asked me to keep an eye out,” he says. “Though I would love to pretend it was my superior wits and reflexes that let me catch that guy with his hand in your purse.”
“Wait,” Ani says. “Where are Kennedy and Aiden?”
“They slipped out,” Hope says, waggling her brows.
“I think it was more about sleuthing than smooching, sadly,” I say. “They must have been trying to figure out the thefts.”
“They’re going to be disappointed,” Hope says. “I know I am. It’s such a Scooby-Doo solution. I’m still waiting for them to pull the mask off Ms. Dowling.”
“Yep,” Jonathan says. “Not exactly world-class thieves. Someone should go find Kennedy and Aiden, though. I suspect the police will want a head count.”
“I will,” I say. “Marius? May I get a little help with my escape?”
“One luck roll coming up.”
Chapter Twelve
I manage to sneak out of the auditorium by way of the backstage. I’m slipping through when there’s a soft thump, followed by an oath. I break into a jog and find Kennedy standing in the entranceway of a dressing room, the door hidden behind a curtain. Inside, Aiden blocks someone trying to leave.
It’s Mitch Keeling—Kennedy’s IT guy. Also the person who’d wanted to stop tonight’s tour.
“What’s going on?” I whisper.
Kennedy starts to answer in a normal voice, and I wave her to silence and then bustle her inside and shut the door behind us.
“There was another fake ghost,” I say. “The police are taking care of it.” I leave off the part about the thefts. If Mitch is involved, I don’t want him knowing his partners-in-crime have been apprehended. “Now, what’s going on?”
“I spotted Mitch sneaking in,” Kennedy says. “That’s why we backed out of the tour. To see what he was up to. We caught him climbing into the rafters. Then we heard that fake ghost—in the rafters. Mitch ran down and tried hiding in here.”
“It’s not what you think,” Mitch says.
“What do we think?” Kennedy asks.
“That I had something to do with the hauntings. I didn’t. Last night’s was obviously fake, and I wanted to prove it. I was hiding down here when I caught a glimpse of a young woman in a plaid dress heading up the ladder to the rafters. I took photos.”
He pulls out his phone and sho
ws us. “What I hoped to prove was who was behind it. I’m sure it’s the tour guide.”
“And your concern with that?” Aiden says.
“You’ve been awfully concerned with all of it,” Kennedy muses. “Your family wasn’t even here when it happened. I remember when you moved to Unstable and met Jackie. So why all the fuss about protecting the victim of a fifty-year-old local crime?”
“I might not be from Unstable originally, but I’ve made it my hometown. I didn’t like this young woman taking advantage of our legends and our reputation. How will it affect our ghost tours if one is proven to be fake? How will it affect our entire town ethos? Unstable is built on the belief in the paranormal. One debunking, and the entire economy could collapse.”
“Yeah, not quite,” Kennedy says. “We’ve dealt with skeptics and debunkers for years, and Ms. Dowling is an outsider. No one would blame us.” She steps closer to him. “I think your concern is more personal. You don’t want the mystery solved because it would affect you.”
“Affect me?” he sputters. “I wasn’t even born yet. I couldn’t have had anything to do with Lisa Lake’s disappearance.”
“Oh, I don’t mean you directly. I mean someone in your family. Someone connected with the disappearance. Someone who knows exactly what happened.”
Mitch blusters, but color rises in his face.
“A parent, maybe?” Kennedy says.
“If you’re suggesting my father had anything to do with Lisa Lake’s disappearance—”
“But he did, didn’t he?” She takes out her phone and flips to a photo. “I found this online. A YouTube true-crime show covered Lisa’s disappearance a few years back. They had a photo of her enhanced to show what she’d look like today.”
She shows a photo of an elderly woman and continues, “I dug through my old picture files. This one’s from five years ago. The annual Labor Day picnic. I was taking photos for Jonathan—the library wanted them for the archives.” She lifts her phone, showing an elderly woman beside Mitch and his wife, his arms over both their shoulders.
Kennedy zooms in on the elderly woman and flips back to the age-enhanced shot of Lisa Lake. “It’s not perfect, but it’s a damn good likeness.” She looks at him. “That’s Lisa Lake. Your mother.”
He opens his mouth to protest. A long pause. Then he deflates with a sigh. “Yes.”
“I also tracked down your birthday,” she says. “You were born six months after Lisa disappeared. Which is why I said her disappearance is kind of your dad’s fault. She was pregnant with you, and so she staged her disappearance.”
“Nice sleuthing,” he says with a wry half-smile. “Yes, Mom was pregnant. She’d met a boy at bible camp. He asked if she was on the pill, and she had no idea what that meant. She didn’t know what sex was or how babies were made either. That’s what happens when your parents refuse you even the most basic sex ed. Mom really liked the boy—and she liked what they were doing—so she lied and said she was on the pill.”
“And got pregnant.”
He nods. “She was terrified of what her parents would do. Even before that, though, she wanted out. The pregnancy gave her an excuse to escape. My father helped her do that. They staged her disappearance, and his family took her in. My father’s parents helped her to start over under a new name.”
“She married your dad and took his name,” I say. “They lived happily ever after.”
He quirks a smile. “Not exactly. They became lifelong friends, but it wasn’t the marrying kind of love. She actually married one of his college buddies, years later. I had a great biological father and a great stepdad. Also an amazing mother.” He looks at us. “Whose legacy I want to protect.”
“Legacy?” Aiden says.
“Mom passed away two years ago. She was so damned proud of her mystery.” He chuckles. “She loved coming to Unstable and hearing people talk about it. She’d even ask about it, just for fun. She adored being the local unsolved mystery. There was no harm in it. No crime she was covering up. It made her happy, and yes, it’s her legacy, as odd as that might sound.”
“You’re the one who removed the archives, aren’t you,” I say.
He sighs. “Yes. I’ll return them. It was shortly after her death. I was still grieving, and I got a little overprotective.”
“Which is why you tried to stop the tours?” Kennedy says.
“I didn’t like the way Ms. Dowling was operating. Jackie’s aunt reached out, and she ignored her. It was a cash grab in my mother’s memory, and if I could stop her—legitimately—I wanted to. I wasn’t going to do anything underhanded.”
Mitch looks at us. “So I’ve confirmed your theory. Is there any way I can ask you to keep it between us? I honestly don’t see how solving the mystery helps anyone.”
“It doesn’t,” Kennedy says. “Your family secret is yours.”
Aiden clears his throat. “On one condition.”
We look at him.
He nods toward Kennedy. “You want to know how Lisa did it. You have a theory. Perhaps Mr. Keeling can confirm it.”
“We have a theory,” she says. “We think it was a switcheroo and that your aunt was in on it.”
His lips twitch. “Go on.”
“Your mom was only a year older than her sister. They looked similar enough to fool people who didn’t know them. Backstage, they slipped behind the curtain and switched dresses. Your mom’s dress was simple and loose-fitting. I presume your aunt’s was, too. It’d take ten seconds to trade dresses. Maybe a quick hairstyle change to match—your aunt taking out a ponytail and your mom putting one in. Then your mom—pretending to be her sister—runs out complaining of stomach problems. All your parents see is her back. She flees into the bathroom, where she’s probably stashed clothing. Your aunt proceeds into the theater with the group. Lights go out—as anyone familiar with the tour would expect—and she darts into the seating, leaving behind the ashes. Maybe she has a second dress there, similar to her original one. Change into that and, in the commotion, pretends to return as herself. Her parents return to the auditorium, and Lisa slips from the bathroom and out the main doors. She meets your dad outside, and they ride into the sunset together.”
Kennedy looks at Mitch. “Close?”
“Close enough. Yes, my aunt helped. Most of it was her idea. She hoped if they came to Unstable’s anniversary celebration, it’d be so busy that Mom could sneak away. But their parents weren’t letting them out of their sight. So my aunt heard about the tour—and the lights going out—and devised plan B. Afterward, she stayed in touch with Mom, and they reunited the day she turned eighteen. So I had my aunt in my life, too. Still do. She lives in Seattle, gets over now and then.”
“I’d love to meet her next time she visits,” Kennedy says.
“She’d like that, too. A chance to share her grand adventure. Now, may I make my escape before anyone finds me here?”
“We’ll help with that,” I say, and I head out to make sure the path is clear.
Chapter Thirteen
We sneak Mitch out, and then we slip into the auditorium. Here again I acknowledge advantages to a small and tight-knit community. When Aiden and Kennedy return after being gone for the entire pickpocketing situation, the police do not for one second wonder whether they were involved. Kennedy is a Bennett, and Aiden is a family friend, and so they are above suspicion. I tell the officers that I found them in the change room, and all they get is a few knowing looks and chuckles, and then it’s back to business.
Being from a leading local family, however, does not exempt you from having to stick around and answer the same questions as everyone else. In Kennedy’s case, the police want to know if they saw anything backstage, and they mention the young woman—very much not a ghost—they spotted climbing into the rafters. That’s it, and then we’re all asked what we saw in the theater before being released to enjoy our evening.
Once we’re outside, Rian murmurs, “Can we talk?” to Aiden, and they split off fr
om the group. Ani and Jonathan decide they’re in the mood for a patio cocktail. Kennedy wants to show Aiden the sights once he’s done with Rian. Marius declares he absolutely requires that damned elephant ear, and Hope joins him, the two heading off to a booth.
Kennedy and I stroll along Bishop Street, slowly enough for the others to catch up. It’s Saturday night, and the festival is in full swing. There are the usual carnival booths—corn dogs and elephant ears and deep-fried candy bars. But being Unstable, there’s more. Some paranormal shtick, like a coffee pop-up specializing in “witches brew.” There are also the more serious stalls and businesses, promising to read everything from your aura to your astrological chart. We pause at one specializing in palmistry, with a white owl perched outside. Kennedy waves to the owner—her neighbor, apparently—and pets the owl. Then we check on the rest of our group, with Marius and Hope still getting their fried-dough treats, and Aiden and Rian talking under a tree.
“You two seem to be getting on,” I say. “You and Aiden.”
“We are.” She glances at me. “And if that’s a nudge for us to ‘get on’ even better . . .”
“Mind my own business?” I say.
“I’d say it nicer, but yes, please.” She steps to a booth and fingers a scarf decorated with mythical creatures. “I want to take my time. Get to know each other. ‘Leap before you look’ is my life’s motto, and I don’t want to do that this time. This is too important to jump in.”
She looks toward Aiden. “Maybe it’s just friendship. Maybe it’s more. But whatever it is, I don’t want to jeopardize what we have in hopes of getting more. If that makes sense.”
I turn to watch Marius, coming back now, waving his elephant ear and saying something that makes Hope laugh.
“It makes perfect sense to me,” I say.
* * *
Of course Marius insists on the damnable Ferris wheel. It’s not as if he was going to forget that, however chaotic the weekend has been. I roll my eyes and grumble and insist on checking the safety certificate, but that’s all for show. He knows I’m going on it with him, and he knows I’ll love it.