Mayhem Takes a Dare: The Second Marisa Adair Mystery Adventure (Marisa Adair Mysteries Book 2)

by Jada Ryker

  “How about you, do you want to take a stab at it?” Tara gestured toward the hovering young man who’d intercepted Brianna’s angry arm at the bar. “You look like you’d be pretty good at deduction.” Tara’s smile was sweet and innocent.

  Marisa knew Tara was up to something. She stared carefully at the young man in baggy jeans, red and white bandana, square glasses with gray lenses, and his wallet chained to his pants. Marisa sucked in her breath. It was Lieutenant Dreamus Camden. Without Tara’s clues, Marisa would never have guessed his identity. What was he doing here and why was he in disguise? Was it because of Caleb’s murder?

  Camden flicked his eyes over Tara’s tight white t-shirt, emblazoned with the University of Kentucky Wildcat emblem and seeming to barely hold her large breasts. “I’d say since that woman is sitting there quietly, minding her own business, she must be a Cards fan.”

  Tara’s mouth opened in outrage.

  Marisa poked her in the ribs.

  “No,” argued a very thin woman in a flowing black lacy top and snug boot cut jeans, a purse nearly as large as herself draped over one bony shoulder. Her skinny arms glowed like radioactive tree branches in the near darkness of the club. Her head sprouted three short pigtails, one on each side of her head and one in the middle. She looked like an emaciated triceratops. “She has to be a Cats fan. A guy approached her, and she practically took his head off. All that repressed aggression points to a Cats fan.”

  His eyes still on Tara’s chest, the little gray man sneered. “Or she’s just cranky.”

  “A grumpy person can be a Cards or Cats fan,” argued Tara.

  The final consensus was split down the middle, with roughly half voting for Cards fan, and the remainder for Cats fan.

  “How do we know if we’re right?” frowned the dinosaur-haired woman.

  “I’ll go ask her,” volunteered Marisa.

  “I’ll go with you.” The voice was as low and wispy as fog obscuring headstones in a deserted graveyard. It belonged to a tall man who had materialized from the gloom next to Marisa. With his dark suit, somber tie, and conservatively buzzed head, he stood out in the room full of men and women dressed in the extreme Goth fashion of flowing black or the timeless uniform of jeans and t-shirts. The dim light highlighted his bony face with its shadows. Marisa recognized him as the man who had loomed over Alex when he was on the floor.

  As Marisa and her companion approached, the woman at the bar looked up. Her face, bare of makeup in the soft bar lights, was smooth and slightly inquiring.

  Marisa smiled. “We were having a discussion over there.” She pointed to the group, who were all focused on Marisa and her errand. “We were wondering if you are a Cats fan or a Cards fan.”

  “What?” The woman’s face indicated she thought they were either lunatics or speaking a different language.

  Her companion, with his persistent silence, wasn’t helping. Feeling foolish, especially with the bartender’s amused eyes on her, Marisa explained the wager.

  Her face clearing with understanding, the woman laughed so hard Marisa wondered if she’d fall off the barstool. “I’m from Indianapolis. I’m the DJ for tonight. I don’t know anything about cards or cats.” She perked up. “Hey, I have CDs of my music mix for sale for five dollars each. Give me a second and I’ll run out to the car and get them.” She jumped off her barstool and headed for the door.

  Marisa couldn’t help but laugh. “What a wasted exercise and we’ll have to fend off the sales pitch for the five-dollar CDs!”

  His gaunt face disturbingly cadaver-like in the blue glow of the rows of computer screens, Marisa’s companion offered her his hand. “I didn’t have the opportunity to introduce myself earlier. I’m the High Priest of Death.”

  Marisa took his ice-cold hand and shivered. “What do you mean, you’re the High Priest of Death? I thought Tara’s website was loosely based on King Arthur’s court.”

  He shrugged. “Loosely is the key.” His low voice crawled along Marisa’s spine. “Came-A-Lot is really based on more generic monarchies. Each user sets up his or her profile, with the user as the queen or king of the profile. Then, friends can be added, with tags related to the monarch’s court.”

  “I think Tara mentioned you have accountants added as Grand Viziers, amateur musicians as Minstrels, and so on.”

  His fleeting smile brought a short flash of animation to his deathly pale face. “I chose the High Priest of Death user name because I am the online funeral director of the Palace of Happy Endings, as well as a funeral director in real life…or shall I say death?” With a professional smile and a flourish, he handed her a card. “In case you ever need my services—”

  “Panhandling happy endings for business or pleasure, Steve?” The thin woman with the trio of pigtails glided up next to Marisa.

  “The Queen of Water Retention!” snarled the funeral director.

  “That’s Empress of Endless Seas, you oaf! You should use the tag of Court Jester, since you think you’re so damn funny!”

  Marisa started to ease away.

  The smaller woman grabbed her arm. “I’m Marina Poole Waters, which explains my affinity for water. You’ve met Steve, all dolled up in his death suit and face to match.”

  “I have a viewing later, Marina Poole, as you well know—”

  The smirk was replaced by sadness. “Caleb. I heard he was murdered. What happened?”

  Steve’s face smoothed into professional lines. “Closed casket. Need I say more?”

  “What was Caleb’s online identity?” asked Marisa.

  They turned to her as if they’d forgotten she was there. “He was the Knight of the Round Ladies. He saw himself as the answer to a big girl’s prayer for casual sex.” Marina Poole’s mouth tightened in anger.

  Steve shrugged. “Caleb went for quantity, both in numbers and sizes of his partners.” His eyes met hers with direct speculation. “I, on the other hand, go for quality.” His eyes drifted from Marisa’s tailored print blouse to her snug jeans.

  Marina Poole snorted.

  “What’s your online identity?” Steve hastily asked Marisa.

  “I’m Marisa, Tara’s friend. I haven’t been online to see the group.”

  Marina Poole and Steve looked as shocked as if Marisa had said she’d never heard of electricity.

  Sipping her diet drink to hide her smile, Marisa watched Steve and Marina Poole inch away from her, as if she had a contagious disease.

  “Once upon a time, you’d have had the same look of dismay on your face, Marisa. The group was your life!” Tara’s eyes crinkled engagingly at the corners.

  Marisa shrugged. “Once I stopped drinking, the group just didn’t hold the same appeal. I was relieved to hand it over to you. Remember, I’m only here tonight because you dragged me.”

  A young woman walked up to Tara. Her baggy top couldn’t completely hide her huge breasts. Her boxy jeans appeared to be several sizes too large.

  Marisa was relieved to note the shirt was emblazoned with the name of a high school, not a college. She didn’t think she could take any more college rivalry in one night.

  “Hi, Taylor!” Tara turned to Marisa. “Marisa! Meet Taylor! Online, she’s the Queen of the Classroom. Taylor teaches high school, and she also coaches the cheerleading squad.”

  While Taylor was resisting the shorter woman’s pulling arm, Tara insistently tugged harder.

  “Ummph.” Tara appeared to be in a tussle with the other woman, who had her face turned away. Tara swiped at the curls straggling into her face with one hand, and pushed the woman forward with her other hand. “Marisa, this is Taylor.”

  Marisa stepped forward to shake Taylor’s hand. The first thing she noticed was the defiant fear in Taylor’s eyes. Then she realized that the other woman looked familiar.

  As Marisa stared into the face, tantalized by an elusive memory of short curls bounding around a flirty face with irresistible dimples, Taylor tried to tug her hand away. The curls had been tame
d into straightness by a ruthless hand, and there was no sign of dimples. In her head, Marisa heard the loud tones of raucous rock music.

  Reality did a slight shift, and Marisa realized the woman was Sarah. Before her stint in chemical dependency rehab, Marisa had frequented the strip club where Sarah worked.

  Sarah, who was not a high school teacher. Sarah, who was not a cheerleading coach.

  Marisa’s eyes narrowed and she inadvertently squeezed the other woman’s hand too hard. Sarah yelped.

  Tara waved. “Look, it’s the Royal Bloodhound!”

  As her friend rushed away, Marisa ignored the sound of a man’s barking. “What are you up to, Sarah?” Marisa hissed, keeping the other woman’s hand trapped in her own.

  Sarah jerked her hand away and turned to flee.

  Marisa grabbed her arm and pulled Sarah back to face her.

  Surprised by the sheen of tears in the dancer’s eyes, Marisa let go of her arm.

  “You don’t know what it’s like, Trinity.” Without thinking, Sarah used the name Marisa had assumed when she was still drinking and visiting the strip club where Sarah. “You’re educated, you have a high-powered job, and you probably have a boyfriend who would never slap you around. What do I have? A job taking off my clothes and using my body to part dollars from leering men. Going home to my boyfriend who disrespects me. In this group, Trinity, do you know who I am?”

  Marisa shook her head.

  Sarah’s light blue eyes were fierce. “This group accepts me as a high school drama teacher and cheerleading coach. I told the group I joined because I’d heard some of my students had joined, and I wanted to check out what they were doing. Sounds plausible, since I don’t think your friend Tara checks IDs online.”

  “Sarah—”

  “Would you please call me Taylor?” With angry jerks of her hands, Sarah indicated her body. “I met a guy through the group who doesn’t stare at my tits. He actually looks into my eyes.”

  Hmmm, thought Marisa, couldn’t be the short man who’d been standing near them earlier. His eyes never rose higher than a woman’s chest.

  At the sight of Tara careening back their way, Sarah pulled Marisa away. “You want to know what’s really funny? I found this group in my boyfriend’s browser. I joined the group and attended meetings in disguise to catch him, I thought, cheating on me. But he never came to the meetings, if he has an online ID I haven’t found it, and I stayed in the group.”

  “Marisa,” Tara called, “you need to come over and meet the Royal Bloodhound. He’s sharp as a tack and funny as hell. In real life, he’s actually a financial advisor.”

  “I think I heard him barking a minute ago.” As she watched Tara’s golden curls bounce back to the group, Marisa accidentally caught the funeral director’s eyes. She wondered if mourners found Steve’s predatory professional smile comforting or disquieting.

  Sarah put her arm around Marisa’s waist and pulled her close. To the crowd of clubbers, it probably appeared to be confidential girl talk. “Are you going to bust me?”

  “No, Sarah,” Marisa shook her head. “It’s not my place to tell.”

  Sarah sagged against Marisa. “Thank God.”

  “I’m not going to tell them, Sarah, because you’re going to tell them the truth.” Marisa pulled away from the grasping hands.

  When she turned away into a solid figure, Marisa stifled a screech.

  “Melissa,” intoned the High Priest of Death.

  Not particularly wanting him to know her real name, Marisa did not correct him.

  He took her hand, and jerked her against him. “Oh, your hands are deliciously cold. Did you know I love cold skin on a woman?” He loomed over her, his face inches from hers. His breathing was labored. “I can’t wait to get your body stretched out on my shining, aluminum table, your pale skin faintly glowing in the dangling, naked light. When I bend over you with my instruments—”

  “If you’re trying to scare her, you’re wasting your time. Marisa has unflappable composure, courage to the point of foolhardiness, and an indestructible sense of optimism.”

  Tugging at her trapped hand, Marisa slowly turned.

  The black pants blended in with the shadows. The dark t-shirt, emphasizing the muscles of his chest and shoulders, tapered down his flat stomach. Above the shirt, the smooth, handsome face was kept from being beautiful by the large pointer of a nose. While the angles of his thin face were sharp and predatory, subtle humor softened his mouth. With his short hair freshly respiked on top and his eyes the color of a summer sky at dusk, he looked attractive and dangerous.

  “Alex.” Marisa’s heart jumped in her chest. “I see you found another shirt.”

  Alex nodded slightly to the High Priest. “Hi, I’m Alex, aka the King of the Ledgers. And if you don’t let go of my friend, I’ll have the perfect opportunity to change my name to Zombie Funeral Director Neutralizer.”

  Steve loomed over Alex, trying to intimidate him with his height. “Too bad it wasn’t real blood on your shirt earlier. You know, I love the sight of freshly shed blood, and yours would have been a special treat.”

  Alex smiled and stepped into Steve’s personal space.

  With a snarl of defeat, Steve dropped Marisa’s hand and stalked away.

  Overcome by vertigo, Marisa closed her eyes. First, they’d discovered Lieutenant Camden in disguise. Why is he here? Then, Alex Caldwell, the chief financial officer of the trauma hospital where they both worked and the ubiquitous shadow from her childhood, had appeared. And Linda Borders, the snarly, prickly social worker least likely to nurture or save those less fortunate than herself, made her cameo appearance. Last but not least, Sarah, a hard-core stripper pretending to be a high school teacher, had sashayed into the group. Dear God, is this a crazed episode of a kooky reality show? Where are the hidden cameras?

  The faint scent of Alex’s aftershave rolled over Marisa’s surreal reverie and snapped her eyes open. “Why did you throw yourself between me and the crazed Brianna?”

  “Not just you, Marisa. You and Tara.”

  “You didn’t know that was a paintball gun. You thought you were saving my life. Most of the time, you don’t even like me. You love to harangue me over my budget variances. A bit of red ink to you is like a red flag to a bull.”

  “It’s not that I don’t like you, Marisa. At work, perhaps it’s merely the basic finance and human resources conflict.”

  Marisa tried to prevent her lips from twitching. “Do you mean the conflict of two polar opposites facing off in the wild corporate world? You, the chief financial officer, and I, the human resources director. In that case, shouldn’t we be biting, hissing, and scratching?”

  Alex smiled, his even white teeth flashing in the dim light. “I don’t think I’ve ever been accused of acting like a pissed-off kitten.”

  “You’re trying to distract me from the fact you didn’t answer my question.”

  “When I nearly lost my life a few months ago at the hands of a crazed murderer, it made me take a good, hard look at myself.” Alex shrugged. “I decided I needed to be a better man. One way to meet that goal is to stop thinking of myself.”

  “You are coming off the website as soon as I can get to a computer and delete your ass!”

  Her best friend’s high-pitched screech snapped Marisa’s head up.

  Cowed by Tara’s pointing finger, a man was backed into a corner. The fountain of dark hair sticking straight up from his forehead was shaking back and forth and one placating hand was raised in defense.

  The wall-sized screen flashed with text and pictures. In the flickering glow, Tara’s perky chest rose in outrage.

  The invisible strings flew from Tara’s chest like sticky silk shooting from a gigantic spider.

  The Dork of Death strode toward Tara.

  The bartender nimbly hopped out from behind the bar.

  The Royal Bloodhound stopped barking at the cringing DJ at the bar, and swung toward Tara.

  A Court Jester
dropped the balls he’d been juggling.

  Carla, patting her exploding hairdo with one hand and grasping at her sliding tube top with the other, stalked through a cluster of laughing women toward Tara.

  Males Marisa didn’t recognize edged toward Tara, some pretending to scrutinize the profile on the big screen.

  Alex...simply stood there, looking at Marisa. In her flat black shoes, her eyes were exactly even with his dark blue ones. As she stared at him in amazement, his quizzical smile flashed white in the darkness.

  “Immune to the string theory?”

  Marisa wasn’t aware she’d spoken aloud until Alex answered, “What, an attack of physics rather than teeth and claws?”

  Marisa’s brows rose in amazement. Is Alex an unheard of anomaly or blazingly gay? She cleared her throat, glad she hadn’t voiced that particular thought.

  “What on earth is Tara doing? She’s normally the calm, composed director of marketing, her professional smile firmly in place.” Alex’s amazed eyes met hers. “I’m not sure if we should rescue her, or the poor, helpless man she has cornered.”

  “Poor, helpless man, my ass.” Marisa clenched her fists. “You, Tara, and I successfully fought blackmail, murder, and a crazed killer. Unfortunately, none of the events of four months ago prepared me for dealing with a stalker. Although, it appears, Tara is taking a stab at it.”

  Alex craned his neck. “What’s that in his hands?”

  As she followed his gaze to a glittering object in the cowering man’s hands, Marisa plunged through the crowd toward her friend.

  CHAPTER TWO

  “Marisa, how wonderful to see you.” Dark hair buzzed short on the sides and the long spray of hair in front flapping against his high, slightly sweaty forehead, Kevin smiled at her. One hand nervously smoothed down his jeans and then back up his pressed, button-down shirt. His other hand moved his phone from Tara to her. The flash was blinding.

  “Kevin the Stalker.” Grinding her teeth when he looked surprised at his moniker, Marisa’s mind raced. She had met Kevin months before at a support group meeting. As she did any new member, she had welcomed him with warmth and compassion.