All You Want

by Rachelle Ayala

  “You. Killed. Her.” I bite the words to remind her of Mooma’s death. It’ll do to keep her guilty, even though he has new information and a new plan.

  It’s a big, beautiful plan for her big, beautiful butt.

  He has no need for vengeance now that his heart is turning toward love and happily ever after, especially with all the beautiful new information. If he can get her to suspect the sheriff, even better, but for that to work, he has to make her think she’s the guilty one. Then she’ll point the finger to protect herself.

  Same way she did when Mooma was poisoned. Blamed everyone except her precious little blobbybutt self.

  “You’ll keep quiet, if you don’t want to be next.” He shoves her hard. He doesn’t want her injured, so he directs her path toward an appropriate landing pad.

  The dead librarian absorbs her fall.

  Her screams accelerate, her blue eyes popping like exploding bubble gum and blood streaks smearing her corn silk hair.

  “You did it,” he spits the words and fades into the basement walls.

  Twenty-Four

  ~ Todd ~

  The powerful siren on the Chevy Tahoe PPV has its intended effect. By the time I pull up to the parking circle, the windows of the hotel rooms are lit, and floodlights are turned on around the perimeter. I kill the siren, leaving the lights flashing.

  “Donnelly,” I bark into my cell phone. “Where are you? I thought I told you to meet me at the Bee Sting.”

  “I’m on my way,” he says. “Just got home.”

  “Anyone with you?” I ask.

  “Why would there be?” I can hear the smirk in his voice. It also means he has no alibi.

  “I need you to secure the premises. Call in as many deputies as you can. I’ve already called the medical examiner.” I snap off the call and rush to the loading dock.

  Lights are shining bright, and Tami is sitting on a foldup chair, surrounded by various hotel guests.

  She’s disheveled and covered with blood, and her mother is dabbing at her face with a wet towel. Her expression is stricken, like she’s not quite sure where she is, and tears stream down her face as her shoulders shudder and she makes choking noises.

  The body is covered by a black sheet, but the pool of blood is visible, as well as a barrage of bloody footsteps crisscrossing the concrete loading dock.

  I make a megaphone with my hands. “Everyone stay back from the body and stop taking pictures.”

  A few whack jobs point their camera phone at me, so I advance on them. “Turn it off, or you’re under arrest. This is a crime scene.”

  “Are you sure?” A guest with the slicked-back hair and solemn bearing of an undertaker steps forward. “Do we even know what’s under that sheet? Or is this another pool of paint with a hysterical Madam Goldilocks looking for a trending hashtag?”

  “Step back.” I pull a growl from my arsenal of police voices and whip the black shroud aside. It’s a body all right. The flesh is still soft, and I easily close the gaping eyelids. Rigor mortis doesn’t set in until two hours, which means the time of death is recent.

  Tami could have walked in while the killer was around.

  I slowly and dramatically look up while replacing the sheet over the victim’s face. “All of you are now suspects. I suggest you cooperate with the authorities to the fullest.”

  “I’m not speaking without a lawyer,” the flaccid-looking man with the doughy undertaker demeanor says.

  “Then you’ll be here all night.” I stare him down, and he backs into a pregnant woman who I believe is one of Tami’s university friends. The other one, a belly dancer who is now wearing a down coat, shivers behind her, looking frightened.

  “Clifton, is it really a body? But I thought …” The pregnant woman gapes at Tami and then back at me. “I thought this was a stunt. Clifton was with me all night. He woke me when he heard the commotion and told me to come down here.”

  “Shut up, Bonnie. Don’t say another word.” Clifton grabs Bonnie by the elbow and starts for the service door.

  “No one’s going anywhere with their bloody shoes. I want everyone’s phone and shoes deposited in evidence bags, so stay where you are.”

  “I can help, Sheriff. I’m Neil Thompson, the concierge for Harrowing Haunts.” A middle-aged man steps forward. He’s still dressed in his old-fashioned Victorian butler’s uniform.

  “Great. Line them up, and give me their names and room numbers.” I speak into my shoulder mic, hoping Shane is within range. “Donnelly. I need tags and evidence bags.”

  “On my way with the deputies,” he says. “I put Corny at the parking lot to make sure none of the barflies trespass.”

  “Good, meet you in the back. There’s a body. Is the ambulance on the way?”

  “It’s quite a drive from County Line, but they’ve been dispatched,” he replies. “Medical examiner’s going to take longer. Coming from the valley. Looks like we’ll have to do the preliminary evidence.”

  “No rigor mortis yet. I put the time of death between eleven thirty and just before one, when I got the call.”

  “How do you know the vic wasn’t killed after you got the call? You’d have to end the window at the time you arrived at the crime scene.”

  Shane climbs up the steps to the loading dock with Dillon, Al, Justin, and Randy trailing.

  “Sorry, boss, I couldn’t get ahold of Walt and Donnie.” Shane gestures to the four men. “Left Corny and Johnson out front.”

  “Did they give statements already?” I ask to clear them.

  “You saw your buds at the jailhouse,” Shane says. “They say they just made the fireworks show, and then a bunch of them went to the Sixty Miners. You ought to ask Paul.”

  I make a note of the deputy’s appearance. The three I had at the holding cell are disheveled with dirty hands and messy hair. Randy’s the only one who looks clean—maybe too clean, like he washed his hands and face recently or he ditched a heavily soiled costume and gloves.

  ““I’ll take Paul’s statement after we’re done here. Where’s my brother Chad?”

  “Chad went back to the ranch,” Molly pipes in.

  “What time did he leave? Was he alone?”

  “He left early. He was with a bunch of witches,” Molly says. “And other creatures of the female persuasion.”

  “Yeah, too many witches tonight,” someone comments. “Ding dong, the witch is dead.”

  “Where’s Evan?”

  “I was with him.” Molly sounds like she’s bragging, except I notice she didn’t give me a time window. “We retired to his room after the fireworks.”

  “Did anyone see you?” I don’t believe alibis when they’re volunteered so freely.

  “We were across the hall from the drunk tank gang.” She points at Al, Dillon, and Justin.

  “Not if they were at the Sixty Miners,” I reply. “How about you tell me who you saw.”

  “It’s hard to tell with everyone changing out their costumes.” She gives each deputy a flippant glance. “I may have seen one or two of them. They all look alike.”

  Justin gives her a hard stare, and Dillon smirks as if he’s about to say something. Al studiously stares at nothing in particular.

  “Shut up, Molly,” Randy, her half-brother, says. “This is a serious inquiry.”

  “And I’m serious. I saw them, and they saw me,” Molly persists. “Tell him, boys. You saw me with Evan.”

  “How do we know he didn’t go out later?” Justin’s the only one who takes her bait. The guy might be book smart, but he has no common sense. “Where is he anyway?”

  “He stayed in his room,” Molly says easily. “I tired him out.”

  Several men guffaw, and I decide to ignore her innuendo. I put on a commanding tone. “Deputies, collect shoes and phones, then take everyone into the dining room for questioning. Neil, I want the footage of the security cameras. Shane, work with the medical examiner and take pictures of the crime scene.”

  Everyon
e files toward the door, lining up, except Tami who’s slumped in the chair. Her mother nudges her. “We should go inside, sweetie. You’ve had quite a fright. Todd’s here, and you should answer his questions so you can go to sleep.”

  “How can I ever sleep?” Tami wails, shaking up a frenzy.

  Gently, I place my hand on her shoulder and lean over to speak to her. “It’ll be okay. Only a few questions and I’ll let you go.”

  “You better not haul her in,” George King whispers to me. “She’s had quite a shock, and we don’t need you making it worse.”

  “I have to ask her questions like anyone else.”

  “Can’t you leave her tonight? Come back tomorrow morning.” George’s steely-blue eyes send me a message, reminding me of the look of understanding between him and Weaver.

  “I have a question for you.” I draw him away from the chairs Tami and her mother are huddled on. “What did Weaver have on you? He’s always told me to go easy on your family.”

  I don’t expect him to tell me the truth, just flush him out a bit—see if he’s worried.

  His jowls relax, and he nickers like someone calming a horse. “Todd, son, now don’t you go sticking your nose into Weaver’s britches.”

  “I know that, Mr. King, but I’m not Weaver, and if I don’t know what agreement you had with him, I have no reason to adhere to his guidance, especially since he’s no longer my boss. I’m the sheriff in this town now.”

  “I know that, son, but I expect you to be a smart son of a bitch. Don’t shake Pandora’s box. Something may fall out.”

  “I’m not afraid. Maybe I should shake it out of Weaver’s box.”

  “If you’re looking for your share, you’ll get it with Tami.” He waggles his eyebrows in a way that makes me want to punch him out.

  “I’d rather clear it with Weaver first.” I keep my gaze on him, going mano a mano with him—not backing down an inch.

  “Good luck.” He claps his pudgy hands on my shoulders. “Guess you haven’t heard. Bill Weaver passed away last month.”

  He’s caught me by surprise, so all I can do is nod. This changes things, bigly. If Weaver’s dead, he can no longer get in trouble for taking bribes, and I won’t have to testify against him—a man who took me under his wing, a no-skill football player, and made me the lawman I am today.

  “I’m sorry for his family,” I tell George. “I guess this means whatever went on between you two is done.”

  I don’t have evidence anyway, and I don’t need to look for trouble. I still remember Sheriff Weaver’s voice, telling me, Son, if you want to keep your hands clean, don’t be digging for dirt.

  “Nothing doing,” George says. “Now, will you let my daughter go? She’s exhausted.”

  “I’m sorry, Mr. King. I’m sure Tami will agree that it’s better to get her statement while it’s fresh in her mind.” Not to mention it doesn’t give her parents a chance to influence her testimony.

  George’s anger is palpable, but I turn away from him and set my jaw firm. Leaning down over Tami, I whisper to her, “Only a few questions, and then I’ll let you go to bed.”

  She nods and rests her head against me. I swing her like a rag doll into my arms and hold her tight, letting my feelings flow into her. She needs me now more than ever.

  Her mother asks about shoes, but she’s already a bloody mess, so I figure collecting her shoes is a moot point. Everything she’s wearing will go into the evidence bags once she’s had a chance to change.

  “Let’s go, Madam Goldilocks,” I speak into her ear. “You’re under my protective custody, and this time, I’m not letting you go.”

  Twenty-Five

  ~ Tami ~

  Todd’s hands are so gentle, and his body wraps me like a warm cocoon. I don’t want to leave his arms, so I close my eyes and pretend I didn’t rip off his mask and drive him away.

  I wish my parents will stop talking. Everything they say is making things worse. Dad thinks he can smooth things over—tell Todd to wrap up the questioning and make it all go away.

  “I bet it was one of those camper guys,” Dad says, tapping Todd’s arm for attention. “Once you see it on the security tape, you can arrest the suspect and book him.”

  “We haven’t had a murder here for years,” Mom says in a warbling voice. “Ever since that poor—”

  “Now, Gracie, this has nothing to do with what happened before,” Dad cuts her off. “Nothing at all. That was an accident, but this is deliberate. Did you see the baseball bat?”

  “Sure, after everyone moved and posed with it.” Mom coughs. “I told the youngsters not to touch it, but they thought it was part of the Harrowing Haunts fun and games.”

  They unlock the door of the Weeping Widow Walkway where I ended up putting them. Mom flutters around, trying to spread a dry-cleaning bag on the bed to keep the blood off the sheets.

  “I don’t want to get the bed dirty,” I protest. “I don’t have to lie down.”

  “Of course, you do, darling.” Mom bustles around the room, checking the curtains and turning on lamps. “You need rest.”

  “This won’t take long,” Todd says, still holding me. “But I have to ask her a few questions while everything’s fresh on her mind.”

  “She’s had a shock.” Dad harrumphs. “I’m calling Dr. Tyler to give her a sedative, and then we’re taking our little girl home where it’s safe.”

  I need to firm up fast, or they’ll take control again. This isn’t how I envisioned the grand opening. I’m definitely not leaving my hotel—not with everyone unsettled and liable to check out as soon as dawn breaks.

  “Dad, please let Todd question me.”

  “I’m calling our attorney.” Dad grabs Mom’s purse and extracts her cell phone. His was confiscated since he took pictures of the crime scene.

  “Dad, no.” I glare at them from the safety of Todd’s arms.

  “George, we should leave them be,” Mom says. “Tami’s innocent, and she doesn’t need a lawyer present.”

  “I’m staying, and I’m recording this.” Dad sets Mom’s phone on the table. “Go ahead then. Question my daughter, but I’m telling you, Sheriff, she has rights, and you are not going to railroad her.”

  “I don’t intend to,” Todd says. “But I can’t have you recording her testimony. Since you’re not cooperating, I’m taking her to the station.”

  “Dad. Please.” I pat Todd to put me down. “There are a ton of people waiting in the dining room to give their statements. This is my hotel, and I need to be there with my guests.”

  Since everyone’s treating me with kid gloves, and I’m sick of being bloody and dirty, I unzip my dress in front of them and let the bloody mess slip from my body. I discard my shoes and stockings and throw my hat on the dresser. Then I peel off the layers of petticoats and other accoutrements a Victorian prostitute wore.

  Todd refuses to stare at me, but I can see the redness creep up his face. I’m down to my bra and panties, so I swivel in front of him and poke his badge. “Well, are you going to question me or not?”

  “Tami, what’s the matter with you?” Dad asks. “How can you parade around—”

  I drag Todd into the bathroom and shut the door to my dad’s protests.

  “Uh, Tami, your parents might get the wrong idea,” he stammers.

  “Then let them be as wrong as they can. What’s new?” I sweep the shower curtain aside and step into the bathtub shower combo. “You coming in?”

  “I can’t,” he stammers. “Just tell me what you saw.”

  “I saw your mask, Toddkins. The little black cat dragged it to me. I saw a bloody bat and a ghost wearing that black sheet. He left it behind when he disappeared behind the dumpster. I think I’m going crazy, because the ghost pushed me, and he said he saw me do it.”

  “Did you recognize his voice?” Todd asks.

  “No, because he was speaking under his breath in a very tight hiss.”

  “Anything else you remember about him? H
eight, weight?”

  “Taller than me. Strong with muscles, but not overly bulky.” I shudder at the feel of the man rubbing against my backside.

  “Anything else? Did you see his shoes? Smell his cologne?”

  “He grabbed me from behind. I didn’t smell anything but blood and garbage.”

  “Could you have gotten the blood on your clothes from him?” Todd asks.

  “No, I don’t think so. He pushed me onto the body.” I clench my teeth as tight as my fists. “He wanted to pin the crime on me. All he left behind was the black sheet. I couldn’t stand looking at Viola, so I covered her with it.”

  “You basically touched everything.” He sighs and paces back and forth in the tiny bathroom. “Give me a timeline, as much as you can remember. The fireworks ended, then what?”

  I tell him about Neil escorting me to my car. How we walked around the back, and how I retrieved my overnight bag. Neil left, or he appeared to have left. I got my bag and spotted a sliver of light coming through the service door. I was upset that someone had propped the door open, so I marched up the steps from the parking lot and strode toward the door. The black cat scampered out, and I discovered the body.

  I screamed and screamed, and a horde of footsteps came out. Apparently, my screams had been broadcasted inside the rooms, and a ghostly voice told of a hashtag selfie opportunity complete with simulated murder victim.

  When everyone appeared, they took pictures with me, trampled over the blood, touched the baseball bat, gawked at Viola’s body, used the broom I dropped to sweep the floor, and argued about how fake or realistic the corpse looked.

  “They’ve destroyed all the evidence,” Todd says, sounding frustrated. “I need to go down and get everyone’s statement, then review the security videos. Also, who has access to the control room?”

  “Only me, Molly, and Evan. That narrows the suspect, doesn’t it?”

  “At least the person who made the announcement,” Todd says. “Another thing. You said Neil left, but he reappeared. How well do you know him?”