He reached across the desk, taking her hands.
“We’re going to stop one of them,” he assured her.
She nodded. “I really do have confidence in myself. I plan to be good at what I do, what we do.”
“Of course, you do,” he said. “It’s just that . . .”
“I wrote books and stayed out of the line of fire—except when we met.”
He shrugged uncomfortably. “Keri, everything you read about Halloween in a book is great, but what do you remember about writing a book? About the horror up in Massachusetts almost four years ago? You must have impressed Jillian Murphy.”
“The thing is—Jillian escaped. I don’t know—no one knows—what happened to the young people who were killed. Jillian talked her friends into leaving early. The police swarmed the place by day, but when the kids were killed, the park was closed. I speculated the killer had somehow lured them into staying—hiding out—until everyone was gone. They probably thought they were going to get a real look at a freak or get to play in the haunted houses with the lights all on—or off. Somehow, at any rate, they stayed behind. Nothing was found the next day—except bits and pieces of people in the pig sty. Well, you have the records on everything that happened. No fingerprints, no one was seen anywhere they shouldn’t have been, no footprints, nothing. And all the employees had the same alibi—they went home. The few who remained on the property as security or watching over animals heard nothing, saw nothing.”
“I’ve read the folders. But that’s not the same.”
Keri sat back. She shook her head. “I’d only had one book out when I met Jillian, but she’d read that book. My publisher was the one who told me about the story and suggested I work on it. I was rather horrified at first. I was fond of flushing out old puzzles, not new horrors. But I headed to Massachusetts to investigate, wound up meeting Jillian . . . and doing a lot of research.”
“What do you remember about the park?”
“Remember, the park was closed for the season when I visited Mass for research. Anything I saw, I saw in pictures. And there were pictures, of course, the police didn’t just let out—there’s no reason for anyone to see what’s left when . . . pigs are left to consume bodies. I met several people who worked there; one man I remember as being helpful. He was a magician. He called himself the Greater Great Merlin—but that was the last year he worked. He hung up his top hat and rabbit after that year.”
“Did he have any ideas?”
“Sister Sally Sadist.”
“Sister Sally Sadist?”
“There’s a theme park company that provides pre-fab ‘abandoned’ churches; many theme parks have them with twists here and there. Upside-down, black-clad crosses. Catacombs that are coming apart, dark rites going on, all that. Anyway, I investigated Sister Sadist, and she was just a college-aged kid—Jillian’s friend’s relative. They had a lot of the college crowd working there. But all the college-aged students said they got the hell out every night as soon as they could. And while possible, I hate to think a young woman might have done this. I met ‘Sister Sally Sadist.’ Brenda Templeton—nice enough kid.” She grimaced. “She went on to do several movies, from what I understand. Some live theater—and . . . I guess when people need extra work, they’re happy to be whatever characters. I know some of my friends in theater played chickens to hand out flyers and talk people into buying chicken.”
He shook his head. “Transient. That’s just it. Transient. Well, they’re working on a list of names regarding anyone who might have worked at more than one park. But . . .”
“But?”
“Everyone hires people under the table. The killer might not be a character at all; the killer could be working the ‘Haunted Tunnel of Love,’ or some other crazy attraction. The killer could be that person dressed in black to make sure if someone is freaking out, they can step out quietly and escort them to an exit. This is just . . . well, they should close down Halloween until they get this guy,” he said, frustrated.
“That’s not going to happen. And it shouldn’t. He would win. We need to stop him.”
“Right. We need to stop him. Along with whatever help we can get from wherever!”
She nodded. “So, we’re almost there. I’m going to be an evil doll. Do I have a name? I mean, of course, I have a name.”
“Oh, you do.”
“What is it?”
“I haven’t the faintest idea,” he told her, grimacing. “Jackson and Angela went over the past cases before this ever got to us. They investigated the last places those who were killed had been seen. They have us set up where they believe the killer either works as well, or finds his victims when the day is done. As to your doll name, well . . . we’re in something called ‘Murder Mansion.’ I guess we’ll find out about both of our characters soon enough.”
And they would.
They landed at a small regional airport between New Orleans and Baton Rouge, and headed straight out to the theme park.
“Mostly Ghostly World” was in full swing when they arrived. A sign beneath gothic arches announced the attraction opened every year on September 1st.
By day, families came with younger children, Joe knew. He was familiar with a little of the history of the place as well—it had shown up every season for nearly sixty years. They no longer had a bobbing for apples attraction; hygiene had rid the park of apple-bobbing years ago. But they had begun with a few rides, a few games, and a petting zoo, and they still had all three. The petting zoo was complete with goats, miniature horses, rabbits, and more.
Including pigs.
The pigs caused a little ripple in him, but Joe was certain the killer wouldn’t strike again in the same way.
His murders matched his rhymes.
Still, here, for little ones, there was also a fairy-tale house—but a fairy-tale house minus witches or evil fairies or nasty leprechauns. Princesses and princes ruled in the fairy tale house, and costumed youngsters could have their pictures taken with their heroes and heroines.
That wasn’t the section where they’d be working. Kiddie rides and fairy fun were during the day—anything horror-driven opened at five each afternoon.
Keri and Joe had dressed casually in jeans and Ts, and they made their way to the large trailer that was the office of the park’s owner, Mel Jenkins. They tapped on the trailer door; it was opened by a man of about fifty with thinning white hair and rosy cheeks.
He looked at them anxiously saying, “Hey. I’m Mel Jenkins. Come in, come in, and welcome! You’re my new—actors, right?”
“Yep, new actors, right,” Joe said dryly.
They entered the trailer to find Jenkins wasn’t alone; he was there with a man who quickly introduced himself as Detective Michael Coley from the parish sheriff’s office.
Joe knew who he was; Coley had been the one to receive the rhyme. It had been sent to his home and not to the office—something that disturbed him greatly.
Introductions went around as Jenkins indicated they could sit at the U-shaped table against the side of the impressive trailer.
He was the first one to speak, running his hands over his short-cropped and thinning hair.
“This has made me ill—just ill! If I shut down, I throw dozens of employees into the poorhouse, not to mention I throw me into gargantuan debt. If I don’t shut down . . .”
“No one suggested you shut down,” Detective Coley said quietly. He was a lean man with a lean face, the angles tempered by soft powder blue eyes. He looked at Joe and said, “If I’m not mistaken, this killer would just pick another park. He has to be stopped—and not pandered to.”
“At the moment, we have a credible threat. We have a few days left before Halloween. We’ll take the time to see what we can discover,” Joe said.
“As Joe said, we have until Halloween this year,” Keri said. “If this isn’t a copycat situation, and we don’t believe it is because the poems or the subverted nursery rhymes were never made public,” Keri told hi
m, “then what has been received is a very credible threat. And we will do our best, but we’ll have to make decisions at the appropriate times.”
She was earnest and sincere, and as Joe had quickly noted when they’d first met, an extremely attractive woman. Jenkins appeared to be perplexed. He looked at Joe.
“Is . . . uh . . . I mean, are you a couple? Are you just along as a . . . sidekick?” he asked Keri.
Joe was amused; he knew Keri had been up against those who doubted a young and striking woman was a real agent.
He could have stepped in, but he knew she could handle it all on her own.
“Sidekick? No, sir, I’m not. I’m a graduate with several degrees in history and I’ve studied both criminology and psychology.” Her smiled deepened and she leaned closer to him. “You’re welcome to test my skills at marksmanship any time you like. You know, sir, the FBI training at Quantico can be tough. We learn boxing, control holds, disarming perpetrators.” She moved even closer, her sweet smile still in place, her eyes widening with innocence. “They don’t keep us on if we don’t master some tough skills, you know.”
Jenkins quickly moved back. “Of course. Yes. I know. I mean, I didn’t know—I assumed that . . . I mean, truly. Sorry, sorry, I mean I thought I was getting agents . . . and when you two arrived, well, I got the impression that you two . . . were together.”
Keri’s smile deepened. “We are. So. Let’s get to this. The sooner we get to know some of the workers and cast around here, we’ll be able to get a better grip on what we’re looking for—and who might meet the profile of such a killer.”
“Of course, of course!” Jenkins said, looking at Detective Coley.
“You have your own security, and we’ll have the place well covered, too,” Coley said. “But we all know, time is of the essence.”
“I’ll call my assistant to get you to costuming and make-up,” Jenkins said quickly. He picked up his cell phone. Joe noted he still watched Keri warily.
“Susie, will you come and help—our new recruits?” He asked.
Susie was evidently close. Jenkins had barely hung up before a young woman walked into the room. She was dressed in a T-shirt that advertised the attraction and jeans. Her blonde hair was up in high pigtails—reminiscent of the comic character, Harlequin.
She was probably about thirty, but her smile was young and contagious, and she welcomed them both as they stood, ready to greet her.
“Keri, Joe, Susie. Susie, Keri and Joe.”
He didn’t give their surnames. Since neither was from the area as Jackson had wanted, it was unlikely they’d be recognized by friends or acquaintances once they were in costume and make-up.
And Keri was going by a different last name.
“Susie, thanks for helping us,” Keri said, enthusiastically taking the girl’s hand.
“Ditto,” Joe told her.
“Hi! And welcome. I was excited to hear we were bringing in a few more live actors. Casey—our original Devilla Dolly--had to go back home to care for her grandmother. Casey is from North Carolina. And anyway, we lost our count almost two weeks ago—he was offered a movie deal. Fred—from one of the food wagons—has been filling in. So, a pair of real actors—I’m thrilled. I mean, we’re here to thill and be spooky and fun.” She stopped speaking, noting that Detective Coley was there.
She evidently knew him.
“Detective . . . nothing has happened, has it?” she asked worriedly.
“No, nothing has happened,” Coley said quickly. “I’m just around to make sure it doesn’t. We have warned everyone working to be alert and get to know each other and cry out if anything at all unusual happens.”
Susie nodded, her smile returning. “Usually, our worst is when a bunch of drunk college kids come through, trying to take on our characters. Oh, you have been warned. They’re going to call you a ‘living doll,’ Keri, and all kinds of things like that. But it’s also fun, honest. I fill in sometimes where needed.”
“But you don’t like being a character all the time?” Joe asked her.
She laughed. “Too strenuous. Me, I like assisting the big guy. We’ll see y’all later,” she said to Mel and Detective Coley.
The three of them left the trailer and she brought them to a large tent; the opening had a huge sign in front advising, “Cast Members Only” in giant letters.
There was a desk by the opening when they entered—and then rack upon rack of costumes.
A middle-aged woman sat at the desk. She had graying hair pulled back in a bun and a pleasant smile—the perfect grandma image, Joe thought.
“Belinda, meet our new count and Devilla Dolly,” Susie said to the woman. “Can you get them outfitted for tonight?”
“I’d be delighted. Our horror mansion opens at five, so we’ll get a move on,” Belinda said, and she smiled at Susie. “Their real names would be nice, too.”
“Oh, sorry. Meet Keri and Joe.”
They all shook hands, and Keri murmured it was a pleasure to meet her, and Joe naturally did the same.
“On to it. Devilla Dolly, you first.”
She beckoned to Keri, crooking a finger. Keri grimaced at Joe and headed with Belinda down the rows of costumes.
“She’s nice; we’re lucky. Most of the people working here are nice. It’s hard, though, for the boss—seasonal employment. It’s gotten better; a few years back, all you’d get were druggies. But these parks are really coming of age, and nowadays, there are Christmas themed parks, too, so you can always work at those. I’m lucky; I work for the boss man all year; he’s opening here as a Christmas theme park also this year.”
“I’m glad for you. Is there a lot of stress in that?” Joe asked.
Susie giggled. “Yes, and no. Stress in hiring. We’re okay with the part that opens at five—most of the time. A lot of teachers—believe it or not—like to work at night. But full-time, yeah, finding the right people, that’s hard.”
Hard for the person doing the hiring; easy for a killer to slip in.
Keri reappeared; she was decked out in a long black dress with purple trim. A well-crafted wig with hair that formed into something like horns at the top of her head completed the attire. He imagined that make-up would do the rest.
“Devilla Dolly,” she said. “What do you think?”
“Uh, yeah, you look like you could be pretty evil,” he said.
“Joe?” Belinda asked.
“I’m ready,” he said.
“I’ll take Devilla on back for make-up,” Susie said, glancing at her watch. “Bring Joe back as soon as he’s dressed.”
“Will do,” Belinda promised.
Joe watched Keri go, gritting his teeth against the clenching in his stomach that seized him like an iron maiden.
He had to accept what she wanted in life, what she wanted to do in life.
They’d made their choices, and if they were going to make it as a couple, he had to respect hers, as she respected his.
And still . . .
He had the oddest intuition.
The killer was there. There . . . somewhere in the park.
Watching—and perhaps—already choosing his next victims.
***
Ah! Newcomers!
Well, they looked like a charming young couple . . . probably sweetly in love, glad for work . . . and equally anxious to run home together when the work was done.
Or maybe, they’d hang out just a little . . .
The man . . .
Hm.
Tall, well-built, spent time at a gym, so it looked. Then again, the biggest guy in the world fell flat when a bullet tore through his head or his heart.
Not that he liked guns himself. Sadly impersonal. But if necessary . . .
Because the young woman . . .
She was a beauty. He could imagine the feel of her skin. And that hair . . . the color so rich. Mostly though, he thought about her eyes. He thought about the way she would look at him, realizing she was going to die, ready to do
anything, plead, weep, promise anything he could possibly desire . . .
He preferred to choose fair attendees.
But maybe this time . . .
It will be Halloween. Halloween night. His grand performance!
And she was . . . beautiful. She walked with grace. Her smile was pure charisma. Her laugh was like a melody.
She was, in short, just . . .
Perfect.
Chapter 4
Brian Mayfield was the make-up man, and he was pleased and enthused to meet Keri.
“I heard we had a couple coming—actors. I’m so glad we’re going to get through the holiday itself with people who know what they’re doing,” he told her.
Keri smiled weakly. Yeah, right, real actors. She lowered her head lest he see her wince, then she raised it and gave him a brilliant smile. “I do so love the holiday. Joe and I just finished a run in a regional play and were at total odds when we heard about this. So, we’re grateful.”
“Of course, of course, and what a face to work with,” Brian said. “Sit down. Now, here’s what’s sad. I show you how to do this, then, after today, I’m only here to help, get more make-up . . . there are too many characters and . . . well, I’m the only guy on make-up. So, watch how I do the lines that turn you into a doll, okay?”
“Got it!” she assured him.
Horror-Ween (Krewe of Hunters) Page 4