by Leigh Perry
The building was chilly, despite the sunny afternoon, and the place was dark thanks to the blackout curtains hung over every window to maintain the spooky atmosphere. An officer was waiting just inside the door and he said, “Come on up.”
“I know the way,” Madison said.
“My orders are to stay with you.” He led us up the two flights of the main stairs, through a set of wooden double doors, and into a large room that looked as if it took up most of the floor. Despite all the dark woodwork, it was surprisingly bright, with skylights letting in the October afternoon sunlight.
“I think this was used for studio art classes when this building was first built,” I said, remembering an article I’d read in the college paper. “It started out as the McQuaid School of Art, and then morphed into the university.”
“I didn’t know that,” Madison said.
There was a handful of other people in the room: Louis, yet another cop, Oscar from McQuaid security, Deborah, and an assortment of young people I assumed were cast members, though I didn’t recognize any of them without their guts hanging out.
“Hey, guys,” Deborah said. “I hope you’re not in a hurry. Louis says he has to inspect all the bags, despite the fact that they found the murder weapon last night.” She made a face at a table where Louis and a uniformed officer were searching through a cast member’s pocketbook.
“So much for our rescue mission,” I said under my breath.
“Don’t worry, I’ve got it covered,” Deborah said. “So this is the greenroom. Men’s room on one side, women’s room on the other. A kitchen on the end. Lockers next to that for cast members to keep their stuff. I make them lock up their cell phones so they don’t spend all night taking selfies and posting pictures of people looking scared on Facebook. There’s always somebody on duty in here to help with makeup and wardrobe malfunctions, and somebody else mans the kitchen and the first aid kit. The crew takes breaks up here and waits for their shifts to start.”
“Okay,” I said, wondering why she was being so chatty.
“We’ve got chairs and couches for people to relax over there. Makeup tables by the wall, though a lot of kids do their own at home. That whiteboard by the door has the cast schedule and a place for them to sign in and out. They do get paid—not a lot, because the point is to raise money for the Scholars Committee—but paying them means they show up as scheduled. Most of the time. Everybody who was scheduled was actually here last night.”
“Right.” Looking at the list made me feel sorry for Louis. All of those people had to be considered suspects.
“Anything else you need to see?” Deborah asked.
“Like what?” Suddenly it dawned on me that she was assuming that Sid and I were going to investigate the murder. “Hey, what happened to ‘we’ll talk about it later’?”
She tried to look innocent. “Hmmm? I just thought you’d be interested in a behind-the-scenes view. It might be useful someday.”
“Yeah, right.”
Madison intervened by saying, “Maybe I should get my stuff.”
“Good idea,” Deborah said.
Madison’s backpack was shoved into a locker along with an assortment of clothing and makeup. “Should I take everything, Aunt Deborah? Or is the haunt going to reopen?”
“That’s between the police and the Scholars Committee,” Deborah said. “The cops want it shut—the committee wants it open.”
“Who’s on the committee?” I asked.
“The McQuaid Quintet. Officially there are some others on the membership roster, but that’s just for show.”
I’d never met any members of the family who’d given the university its name, but their presence was often felt in town. “In that case, I’m betting it’ll reopen sooner rather than later.”
Madison hesitated, then put the spooky makeup back into the locker. Even high school students knew that when the McQuaids spoke, Pennycross listened.
Deborah checked the time on her phone. “We better get inspected. I think it’s going to get really crowded in a couple of minutes.”
Madison carried her backpack over to the table and unzipped it. Louis was thorough but professional, and didn’t even question why my daughter carried three different bottles of scented hand sanitizer.
“How about that?” he said when he was done, nodding at the duffel bag I had on my shoulder.
“It’s empty,” Deborah said. “Some of the costumes and props need repair jobs, so I’m going to take them home. Is that okay?”
“Sure, that’s fine,” Louis said.
Deborah took the bag from me, went to a couple of lockers, pulled out the contents, and shoved it into the duffel, leaving the bag about three-quarters empty. Then she took it over for Louis to inspect.
He gave it a cursory examination and returned it. “You’re good to go.”
She promptly handed it back to me and said, “Here, make yourself useful. I’ve got to stick around, but one of the officers will walk you down. Bathroom break first, right?”
She shoved Madison and me in the direction of the ladies restroom and closed the door behind us just as the officer from downstairs came in with seven or eight chattering cast members.
“What are you doing?” I asked her.
“Working around the cops,” she said, looking at her phone again. “Okay, the next wave will be here in a couple of minutes. Come on.”
She hauled us out, and said, “Hey, Louis, can somebody—?” Then she pretended to notice that all the cops were busy searching bags. “Whoa, bad timing on your part, Georgia. Hey, Louis, you want me to walk Georgia and Madison out while you inspect those bags?”
“If you don’t mind,” he said, looking harried.
“No problem. Come on, ladies.”
I expected her to sneak off once we were out of Louis’s sight, but she went straight down to the entrance hall, where more cast members had just arrived. The officer stationed there was on the radio with Louis, looking overwhelmed, and even more so as more people came in.
Deborah said, “Jeez, everybody came at once? You want me to watch the door while you take this batch to the greenroom?”
“Yeah, that would be great,” he said. “Okay, guys, let’s head upstairs.”
I saw Deborah mouth the word “stall” at a couple of the actors, who nodded and slowed to a snail’s pace.
As soon as the cop was out of sight, Deborah said, “Madison, go halfway up and let us know when he’s coming back. I’m hoping he’ll stay up there to help search bags, but I can’t be sure. I’ve got more people coming in as distractions, so I’ll wait here. Georgia, you remember how we went last night?”
“Yeah.”
“Go back through the control booth, and then turn right instead of going straight to get to the room on the end of the building. That’s got to be where Sid is hiding. And make it snappy!”
“Got it!” The room where Deborah had sent me had a big sign on the wall—Detention—and was lined with cages. First up were cages inhabited by starved-looking mannequins clinging to the bars, then desiccated mannequins collapsed on the floor, partially denuded mannequins with red-eyed rubber rats in attendance, and finally, several cages of skeletons. Most of the cages had a single inhabitant, but the one on the end had two skeletons inside.
No wonder Deborah had sent me there—it was hard to beat the purloined letter approach.
“Sid!” I said.
Neither skeleton moved.
“Sid, it’s me. Pull yourself together and we’ll get you out of here.” Still no movement. “Sid?” Surely nothing could have happened to him. As long as his bones were intact, he should be okay. Shouldn’t he?
I started to reach for him, but something touched my back and I yelped and jerked around. Sid was standing beside me. Grinning. Of course, he was always grinning, but this time it was wider th
an usual.
“Georgia, why are you talking to a prop?”
“I wasn’t—”
“You thought that was me, didn’t you? You know somebody over twenty years—twenty years—and she doesn’t even recognize you!”
“It’s dark in here!” I said, though it really wasn’t. “Besides, you have to admit that guy looks a lot like you.”
“Please tell me you’re kidding! Not only is that thing cheap plastic, not only is the spine one solid piece, not only is it a color not found in nature—”
“Sid, you’re not exactly found in nature, either.”
He ranted on as if I hadn’t interrupted.
“Even if you ignore that, that is a female skeleton!” He pulled it out with a look of disgust, then shoved it into the cage from which he’d emerged. “Here’s your room back, sweetie.”
“Shall I leave the two of you together, or are you ready to go home?”
“Home, please. She’s a lousy conversationalist.”
I unzipped the canvas duffel and laid it flat on the floor. Deborah had been careful. Even with the clothes in there, there was room for Sid.
He stepped into the center of it, then fell apart in an orderly fashion. One finger bone landed outside the bag, but his other hand reached outside to grab it and put it inside. Then he zipped himself in.
It would have been fascinating to watch if we hadn’t been in a hurry.
“Where’s your phone?” I asked.
“It’s in my skull.”
Of course it was. I hefted the bag onto my shoulder. Sid’s bones only weigh about twenty pounds, but added to the contents already there, it made a lot to carry. “Can you keep from rattling? I don’t want anybody getting suspicious.”
“Of course.”
I’m not sure how he prevented it, but since I’m not really sure how Sid does any of the things he does, that was no big surprise.
I retraced my steps and just as I rejoined Deborah, Madison came down the stairs. “He’s on his way back,” she said. “Did you get Sid?”
“I’m in here,” Sid said cheerfully.
“Shhh,” I said, and poked the bag. I thought I heard a muttered “ow,” but as long as the police officer didn’t hear it, I didn’t care. It wasn’t like I could really hurt Sid anyway.
Once the officer was back at his post, Deborah said good-bye, adding, “Tell Mom and Dad that if they don’t have plans for dinner, I’ll come over and we’ll order pizza.”
“Sounds great,” I said, hoping I didn’t sound as phony to the cop as I did to myself. As Madison and I went out, I kept waiting for the long arm of the law to reach for me, but we made it safely to the car.
I just hoped none of the police had taken pictures of the room where Sid had been hiding, or at some point they might wonder why there was one fewer skeleton than before.
8
Madison and I barely got in the front door when Sid started yelping, “Put me down, I want out!”
“Stop rocking,” I said as I gladly put down the heavy duffel in the front hallway.
The bag unzipped from inside, and in a process that always entertains me, the bones reassembled themselves and Sid stood up. With a joyful rattle, he bounded into the living room where my parents were on the couch going through mail that had arrived in their absence.
“Dr. T! Dr. Mrs. T!” Sid said, jumping between them so he could hug one with each arm. “You two are a sight for sore eye sockets!” I’d told him on the way home that my parents had returned.
“Thank you, Sid,” Mom said. “You’re looking well yourself.”
“I think I’ve lost weight since I saw you last. Does it show?”
“It’s very becoming.”
“Tell us about the trip. I want to hear everything! Which place was your favorite? Did you like the food? Did you make it to Shakespeare’s house? Did you see the Rosetta Stone? What about 221B Baker Street—you did go there, didn’t you? And Scotland! Tell me about Scotland!”
“Sid, they can’t tell you anything if you don’t stop asking questions,” I pointed out.
“Sorry, sorry. Was the White Tower awesome?”
Mom and Phil laughed and started telling stories ranging from spotting a rainbow in Stratford-upon-Avon that seemed to end at Shakespeare’s grave to viewing the Crown Jewels but somehow finding the reproductions at Madame Tussauds Wax Museum more impressive to the near-religious experiences of visiting the British Library and Trinity College Library in Dublin.
I was as interested as Sid was, and even Madison stopped texting now and then to listen in, but I grew more and more distracted as time went on. As fascinating as the wonders of the Jane Austen tour were, my mind couldn’t help but wander back to the murder at McHades Hall. So as subtly as I could, I pulled out my cell phone to start checking the Web.
The police hadn’t given out much info to the press other than the fact of the victim’s death and the usual “investigations are proceeding” line, but a murder in a haunted house was lurid enough to spawn a lot of interest. Add in the facts that Kendall Fitzroy had been young and pretty, and seemed to have no shadows on her background, and it was an irresistible story. There were grief-stricken quotes from her family, boyfriend, and friends, including the trio of high school buddies who’d been with her the night of her death.
Apparently they had a tradition of attending the Howl together, and even though three of them were attending college out of town, they’d all come home for the festivities. An enterprising reporter had found a photo from a previous Halloween of the four of them dressed as Disney villainesses. I couldn’t decide if it was poignant or morbid.
Another reporter had researched deaths occurring in haunted houses, which turned out not to be unheard of, but all the others were suicides or accidents. I couldn’t imagine why anybody would have gone to the trouble of committing murder in such a public location. Sure, it was dark and confusing, but there were so many people around. Could it have been a random murder of opportunity?
“Georgia!” Sid said, and I realized everybody else in the room was looking at me.
“Hmmm?”
“Do you know what time Deborah is planning to come over?” Mom asked.
Fortunately my sister texted me at that very moment. “She’s on her way to Town House right now,” I said. “What kind of pizza do people want?” After we negotiated our order, Madison and I went to set the dining room table and get drinks. We had everything ready by the time Deborah arrived, and we dug right in.
It was, I realized, a special occasion of sorts. Since Madison had only been formally introduced to Sid during Mom and Phil’s sabbatical, this was the first time all six of us had sat down to eat together. Not that Sid actually ate, of course, but he was there at the table. I wasn’t the only one who noticed, either. Sid was grinning to beat the band. It’s not easy to have facial expressions when you’re a skeleton and don’t technically have a face, but somehow he manages.
After dinner was eaten and cleaned up, my parents went to their room to finish unpacking and Madison got picked up by a friend to hang at another friend’s house. Deborah, Sid, and I ended up in the living room.
“So let’s talk murder,” Sid said. “Deborah, I know you’d rather Georgia and I not stick our noses in things like this, but this time I think—”
“Stow it, Bone Boy. I want you to stick your nose in. Or nasal cavity, if that’s all you’ve got to work with.”
“You do?” he said, eye holes wide with astonishment.
She nodded. “It’s Georgia who’s balking.”
He turned to me. “You are?”
“I just don’t see why we need to get involved.”
“Come on, we all know you’re going to,” Deborah said. “Sid is ready and raring to play Sherlock Bones, and you like being Dr. Watson.”
“Why isn’t he Dr
. Watson?”
“Because Sherlock Thackery sounds lame,” Sid said. “And you are a doctor.”
“But—”
Deborah cleared her throat loudly. “Georgia, you can be Holmes, or Nancy Drew, or Jessica Fletcher. Just find out what happened to that girl. It’s not like I ask you for much.”
I couldn’t argue with that. Over the years, my big sister had helped me with child care, loans, and keeping an eye on our parents while I was living elsewhere. Besides which, the way my mind had started wandering earlier, I knew I was already hooked. “If you really want me to—”
“Want us to!” Sid put in.
“If you want us to, we will. But knowing why could help.”
“Fine! I want you to solve this because the murder was my fault.”
“Excuse me?”
“What was the first thing Louis asked about? Security footage! I should have put cameras in there. If I had, that girl would be alive, or at least we’d know who killed her. But the McQuaids said there wasn’t enough money in the budget, and I let it go. I should have insisted that they find the money. Or I should have put in more room monitors. Security is my business, and then I go and let one of my people—I let one of my customers get killed.”
“Wait, back up. What do you mean one of your people? Kendall Fitzroy wasn’t one of yours.”
“I misspoke.”
The patella she had! “Deborah, do you think one of your cast members killed that girl?”
“Well who else could it have been? Who but a cast member would have been able to attack her from behind the scrim, and know how to get out of there without being seen?”
“The police seem comfortable with the idea that an outsider could have committed the crime or they wouldn’t be trying to find Scooby-Doo.”
“Maybe,” she said, “but they were questioning the cast members pretty hard last night.”
“They’re going to question anybody and everybody: Kendall Fitzroy’s friends and family and especially her boyfriend. So of course they’ll talk to your people. If nothing else, they may have seen something useful. That doesn’t make them active suspects.”
