Deviled Egg Murder: Book 6 in The Bandit Hills Series

by Blair Merrin

  “Can we talk about something else, please?” I ask curtly. Nothing personal against Dash; I just really don’t feel like talking shop at the moment.

  “The murder had to have happened right before our tour began,” he continues, ignoring me. “Any sooner, and one of the other actors might have discovered her. Any later, the murderer would have risked us happening onto the scene.”

  “Fine, I’ll play too. Carl was with us at the time. Donovan was nowhere to be seen, but was hit in the back of the head with something.”

  “Yeah…” Dash says. “But what if that was a ruse to throw suspicion off of him?”

  “Whoa, pump the brakes there, chief. Are you suggesting that the guy killed his wife, ran upstairs, and then hit himself over the head with something hard enough to knock him out cold? That’s ridiculous. Besides, you would have found the… club, or whatever.”

  Dash sighs. “True. Unless he didn’t act alone.”

  “You know, you’re being awful speculative for someone who always scolds me for being speculative,” I tell him.

  “You’re right. We just need a good night’s sleep, and to let the police handle this.”

  “Exactly.” Even as I say it, I don’t truly believe it. After all my experience, I’ve found that these things have a way of getting us involved.

  CHAPTER 7

  Even though I own my own shop, and therefore could technically set my own hours, I still feel a responsibility to open and close when I say I will (for the most part). So murder or no murder, late night or not, I still (begrudgingly) get up at seven a.m. to open the store by eight. I shower quick, skip breakfast, and head downstairs from my apartment to Miss Miscellanea.

  I’m surprised to find Sarah waiting outside—not only because of what happened the night before, but also because, frankly, I sort of forgot I hired her on as seasonal help. She stands outside the door with two steaming cups, just like the day before, dressed plainly in jeans and a black sweater.

  “Hey, boss,” she says glumly when I come down. “I mean, Cassie.”

  “Sarah, I really didn’t expect you this morning. You know, if you need some time or whatever, you don’t have to work today.” I’m really not good at the whole condolences thing.

  “About that…” she says. “I can’t afford not to work. With the Scream Asylum closed, even temporarily, I need this gig more than ever. I, uh…” She stares sheepishly at the floor. “I checked out of the motel this morning. I just can’t keep paying for it if I’m not getting the extra money.”

  “Where are you going to sleep?”

  Sarah points over her shoulder with a thumb. Parked across the street from Miss Miscellanea is a beat-up black van.

  “Jeez. I’m sorry about that.”

  Sarah smiles. “No, it’s okay. It’s actually pretty comfy. Just don’t tell your cop friends, huh?”

  “Sure thing.” Part of me wants to offer the poor girl a place to sleep, like in the back office at least, if not in my home office upstairs (which is technically a second bedroom) but I don’t. It may seem callous to anyone else, but Sarah is still a relative stranger to me, and until I know her a little better, I don’t feel entirely comfortable with her being in my apartment or in my store unsupervised.

  I unlock the door to the shop and we both head inside. Sarah hands me one of the cups of coffee and I take it, determined to at least buy her lunch today. After all, she’s having financial troubles and still went through the hassle of getting me coffee.

  I flip the sign to “open” and set about opening the blinds.

  “Uh, Cassie?”

  “Yeah?” I turn to see Sarah staring at something inside the glass display case at the front of the store.

  “Why’s that here?”

  Curious, I head over and peer over her shoulder.

  The stone amulet, the one that Dash was wearing the night before, sits in my display case. One rounded edge of it glistens with what looks like—

  “Is that… blood?” Sarah asks.

  “Uh…” I know, very eloquent of me. Here’s the thing: It’s not all that weird for strange stuff to appear in my shop. I don’t know why, but I know the how, and it starts with “p” and ends with “aranormal activity.” It’s usually how I end up getting involved in these things. But to explain that to a stranger whose friend just died is a bit beyond me.

  Luckily I don’t have to explain it, because at the same time, the door chimes and Dash enters. “Good morning, ladies,” he says. “I don’t know about you two, but I barely slept—oh, hey, the amulet!”

  “Dash, wait…” Before I can say anything further, he hops over the counter (literally, right over the counter) and opens the display case.

  “You weren’t going to sell this, were you?” he asks sternly, reaching into the case for it. “You know I wanted it. Halloween’s only a few days away; it’ll go perfect with my wizard costume.”

  “Don’t…” Sarah says.

  “Dash, put it down,” I scold at the same time.

  Too late. He slips it over his neck, smiling wide. “Wow, it even looks great in just regular clothes. Doesn’t it?”

  “Dash, take it off right now,” I tell him.

  “What? No way.” He frowns.

  I’ve had enough occult items pass through my shop to know when something is definitely not right. “Dashiell Hamilton, take it off now.”

  His face contorts into a sneer. “Who do you think you are, my mother? No. It’s mine now. I’m taking it.” Once again his right hand grips the amulet.

  “Dash… there’s blood on it. Look.”

  He opens his hand and looks at it. Then he laughs. “That’s not blood, Cassie. That’s au jus. I must have dribbled some on it at the party last night.”

  “There was no au jus at the party, you doof! Take off the amulet!”

  “Make me!” he shouts.

  “Make you? What are you, twelve?”

  During all this, Sarah just shifts uncomfortably beside me. Just then the door chimes and in walks Sheriff Phil, in his police uniform.

  “Morning all,” he says. It’s obvious he didn’t get much sleep either. “Cassie, Dash, I’m glad you’re both here. Listen, a couple of people last night said they saw you two leave the party just before the haunted tour started. Now I know you two are upstanding citizens, so I’ll believe what you tell me. But I need to put something on the books, you know?”

  Oh, crap. In all the hullabaloo, I’d completely forgotten about that part, and now it looks like I conveniently omitted it from my statement to Phil. What am I supposed to say? See, Sheriff, this amulet, which seems to be cursed in some way, had Dash acting crazy—kind of like he is right now—and he passed out in the hall at the same time that a woman was getting murdered—

  Oh, double-crap. That familiar ball of dread comes crashing back as I realize that Dash’s whereabouts were completely unknown, even to me, in the ten minutes I was searching the sanitarium for him… but there’s no way. Right?

  “Dash, what is that thing around your neck?” Phil asks, edging closer.

  “It’s an amulet,” Dash says proudly. “And it’s mine.”

  “Is that… blood?”

  “No, it’s au jus,” I tell Phil.

  Phil eyes Dash up, and then me. “Alright you two, I’m going to need you both to come down to the station and answer some questions. Completely routine, okay? Nothing to worry about.”

  “Sure,” I say.

  “Like hell!” Dash shouts. And he loses his mind.

  He tries to make a break for the door. Phil reaches for him, but misses him by an inch. Dash actually turns out sticks his tongue out at Phil—taunting a cop is a generally bad idea, by the way—right before Deputy Sharon clotheslines him.

  Dash’s collarbone collides with her forearm as she comes into the shop, and the rest of him keeps going. In half a second Dash is laid-out flat on his back, gasping for breath. Sharon is not a large woman, but she’s tough. She raised four kids by herse
lf and still made it as a career cop. I vowed long ago never to mess with her.

  She rolls Dash over and pulls out her handcuffs.

  “Come on, Sharon, is that necessary?” I ask, but before I can even finish the question Dash squirms and struggles, trying to break free of her grip. She puts a knee in his back as Phil hurries over to help her.

  And right there in front of me, Sarah, and my mom, who was apparently coming in right behind Sharon (and very confused), they read Dash his rights and arrest him.

  CHAPTER 8

  Once we arrive at the police station, Phil and Sharon take Dash into an interrogation room in the back and instruct me to wait in the lobby and not go anywhere. I make sure to call Mom immediately, since she just witnessed both me and Dash getting put in the back of a cop car with no explanation.

  “What on earth is going on?” she screeches from the other end of the line. “Why did they arrest Dash?”

  “Ma, listen, I really need you to keep an eye on Sarah and the shop today for me while I get to the bottom of this.”

  “But how could they even consider Dash as a suspect? He’s done so much for this town!”

  “I know.”

  “Just tell me he didn’t do it.”

  “Of course he didn’t, Mom.” I really hope there’s more conviction in my voice than in my brain.

  After about an hour, Phil comes to the front, looking even worse for the wear. He drops into a plastic chair beside me and sighs heavily.

  “Before I say anything, I want you to know that this is very hard for me,” he says. “We’re holding Dash on suspicion of murder.”

  My heart skips three beats. “Phil, you can’t possibly—”

  “Cassie. He was seen by several witnesses leaving the party for approximately ten to fifteen minutes. That thing he was wearing has blood on it, and it’s just heavy enough to have knocked that Donovan fellow out cold. We took it into evidence and we’re going to test it. On top of all that, those same witnesses say he was acting real strange right before he disappeared.”

  “I can’t believe this is happening. Phil, trust me, I’m certain there’s another explanation.”

  “I really hope you’re right, but until something else comes to light, I can’t ignore evidence just because I like the guy.” Phil looks me right in the eye and says, “And I really hope something else comes to light.”

  I nod. I pick up what he’s putting down. “Can I see him?”

  “Follow me.” Phil takes me to the rear of the station where the three holding cells are located. Dash sits in one of them, hanging his head. Phil gives us some privacy, retreating back to his desk.

  “Dash, I’m going to find out who did this.”

  He lifts his head slowly. “Cass,” he speaks in a whisper, “we both know that I’m not myself when I put that amulet on. I don’t remember leaving the party the other night. I don’t remember getting arrested just now.” He shakes his head and his voice becomes tremulous. “Cassie, we don’t know for sure that I didn’t do it.”

  “Don’t say that!” I scold him. “Don’t even suggest it. I’m getting to the bottom of this.”

  “I believe you will. But you might not like what you find.”

  “Well, you just… sit tight. And let me worry about the rest.”

  A thin, sad smile lights on his lips. “Where else am I gonna go?”

  On the way out, I stop by Phil’s desk again. “What happened with Donovan?”

  “He woke up en route to the hospital last night,” he tells me. “His statement is that he was inspecting the haunted house, making sure everything was ready to go, when he was conked on the head. Didn’t see or hear them coming. Whoever it was must have dragged him upstairs after they whacked him on the noggin.”

  “Thanks.” I start for the door when Phil calls out to me.

  “Cassie? You know my official stance on this needs to be that you not get involved.”

  “I know.”

  “Good.” He goes back to his paperwork. “Call me when you find something.”

  * * *

  The Scream Asylum is a ghost town—no pun intended. There’s no one outside or inside, and there’s police caution tape over the entrance. (Has that actually ever stopped anyone before? I mean, I can just duck under it.) I head around to the rear of the sanitarium and find an impressive trailer back there, sleek and modern. I knock on the door twice.

  Donovan opens the door. His youthful face looks much older, like he’s aged a decade overnight, and his eyes are rimmed in red.

  “What do you want?” he asks.

  Since we’re being so straightforward, I decide to also dispense with pleasantries. “The police arrested someone in your wife’s murder.”

  “They have the wrong man.”

  “I think so, too.”

  “Come on in.” Donovan steps aside, and I can see that the back of his head is shaved, and a sizable bandage is taped over the place he got hit. Inside the trailer is almost as big as my living room, and twice as nice. It looks like the kind of place a movie star would be found between takes.

  “How’s your head?” I ask him.

  “Still hurts.” Donovan drops himself into a lounge chair. “It’s nothing compared to the heartache, though.” He sighs and runs his fingers through his hair, wincing. “We had our problems, you know? We’d fight, like anyone. But she was the love of my life.” He stares at the floor for a long moment. “Who did they arrest?”

  I recount the story of Dash’s disappearing act during the party and his subsequent arrest.

  Donovan’s eyes narrow angrily. “Wrong. It’s all wrong. It wasn’t your boyfriend.”

  “How do you know?”

  He reaches into a nearby drawer and pulls out a white spiral-bound book. He opens to a dog-eared page near the back. “This is… was Sally’s diary. Have a look.” He holds it out to me, but I shake my head. Reading a deceased woman’s personal diary feels too invasive for comfort.

  “Why don’t you paraphrase for me?”

  “Sure. See, the four of us—me, Sally, Carl and Sarah—we’ve all been friends since college. Doing the Scream Asylum every Halloween is like our unofficial reunion. But Carl and Sally, they go even further back. They went to high school together, and Carl’s been holding a candle for her for years. She never saw him as anything more than a friend.” He taps the cover of the diary twice. “But according to this, it seems that my ‘best friend’ Carl was making advances on Sally lately.”

  “Why would he do that? Why now, after you’re married?”

  Donovan purses his lips. “Look, this is just between me and you, but my company hasn’t been doing great lately. We made some bad choices, and… we may be facing bankruptcy. It’s been the cause of a lot of tension between me and Sally in the past few months. Carl knows about it, and saw his chance. He’s been telling her that he could take care of her. That they could run away together and never look back. That he’s always loved her.”

  “And she never told you?”

  “No. Last night I couldn’t sleep. I wanted to hear her voice, so I read her diary. It was almost like she was talking to me. But then I got to the end, the parts she wrote in just the last week or so… he’s been more forceful. Coming on real strong. She wrote that she would wait to tell me until the Scream Asylum was done this year, for fear that it would cause this business to collapse, too.”

  “Donovan,” I say gently, “that doesn’t prove that Carl killed her.”

  He sniffs once and looks out the window. “She was uncomfortable around him. Nervous. I think she was putting it lightly. I think she was scared of him.”

  “Have you talked to him about it at all?” I ask.

  He scoffs. “No. I’m afraid that if I see him, I might kill him.”

  “Where is he? Does he have a trailer too?”

  “No, he stays down at the motel off the highway, the fifties-style one.”

  “You understand that I have to go talk with him, right?”
>
  Donovan nods. “Better you than me.”

  “Are you going to be okay here by yourself? There are places you can go, be around people—”

  “No,” he says. “I just want to be alone.” He stands and opens the door to the trailer for me. I don’t know why, but I give him a hug. Like I said, I’m not usually very good with words when it comes to this sort of thing. But a hug is different.

  He hugs me back for several seconds. Then he forces a small smile and closes the door behind me.

  CHAPTER 9

  I drive faster than I should down to Penny’s motel; not just for want of getting Dash out of jail, but also because I know how news travels in this town. It’ll be hours, if not less, before everyone and their mother knows that Dash is being held on suspicion of Sally’s murder.

  “Hey, Cassie,” Penny says cheerfully from behind the reception desk in the motel office. She wears black leggings and a bright orange off-the-shoulder sweater. “Some party last night, huh?”

  “Yeah, some party, Penny.”

  “I don’t know what’s in the water around here that this stuff keeps happening.” She shakes her head. “Anyhow, it’s a real shame. Especially ‘cause I was looking forward to seeing the asylum. I heard it was really scary. You know, I had a crazy idea of turning part of the hotel into a haunted attraction, sort of like The Shining or something like that. I gave up on it when I heard about that Scream Asylum coming to town, though. Too much competition.”

  “That is a crazy idea.”

  “Yeah. Maybe next year. What can I do for you?”

  Before I can answer, the door to the office swings open and Sarah enters. Her eyes widen, seeing me here, and mine do too, seeing her here.

  “Hey, boss,” she says quickly. “Fancy seeing you here.”

  “Likewise.”

  “I think I forgot my wallet here when I checked out this morning.” Sarah rolls her eyes. “I’d forget my head if it wasn’t screwed on, you know?”

  “No problem.” Penny reaches under the desk and comes up with a key. “The maid hasn’t gotten around to your room just yet, so go on in and get it.”