by Agatha Frost
“Please,” he replied sheepishly.
Patsy poured the pint and handed it over before Jack paid for their drinks. With her glass of wine clasped against her lips, Liz followed the couple through the crowd, which once again fell silent as it parted around her. She wondered if she should have come dressed as a leper.
“Is Simon here?” Liz asked hopefully. “I haven’t spoken to him since it happened. The police interviewed us separately.”
Nancy and Jack both glanced over their shoulders, not-so-subtle smiles on their green faces.
“He’s around,” Jack said, standing on tiptoe to look over the crowd. “Look for the scarecrow.”
They wriggled through an enthusiastic group imitating the ‘Thriller’ dance on the crowded dance floor, every person in an elaborate costume. Aside from Patsy, Liz concluded that she was the only resident who had dared to turn up as herself. Considering the bags under her eyes and her un-brushed hair, she decided that was scary enough.
Liz was relieved when she spotted a scarecrow talking to Dracula. If she had not known what she was looking for, she would not have recognised the creature as Simon. Taking a huge gulp of wine, she broke away from Nancy and Jack before walking towards him.
“Nice costume.”
“Liz!” the scarecrow exclaimed, Simon’s familiar voice coming from the slit in the brown sack over his head. “I threw it together from stuff at the farm.”
Simon pulled off his straw hat and slid the sack off his head, his face red and his dirty blond hair matted with sweat. She felt more at ease when he flashed his dimples.
“I came as myself,” she said, motioning to her simple clothes. “Boo!”
“There’s always next year,” he said as he scratched at the straw poking out from his raggedy knitted jumper. “Truth be told, I wasn’t even going to come, never mind dress up, but Mum and Dad forced me.”
Simon nodded across the bar to Morticia and Gomez Addams, who were walking from side to side with their monster claws as Michael Jackson sang over the speakers. Ellie, Simon’s little sister, was dancing between them dressed as Wednesday Addams. Her blonde hair had been spray-painted black and parted down the middle into tight plaits framing her tiny face.
“Part of me thinks I’m the only one bothered about what happened to Nathan,” Liz said as they wandered towards the seats at the side of the room. “It’s eating away at me.”
“None of us really knew him all that well,” Simon admitted with a shrug, echoing what Nancy had said over the phone. “He kept to himself. It’s Polly I feel sorry for.”
Liz’s heart broke just thinking about what Polly must be going through. She had been through something similar with Lewis, but she guessed it was easier to grieve when you knew your spouse’s head was still attached, even if they were lying in a morgue.
“I still feel weird about it,” Simon admitted, turning to Liz as ‘Thriller’ eased into The Backstreet Boys. “I used to nod to him at The Sea Platter, but I don’t think we ever spoke.”
“The Sea Platter?”
“He was the chef there,” Simon said, before pausing and gulping hard. “You won’t believe what people are saying.”
“What?”
“They’re saying they saw a ghost stalking the corridors with an axe after it happened.”
Liz exhaled heavily before taking a deep gulp of her wine, practically inhaling half the glass in an instant.
“The poor guy was murdered by a living being in the here and now,” she said firmly, irritation bubbling in her chest as the wine burned its way down to her stomach. “We owe the poor guy that much. If you chalk it down to a myth, we’ll never find out the truth.”
“We?”
“I meant the police,” Liz corrected herself, her cheeks flushing. “The police will never find out the truth if the locals keep talking about the legend.”
She smiled gently at Simon, not wanting to admit that she had spent most of the night going over everything she knew.
“We should find Nancy and Jack,” Simon said as the music faded out. “I think the show’s about to start.”
“Show?”
By way of answer, Simon grabbed her hand and pulled her through the last of the crowd to where Nancy and Jack were defending two empty chairs. Liz and Simon slid into their places, turning to face the stage behind the suddenly cleared dance floor. The lights dimmed, and the chatter died down, a rumble of excitement echoing through the room.
Darkness descended, the only light coming from the pink strip lighting, which quickly turned red, staining the black walls, just as the floodlights had at the castle. A spotlight flashed into life, illuminating the red curtains as they began to part. A row of dancers appeared from the darkness, all of them in elaborate skull makeup and tuxedos. Applause scattered through the room as the well-dressed skeletons stared out into the dark sea of costumes. Even Liz found herself clapping along as the anticipation built.
The applause died down for a moment but immediately started again when a young woman walked onto the stage in a similar costume to the other skeletons. Her trousers had been ripped into shorts, and her shirt was open, revealing her chest. ‘Time Warp’ from ‘The Rocky Horror Picture Show’ started up, and the woman in the centre of the stage took the role of the narrator, the dancers behind her doing as instructed. It only took seconds for people, including Nancy and Jack, to fill up the dance floor once again.
Liz sipped her wine, her foot tapping along in time to the music. She glanced at Simon, who was mouthing the words, his hips wiggling in the chair. Smiling to herself, she rested her head on his shoulder, knowing the wine had already loosened her up. When Simon’s arm snaked around her shoulders, she flinched a little, but relaxed into his side; it felt right.
The song finished, and there was a gap of silence before the next one started. If it had not been for that tiny blip of nothingness, Liz and the rest of the town might not have heard the doors burst open. The force of the sound caused everyone to suddenly shift in their chairs to stare at the door. ‘The Monster Mash’ started up, but the dancers and the girl at the front just stood and stared. Liz half-stood up and looked over the crowd, her heart skipping a beat when she saw Polly striding into the bar, makeup streaked down her face, her usual peroxide beehive deflated and sagging at the side of her head. She pushed through the crowd with such intent, it was obvious to everyone that she was not there to enjoy the party.
The singer tried to catch up with the song as the dancers bopped limply behind her. With the intensity of a wild animal, the usually bubbly hairdresser burst through the stunned crowd and yanked the singer down off the stage with one swift tug. A gasp escaped Liz’s lips, as well as those of every other person who was staring in disbelief. The music suddenly stopped as the dancers watched helplessly. The crowd parted in a circle around Polly and the singer, who was on the floor after her fall from the high stage.
“I knew something was going on with you and Nathan,” Polly screeched, her voice so high Liz was sure Paddy would be howling back at the flat. “I knew it!”
“Wha-” the woman mumbled as she forced herself up to her feet. “You’re insane!”
“Don’t you dare try to deny it!” Polly screeched, her foot stomping as her fists clenched tightly by her sides. “I saw the messages on his phone just before - just before it happened.”
Polly took a step towards the woman, who was looking feebly around the thick crowd, a disbelieving, awkward smile on her face. Just from the look in the singer’s eyes, Liz knew Polly was on to something.
“Who’s that?” Liz whispered to Simon as she craned her neck above the stage.
“Misty Rivers. She’s been performing here for a while.”
Misty flattened down her black shoulder-length hair as she stared at Polly, her mouth opening but no sound forming between her lips.
“You’re not even trying to deny it!” Polly screamed even louder, causing Misty to jump back. “Girls like you make me sick!”
They stood in the circle for what felt like a lifetime, like two alley cats getting ready to pounce and fight. Nobody rushed forward to part the women, probably so stunned they were frozen to the spot like Liz.
“How could you do this?” Polly yelled, suddenly launching forward and grabbing a fistful of Misty’s hair. “You stupid little-”
Before Polly could finish her sentence, a plump, balding, bespectacled man pushed through the crowd.
“What are you doing?” he cried, staring at Polly, his disbelieving eyes wide behind his magnifying spectacles. “Let go of her!”
“Derrick, it’s fine,” Misty winced, her fingers wrapped around Polly’s wrist, which still had a fistful of her hair entangled in it. “She’s probably just inhaled too many peroxide fumes.”
Polly stared at the entertainer for a moment; her insult seemed to be the straw to break the camel’s back. She let out a tribal screech, which echoed into the darkest corners of the bar. Liz swiftly jumped up, but before she could rush over to part the women, the balding man dragged the hairdresser away from the cowering singer.
“Enough!” he yelled, standing between the women, his wide stomach blocking Misty completely from Liz’s view. “You’ve ruined the show for everyone! Just leave!”
Polly stumbled back, her eyes trained on Misty, who remained firmly behind the man. Polly seemed to be considering whether it was worth taking another shot, but decided against it, much to Liz’s relief. She turned on her heels and bolted back through the crowd, slamming the door just as she had only minutes ago. Silence remained in the club as the dancers climbed down from the stage to comfort Misty. Liz left Simon’s side and walked over to Nancy and Jack, who had watched the whole ordeal unravel from the side-lines.
“She’s just jealous of your talent,” said the man who Liz had heard Misty call Derrick. “Let’s go and get you cleaned up. The show must go on.”
Misty nodded quickly, her chin raised to the ceiling. She scanned the crowd, her eyes meeting Liz’s briefly.
“You heard the man,” she cried, shrugging off Derrick before clapping her hands together. “The show must go on. You came here to watch me perform, and that’s what’s going to happen. Girls, back on stage. Give the people what they want while I freshen up.”
Misty let herself be led through the crowd by Derrick, his arm clamped tightly around her shoulder. The dancers climbed back up onto the stage, and The Monster Mash started from the beginning. They began dancing with the same bewildered and confused looks as the people watching them. Nancy turned to Liz, her jaw slack.
“Just when you thought things couldn’t get any more dramatic,” Nancy whispered, an excited smile pricking the corners of her mouth. “Nathan and Misty? Who would have known? Did you know about this, Jack?”
“I didn’t know the fella,” Jack admitted, holding his hands up. “I never thought he was a good fit for Polly, but that was none of my business.”
Liz remembered thinking the same thing when she had met Nathan outside the castle less than an hour before meeting his head in the dark corridor.
“Poor Polly,” Simon said, appearing behind Liz as the crowd started to disperse. “I wouldn’t have thought she could get that angry. She’s always seemed so -”
“Sweet,” Nancy finished.
“Grief can do strange things to people,” Liz said, almost to herself. “How long were Polly and Nathan together?”
“Not long,” Nancy said, her eyes narrowing as she dug through her memory. “I think they got together after me and Jack, so less than a year.”
“Last night was the first time I saw them together,” Liz thought aloud, her finger tapping on her chin. “I see Polly all the time.”
“Maybe he was too busy with his side piece,” Simon whispered, his hands grabbing Liz’s shoulders from behind. “I hope she’s okay.”
“She won’t be,” Liz said bluntly, shrugging off Simon’s hands. “It’s bad enough that her boyfriend died like he did, but to find out he was cheating will have added a knife in her back to join the one in her heart.” Liz looked in the direction Misty and Derrick had headed, spotting an opening to a corridor. “I’ll be right back.”
After passing her wine glass to Nancy, Liz pushed through the crowd, some of whom were half-heartedly trying to resume their dancing. She slipped down the dark corridor unseen, stopping when she came to a door with Misty’s name stuck to a glittery gold star. It looked like something that had been made in a high school art project.
Liz knocked on the door, and was surprised when she heard Misty call “Come in.”
Liz entered the dressing room, the sickly scent of sweet perfume knotting her stomach. Misty stared at herself in a mirror surrounded by soft vanity lights. She dabbed under her eyes with a tissue, her intricate skull makeup swirling into a grey mess.
Half a dozen pictures had been stuck to the edge of the mirror. A gorgeous woman with porcelain white skin jumped out from the professional headshots, her curled jet-black hair bringing to mind a 1940s burlesque dancer. Liz assumed it was the same woman in the chair, who was still strikingly beautiful, even behind the inky makeup.
“You’re not Derrick,” Misty said bluntly when she spotted Liz in the glowing reflection. “Can I help you?”
Liz applied her friendliest interview smile, which she had honed during her years in the force. It had not taken her long in her early days to realise that it was easier to pry information with a smile than a scowl.
“I just wanted to check you were okay,” Liz said softly in a maternal voice that felt foreign to her. “That was quite a scene out there.”
“I’m fine,” she snapped, sniffling one last time before picking up a makeup brush and dipping it into a black pot of grease paint. “Who are you? You’re not one of the regulars.”
“This is my first time here,” Liz replied, taking Misty’s question as permission to approach. “I only moved here a few months ago.”
“Oh,” Misty said as she began to re-trace the outline of the skull, her eyes darting up and down Liz. “What’s your costume?”
“I’m not wearing one.”
“Oh,” she said again, her eyes widening as she focused in on her own face. “I thought you’d come as a fashion victim.”
Liz looked down at her khaki jumper and faded jeans, wondering if she really looked that bad, not that she cared either way. Since moving to Scarlet Cove, she rarely wore anything she was not happy to have covered in paint splatters.
“I suppose you want to know if Polly was telling the truth?” Misty said flatly as she coloured in the missing spaces under her eyes. “That’s why you’re really here.”
Liz’s smile faltered as she met the woman’s dark eyes in the mirror. Despite being beautiful, she came across as cold, like a perfect face carved from a slab of white marble.
“It’s not really any of my business,” Liz said, not wanting to give any of her intentions away.
“It’s true,” Misty admitted, her voice devoid of emotion. “He was going to break up with that bimbo.”
“Polly is a nice woman.”
“Is that her name?” Misty asked with a shrug. “Mutton dressed as lamb. Nathan never loved her, but when you’re living with someone, it isn’t that easy. After that performance out there, the whole town will see how unstable she is.”
Liz let her smile fade away. She narrowed her eyes on the beautiful woman as she finished touching up her makeup, not caring if it was obvious that she had taken an instant dislike to the performer.
“She tried to own him,” she continued. “He was a free spirit. He wanted someone more exciting, someone who didn’t want to keep him in a box. She was holding him back.”
“Is that an excuse for breaking a young woman’s heart?” Liz asked, crossing her arms.
“It’s her own fault for being so fragile,” Misty said with a roll of her eyes. “Hearts are broken, and people die. It’s part of life. I am upset that Nathan is dead. I liked the guy, but I’m not
going to waste my life mourning, especially when I have a show to do. Speaking of which, I need to get back out there. Those dimwit dancers won’t keep them distracted for long. The people came to see the star of the show, and that’s what they’re going to get. I’ll make that stupid hairdresser pay if she’s lost me this job.”
Liz did not feel the need to say another word. She knew nothing further could be gained from their conversation, and if she stayed, she was not sure she could hold her tongue.
Leaving Misty to keep admiring herself in the soft glow of the mirror, Liz made her way back to her friends. Nancy handed Liz her wine, which she drained in seconds.
“Where’ve you been?” Nancy asked, her lips pursed and arms crossed.
“Bathroom.”
“The toilet is on the other side,” Nancy said, nodding at the illuminated sign near the bar. “Are you investigating?”
“Why would you think that?” Liz replied, knowing her tone was a little too defensive. “I’m going to get another glass of wine. Same again for everyone else?”
“Sure,” they replied in unison.
After another round of drinks, they made their way to the door. Despite Misty’s quick reappearance on the stage, the club had half emptied since Polly’s outburst. After Jack and Nancy linked arms and bid them goodnight, Simon and Liz hung back underneath the flickering pink neon sign.
“So,” Simon said, looking down at his shoes. “I was wondering if you’d like to come back to the farm for a coffee? The night is still young, and my parents are still in there with Ellie.”
Liz had wanted to spend the rest of her evening painting at her flat, but the hopeful look in Simon’s eyes convinced her to ditch her plans; she could paint tomorrow.
“Coffee sounds good,” she said, earning a smile from Simon that made the butterflies in her stomach resurface. “Lead the way, scarecrow.”
The walk up to Simon’s farm was a long one, but with Simon by her side, the time passed quickly. They chatted about everything and nothing, arm in arm as they walked along the dirt track to the old farm.
“I only have instant coffee,” Simon said as he unhooked the large metal gate blocking off the farm from passing visitors. “I hope that’s okay.”