Vamps, Villains and Vaudeville

by Ellen Mansoor Collier

  She shook her head no, blinking back tears. “Poor Patrick. He only wanted to help.”

  “Patrick stole the jewels for you?”

  When she didn’t reply, I tried a different approach. Playing on a hunch, I said, “Derek told me Patrick was in love with you. I’m sure you were devastated when you found out he was murdered.”

  “I wanted to die myself.” Her eyes misted. “But we kept our romance a secret, because of the owner. He forbade anyone in the troupe to date or...have relations. Dumb rules. Patrick wanted to get away so we could start over, just the two of us. He promised to give me a diamond ring to show our bond.”

  Suddenly his actions made sense. Is that why he stole the diamond ring from the Turtle?

  “What about the second victim? Nick, the Turtle? Was he connected?”

  “I’ll say! He was the middleman—the bastard who killed Patrick. We shut him up but good.” Her face froze and she clamped a dainty hand over her mouth.

  “We?” I held my breath. “Who—you and Derek?”

  Ignoring my question, Millie stuck her head out the door, turning right and left. “I think your fella is looking for you.”

  “Agent Burton?” I peeked outside the door, but I only saw half-dressed performers, clutching their costumes and running around, packing up, carrying boxes and trunks.

  That’s when I heard her say, “Sorry, sister, but you know too much.”

  I twirled around to see Millie grab a silver candlestick, and that’s when the world went black.

  ******

  CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

  A jolt shook me awake and I felt dizzy, disoriented, as if I’d been asleep for a month. I tried to stretch but my legs and hands hit the sides of a wooden box. My head throbbed and I felt a knot on top starting to swell. Luckily my thick wool cloche helped shield the blow from the heavy silver candlestick.

  Where was I? What happened? With a start, I realized they must have crammed me into the “vanishing act” box. Were they going to make me disappear, permanently? My heart seized and I took a few deep breaths to calm down. The small decorative cut-outs in the box provided just enough ventilation and visibility.

  Faint images came to me as I retraced my last steps. Burton and I had gone to see the vaudeville show. Derek...Millie, the magician’s assistant. She must be working with Milo—and they’d knocked me out, and trapped me inside his trick box. I knew there had to be a latch or some sort of opening inside the box for the trick to work. Frantic, I felt along the rough wooden walls for a hidden panel, a lock, some sort of internal opening.

  Loud voices surrounded me, a jumble of words, street noise. I strained to listen but the voices seemed to meld together, not making sense. Without warning, one side of the box lifted, then the other, knocking my head against the end. God, as if I didn’t already have a blinding headache.

  A male voice I didn’t recognize: “What should we do with her?”

  “I’ll drop her off somewhere and take my box. Just leave her over here for now.”

  Milo? Where were they taking me? Whoever the culprit was, he wasn’t thinking clearly. What threat was I to a traveling vaudeville show and a group of jewel thieves?

  Then just as suddenly, the box dropped with a thud. Damn, that hurt my back and head all over again. At least now I could see some light filtering down through the cut-outs. They must be closer to the street, ready to escape.

  Where was Burton? How could he ever find me, hidden inside this box? If I screamed, they might knock me out again—or worse. I had to find a way out. Surely there was a way out. Despite the cool fall air, my face started to sweat and I felt hot and sticky all over. I never knew how claustrophobic I was until I got stuck in this coffin.

  “Got the jewels?” I heard a woman say, but I didn’t recognize her voice. Vera, the burlesque dancer?

  “They’re right here,” Milo said in his soothing tone. “They’ll have to kill me before they ever find them.”

  “Don’t say that, love,” she pleaded. So Milo had another partner in crime besides Millie.

  Slowly the voices faded, and I realized I had to move fast. Luckily the box shifted slightly when it was dropped, just enough to loosen a section on one wall. I peered out the side and saw that they’d dropped me—the box—outside by the parking lot.

  Through the cut-outs, I saw a flurry of activity behind Martini Theatre: Apparently Milo and his crooked pals were packing up his props and boxes. Was he going to leave me here? Desperate to escape, I tugged on the panel, hoping to pry it loose, but it remained in place. As I patted the walls, my hands caught on rough patches of wood and splinters stabbed my fingers.

  My elbow hit a metal hinge and I turned sideways until I felt a latch on the edge of a lower panel. An opening? Squinting in the dark, I fumbled with the locked trap door, pushing with my shoulder until I forced open the panel. Trouble was, the box sat on its side but I twisted my back, and managed to squeeze out the door. Hooray!

  Crawling on my hands and knees, I inched out of the box and ended up in the parking lot, my skin scraped till it was bloody. Finally, I was free!

  My head reeling, I stumbled forward, trying to get my bearings. Since the area was dark, I tiptoed toward Martini Theatre until I was out of view. When the voices got louder, I darted behind the theatre, my heart beating so hard and fast, I felt as if my chest might explode.

  When I thought the coast was clear, I turned to go inside, to find James. Instead a man yanked me up by my arm and I recognized him at once by his glittering costume: the master of ceremonies and owner, Dan Draper.

  “Who have we here?” Draper said, jerking me to my feet. “Say, you’re that nosy reporter from the paper. What are you doing snooping around the back lot?”

  “I’m not snooping. They locked me up in that stupid magic box.” I struggled to get loose and pointed to the coffin-like container.

  He frowned, alarmed. “Who’s they? What did you do?”

  “Nothing. I was looking for Derek.” I tried to squirm out of his grasp, but he clamped my arms like iron bands.

  “You’re a friend of Derek’s? What do you want?”

  “He didn’t show up during the curtain call and I got worried.” I’d had enough chit-chat. “Did you know Milo and his friends are loading up his truck, ready to get-away?”

  Draper gave me the once-over. “Says you. I have a good mind to stick you back in this box myself.”

  “See for yourself.” I pointed down the alley. “Milo and Millie are making a run for it, as we speak.”

  Draper stole a backwards glance as he raced down the alley to the truck. I headed toward the commotion, and heard Milo and Draper battling it out, yelling insults, while the troupe crowded around to watch. With their flamboyant costumes and exaggerated mannerisms, the spectacle seemed like a melodramatic fight scene in a play.

  “How long did you think this charade would last?” Milo faced Draper head-on, waving his arms.

  “You planned this all along, you back-stabbing bastard!” Draper moved forward, clenching his fist. “Do you know what those gangsters might do to me, to all of us, if we don’t turn over the jewelry?”

  “Hell, yes. Why do you think I’m leaving town? Now it’s your problem, not mine.”

  With that, Milo attempted to jump into his truck, with Vera, the burlesque dancer, gunning the engine. Draper lunged at Milo, yanking on his arm, almost pulling off his sparkly jacket. Milo tried to shove Draper back with the door, and succeeded in knocking him to the ground.

  “Step on it, Vera!” he yelled. The truck jerked forward while Millie held on for dear life in the back, sandwiched in between the boxes. I suppose my box was useless, especially after I’d clawed and mangled it to death.

  Draper got up and chased the truck until it was out of sight. Wheezing and panting, he paused to catch his breath, then got into a new Ford, and drove off after them.

  Still dizzy, my head aching, I bolted toward the theatre, and ran right into Agent Burton. He enve
loped me in a warm hug. “What happened to you? Are you hurt?”

  “They stuck me in a trick box.” I gulped, breathing hard. “Hurry, Draper’s getting away!” I pointed down the alley. “Milo’s escaped with Millie, his assistant. Vera, the dancer, is driving his truck. I still can’t find Derek. Can you catch them in time?”

  “Don’t worry, a truck full of vaudeville performers in costume is hard to miss.” He grinned. “Besides, there’s only one way out of Galveston.”

  ******

  CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

  “I think Milo and Millie killed the Turtle,” I gasped, my ribs still sore. “And I’m positive the Turtle killed Patrick.”

  “Did Milo or Millie confess?” Burton’s eyes widened.

  “Not exactly.” I leaned against him for support, his arm propping me up. “We need to find Derek. He may be locked in a box, like me. Got any back-up?”

  Burton nodded. “Soon as you disappeared, I called the station for help. They’re searching the lobby.”

  As Burton and I raced into the theatre, I briefly filled him in on my ordeal. Burton commanded the cops: “Head the truck off at Broadway. You can’t miss them—they’re still in costume. But be careful of the boxes in back. An actor may be trapped inside, dead or alive.”

  Dead or alive? My heart sank at the thought.

  Impatient, I tugged on his arm. “What are we waiting for? Let’s go! Where’s your car?”

  “Sure you’re up to a police chase? Possible shooting? Could get messy.” Burton eyed me. “Don’t forget, they’re cold-blooded killers.”

  “They’re desperate vaudevillians, not real villains. We need to catch them before they reach the causeway.”

  The causeway bridge opened at random day and night to allow large ships and freighters across the bay. If Milo’s truck made it across the bridge first, then they could easily disappear in the traffic going to Houston.

  “Good point. OK, I’m game if you are.” He grabbed my hand and we rushed to his Roadster, parked in front. “Hang on to your hat, what’s left of it.”

  While Burton raced after the caravan, I held onto the car straps, my heart thudding like a thunderstorm. Was Derek still alive? Would we catch them in time? The night breeze felt refreshing and cool, a welcome change after being locked in that vault of a box.

  Burton turned onto Broadway, gunning his engine. A half-moon illuminated the boulevard, the only road leading to the causeway, lighting up the Texas Heroes monument at 25th Street. His Roadster easily overtook the cops’ old cars and as we raced by, I spied dim tail lights in the distance. A trolley clanged past, heading out of town.

  “We’ve almost caught up,” I said, breathing hard. “Why don’t you get in front, try to block their way?”

  “Too risky.” Burton shook his head. “I thought of shooting their tires but it’s dangerous to do in the dark.”

  “You’re right. We don’t want anyone to get hurt.”

  “You mean Derek?” Burton raised his brows. “I have an idea. There’s a flashlight in my glove box. I’ll pull alongside them and you flash the light off and on, signal them to stop.”

  “Sure, if you think they’ll pay attention.” As we overtook the truck, I waved my arms wildly, then flashed the light off and on, but they ignored our warning. Figured.

  Behind us, the cop cars gained momentum, their sirens blaring. He groaned, “Now the truck will really speed up.”

  I looked in the back seat, hoping to find an object, anything to slow them down. On the floor, I felt a long wooden stick: A baseball bat? Was it for protection or for raids? I held it up for his approval. “How about this?”

  “You want me to beat them up with a baseball bat?” Burton frowned. “What happened to no one getting hurt?”

  “No, I meant throw a bat at their tires. It may slow the truck down long enough for us to stop them.”

  He grinned. “Worth a try. You can steer while I try to get a good shot. Ever driven a car before?”

  “My dad let me drive around his parking lot for fun.”

  “Here, take the wheel. I trust you.”

  “You do?” I felt the steering wheel vibrate in my grip, the car shake momentarily as his foot slipped on the pedal. “How fast does this go?”

  “Fast enough. Fifty or sixty if I floor it. Let’s get on their right side so I can get a good shot.”

  With all my strength, I pulled the car around the truck to the right, feeling his body, taut and muscular, as I leaned over. My eyes darted back and forth, trying to watch the road while Burton took aim. With a grunt, he tossed the bat in front of the old truck—just in time for the wheels to hit. The brakes squealed, then I heard a snap as the tires ground down on the bat, hard. A piece flew out, almost hitting the cops in the car behind us. Did it pop a tire?

  Vera swerved toward Burton’s Roadster, the truck weaving all over the road, then ramming into a palm tree. A squad car arrived on the scene first and a young cop rushed up, yanking Milo out of the passenger seat.

  “Looks like Rusty beat me to the punch.” Burton seemed angry. “Wait here, make sure no one gets away.”

  Sit by and miss all the action? No, thanks.

  Burton pulled Vera out of the truck, grabbed her keys and clasped her arm tight. “Well, hello, tall, blond and handsome,” she purred, still half-dressed in her burlesque outfit. He turned her over to a cop, then looked for Milo—who was running down Broadway to catch the trolley.

  “What the hell?” he asked the red-headed cop. “Why didn’t you arrest him? He’s getting away!”

  Rusty held up his arms, his wrists handcuffed. “He hypnotized me! Before I knew it, he took my handcuffs. Get me out of these damn things!” I suppressed a smile as Burton shook his head in disbelief, unlocking the cuffs.

  “Don’t just stand there. Go get him!” He pointed toward the trolley, directing two cops who were standing around, laughing at Rusty, jabbing elbows. Surprised by Burton’s tone, they chased after Milo, who by now had boarded the trolley heading to Houston.

  “Where’s Draper?” Burton asked a senior cop.

  “I lost him,” he stammered, wiping his face.

  “Damn it!” Burton exploded. “Let’s set up a roadblock. Spread out and canvas the area. He could be hiding anywhere by now. Try to retrace our route, see if you can find him down the road.”

  I noticed a movement by the truck and moved closer, just in time to see Millie jump off the truck bed, onto the easement. “Where do you think you’re going?” I hissed, grabbing her wrist tight. She stared at me in alarm, as if she’d seen a ghost. “That wasn’t very nice of you, knocking me out and locking me in that trick box.”

  “I’m sorry...” She began to cry. “I just panicked.”

  I didn’t fall for her crocodile tears. “Tell me, where’s Derek? Did you lock him up in a coffin too? Is he alive?”

  “He’s fine. Milo just wanted to scare him, drop him off on the road. No one was supposed to get hurt.”

  “Tell that to poor Patrick. He and Derek were onto your scheme. So he was killed for a few baubles?”

  Her face was pale as the moonlight. “Don’t you understand? I did it for Patrick, the whole troupe.” She gestured to a painted Egyptian-style sarcophagus on the truck bed that I recognized from Milo’s act. “Derek’s in that pharaoh coffin thing. Take a look.”

  As I turned, I felt a hard metal object shoved into my back. “Let go of her. Now.”

  A familiar voice. I whirled around to face my assailant, my body starting to shake. Draper grabbed my neck, the gun pressed deeper into my spine. “What are you going to do? Shoot me over a few gems? Strangle me to death?”

  “Don’t do it, Daddy,” I heard Millie say. “We’re already in enough hot water.”

  Daddy? Draper was her father? I squirmed under his tight grasp, trying to pry free from his chokehold.

  “Did you know this bitch found the jewels, our jewels, at that goddamn dive? No one was supposed to know. Then she gave them to the cop
s, like a goody two-shoes.”

  How did he find out? The dirty cop? “That’s not exactly what happened...” I gasped. His grip tightened on my windpipe, and I clawed at his fingers, trying to breathe.

  A semi-circle of cops moved toward us, with Burton in the lead. “Drop the gun, Draper. She’s no threat to you.”

  “Wanna bet? This busybody was nosing around the theatre, asking lots of questions, getting in the way.” Draper hid behind me, using my body as a shield.

  “You’ve already got two murders on your hands.” Burton leveled his gun. “Don’t make it worse. Let her go.”

  Despite the chilly breeze, I started to sweat, watching the men face-off. Of all my close calls, this was the worst.

  “I didn’t kill anyone.” Draper waved the gun around, one hand clutching my neck. “I only wanted to save my vaudeville show. I’m providing family entertainment for you people, and jobs for my performers. Is that so wrong?”

  Behind me, I heard a voice: “Stop, you’re hurting me!”

  We turned around to see Derek, holding Millie’s arms behind her back, a knife to her throat. Still in costume, he looked like a real-life villain gone rogue. I felt so relieved, my body went limp.

  “Let go of her, Draper,” Derek threatened. “Drop the gun. Then I’ll release Millie.”

  While Draper hesitated, frozen, I stomped on his foot, jumping back while he howled in pain. Burton knocked the gun out of his hand, and it fell onto the street with a clatter. Quickly Burton picked up the pistol, examining the chamber. “This isn’t even a real gun. One of your props?”

  “I fooled you, didn’t I?” Draper scowled.

  “Not for long. Looks like this will be your final act, Draper. ‘Cuff him, men.” The cops rushed toward us, handcuffing both Millie and Draper.

  I smiled at Burton, admiring his strength, his resolve.

  “I did it for you, Daddy,” Millie wailed to Draper.

  Daddy? Draper was her father? “I know, baby.” His sour expression softened. “I did this all for you, too. Don’t worry, we’ll find a way out of this mess. We always do.”