by Jada Ryker
* * * * *
As Diana guided the elderly couple through online tours of possible properties for them to view in person, her mind wandered. Earlier in her career as an exotic dancer, she’d assumed the persona of Diana the Huntress, from Greek mythology. She’d stride on stage in a little sparkly silver outfit, and a silver bow and arrow. She’d pretend to get her spectators in her sights. When the customers thought it was funny to change the H in Huntress to a C, she had hastily changed her stage persona. I could shoot Amber with my arrow and solve that problem for good.
Using the wireless keyboard to operate the computer with one hand and taking notes on her tablet with the other, Diana inwardly perked up. Maybe Marisa would have some ideas about Amber. Diana sighed as she thought of the other woman. She loved Marisa like a sister.
Marisa had patronized the club when she was in the depths of out-of-control drinking. The professional-by-day and carouser-by-night Marisa had loved the elements of exhibitionism. She’d been a junkie high on adrenaline and attention as she’d strutted through the club in her miniscule skirt and high heels, dragging male attention in her wake.
Diana and Marisa had entered into their unlikely friendship when a customer had tried to get rough with Diana as she was walking through the club between sets. Marisa had been seated nearby. Andre the club bouncer was on his way, but Diana didn’t think he was going to make it in time to save her from the drunken patron. As the man pivoted to take a vicious swing at Diana, Marisa had managed to trip the drunken customer.
Unlike most other men and women who knew about Diana’s night job, Marisa treated her with respect and as an equal. When she’d said she was sick of using drugs and alcohol to numb her pain, Marisa had helped her get into treatment. Later, when she’d told Marisa she was thinking of studying real estate and getting her license, her friend had encouraged her and helped her study.
Then Marisa’s brother was murdered right in front of her by a man Marisa had trusted and in whom she’d confided her deepest and darkest secrets. The combination of murder and betrayal had sent Marisa over the edge.
To add to Marisa’s agony, she’d discovered soon after her brother’s death that Althea had betrayed her. Marisa’s former teacher was the only one to reach out to her when she’d been an abused and neglected child. Marisa’s love for Althea had deep roots in her battered soul, and the older woman had returned the love with interest.
Now, Marisa and Althea were estranged. Althea had used Marisa’s childhood deprivation in her books. Althea had written the books under a pen name, without telling Marisa. Parvis Stidham, unscrupulous online investigative reporter, had dug up the information on Althea and used it to hurt Marisa.
Marisa was her friend and she was hurting. They had the shared pain of addiction issues and getting on the rocky path to sobriety. With the recent events in her life, Marisa was acting out. She had gotten drunk. Sheriff Creature had nearly kidnapped her. Diana shivered. What if he had succeeded in spiriting Marisa from the club, and then he’d decided he couldn’t let her go when he’d finished with her?
The Stanton’s story was another example of estrangement among people who loved one another. Diana wondered if the elderly couple and their pain had been sent to her as a sign. I need to wave my magic arrow and fix the problem between Marisa and Althea.
* * * * *
“You used cruel trickery to get us here to the dancing club and now you’re threatening us with a bow and arrow.” Althea straightened to her full height. The top of her head, the black hair streaked with silver, didn’t even meet the cloaked, Amazonian shoulder of the younger woman standing next to her. Althea’s spine was ramrod straight under the elegant black silk blouse, long-sleeved and high-necked in defiance of the unseasonably warm autumn. Flickering candlelight caught her treasured cameo, pinned at her regal throat.
“Please have a seat at the table on the dancing stage, Mrs. Flaxton.” The glittering silver of the cloak caught the flickering light from the thick candles marking the corners of the cloth-covered table as Diana helped the elderly woman up the few steps to the stage. Her solemn face framed by her hood, she pulled out a chair with a flourish.
She turned to the man waiting below. “Mr. Napier, please join Mrs. Flaxton at the table.”
Clay waved away Diana’s assisting hand. “When we received your frantic message that you were in trouble, Miss… Diana, and to meet you here at the club, we answered the summons as quickly as possible. We feared there’d been another killing here.”
“What’s going on here?” Dreamus Camden appeared from the shadows, a uniformed police officer at his heels like a faithful spaniel.
Clay Napier grasped Althea’s thin shoulder. “I didn’t see you in the darkness, Lieutenant Camden. Why are you here? And who is with you?”
“My newest officer, Josh Landis, and I were on patrol, when I saw Mrs. Flaxton and Mr. Napier sneaking into the closed club. Last spring, Zoe, Goth Girl and former dancer, was murdered. Then during the summer, Sarah, also an exotic dancer, was killed. When I saw my favorite amateur detectives slipping inside, I thought for sure we had an autumn dancer killing. It would keep the seasons of murder pattern complete.”
“What the hell? Is this a bizarre séance to raise the restless spirits of dead strippers?” Tara’s voice echoed through the empty club as she moved quickly through the scattered tables, chairs, and deserted stages, impatiently dragging Marisa behind her. In the dim light of the candles, Tara’s long blonde curls cascaded across her shoulders like a mermaid’s tresses in cloudy seawater and seemed to merge with her pale suit jacket and short skirt. Marisa’s dark hair, free of its normal braid, waved down her back like inky tentacles in the ocean’s depths.
Officer Landis pinned the two women in the glare of his flashlight. He moved closer. “You’re Wanda Bra Woman. She adds, or used to add, color to the lower tier wrestling shows in this area.”
Tara clapped her hands. “Marisa, you’re a celebrity!”
“Tara and Marisa, please join us at the table.” Diana raised her arms, the shining cloak folds trailing like exotic fins.
“Officer, what do you think about all of this?” Dreamus sounded like a professor quizzing a student.
“The club’s closed,” he answered. “It’s not allowed to open on Sundays, because of the Blue Laws. These people can’t be here.”
“What else?” Dreamus crossed his arms.
“They need to blow out those candles.” Officer Landis determinedly strode toward the dimly-lit stage. “They’re not just a fire risk. They can also release toxins in the air.” As he walked, he dug in his pocket. “Wait a moment, and I’ll look it up for everyone on Wikipedia.”
Diana reached into the shadowy folds of her cloak. “Stop right there or I’ll shoot.” She held up her silver bow and arrow. She aimed the shining point of the arrow at the officer’s heart. Her slim hand was perfectly steady. The only movement was the flutter of a long, silver feather trailing from the arrow.
Officer Landis’ free hand touched the weapon at his hip.
Dreamus touched the officer’s stiff arm. “Landis. That gun should be your last resort, not your first option. Use your brain first.”
Diana lowered her arrow. “Officer—uh, Landis, and Lieutenant Camden, I don’t have seats for you lawmen, but you may stay below the stage if you keep quiet.”
“Stay here, Landis.” Dreamus glided to the shadows. “I’m going to check the building and make sure no one else is here.”
“Diana, what are you up to?” Marisa shook off Tara’s hand and stomped up the stairs. She lost some of the desired effect when her sneakers didn’t make any noise. Her blouse and her jeans appeared black in the flickering light, and her face was a pale, angry oval. She jerked out the seat next to Clay. Tara scooted in next to her.
“I am Diana the Huntress. I am concerning myself with your earthly affairs this evening.”
Officer Landis’ face was smooth angles and planes in the dim light of h
is phone. “According to Wikipedia, ‘the celestial character of Diana is reflected in her connection with light, inaccessibility, virginity, and her preference for dwelling on high mountains and in sacred woods…’
“The page also states: ‘Diana reflects the heavenly world in its sovereignty, supremacy, impassibility, and indifference toward such secular matters as the fates of mortals and states. She does help ensure the preservation of humankind through the protection of childbirth.’ Hmmm…”
From the floor, he glanced up at the figures around the table. “Miss Wanda Bra Woman, I mean Miss Adair, are you pregnant?”
Marisa gasped. “Hell, no!”
“That’s good news.” Alex vaulted up the steps to the stage. Chairs scraped as he crowded in at the table next to Marisa. “Especially since we have not—”
“Alex!” Marisa briefly buried her mortified face in her hands. She raised her head. “What are you doing here?”
“Diana ordered me here,” he replied. “I seem to find myself following her commands.”
“A pregnancy would be shocking news for your fans.” Landis bent over his phone. “There’s nothing online about Wanda Bra Woman since the spring, when her fans set up the Phiz Phase Page to memorialize the riot.”
“Phiz Phase Page?” Marisa, Alex, Althea, and Clay turned to Landis in tandem.
Marisa started to rise. When Diana placed a hand on her shoulder, she fell back into the chair. “There’s a social media page dedicated to the wrestling riot?”
“Of course,” Landis answered. “The Riot Page has tons of pictures. There are photographs of The Knight in Shining Armor, along with his horse. And there are great pictures of his archenemy, The Fire Breathing Dragon. The best photos are of you in your one-piece sexy superhero’s outfit. Your legs are perfectly set off in calf-hugging, white, high-heeled boots. And the glittering tiara is the perfect finishing touch.”
Alex started to rise. “Give me that phone.”
Diana pushed him back into his chair.
“Don’t get upset with the messenger.” The officer shrugged. “Wanda, I mean Marisa, caused the riot when she turned her back on her boyfriend, The Knight, and offered her favors to The Dragon.”
“I didn’t cause the riot.” Marisa felt like screaming. “It was a scripted show. We didn’t realize the fans would take the story so seriously.”
The officer looked up from his phone. “I’ll write an update for you. Will the baby be a little Knight in Shining Armor or a baby Dragon?”
“I’m not pregnant.”
Alex growled and pushed back his chair. He stood, his figure highlighted by the candles behind him.
“No, Alex,” admonished Diana.
Landis clicked his tongue in annoyance. “I don’t see anything on here about an Alex.” He lowered his phone to scrutinize Alex. “You look short and puny for a wrestler. Not to mention I don’t see many wrestlers running around in stuffy dark suits. You look more like an appliance store manager.”
Alex drew in an outraged breath. He took a step toward the edge of the stage.
Diana rammed the chair into the back of his legs.
Alex grunted in surprise and pain. He fell into the chair.
Diana rolled Alex back to the table. “Officer, if you can’t be quiet, then you’ll have to leave.” She pointed her arrow at him.
“Good luck getting him to keep quiet and stop looking up stuff on his phone,” Dreamus grumped as he materialized from the shadows. “It’ll take more than an arrow.”
“Lieutenant, thank goodness you’re back.” The officer was relieved. “This woman Diana is obviously deranged. I can get a Mental Inquest Warrant right away. We can haul her ass to the state psychiatric hospital, and they can deal with her goddess fantasy. I’ll pull up the form and fill it out.” His face set, he bent over the phone.
“Officer, put the phone away before I shoot it out of your hand.” Diana fitted the arrow into the bow. She trained it on Landis.
Dreamus moved between the officer and the dancer. “No MIWs today, Landis. Ms. Forrest, please holster… er… quiver your arrow.”
“Thank you, Lieutenant. I didn’t realize you knew my… last name.”
“Everyone is surprised when I know things.” Dreamus was grumpy. “I’m a detective. I detect.”
Diana circled the table, balancing on the padded edge of the stage. “We’re here tonight to provide a neutral venue for Marisa and Mrs. Flaxton to discuss their conflict.”
She placed her hands on Marisa’s shoulders. “You never allowed Mrs. Flaxton to explain. You’ll give her the opportunity.”
Her cloak glittering, she turned to Althea. “You hurt Marisa to her very core. And you will explain. Now.”
Althea swallowed. “Marisa, thirty years ago, I lived your childhood angst with you. You were bullied at school. At home, your father was abusive. You and your brothers didn’t have enough food. I offered you sanctuary, and you accepted it.”
The older woman reached across the table to touch Marisa’s clenched hand. “I’m a writer. I write about what I know. I know your pain. I’ve felt your pain for the past three decades, and I still feel it. Now, I discharge your pain through my writing. I’m sorry. I should have told you.”
Marisa choked. “Yes, Althea, you should have told me. I found out from Parvis Stidham. He told me your secret just so he could hurt me. He succeeded. It hurts like hell.”
“I never thought my work would become popular. I didn’t think you’d find out.” As she rose from her seat, tears fell down Althea’s cheeks, catching the candlelight like tiny stars. “I’m sorry.”
Clay put his hand on Althea’s shaking arm.
Diana shook her head in regret. “Mrs. Flaxton, you don’t sound sorry about breaking Marisa’s delicate heart. You sound as if you’re sorry you got caught.” She pointed her arrow at the older lady. “Aren’t you still keeping an important secret from Marisa? You don’t use your academic title, but it would be more accurate to call you Dr. Flaxton. Tell Marisa about your research project.”
“Your degree!” Marisa clenched the table. “Your graduate degree is in anthropology. You earned it five years after you started teaching at my school. Did you come to our rural, backwater town as an elementary school teacher or as a participant-observer? Did you use me as a cultural experiment? You used my pain in your fictional stories. Did you also write a research paper on me for your advanced degree?”
Althea raised her hands. “You see, Marisa—”
“You did, didn’t you?” Marisa rose. Diana firmly pushed her down into her seat. Marisa put her head down in her arms. Alex gently rubbed her back.
Diana shook her head in sorrow. “Mrs. Flaxton, you need to give more thought to the concept of honor.”
Althea started. “How did you know I was writing a story about honor?”
Diana floated to Marisa and pulled her friend to her feet. She gently turned the sobbing woman to face her. She raised the arrow.
“Lieutenant, I’m not touching my gun.” Landis’ voice rose in excitement. “But that psycho is going to stab Wanda, I mean Miss Adair!”
The dancer used the point of the arrow to carefully trace a heart shape on the left side of Marisa’s heaving chest. “You opened your heart to Althea. Her betrayal has broken your already bruised heart.”
Landis reached up and grasped Diana’s ankle.
Diana swayed and then caught her balance on the edge of the stage. She kicked out, freeing her ankle. The officer stumbled backward. She launched herself into the air. She landed on the officer, carrying him to the floor under her. She straddled his midsection. She savagely raised her arms above her head, the arrow pointing downward at his heart. “Do not interfere in my affairs again, puny human!”
Dreamus lunged.
He was too late. The arrow hit the officer’s straining chest.
Landis screamed.
“Stop that caterwauling. It’s a fake arrow.” Diana brought the arrow to the officer’s
horrified face. “It retracts when it hits a solid surface. You’re fine.” She rolled off the officer.
“Diana, that was a dangerous move.” Dreamus admonished her. “What if my officer had pulled his weapon and shot you in what he thought was self-defense?”
Diana reached into the folds of her cloak. “I stole his gun from his holster.”
Landis pulled himself to his feet. “But you had both hands on the arrow… And you got my gun… Wow! Can I get your phone number? Oh, wait, I bet I can find it online.”
* * * * *
“What a draining Sunday evening.” Marisa unlocked her kitchen door. Alex, Dreamus, and Tara followed her into the house.
“I can’t believe Diana used Machiavellian techniques to lure all of us to the club.” Alex pulled out a chair at the kitchen table. “I know she meant well. But rather than Althea offering up a heartfelt apology, she actually incriminated herself further.”
“Diana seems to have literally and figuratively bowled over the fresh and youthful Officer Landis.” Tara laughed as she leaned against the counter.
“It may have been mutual.” Dreamus crossed the kitchen to the table. “I think if he hadn’t asked to walk her to her car, she would’ve been forced to make up a lurker in the shadows.”
“Dreamus, watch out.” Tara cautioned. “Your foot is close to Laithe’s tail.”
The lieutenant slid his foot away from the orange cat. He stared around the room. “What a homey kitchen, Marisa. I hadn’t been further than the living room. The slate floor is nice, and the granite counters are well crafted.”
In spite of her mental and physical exhaustion, Marisa smiled at the envy in the lawman’s voice. “Thank you. When I moved in, I had to practically gut the kitchen and start over. It was a labor of blood, sweat, and tears.”
“It paid off. What an unusual cat.” The lawman stared at the feline.
Marisa locked the door. “Alex and Tara have already met Laithe.”
“I have never seen a cat with long, slender legs like a rabbit, an extra-long tail, and pointy ears.” Dreamus leaned over to pat him.
