THE SUBJECT OF MALICE

by Cynthia Kuhn

  After bending my wrists and legs to make sure nothing was broken, I clambered back upright.

  Did someone shove me in here intentionally? Now I was freaked out and mad.

  I ran back over the door to open it, but there was no latch. Seriously? Who doesn’t put a latch inside a freezer?

  Oh, wait. Horror movie freezers don’t have latches because if they did, the characters could stroll right out again instead of staying inside and freezing to death like they’re supposed to.

  The cold air already felt like it was piercing my bones. Shivering, I pulled out my cell phone and checked for service.

  None. Nada. Zip.

  Should have expected that—the walls were as thick as a cave. I shot a glance around the freezer’s dingy white walls, dirty metal shelves, and unidentifiable stains. I didn’t even want to hazard a guess as to what those were.

  Again, I pounded on the door, but no one came to let me out. Sinking onto the floor, I tried to come up with a way to escape.

  Instead, my brain started doing Panic Math, calculating how much oxygen was in here and how much time I had left until it ran out.

  Not that I know how to calculate any of that.

  But my thoughts were scrabbling about, trying to find something to glom onto, and math is where they went.

  I closed my eyes and did a round of diaphragmatic breaths to calm down, which was working nicely until it occurred to me that maybe I was using up the oxygen faster.

  I shoved that idea away and started another round of breaths.

  Suddenly, the door was open—blessedly open—and Sunny was poking her head inside. “Hello there! Are you okay? What happened?”

  “The door closed on me.”

  “Aw, you’re not the only one, sweetie. All of the tour guides have found a Freezer Victim—that’s what we call y’all, no offense—at some point. Dang door weighs more than my car does. That’s why we have a protocol here at Tattered Star Ranch. I am required to check this location each and every time we are fixin’ to leave the building.”

  “Thank you so much,” I said, scrambling to pass her as she prattled on.

  “And this is only the second time I’ve ever found someone inside...how exciting!” She put her free hand on her heart, delighted to have a new Freezer Victim anecdote to tell at her next tour guide meeting. “The first time was quite a shock—let’s just say some honeymooners were celebratin’ their nuptials. I don’t think they would have minded if we’d left them in here all night!”

  As she closed the freezer, I went directly outside and turned my face up to the sweet, sweet sun. Before too long, though, the heat intensified the throbbing in my head, so I edged into the shade. Sunny bopped over with a first-aid kit and helped me clean up the wounds. I was sore, but the scrapes would heal. When she warned me to be more careful, it was almost humorous. Between the microphone injury and the face plant and the freezer fall, I would be lucky to limp out of here alive.

  Then I remembered that there was a killer on the loose and revised my thought: we all would be lucky to get out of here alive. If I wasn’t helping with the investigation, I’d consider leaving right now. I pulled out my phone—happily working again now that I was outside of slaughterhouse walls—and texted Lex, asking how the conversation with Flynn had gone. He didn’t answer. When the group had finished their exploration of the structure, we plodded back onto the dirt path—thankfully going in the opposite direction this time, away from what I could only think of as That Part Of The Forest Where Maybe There Are Eyes Watching You.

  Sunny called over her shoulder. “If you look through the next patch of trees, you might be able to see the carnival set from the cult favorite, Terror Along the Midway. We’ll get there in a bit, but first, we’ll visit the graveyard where the souls of the Trail Way Gang are said to walk at night. You’ll remember them from the classic western, A Long Ride to Santa Fe.”

  Some applause and happy squeals burst out behind me. I rubbed my temples. I wanted this tour to be over with. I was tempted to ask Sunny for a shortcut back to the hotel, but I reminded myself again that the tickets had been expensive, and it seemed like a waste to give up now.

  I glanced at my watch. Twenty minutes left. I could do this. Just walk, Lila.

  Sunny pulled open a metal gate and gestured toward the headstones. “Feel free to wander. See if you can figure out which one is the intended grave of Stetson McAvoy, the hero of the film. Remember that they only got his plot half-dug-out before he came roaring back to life?”

  As I was first in line, I aimed for a shady spot in the far back corner, which might help ease my headache. Others ambled around, but I moved with purpose: I needed to get out of the sun. I passed row after row of graves, barely glancing at the headstones.

  When I reached the corner, I almost tripped over a wooden shovel handle resting beside a pile of dirt. That must be the grave Sunny meant.

  I took a few steps closer, peering down into the hole.

  At Flynn McMaster.

  The next sound I heard was my own scream.

  Chapter 14

  An hour later, I was back in the hotel, waiting for Lex, who hadn’t been interviewing our keynote speaker after all.

  Obviously.

  Lex had been en route when the hotel manager called with a potential lead that needed immediate attention. The next time the detective saw Flynn was in the cemetery.

  At the scene, he had to help collect statements from everyone on the tour, but Lex had kindly talked to me first so I could leave. I’d returned to the room and collapsed on the bed. All I wanted to do was sleep and ease the pressure in my head. But whenever I closed my eyes, I relived what I’d seen in the grave: man, dirt, shovel. The latter had been bagged by crime scene investigators, but not before I observed something dark red on it. Someone had used that shovel on Flynn, I was sure. The shout and thump I’d heard before I ended up in the freezer—was that the murder in progress?

  It was too awful. I couldn’t believe he was gone.

  Sitting up, I grabbed the book of essays from my nightstand—the Go Ahead and Scream title now carrying terrible resonance—and looked at the final section, which included pictures of Flynn at work in his office, pages of the manuscript covered with editing marks, and an overhead shot of his desk, which was cluttered. I studied them all closely. Nothing jumped out at me, but there was something about the last picture that tugged at my mind.

  I squinted and brought the picture closer. Was that Selene’s ring on the desk? What would that be doing there?

  I pulled out my cell phone and snapped a picture of it to show Lex. Immediately after the snap, the phone trilled, sending me a mile into the air. It was going to be a long time before this jumpiness subsided.

  “I have the list,” Richmond said after I answered.

  I was silent, trying to make sense of his words.

  “You know, the list of scholars who submitted to the McMaster book?”

  “Oh, thank you! Where are you? I’ll come down.”

  We made plans to meet in the lobby by the main fountain. I didn’t know if he’d heard about Flynn or not. Everyone on the tour knew what had happened, so word was likely to be getting around like wildfire, but if he hadn’t yet been informed, I’d have to tell him.

  The whole elevator ride down, I tried out different ways of bringing it up, but there wasn’t a smooth way of delivering such news.

  As I walked across the lobby, Acadia raced up and clutched my arm. “I need to speak to you.” She pulled me into a nook behind a sunflower sculpture. “I heard...you found Flynn, right?”

  I nodded.

  She shook her head. “So sad. It’s devastating.”

  “Absolutely tragic,” I agreed.

  Acadia craned her neck, checking to see if anyone was within earshot. Once she was satisfied that we were in a safe zone, she let
go of my arm.

  “People keep asking if we’re going to cancel the rest of the conference. The police even suggested that we consider it. I’ve gone through this from every angle. It’s quite conceivable, even likely, that the killer—”

  “Or killers?” I blurted out. I mean, we didn’t know how many were involved. Her eyes widened and she affirmed my point with a nod as she continued her sentence.

  “—is here, among us. But I can’t afford to cancel at this point. People have paid upfront. If we end it now, they’ll ask for their money back, and I won’t be able to pay the hotel bill.”

  “I see.”

  “But if we don’t cancel, then the killer may strike again.”

  “That’s true.”

  “But if we do cancel, the killer may strike again anyway.”

  I was trying to follow her logic when she went on. “You know what? Never mind. It’s only a few more hours, right? And the Gala is the most anticipated event of the whole week. We have to keep going.” She set her jaw and pulled herself up. “Thank you for the talk. I really needed to bounce it off of someone. Now I have my answer.”

  She marched across the lobby with visible resolve. I guessed she was heading toward a conversation with Chief Cortez or someone in a position of authority.

  I followed, speeding up when I saw Richmond in one of the club chairs near the multi-tiered fountain. He was holding a sheet of paper and staring dejectedly into the water. I took the chair next to him and said hello.

  “Lila, good to see you. Glad that you’re still in one piece.” He stopped short and stroked his chin. “That’s not something I’d usually say to a person, but with people dropping like flies around here, perhaps you’ll forgive me. Under the circumstances.”

  So he had heard already. News was orbiting the conference at light speed.

  “I’m glad to see that you’re doing well too, Richmond. And yes, we are in unusual circumstances.”

  He contemplated his shoes—one of the polished wingtips needed tying but he didn’t seem inclined to remedy the situation—before replying. “Do you have any idea what’s going on? What does your detective friend have to say?”

  “We haven’t been able to talk since...this afternoon,” I said.

  “Well, before that. Does he have anyone in his sights?”

  “Maybe multiple suspects? I haven’t heard of anyone in particular.”

  He made a harrumphing sound. “You’ll forgive me again for my impatience, but it is making me very nervous that the people around me, in particular, appear to be targeted. Not that I was feeling very happy with Flynn, mind you. He’s made a mess of things for us at the press, but I certainly wouldn’t wish any bodily harm on him.”

  It seemed like an odd thing to say. I watched him closely. Was he telling the truth or playing defense?

  A tear leaked out of the corner of his eye, and he stuck a finger behind the lens of his glasses to press on the lid. He cleared his throat, obviously struggling to gain control over his emotions. “Anyway, I hope that the police will find out who is behind this. I would leave early, but of course there’s the matter of the award, which is supposed to be presented tonight. Which is its own problem. We didn’t even get to the question part of the panel—” Richmond stopped short and shifted positions. “Never mind about that.”

  I went for broke. “Are you talking about Selene’s manuscript?” I hadn’t bought Simone’s explanation, but I didn’t know what was going on, either, generally speaking.

  He glowered. “How—how do you know about that?”

  “I found her notebook on the table after she fainted. Remember I tried to give it to you, and you asked me to return it to Selene instead?”

  “Ah. So you’re aware that there’s an issue.”

  I hadn’t shown Richmond or Candace the blank paper in the notebook, but he appeared to be informed. And we both understood what he meant by issue.

  “Well, I saw those pages. Did she turn in a different manuscript to the judges?”

  “I shouldn’t talk to you about it.”

  “Of course.” I blushed. “I’m sorry. I was just curious.”

  He held his breath, seeming to want to say more, but instead tightened his lips and pitched himself forward, out of the chair. “No need to apologize. I think we’re all under quite a strain right about now. You just reminded me that I must find the judges and have a conversation, so thank you for that.”

  He handed me the page and bid me farewell for now.

  The latest panels had just finished up, and the lobby was filling with scholars. He took a few steps ahead and disappeared into the crowd.

  I scanned the list and noted only one person who was here at the conference: Beckett Thurber Standhouse, III.

  As if summoned, the man himself strolled by a few feet away, holding hands with Selene. Today, he was wearing a blue suit with a red tie. She wore a dress in the exact same shade of red. I wondered if they’d planned it or if that was just how their life went: they were so perfectly suited that they matched without trying. Their hair was even the same shade of sun-kissed yellow.

  Was it me, or was that a little too Stepford?

  I needed to go tell Lex about the name on the list.

  “Beckett Standhouse?”

  “The third,” I added, since Selene wasn’t here to say it.

  Lex pondered this. “He’s the only one?”

  “Yes. And the more I think about it, the more it might make sense that he’s part of the puzzle. Beckett has a book coming out on Flynn McMaster, which means he’s an expert who has already been recognized by the press as such since they’ve given him a contract—”

  “It must have been quite a slap in the face to be rejected from the critical guide project.” Lex had picked up on my line of reasoning. “That would give him cause to be angry with the editors.”

  “Like Ellis.” I paced across the room. “And he’s close friends with Flynn too.”

  Lex’s head shot up. “They went to grad school together.”

  “And now they work at Fairlake University in the same department.” I stopped in front of the window and gazed at the sunset, all orange and red at the horizon with a curtain of blue pressing down from above. “Or they did.”

  We both were silent for a moment.

  Lex cleared his throat. “We should ask your friend Nate if there’s any history there.”

  “I can do that. Last night, they seemed fine, reliving their college days.”

  “Okay, so Dr. Standhouse has zoomed up the charts as someone who might actually wish to do Ellis harm.” He paused. “But why target Ellis? What about the other people who work at the press?”

  “Maybe he isn’t the only target there. Maybe he’s just the first one to be attacked.”

  Lex nodded.

  “Though now there’s Flynn as well, and he didn’t work at the press.”

  “And we’re back to Beckett having a friendship with Flynn.” He wrote something in his trusty notepad.

  “They genuinely seemed to care about each other.”

  Lex gave me a meaningful look. The kind that said I was far too trusting.

  “Those were the biggest bear hugs I’ve ever seen. And ‘bro’ was used many times.”

  “People don’t always advertise their true feelings. You know that. Let’s give Beckett a visit.” He pulled a stack of papers out of the canvas field bag he used as a briefcase, explaining that he’d obtained a list of room numbers for all the conference attendees to make things easier. He scribbled Beckett’s room number into his notepad and flipped the cover shut.

  We went quickly to the room and knocked on the door. The TV was blaring inside. Lex made an exasperated sound and knocked louder.

  “The food’s here,” Beckett was saying over his shoulder as he opened the door. He’d loosened his t
ie and rolled up the sleeves of his white button-down shirt. His jaw dropped when he saw us standing there.

  Selene came up and draped her arm over him. “Hello,” she purred at Lex. She was wearing a very elegant—and very short—silk robe that threatened to open with her next movement.

  “Do you, uh, want to come inside?” Beckett took a step backwards, pulling Selene with him. She stumbled a little but caught her balance and drifted into the bathroom. I could only hope it was to add some additional layers of clothing.

  “Thanks,” Lex said briskly, moving forward. I followed. Selene smirked as she closed the door to the bathroom slowly, peering through the crack.

  Creepy.

  The room was a mess, with clothes strewn over the desk, sofa, loveseat, coffee table, and king-sized bed. It was as if their suitcases had simply exploded in there. Beckett windmilled around the room, grabbing items from seemingly everywhere at once, and piled them on the bed. He turned off the television and ran a hand through the hair that flopped over his brow.

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “We weren’t expecting company.”

  “No problem. We won’t take up too much of your time, Dr. Standhouse. We’d just like to go over a few questions.”

  “Sure, sure.” Beckett perched awkwardly on the loveseat. He crossed his arms across his chest, then uncrossed them, then crossed them again. “Whatcha got for me?” His casual tone was at odds with his body language.

  “How well did you know Ellis Gardner?”

  “He’s my colleague.” His hand flew up to his mouth, and he looked stricken. “Was. Was my colleague.”

  “And you worked together with Flynn McMaster at Fairlake as well?”

  “Yes. We are—were—all in the English department. Along with Candace and Richmond.”

  “And me, darling. Don’t forget me. I also work there.” Selene emerged from the bathroom, a cloying scent arriving as she did. She was still in the robe, I noted. So basically, she just ducked in there to put on perfume?

  I wished I could assign demerits.

  “Did you ever have any disagreements with Ellis?”