by Merrin,Blair
We don’t bother putting him back in the crate, and settle on standing him up in the storage room. After a moment of consideration, I turn him so that his leering smile faces the corner, and then I close the storage room door.
Customers trickle in over the next couple of hours, and I find myself nodding off on the stool behind the register. After the third time my dozing chin slips off my propped arm, Mom rolls her eyes and says, “Cassie, go take a nap. I can handle the store myself.”
“Are you sure?”
“Absolutely. You look like you’re going to topple over any moment.”
“Thanks, Mom.” I give her a kiss on the cheek and head upstairs for a much-needed catnap.
I sleep for about two hours, and when I wake around noon I feel much better. I change out of my now-wrinkled shirt and head back downstairs to the shop so that Mom can go grab some lunch. There are two sets of stairs from my apartment down; one on the outside of the building facing Fifth Street, and another that leads right into the shop. I take the interior stairs and find Mom in the back office at the computer, checking on the shipment of some of her last few eBay pick-ups.
“Don’t worry, honey, I’m listening for the bell,” she assures me.
I head out onto the shop floor. There aren’t any customers, but there is a familiar figure standing with his back to me.
Vincent Price is in the window again.
CHAPTER 9
“Dash, can you come by the shop?”
“Yeah, soon. I have a couple of errands to run for other cases. I can be by in about an hour or two, probably. Why, you want to grab some food?”
“Not exactly,” I say into the phone. My eyes are fixed on Vincent. “Something strange is going on.”
“Isn’t it always?” he asks. “What is it this time?”
“Oh, just a wax sculpture that seems to be moving on his own.”
“…I’ll be right over.”
Dash gets there about six minutes later. I hear the bells on the door chime, but I don’t turn to greet him. I’m not taking my eyes off the sculpture, which stands a few feet outside the open door to the storage room.
He sidles up beside me and says, “Hey. What, uh, what are you doing?”
“Shh. Watch.”
He too stares at Vincent Price. A full minute goes by.
“What are we watching for?”
“Exactly,” I tell him. “Didn’t move, right?”
“Nope. It is very much not moving.”
“Okay. Now turn around.”
“Huh?” Dash looks at me like I’ve gone crazy. Maybe I have.
“Seriously, turn around. Look out the window. Or anywhere else.”
Dash laughs a little, but he turns around and we both stare out the storefront windows. A few people walk by, some with shopping bags, others laughing and talking amongst themselves.
“Okay, now turn back.” We both do.
“What am I looking for?” Dash asks.
I hurry over to the sculpture and sigh. “Of course, now it’s not going to move.”
“Cassie, what’s going on here?”
“Mom didn’t put him in the window. Neither did I. We moved him back to the storage room. Then I took a nap, and when I came back down, he was in the window again.”
“Did your Mom do it that time?”
“No!”
“So you’re saying he moved on his own?” Dash arches an eyebrow.
“Don’t look at me like I’m crazy! We moved him back a second time about an hour ago. And I swear to you, every time I turn around, he’s closer! He was in the storage room before. Then he was in the doorway. Then he was here.” I point to the floor, where I put down several strips of masking tape. “Look, each tape mark shows where he was before.”
“Where’s your mom now?” he asks.
“I sent her to get some lunch.”
“How do you know someone isn’t messing with you?”
I grip my forehead in exasperation. “Because they would have to be in the shop right now.”
Dash slowly makes his way over to the wax figure and looks it up and down. He leans it back slightly to see what’s under it, and then he inspects the storage room and the back office.
“I don’t know what to tell you,” he says.
“I know exactly what to tell you. Someone is reaching out again for my help.”
“Cassie, let’s not jump to conclusions—”
“I know you’re not comfortable with that kind of stuff, but you’ve seen it with your own eyes before. You know spirits are real. You can’t deny I’ve been haunted before.” A few times, in fact.
Dash sighs and rubs his chin. “Okay, how about this. Let’s both go next door to Bonnie’s and get something to eat. Lock the door when we go. If we come back and he’s moved, I promise I’ll believe you.”
I assent, and after I lock the door behind us, we go next door to Bonnie’s Bodacious Barbecue. The smell inside is unbelievable, a tantalizing combination of fry oil, smoked meat, and various spices. She greets us with a warm smile, wiping barbecue sauce from her hands onto a spattered beige apron.
“Hiya Cassie, Dash. How goes things?”
“Oh, you know.” I shrug. “Stuff moving on its own, murder afoot; pretty much an average Halloween season.”
Dash elbows me lightly.
Bonnie frowns. “I heard about that fire up on Castle Road. Real shame.” She brightens. “But I got just the thing that’ll cheer you up. We still have some left.” She disappears for a moment into the back of the small eatery, and comes back with two Styrofoam containers. She hands them off; they must weigh a couple pounds each.
I lift the lid and peek. “Bonnie, what is this?”
“Breakfast fries,” she tells me. “Beer-battered deep-fried potatoes with three cheeses, bacon, eggs and chorizo on top.”
My stomach rumbles as I remember that the last thing I ate was some popcorn the night before. “Thanks, Bonnie. Now you’ll have to excuse us; we have to go see if a statue moved.”
Bonnie arches a confused eyebrow, but she doesn’t bother asking questions. That’s kind of an unwritten rule around here; if you really don’t want to know, and potentially get yourself involved in some weirdness, you just don’t ask. You just shrug and recite our town motto: “That’s Bandit Hills for ya’.”
We get back to the shop and I eagerly unlock the door. I burst inside, as if I might catch Vincent Price in the middle of a shuffle toward the window.
“Cass, he hasn’t moved an inch,” Dash says. He goes over to the sculpture and checks the last piece of masking tape I left on the floor. “Nothing.”
I sigh. “Fine, then,” I say aloud to the statue. “Make me look crazy. Doesn’t help you at all.” At least I have food.
I unwrap the plastic fork that Bonnie included with the fries and dig in, suddenly aware that perhaps I should warn Dash that my torrid love affair with all things deep-fried might one day usurp him. The potatoes are crispy despite being covered in gooey, melted cheese; a sharp cheddar, a bit of bite from pepper jack, and a milder flavor that I can’t quite discern. The chorizo gives it a small kick of heat, but not enough to be overwhelming.
“Mm,” I mutter. Around a mouthful of food, I ask, “So, find out anything new?”
Dash shakes his head and swallows. “Nope. I told Cynthia about the potential Molotov cocktail, and while she was still really broken up over it, I think it helped a little knowing that it wasn’t her fault.”
“And she has no idea who might have done it?”
“No. Or at least she didn’t say.” He narrows his eyes at me. “I know what you’re thinking.”
“Yeah?”
“You’re thinking about Sam’s ex-wife.”
“The woman threw lit firecrackers.”
“But she seemed genuinely distraught at the scene. She had to be sedated.”
“And if she’s mentally unstable, anything
is possible.”
He nodded slowly. “I guess that’s true. What was Sam’s last name?”
I think hard. He definitely told me. “Uh, Connor, I think? Why?”
“Come with me.” Dash sets his container down on the counter and leads me to the back office. “If they divorced recently, she might not have changed her name yet. I can search for Morgan Connor and see if anything suspicious comes up.” He logs onto my computer and begins typing furiously, scanning page after page while I munch on delicious breakfast fries behind him.
After a few minutes, he lets out an exasperated grunt. “Nothing. I have access to some more… restricted resources, but I won’t be able to log into them from your IP. I’ll have to do it back at my office.”
“Sure, makes sense,” I agree, having little idea what he’s talking about. “I’ll walk you out.”
“I’ll check in with Phil, too,” he says as we walk out onto the shop floor. “See if he’s come up with any new—” He stops short. So do I.
Vincent Price has somehow made it all the way to the counter near the register, right beside Dash’s container of food. What’s more is, the wax fingers of one outstretched hand are smeared with cheese and bits of bacon.
“Okay,” Dash says slowly. “I believe you now.”
CHAPTER 10
Despite being exhausted and having only gotten a few hours of rest in the previous thirty-six hours, I have trouble sleeping that night. I keep having this recurring nightmare that I wake up and Vincent Price is standing over me, his creepy smile and wide eyes looking down. Then I actually wake up, and of course he’s not there. But as soon as I fall asleep again, the dream returns.
After Dash and I found Vincent at the counter, we watched him for a solid hour. No movement. We tried hiding in the back office for a while again, but still nothing. Finally, I settled on standing him near the window, looking out, since that seemed to be what he wanted.
Dash was hesitant to leave me alone with him, but at the same time eager to leave. Like I said, he’s not so great with spooky stuff. I assured him I’d be fine, even though I wasn’t sure if I would be or not. I’ve had ghosts throw stuff at me, break my merchandise, and even haunt my bedroom, but I’ve never had a full-size lifelike replica of a person traipse around my store. I can’t stop thinking about House of Wax, and how under the wax statues were people. That gives me the willies.
The next morning I come down to open the shop and, mercifully, Vincent hasn’t budged. He stands in the window, ogling people as they walk by—and I definitely notice that people tend to walk a little faster past my shop when he’s there. Fewer customers come in this morning than usual, too. I busy myself taking down the Halloween decorations in the meantime. Normally I’d leave them up for at least four or five days afterward, but with Vincent Price in the window, it seems the creep-factor is already pretty high around here.
Luckily, Bonnie makes her entrance as always. She pauses to check Vincent out.
“What’s with him?” she asks.
I shrug. “He likes the window.”
Again Bonnie decides it’s better not to ask, and instead gives me a container. “The last of the breakfast fries.”
“Oh, you are a saint.” I take them graciously. “Sorry, though; I don’t have anything new this morning. Seems Vincent there scared away anyone who might have left donations.”
“That’s okay. I’ll settle for some gossip. Any news on the fire?” she asks.
I shake my head as I shovel fried goodness into my mouth. “Nope. Nothing new yet.”
Bonnie purses her lips sadly. “Such a shame. Steven saw it happen, you know. Or at least he thinks he did.”
I forget about the fries for a moment. “What?”
“Yeah, he was driving down Castle Road that night, going home to the ranch. He happened to glance at the manor and thought he saw an orange glow, but he didn’t think anything of it. Figured they lit the fireplace or something. He’s really upset about it. He feels like he could’ve done something.”
“Bonnie, did he see anything else?”
“Like what?” she asks blankly.
“I don’t know, like people or cars or anything?”
She shrugs. “Not that he mentioned to me. But you’re welcome to head up and talk to him.”
“Thanks. I think I might.”
Mom comes in, and while she and Bonnie are chatting idly, I give Dash a call on his cell.
“Hey,” he greets me. “I have news.”
“Yeah, me too. Meet me in front of the shop in five.”
***
I ask Mom to keep an eye on the shop while I run some errands. A few minutes later Dash’s car pulls up, and before he can get out, I get in.
“Where we headed?” he asks.
“To Bonnie’s ranch.”
“Okay.” He starts the engine again and pulls away from the curb.
“What’s your news?” I ask him.
“Phil called. A forensics team was at the site of the fire last night and first-thing this morning. They confirmed it was arson caused by a Molotov cocktail, but they’re having trouble determining the origin.”
“The origin?”
“Meaning if it was thrown from outside or inside.”
“Inside,” I repeat. “Wait, you don’t mean to suggest that one of the guys started the fire, do you?”
He shrugs. “Now that we know it was arson, and by extension, murder, nothing is out of the question. I know how it sounds, but as the only witness, Vinnie is a suspect until he or we can prove otherwise.”
“We?” I say.
“Are you going to repeat everything I say?”
“I meant to ask if that means you’re on the case.”
He nods. “Officially.”
“So you’re going to investigate—”
“Morgan Connor, yes. I checked into her background yesterday when I got back to the office, and you’re right; she has a history. She was never arrested, but the cops were called to the Connor home three times for domestic disputes while the two were married. Guess who was the offender all three times?”
“I’ll take Morgan for a thousand, Alex.”
“Bingo. And get this—in one of those instances, she knocked over a gas can and set fire to the backyard.”
“Get out. Why wasn’t she arrested?”
“She played it off as an accident. Maybe Arkansas police are forgiving. But that puts her firmly in the number-one-suspect slot.”
“Okay, so Vinnie’s a suspect, because he was present at the time; Morgan, because she’s a firebug; anyone else?”
Dash hesitates to answer. “And Cynthia Middleton.”
I gape. “Seriously?”
“Can’t rule anyone out, Cass. Besides, there’s always the chance that it was none of them, and that someone else entirely is in play here.”
“If only Vincent Price could talk.”
“If only.” He pulls the Caddy onto the dusty gravel road that leads up to Bonnie’s ranch.
CHAPTER 11
Bonnie’s only child, her son Steven, serves us iced tea and asks us if we’d like anything to eat before he takes a seat on the floral-print armchair across from the loveseat where Dash and I sit. I’m glad to see that Bonnie taught him to be as well-mannered and hospitable as she is.
Steven is in his mid-twenties, strong and tanned with a meager growth of hair on his chin. Since Bonnie opened her barbecue joint, he’s taken over the responsibilities of running the ranch, along with a couple of hands they’ve hired. They mostly board horses, but also take in sheep, dogs, cats, goats, and pretty much anything else that anyone brings them.
“Ma said you might be stopping by,” Steven tells me. “She said, and I quote, ‘Now Steven, you tell her the whole truth and you don’t leave nothing out.’ Problem is, I don’t know what it is you’re about to ask me about.” He smiles warmly. “So, what can I do for ya’?”
I lean forward in my seat. “Steven, Bonnie told me that you drove by Middleton Manor on Halloween night.”
His smile evaporates like water on hot asphalt. “Yeah. I did.”
“She said that you thought you saw a fire, but didn’t think much of it.”
“That’s true, too,” he admits, staring at the carpet. “If I would’ve known, I would have done anything to help them.”
Dash clears his throat and cuts in. “Steven, you can’t blame yourself. You didn’t know what was happening. But maybe you can help us out now. We need to know if you saw anything else. Were there people around? Cars? Anything at all.”
He breathes deep and furrows his brow. “Not that I can recall, no. I’m sorry.”
“I’d like to try something,” Dash says. “I want you to close your eyes.”
Steve does so. “Okay.”
“Now imagine that you’re in your truck. It’s nighttime. You’re driving down Castle Road.” Dash pauses for a moment, and then says, “You’re coming up on Middleton Manor on your right. You look out the window. What do you see?”
Steven doesn’t answer for a long moment. “I… I notice how nice the grass looks. That was the first thing. See, we can’t get our grass looking like that, on account of the animals trampling and eating it. I’m a little jealous of that lawn. Then I see in the window. The curtains are open. There are… figures in there. At first I think it’s people, so I slow down a bit, ‘cause I think something is going on. Then I remember…. Ma told me about the wax exhibit. Said she might cater it. I laugh a little, because they really do look just like people. And then…” Steven gulps. “I see orange light, flickering off the wax faces. Fire. But there’s no smoke outside; not yet at least. I assume it’s from a fireplace. So I keep driving.”
“Anything else?” Dash asks gently.
“In the driveway,” Steven says, “there’s a big truck, blue with a white trailer. And at the curb, not far from it, was a white car. A Ford sedan.” He opens his eyes. “That’s all I remember.”