Deviled!: Lake Erie Mysteries Book 2

by Maureen K. Howard

  “Where were you during the storm and power outage?”

  Nothing like getting right to the point, I thought. I took a deep breath and relayed the details of the previous evening. “I was with June. We got caught in the rain between the marina and the hotel. The power went out just before we entered the lobby, so we took the stairs. Something was blocking the door to the stairwell.” As I retold the story, I realized that the “something” was not an oversize laundry bag, but Bob’s makeshift body bag. I shuddered as I remembered the sound it made as it thumped over onto the floor in front of us and how we hoofed right over it in a hurry to get upstairs.

  “Thank you. Now, can you tell me about your scarf?”

  “My scarf? What does my scarf have to do with any of this?”

  “If you don’t mind, Francie, I’ll ask the questions. Where did you get the scarf?”

  “I got it last year at a drama seminar. There are always some props and costume elements that are given out or sold at discounted prices as incentives from various suppliers. I thought it was pretty, and I bought it, simple as that. As a courtesy, the suppliers engrave or embroider the purchaser’s name on the item and keep it till checkout. That way, nothing gets lost or mixed up.”

  “To your knowledge, does anyone else own a scarf like that one?”

  “How should I know?” I heard the high-pitched tone of my voice and made a mental note to calm down so Reed would not equate my irritation and frustration with her questions to guilt of some kind.

  She ignored my reaction and moved on to her next question. “When did notice your scarf was missing? Do you have any idea where you lost it?”

  “What? It was never missing. I didn’t lose it. Didn’t Angelina tell you?”

  The detective tilted her head and stared at me. “What would Mrs. DeVille have to tell me about your scarf?”

  I explained to her about the wine spill in the DeVille’s penthouse and how Angelina insisted on having it laundered.

  Reed referred to the notepad she was holding and jotted notes I couldn’t see. She questioned me about who, if anyone, had seen us during the time we were caught in the storm.

  “I don’t remember seeing anyone at all while we were out in the rain or when we came back. Let’s face it, no one wanted to be out in that weather, least of all me.”

  “Thank you, Francie. That’s all I need for now. You can go back to your session. You’ve been most helpful.”

  “Okay, but I still don’t see how any of this can be at all useful.”

  The detective kept her gaze fixed on her notebook. “Please send June out, if you would be so kind.”

  I re-entered the conference room, slumped into the chair at the end of the table, and relayed Reed’s invitation to June. She had been chitchatting with Gabriel while doing her best to ignore Eddie without being too obvious. The mood was spoiled. She got to her feet and headed out into the hall, closing the door behind her.

  10

  But I will wear my heart upon my sleeve/For daws to peck at. I am not what I am.

  Othello

  The mood had definitely been altered by the visit from Detective Reed. We were all back in the conference room, but the seating arrangement had been purposefully switched up. When June returned from her hallway interrogation, she made sure there was an empty chair between the two of us and our annoying classmate. Eddie started to speak but must have seen the death rays shooting toward his brain from both directions and thought better of it. Gabriel had been pacing in the front of the room, hands deep in his pockets, eyes dark and brooding. After a minute, he approached our table, gathered up a stack of papers, tapped their edges into perfect alignment, and sat back down across from us. He seemed to understand that we were not really in the right mindset to listen to a technical rendering of the ins and outs of theater set design. After putting his notes in his briefcase, he took a deep breath and spoke.

  “I have a proposition for the three of you. I am in charge of the final night event. It’s a mystery dinner theater featuring attendees of this conference who have signed up to participate and showcase some of their special skills. Why don’t we wrap up early here and meet later, perhaps after the afternoon lecture. The final night dinner will be in the Crystal Theater where you were last night, but it will be in use this evening, so we can meet in the original Starlight Theater. We don’t use it often anymore, but it’s a real treasure. I’m sure you’ll enjoy a private tour of the facility. Then you can help me orchestrate the lineup, and we can discuss set design in a more hands-on environment. I should have the full list of participants by then.”

  I blew out a sigh of relief. I didn’t think I could sit here and concentrate much longer, because I really wanted to hear what Detective Reed had asked June and compare stories. “I think that sounds great. What do you guys think?” I included Eddie in my question even though I was speaking directly to June. “Let’s make it four o’clock then, after the lecture. I have no problem missing the meet-and-greet with the cast of tonight’s mini-performance.”

  “Sounds delightful to me.” June was once again feasting her eyes on Gabriel, no doubt glad for another opportunity to spend some quality time with him.

  Without waiting for Eddie to add his opinion or launch into his newest round of questions, we grabbed our purses and headed for the door. Unfortunately, he didn’t get the hint. Eddie popped out of his chair and followed close on our heels, resuming his relentless queries about our lunch and investigating plans. When I looked back into the room, searching for an excuse to leave our newfound parasite behind, I saw Gabriel deep in conversation on his cell phone. His voice was hushed and his forehead was creased. He looked at his watch and stormed out through a door on the opposite side of the room. No longer did he appear the least bit concerned about the low attendance of his session or the caliber of his students.

  We got off the elevator on the twelfth floor and had to physically stop Eddie from following us out. We promised to meet him at the trade show where lunch was also being served. Once safely inside our room behind the locked door, June and I shot rapid-fire words over one another, sounding more like Eddie than either of us would care to admit.

  “Hang on, Francie. Let’s take this one step at a time. I need to get a feel for this situation from the beginning. You go first. What did Detective Reed ask you?”

  “Okay, let’s see. She wanted to know where we were during the storm and power outage. Then she asked a bunch of questions about that stupid scarf. She wanted to know where I got it, if I knew of anyone else who had one like it, and exactly when I lost it. I told her it wasn’t lost. I explained about the wine in the DeVille’s penthouse and how we left it there because Angelina insisted on having it laundered. She was adamant to know if anyone had seen us during the time we were caught in the storm. I don’t remember seeing anyone at all while we were out in the rain or when we came back. I don’t think we have an alibi, June. Someone must have killed Bob when the power was out and left him in that stairwell, and we have no proof that it wasn’t us. Add our little scene with Bob earlier in the day and whatever the scarf has to do with things, and it doesn’t look good. I think I should call Hamm. I might need a lawyer.”

  “Not yet, Francie. I don’t think you need to worry Hammond. As far as I know, they’ve still got this whole place closed off, and he couldn’t come anyway. Besides, I really don’t want Jack to think we can’t be left unattended for a single weekend without getting ourselves sucked into a murder investigation.”

  “Okay, I guess you’re right. We’re not in danger, and the cops must be following up on some other clues besides the ones that involve us. So, what did Reed ask you about?”

  “She asked me the same things mostly. I told her I was the one wearing your scarf and that I was the one who pushed Bob into the lake. The one thing that does bother me about this investigation is that she really seemed to be focusing on you for some reason. It almost looks as if you’re being set up. Why wouldn’t Angelina jus
t tell the police about what happened in the suite? What could she possibly have to hide?”

  “I have no idea why someone would want to accuse me of murder, and the more I think about it, the more I’m sure that we need to get to the bottom of this before I find myself in a serious situation.”

  June was uncharacteristically pensive for a brief moment. Then, like a light switch being flipped on, she went into investigator mode. “Here’s what we’ll do . . .”

  A soft knock on the door interrupted June’s synopsis of her plan. She bolted over to the door and swung it open with enough force to make the girl in the hallway squeal like a cat whose tail had been slammed in the pantry door.

  “What now?” June was at the end of her patience.

  “Um, I have the spa passes you requested.” I could hear the young girl’s accent even though she didn’t speak above a whisper.

  “We didn’t request any spa services. Who are they from?” June grabbed the passes from the girl’s hand and scanned the fine print. The girl retreated from the doorway and headed back toward the elevators. “Hang on a minute.” June’s curt command stopped the girl in her tracks. “Aren’t you that girl who was in the DeVille’s suite last night? What’s your name?”

  “My name is Sasha.” Between the girl’s accent and the tentative whisper of her voice, I could barely make out what she was saying. “I really need to get back to work. If there was a mix-up with your spa order, you can contact the concierge. I’m sure he can straighten it out. I’m so sorry to interrupt you.”

  June wasn’t satisfied. “Not so fast. Come into the room for a minute so I can call the front desk. I’m sure you’ll just have to come back to pick these back up anyway. I’m sorry I yelled at you. It’s not your fault. Please come in.”

  Sasha hesitated for a split second, turned on her heals, bolted down the hall to the stairs and disappeared.

  11

  There is nothing either good or bad,

  but thinking makes it so.

  Hamlet

  Murder investigation aside, I was looking forward to a nice lunch chatting with the actors who would be performing in the miniproduction of Much Ado About Nothing at seven o’clock. Was it too much to ask for one hour void of drama or intrigue except for what was happening on stage? I was also hoping to run into Angelina or Damien again. I wanted some answers as to why Angelina was continuing to let the police believe my scarf had been lost somewhere rather than being left in her care at her own insistence.

  As June and I made our way over to the Great Hall shortly after noon, I noticed a disquieting theme among the people in our vicinity. “June, am I seeing things, or are there zombies about?”

  “Huh?” June looked up from her cell phone, where she had been posting or tweeting or texting or something.

  “Earth to June. Could you please return to the moment and help me figure out why there are zombies milling about? I expected to see Leonato, Hero, Beatrice, and Margaret, not the cast from The Walking Dead.”

  When a shuffling, rotting, corpse-like figure bumped into June, she finally reacted. “Hey! Watch where you’re going!”

  She should talk. She finally focused on our surroundings, turning in a complete circle in the middle of the hall.

  “Hey, Francie, what’s up with the zombies? I thought you said we were lunching with Shakespearean characters. It’s been a long time since I’ve read anything by old William, but as far as I can recall, there weren’t any references to the undead in his plays. Zombies are much cooler though. I wonder if I could get one of them to talk to me.”

  My initial shock at seeing the place overrun with the ghoulish creatures gave way to a professional appreciation for what was happening. “They’re coming out of the elevator and heading for the Great Hall. I wonder if they’re on the hunt for sandwiches or ladyfingers.” Then it hit me. “I remember now. The theatrical makeup session was up on the third floor at the same time our session was scheduled. Wow! They really went all out. Kind of makes me wish we had picked that class instead of ending up being harangued by Eddie Sneed and questioned by the detective.”

  “True, but at least we got to meet Gabriel DeVille. Did you see how he kept looking at me? He even complimented me on my fashion sense.” She twirled the end of her borrowed scarf around her finger absentmindedly. “I told you not to get so worked up about me wearing this scarf today. It’s not like I’m wearing a smoking gun around my neck.”

  “Yes, June, I saw. Not to take away from the power of your charms, dear, but he had pretty limited options, wouldn’t you agree?”

  “Spoilsport!”

  “Just don’t spill anything on this scarf or leave it behind anywhere. I’d hate to have another accessory taken into police custody—unless, of course, it’s the fashion police.”

  “Hmmph.”

  “How soon you forget. Jack Morgan hasn’t been out of your sight more than a day, and you’re already mooning over a guy you don’t even know.”

  “Hey, we’re not engaged, so what’s the harm in a little flirting?”

  “Suit yourself. I just think you ought to think things through for once. Oh, the heck with it. Let’s go get something to eat.”

  Standing in the buffet line gave us an opportunity to get the full effect of the results of the theatrical makeup class. In addition to the zombies, there were apparent victims of various types of violence: gunshot wounds, stabbings, burns, and all sorts of unappetizing special effects. Maybe I would write a suggestion for the organizers to rethink the timing of this particular workshop. Then again, maybe they did it on purpose hoping people might have smaller appetites when they came down for lunch.

  June elbowed me in the ribs. “Ouch! What’s the deal?”

  “Look over there, next to the beverage table. Isn’t that Sasha, the girl with the spa tickets?”

  “Stop pointing, June, it’s rude. But yes, it sure is.” Sasha, the Russian Jill-of-all-trades, was standing against the wall, a terrified look on her face. Or maybe it was sheer exhaustion. She seemed to be turning up everywhere we went, and so far, she never appeared relaxed or happy. “She must be working nonstop over the summer to pay for college. I wonder if she’s thinking about going into show business or special effects makeup. That black eye looks very convincing.”

  We made our way across the room, careful not to tip our trays or collide with any of the shuffling, swaying bodies who seemed to be multiplying by the second. Knowing they were fellow seminar participants did little to deflect the overall effect their appearance inspired. I was torn between asking for the name of the makeup artist for future reference and avoiding them like the plague. Did I just say that? Oh well, I really didn’t want to get up close or personal with the milling monsters. Finally, we settled on a round table and claimed two of its six vacant chairs. Eating a meal surrounded by zombies was more interesting than frightening, but when a trio of clowns in full costume and makeup pulled up seats at our table, I nearly choked on my potato salad.

  I diverted my eyes and concentrated on my watch. “Would you look at the time? We better get going, June. We don’t want to be late for our next session.”

  June got it. She isn’t a big fan of sinister circus entertainers either, so she left her uneaten mashed potatoes and macaroni and cheese and followed my lead. The clowns remained still and silent. They didn’t even have lunch trays. I couldn’t tell if it was the makeup or if they were really leering at us, but I wasn’t about to stick around to find out.

  12

  Though this be madness, yet there is method in 't.

  Hamlet

  The afternoon was more like what I had expected when I signed up for the conference. We were seated near the back of the Armstrong Lecture Hall attending a special lecture—Puppetry: Bringing Life to Marionettes. It was proving to be informative, if not a little creepy, after our lunchtime encounter with the zombies and clowns. Puppets were about halfway down on my list of freaks, so after an hour and a half, I felt a bit antsy and start
ed daydreaming. Plus, my butt was getting numb.

  I fumbled in my handbag and located my cell phone. Pressing the wake-up button, I saw 3:45 displayed on my home screen and decided we had officially learned everything we needed to know about marionettes. “June,” I whispered, “let’s bug out now before the lecture ends. I need to stretch my legs, and we can stop at the bar for a glass of wine before we meet Gabriel in the theater. What do you say?”

  “I say let’s do it. I can’t believe we’ve been sitting in these uncomfortable seats for as long as we have. Who knew puppets could be so fascinating?”

  I wasn’t sure if she was being serious or sarcastic, but I didn’t really care. She was out of her seat and down the aisle ahead of me.

  When we got to the lobby, the lounge was deserted except for the bored-looking man polishing glasses behind the bar. None of the conference workshops had officially let out yet, and the other hotel guests were most likely clinging to safety bars and screaming on the thrill rides in the amusement park or wending their way down the Lazy River in the water park. No one was giving up the glorious afternoon sunshine in favor of a dimly lit bar. It was perfect. We pulled out two barstools, made ourselves comfortable, and placed our order.

  “Now this is the life. An afternoon cocktail with my best friend and no questions or disconcerting stares from inquisitive strangers or investigators.”

  “Cheers to that, Francie!”

  We clinked our glasses and savored the first cool sip of our wine. As I set my glass down on the bar, I noticed Angelina walking past the lounge. I raised my hand and tried to make eye contact, but she quickened her pace and became suddenly preoccupied with the phone in her hand.

  “Did you see that, June? I think Angelina is trying to avoid us. What do you think she’s up to?”