Mind-Bending Murder

by Leslie Langtry

  By the time she walked out, Riley had regained the ability to breathe. Kelly unloaded her packages and climbed into the back seat.

  "What about talking to the manager?" he asked.

  Kelly shrugged. "Why do I need to do that? It seems like the manager was complicit in this. He hired Tyson in spite of his record and turned a blind eye to his questionable sales."

  "Good point," I said. "Besides, most management is just going to give you the dates of his employment and that's all."

  Kelly flashed a grin at Riley. "Thanks for the new equipment, boss."

  Riley grumbled as he started the car. "I should confiscate that."

  Kelly held up a finger. "You even attempt to do that, and I'll come out here again and buy the best state-of-the-art desktop Claire has ever seen."

  I changed the subject. "I told Rex this morning that I was going to stay the night somewhere else for the next two nights."

  Well…I had sent him a text that said that. He had sent one back with some expletives I won't repeat here. I did promise to check in with him regularly. He wasn't happy, but it felt like I was getting close to something here. And with Carnack's patience running thin and Vanderzee on the warpath, I didn't want Rex to get in their way.

  "Where are you going to stay since you're on the run?" Riley asked.

  I shook my head. "I'm not on the run. Don't even breathe that, or Kurt Hobbs Jr. III Esquire will be all over me. And nobody wants that."

  "Wherever you go," Kelly said. "Don't forget to keep us updated. That reminds me. I need to check in with Betty."

  She did? "Why?"

  "Ava texted earlier and said Betty's parents took Bart to the University of Illinois for a college visit. She told Ava that she was home alone for the next two days."

  I put my hand on her cell. "I'll take care of it."

  Looks like I had a place to crash after all.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  "Mrs. Wrath." Betty answered the door. "Do come in."

  "Thanks." I pushed past her with my duffel bag. "You're not surprised to see me?"

  The kid shrugged. "Not really. I figured you needed a place to hide out. That's why I engineered Bart's college visit."

  "You did that?" I shouldn't have been surprised. The girl had just hacked into the Bladdersly PD.

  The kid smiled. "It was easy. I just pretended to be an admissions counselor and sent Bart an email inviting him to visit. Then I emailed the admissions counselor and told them Bart and my parents wanted to visit."

  I wasn't sure how I felt about the ten-year-old manipulating her family like that for a suspected murderer on the run. But it was nice that she wanted to help, and maybe Bart would get an education out of it with the added bonus of escaping his little sister.

  I looked around. "Do you have a guest room?"

  "Nope. But you can have the top bunk in my bedroom." She turned to walk down the hall.

  "Hey. Are you over the noir slang?" I asked.

  The girl shrugged. "I'm just taking a break. The other girls asked me to stop."

  "And that worked?" Of course! Peer pressure. I'd have to remember that the next time Betty tried to do something like boss the girls into doing something, hack into the school records, or in one case, attempt to overthrow city council.

  "Here's my room." Betty opened the door, and I followed her in.

  Betty's house was about average for the Midwest—simple but comfy furniture, endless beige walls and carpet. Her room, however, was a different matter.

  "Wow" was all I could think to say.

  Betty was my black sheep. The girl in the troop voted most likely to master the dark arts or become a CIA black ops agent specializing in wet work. I expected the walls to be filled with photos and news articles connected with different colored yarns to one conspiracy theory after another. At the very least, I expected posters featuring the Basque regions.

  I didn't expect this.

  It was as if the girliest girls in the universe gathered together to decorate a room that they, themselves, would consider too girly. Everything was pink and had ruffles. Stuffed unicorns covered every surface of the white dresser, nightstand, and bunk beds. The carpet was a color I could only call "sparkly." The walls were pale pink with white lacy curtains. And the room smelled like roses.

  I gave her a look. "Who are you, and what did you do with Betty?"

  "What?" she asked as she stood on a ladder on tiptoe to clear the stuffed unicorns off of the top bunk.

  "This!" I waved my arms around. "This just doesn't seem like you."

  "What do you mean?" She came down from the ladder. "Why not?"

  "Because…because…" I stammered. "You are…well, you know…"

  The child put her hands on her hips and frowned at me.

  "You have ninja suits and know all about weapons, and you speak in noir gangster…"

  She shrugged. "I'm complicated. Now put your stuff wherever. I'm gonna go make snacks. Okay?"

  I nodded, still dazzled by her room.

  She paused in the doorway. "And whatever you do, don't, under any circumstances, open the closet." And then she was gone.

  Oh, I was so opening that closet.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Someone was standing over me as I lay on my back on the floor. It was hazy. Dark even. My nose was burning, and it felt like I'd been punched in the head.

  "You opened the closet, didn't you?" Betty's voice floated above me.

  I looked around. I was on my back on her sparkly carpet. "What happened?" I propped myself up on my elbows.

  Betty went over to the open door. "Chloroform deployer. Got the idea from the movie Mystery Men."

  "Why does my stomach hurt?" I got to a sitting position.

  Betty pushed a button, and from the deep recesses of her closet came a swinging beam that was about one foot in diameter and three feet long. She stopped it with her hands after it swung back and shoved it back inside.

  "You booby-trapped your closet," I said without the slightest hint of surprise.

  "Yeah. I wanted the beam to hit adults in the head, but I'm not tall enough to install it."

  "Makes sense," I said as I got to my feet. "What did you make for snacks?"

  She didn't ask if I was mad. And why should she? She had warned me.

  In the kitchen, the table was loaded with everything from cupcakes to pizza rolls. This girl knew how to eat! We sat down and dug in.

  "Most people wouldn't want to spend the night alone with a murderer," Betty said as she passed me a bowl of potato chips. "But I think it's okay if it's your Girl Scout leader."

  "I didn't kill anyone," I said through a mouthful of cookies. It came out like Mfffninntkllneeone.

  "And now," Betty continued as if I hadn't said anything. "You kidnapped some pastor guy because he was a witness."

  I shook my head vigorously because the chocolate-stuffed marshmallows had sealed my lips shut.

  "It's okay. I know you didn't do it."

  I swallowed. "Good. Because I didn't."

  She tapped a spoon from the ice cream against her chin, leaving a chocolate smear. "So where is this dude they say you kidnapped?"

  I washed the marshmallow down with Mountain Dew. "I have no idea."

  "I have a theory. Wanna hear it?"

  Why not? It couldn't be worse than anything I had…or didn't have.

  Betty poured maple syrup on the pizza rolls. "I think Tyson was a spy for Spain against the Catalonians…"

  And there it was. Betty was obsessed with the Catalonians.

  She stirred the gooey mess with a fork. "And I think Hilly did it."

  That explanation was shorter than I'd thought it would be. "Why do you think Hilly did it? She's not even here." I looked around. "Is she?"

  Hilly Vinton, a tall, Amazonian assassin—who isn't an assassin because the CIA does not condone assassination—was a friend of mine. And while she sometimes turned up unexpectedly, I didn't think she was back in town.

 
"No, she's in Malta." Betty stuffed a Rice Krispies bar into her mouth. "We keep in touch," she said.

  "If you knew that, why do you think it was her?"

  Betty rolled her eyes. "Because I don't want to think it's you."

  I tried to wrap my head around that. "But you just said you didn't think I did it."

  "I don't. But just in case you did, I'd rather it was Hilly."

  Kid logic was a puzzle I'd never crack.

  The girl studied me for a moment. "Okay. I'll help you. Again."

  "Thanks" was all I could think to say.

  The doorbell rang, and she shot me a look. "You weren't followed, were you?"

  "I don't think you should open the door." I got up from the chair, stuffing donuts into my pockets.

  "Get to the bedroom, and this time don't open the closet!" She waited until I was down the hall before going to answer the door.

  "What?" I protested. "That's a bad idea! You don't know who it is!"

  Betty thought about this as the doorbell rang again. "It's alright. If it's a bad guy, I'll tell him you're in my closet."

  That made sense…in a way. I didn't go to the bedroom but stayed just around the corner from the living room. If this was trouble, I needed to be ready in case Betty didn't have the living room booby-trapped too.

  I heard some mumbling that I couldn't make out before the door closed and Betty hollered that it was safe to come out.

  "Who was it?" I asked once I joined her in the living room.

  "Some cop. He said he'd be back." She looked at the door. "I told him you weren't here but that you totally didn't do it."

  "Thanks," I said. "I'll drop you off at Lauren's. You can't stay here if that cop is coming back."

  Betty grumbled a little, but let me shuffle her out back to my van. She didn't say a word when I dropped her off at Lauren's. Lauren's mom didn't seem to think Betty dropping by in her pajamas at night was a weird thing.

  I was pretty sure Betty was mad at me. It wasn't fair to involve Betty in this, no matter how much she wanted to be. Also, being there made me feel a little like I was contributing to her delinquency.

  "Welcome, Bird Goddess!" Kayla held open the door of what, until recently, had been a Lutheran church. "Welcome." She gave a deep bow with an exaggerated flourish. "To the Chapel of Despair!"

  The girl pulled a flashlight from her voluminous black robe (a definite improvement over the whatever-ratty-bathrobe-you-have garb they used to wear). Kayla held the flashlight under her chin, aimed up, in an attempt to appear menacing. Instead, the weak glow made her look slightly anemic.

  "Can I come in?" I looked around. I was pretty sure this would be the last spot anyone but Rex would think of, but the longer I stood out here, the more those odds would shrink.

  "Enter." Kayla stepped aside, indicating a lobby with a red glow. "At your own risk!" she warned. There was a cracking sound as she threw Pop-Its on the floor.

  "Very nice," I mumbled as I walked inside, closing the door behind me.

  "The demigod Odious will listen to your request. He is fair and righteous." Kayla rolled her eyes and shook her head, pulling back her hood. "I can't stand these lines he has us saying. You wouldn't believe the things he comes up with! Heather and I had to reject one phrase where we were supposed to praise his abundant and evil manhood!"

  "Sounds like you have grounds for a sexual harassment claim." I immediately regretted saying that. The last thing I needed to do was cause a rift between the four druids.

  "Really?" Kayla's eyes opened wide at the possibilities.

  I changed the subject. "Hey, do you know Kurt Hobbs?"

  That caught her attention. "That guy from Bladdersly? The paper boy who thinks he's a bounty hunter?"

  I nodded. "That's the one. He really likes you. He's trying to capture me to prove it."

  Kayla beamed. "He is? He'd do that for me? I had no idea! I just thought he was a greaser from Bladdersly."

  "Well, he is, but he's ambitious." For reasons I've never understood, Whovians refer to Bladders as greasers. We always thought this was unique until we found out that they called us the same thing.

  "Should I tell him where you are?" Kayla asked a little too eagerly.

  "Absolutely not. The last thing I need is him here swooning all over you while trying to handcuff me."

  Kayla gasped. "Swooning? How romantic! I had no idea he was interested. He's older, right?"

  "Well, yeah. I think he's like twenty or something." I hadn't thought about an age difference. "Are you still in high school?"

  "An older man! And a businessman too!" She clapped her hands together before looking at me earnestly. "Do you think he'd join the cult? Stewie says we get a bonus of twenty-five dollars for every new member we bring in."

  "That seems a little low considering how desperate you are," I said. "And who's paying you? Stewie? Out of his own pocket?"

  Kayla shook her head. "Oh, it's not about the money. We each want to be the first one to do it. Can you believe that, even after getting all that money, a church, and a car, we still can't get anyone to join?"

  I could. "Well, maybe you could have a sign-up table at school."

  "The principal said no. He thinks we're Satanists." She snorted. "As if! Those kids are total losers!"

  "Yeah." I looked around. "Is there a place I can crash for the night?"

  "Oh sure." The girl seemed delighted with the idea. I'd have to make sure she didn't call Kurt and turn me in. "We have the relaxation room."

  I followed her down a flight of stairs to a hallway. We passed an old nursery, a kitchen, some meeting rooms, and a large hall before she opened a door and waved me through.

  "What is this place?" I asked, trying to take it all in.

  The room was painted dark red, with Roman braziers blazing. It seemed dangerous until I noticed the flames were silks being blown by tiny fans. Barry White was singing through a state-of-the-art sound system, and in the middle of the room was a round waterbed.

  Kayla motioned to the bed. "Stewie says he'll need it to indoctrinate new female members."

  "Oh no. He's not doing that." I needed to talk to that kid. There would be no sexual harassment on my watch.

  "Well, he thinks so. Heather and I decided we aren't going to stand for that when the time comes. Maybe we'll combine it with that sexual harassment suit you suggested." Kayla thought for a moment. "Do you think Kurt could swoop in and put Stewie in jail for that?"

  I sighed. "Is he here?"

  She nodded before continuing. "Mostly we use it for naps. Waterbeds are weird. Why did people use those in the Dark Ages?"

  "Forty years ago wasn't the Dark Ages." I dumped my bag on the waterbed and watched it wobble on the bed of waves. "Let's go see Odious." I pushed her out the door.

  The chapel was filled with black candles, all lit. Swathes of red fabric hung from the ceiling, and the pews had all been painted black. On the altar was a huge throne with a back about six feet in height, almost two feet taller than the diminutive Stewie needed. And there he sat. The demigod.

  Stewie didn't see us come in at first. He was busy eating a corndog and watching something on his cell phone.

  "Odious!" Kayla shouted tremulously. "The Bird Goddess has requested an interview with the great and impotent King of Evil!" She tossed a few more Pop-Its onto the ground. They sputtered pathetically.

  I decided not to point out that she said impotent when she probably meant omnipotent.

  Stewie jumped to his feet, which didn't change his height at all. He tossed the corndog onto the throne and held his hands high in the air, wiggling his fingers in what I referred to as druid jazz fingers.

  "It's King of All Evil, Kayla!" he complained. "And it's important, not impotent!"

  "Yeah, you're lucky that I don't call you the Butthead of All Evil," Kayla snapped.

  "Come forth, Bird Goddess!" Stewie beckoned. "And speak!"

  I walked up to him.

  "Kneel before Zod!" He pointed
to the floor.

  "The guy from Superman?" I shook my head. "Not happening. Look, as a member of this cult, I demand, um, refuge."

  I wiggled my druid jazz fingers for effect.

  He frowned. "Why are you doing that?"

  "What?"

  He nodded at my hands. "Wiggling your fingers like that."

  Was he joking? "That's what you do!"

  Stewie's face turned as red as his hair. "I don't do anything stupid like that! Dread demigods don't wiggle their fingers!"

  "I don't care," I said. "I need to crash in your pervert room. And by the way, you can't 'indoctrinate' female members. The braziers are a nice touch though."

  Stewie sniffed. "I'm the leader of the Cult of NicoDerm. You are only a goddess. You must do what I say."

  "Doesn't goddess outrank leader?" Kayla offered. "I vote for the Bird Goddess to be the Supreme Leader."

  "Thanks," I said. "But I don't want that. I've got this murder investigation to deal with and my Girl Scouts are tweens, so…"

  "Mutiny!" Stewie shrieked.

  "It's not a mutiny," I said. "I'll take my stuff downstairs and move into the sexual assault room. And you and I are going to have a little talk about how women should be treated."

  Stewie picked up a plastic wand and shook it at me. "I will turn you into a bat!"

  "Fine," I sighed. "Whatever." I walked back up the aisle and down the stairs to the relaxation room and locked the door behind me.

  No one bothered me, which was good. I had a lot to think about. With Pastor Buddy Malone missing and the Bladdersly PD hot on my tail, I needed to think. I took out my cell phone and searched the web for news of the pastor's disappearance. Oh sure, you probably thought I'd use a burner phone. But I'm not on the lam, and using my own phone seemed to back that up.

  Nothing. Even The Bladdersly Beard had nothing.

  I really should call Rex. But then he'd get upset, and I didn't like upsetting my husband. So I guess I was not calling him for his own benefit.

  I needed a computer. It was too hard scrolling through my phone. Not that I was old or anything. It was just easier to stare at a monitor. There had to be an office in here somewhere, right? Someplace where Stewie wrote his humiliating scripts and ordered Pop-Its in bulk.