Mayhem Takes a Dare: The Second Marisa Adair Mystery Adventure (Marisa Adair Mysteries Book 2)

by Jada Ryker

  Marisa jumped up from her seat, and joined the yelling patrons and frantic staff streaming over to the fallen dancer.

  As the music stopped abruptly, Marisa felt a hand on hers. She started to shake it off, and then realized it was Parvis. Keeping tight hold of his hand, she determinedly pushed her way through the crowd.

  A man sprinting through gaps in the crowd slammed into her with bone-jarring impact. “Hey!”

  The man had his face turned away from her. She heard him growl, “Get out of my way!” He grabbed her arm, and viciously shoved her to the side. Parvis’ firm grip on her hand prevented her from falling into the mob.

  Forgetting about the man, she pushed her way through the crowd, Parvis at her side. As she reached the people closest to Sarah, the bystanders moved back from the ominously still figure with gasps of horror.

  The dancer was lying on her stomach on the floor. A knife was sticking out of her back.

  “She’s dead!” a man yelled.

  As a wave of frenzied patrons surged toward the door, Marisa knelt on the floor by Sarah. She reached out to grab the knife, to pull it out of Sarah.

  Parvis knelt next to Marisa, and placed his fingers on Sarah’s wrist. “No, don’t touch the knife, Marisa. You can’t help her now. She’s gone.”

  Marisa leaped to her feet. The bouncy blonde curls were spread across the dancer’s face. Only the still, white chin was visible.

  A man crouched next to Sarah’s body, opposite from Marisa and Parvis. The short dark hair and slight figure were familiar. As she watched, the shaking slender fingers briefly touched the short blonde curls.

  “Brandon?” Marisa gasped.

  He looked up at her. His face was pinched to white gauntness. Marisa searched his face for contempt for the dead dancer who had made up an online identity as a high school teacher. In the lines of his face and mouth, she could see pity and sadness. Huge in his shocked face, his brown eyes met hers. Marisa could see the sheen of tears. “Marisa.” His voice was hoarse. His eyes filled with tears.

  Marisa could hear his hurt and his bewilderment. She found herself squatting next to him at the dead girl’s side, although she didn’t remember moving.

  The man kneeling next to Brandon slid his arm around the shaking shoulders, and then turned to face her.

  “Alex! What are you and Brandon doing here?”

  “Brandon was determined to find out the truth. He got an email via Tara’s online group to be here tonight. The message said Brandon would see the truth about Taylor for himself.”

  “Brandon!” Parvis’ tone was accusing. “You have blood on your hands!”

  Brandon looked down, as if he couldn’t believe the shaking hands covered in blood were actually his.

  Marisa closed her eyes. When she opened them, Parvis dragged Brandon to his feet. Parvis’ voice was deep with accusation. “You found out Sarah had tricked you. She wasn’t really a high school teacher and cheerleading coach. She was a stripper, taking off her clothes for lecherous men for money on a nightly basis. You may have also found out she has a live-in boyfriend. Everything she had told you was a lie. You came here to confront her. When she fell off the stage, you saw the perfect opportunity to make her pay for lying to you. When she fell, she was probably stunned. You ran over to her prone body. While everything was confusion and chaos, you stabbed the knife in her back.” Parvis shook Brandon like a rag doll. “Didn’t you?”

  Marisa grabbed Parvis’ arm as Alex tried to pry Parvis away from the younger man.

  Brandon’s head snapped back and forth. “I didn’t kill her, you idiot! Let me go!”

  Alex’s arms moved in a blur. In the next instant, Parvis was lying on the floor, tangled in overturned chairs. Brandon staggered backward, free.

  “Marisa! Are you all right?”

  At the sound of the familiar and loved voice, Marisa’s head snapped up in horrified disbelief.

  Across from the naked body of the dead woman was the slight figure of Althea Flaxton. Her elegant face was creased with shock and concern. Standing next to her with his arm around her was the dapper Clay Napier, his jaw clenched and his eyes the wintry gray of ice.

  Marisa thought, Not Althea. Not like this. Not in a strip club, filled with naked women and drunken men and a murdered woman lying between us. She took a step toward the older woman. Marisa felt something wriggling in her belly. With surprise, she realized it was shame.

  “Police! Nobody move!”

  Marisa wrenched her eyes from her friend’s mortified green ones to meet the professional, light blue ones of Dreamus Camden.

  Lieutenant Camden shook his head in disbelief. “If this was a freaking horror movie, you people would be in league with one another, murdering people and stacking up their corpses like firewood.”

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  “That odious Verna! I didn’t like her when I met her years ago at the elementary school through her sister Clara, and I don’t like her now. There’s a stereotype of a busybody, an old lady meddling in other people’s affairs, stirring here, instigating there. Let me tell you, Verna Afree fit that stereotype when she was in her thirties!”

  In the dim lighting of the deserted assisted living center lobby, Clay could see the shock and distress etched on Althea’s thin face, pulling the skin tight over her elegant bone structure. Her emerald green eyes shimmered with tears. Althea’s slow movements communicating extreme fatigue, she flopped onto the sofa in the lobby.

  Noting his beloved’s unusual lack of grace, Clay seated himself next to her. “What an exciting night. I never dreamed you and I would visit a strip club together, let alone witness an exotic dancer murdered practically before our very eyes.” He took her cold hand and held it between his two warm ones.

  With practiced fingers, Althea tucked in the tendrils of black and gray hair that had escaped the bun at the back of her neck.

  Clay brushed a gentle finger across Althea’s cheek, catching a tear as it fell. “Unfortunately, there are meddling gossips all around us. When she came to the assisted living center this evening, ostensibly to visit her sister Clara, she practically broke her neck getting to you. She couldn’t wait to tell you that she’d overheard Marisa and her boyfriend making plans to go to the strip club tonight.”

  “After Marisa’s grueling experience in rehab and her fight to stay sober, I just had to go there tonight.” The tears fell from her eyes, splashing Clay’s hands.

  “My dear Thea, you heard that as a call for help. How could you not respond to it?” He put a gentle arm around her shaking shoulders.

  “That woman was lying on her stomach, the knife sticking out of her back. Marisa was kneeling next to her body!” Althea shook Clay in her agitation. “And then while we were at the station and I was waiting for you to finish giving your statement, I heard two policemen talking. They said the woman had set up a fake online identity. She and a man with whom Marisa works were at the gym today with Marisa, Parvis, and Alex. In the parking lot, they were shot at by a sniper!”

  Clay’s hands tightened on Althea’s cold ones.

  “Did the police catch the sniper?”

  Althea shook her head. “He got away. Or she. The police also weren’t sure who the target was...they think it could be any one of the group.”

  Clay nodded thoughtfully. “Parvis writes very controversial stories...he’s an investigative reporter. I am sure he’s made a lot of enemies during his career.”

  “We met Alex a few months ago. It took me a bit to remember, but he was one of my students in elementary school. He and Marisa were in the same class. And Brandon runs the front desk at the trauma hospital.”

  Clay shook his head. “And then there’s the dancer herself. She had a live-in boyfriend, who may have found out about her online identity, and her relationship with Brandon. He could have been on the roof of that building. And...”

  Althea braced her shoulders. “And...my darling Marisa could have been a target. The policemen said Marisa had been g
oing to that awful place for years, and had known that woman. I’m scared, Clay. I know Marisa is innocent of killing that dancer, because we could see her the whole time. She never got near the woman until she was already dead.”

  Clay squeezed Althea’s shoulders. “But I also think Marisa is very deeply involved in this.”

  Althea nodded. “We have to help her!”

  As Clay assisted Althea to her feet, he thought he heard a low rustling noise in the dimly lit lobby. Putting his finger to his lips, he twisted to scan the darkened nooks and crannies of the familiar room. When he didn’t see anything, he shrugged and escorted Althea toward the bank of elevators.

  * * * * *

  In her room, Althea wearily sat at her desk. She was tired, but she was too keyed up to sleep. Perhaps she could immerse herself in her partially written story. She pulled the cover off her typewriter, and fed a clean sheet of paper into it. Using the knob on the side, she adjusted the paper. Her fingers hit the keys.

  Cross to Bear

  By Seretha Ranier

  Part Three

  I don’t even know why I’m here. Why do I have to see where my brother died? I should head back to the city. Feeling insignificant under the high trees flanking both sides of the road, Tina braked and eased her car onto the narrow shoulder of the two-lane road within the hairpin curve. Her shoulders hot under the sun and her armpits prickling with sweat under her tailored, blue-striped blouse, she picked her way through the thigh-high weeds, glad of the protection of her jeans. The twelve-foot high white cross, its base stabbed into the grassy slope, loomed in front of her. Tina looked up. She shaded her eyes against the relentless summer sun. What is that fastened to the cross? Could it be a person? She shook her head. That’s impossible.

  A small black sedan skittered off the country road to stop behind Tina’s car.

  Tina pivoted, happy to turn her back to the cross. The muscular figure clad in blue jeans and denim shirt looked familiar. “Chris! What are you doing here?”

  His worn boots swishing through the tall grass, Chris joined her at the cross. “Is that a mannequin attached to the cross?”

  “I’ve seen people put t-shirts on crosses, wreaths of flowers at the foot, and I even saw one with a bird feeder hanging from it. But this...” Tentatively, Tina touched the plastic figure. “I remember my mother lugging this mannequin back from the dump after one of our foraging trips. Gosh, that’s been at least twenty years ago. She must have dragged it out from under the house.”

  Chris circled the mannequin. “Look, its arms are spread and fastened to each side of the cross with some old wire. The legs are fastened to the bottom of the cross with fishing line.” Chris held up the trailing plastic line. “They dressed it in your brother’s work uniform.” The dark blue work shirt had “Martin” stitched on one side, and “Instant Lube” on the other.

  Tina shook her head. “I am surprised Martin was able to keep a job.”

  “He liked spending money, but he didn’t like to work. Rumor was he blackmailed the owner of the oil changing shop. In exchange for Martin’s silence about oil disposal, Brian paid Martin as if he worked there. I suppose he preferred paying Martin minimum wage to not work at the shop than to pay hefty fines to the Environmental Protection Agency.” Chris smiled, his mouth quirking up on one side. “Not to mention, he had learned the hard way that Martin on site meant a sharp uptick in complaints from female customers. They didn’t appreciate Martin’s running commentary on their physical traits as he changed the oil in their cars.”

  Tina shaded her eyes and watched as a crow gracefully circled their heads and landed on the cross above the mannequin’s bald head. “I saw Nancy Dobbs at the funeral home. I gather she was Martin’s former girlfriend, the one who wanted out of the relationship. At least, I assume so, given her conspicuous weeping and her healing black eye, with the skin fading to yellow.”

  Chris shook his head as a second crow awkwardly landed near the first one, scrabbling to keep its footing on the wood. “I don’t know how your brother managed to attract so many women. They seemed to fall for him in droves.”

  “At least until they wised up. At the funeral home, I heard Mrs. Crane, the Court Clerk, say Martin had the record for the most restraining orders on file at the county courthouse.”

  Chris reached out to touch a strand of Tina’s shoulder-length brown hair. “In the glow from the setting sun, your hair looks more red than brown.” He dropped the lock of hair and nervously passed one hand across his mouth. “Tina, I’ve missed your friendship. Will you follow me back to the farm? You can see the improvements as well as the current research studies. Afterwards, we can drive into the city for dinner.”

  Tina screamed.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  “There’s a bloody handprint on your arm, Marisa. Did Brandon touch you at the club?” Parvis tugged her under the light in her kitchen, peering at the stain.

  Marisa twisted. Her left arm was streaked with blood in the shape of fingers. “No, Brandon never touched me. Dreamus noticed it at the station, and he checked my hands. He thought I may have gotten blood on my hand, and then touched my arm, but both of my hands were perfectly clean. I meant to wash it off after he took pictures of it, but it slipped my mind. He did say the person must have been wearing gloves, since there aren’t any fingerprints.”

  “Gloves in the heat of the summer? That sounds suspicious to me.” Parvis snagged a paper towel from over the sink, drenched it in water, added a few drops of dish soap, and vigorously scrubbed her arm. “There, it’s all gone.”

  Marisa didn’t bother to mention it was still burned in her brain. “I’ve never been so tired in my life. You’re welcome to stay over.” She yawned.

  Sarah, the knife sticking out of her back. My friend Althea, her face white with shock. With a part of her brain, she knew Parvis was talking. His words poured over her like a waterfall before finally penetrating her consciousness.

  “—I can’t make a commitment to you. I wonder if you’ve really resolved your sexuality issue. So, I think we should just sleep together with no strings attached—”

  Marisa frowned. “Wait a minute. You thought I was offering to let you share my bed with me?”

  Parvis raised his hands, palm up. “Weren’t you?”

  Marisa was tired, upset, and now she was pissed off. “No, I wasn’t. I was offering you the sleep sofa in my spare room.” His other words sunk into her brain. “I don’t have sexual orientation issues.”

  Parvis turned slightly away from her, and stared at the ceiling. “Weren’t you listening to me, Marisa? I grew up with the white picket fence, but it was all a lie. At least your childhood was honest. Your father was an alcoholic who thought you and your siblings were all fathered by different men, and your mother was a passive enabler!”

  Marisa clenched her fists. “I told you that in an email so you would understand my childhood! Now you’re throwing it in my face?”

  Parvis visibly controlled his temper. “I’m bringing it up so you can see I did not live like that! I had the perfect childhood. My father was married to my mother for twenty years. They had five children. Perfect, that is, until she just up and left him for a woman she met at the gym! He was devastated! I don’t want to commit myself to you, and wake up someday to find you’ve run off with the Avon Lady.”

  “That is so freaking insulting.” Marisa advanced toward him. “Insulting on so many levels.”

  His smile pained, he backed away from her. “I am trying to be up front and realistic. You don’t have to make this so hard.”

  “I don’t have to make this so hard?” Marisa heard her voice rising toward an octave that would only be heard by the neighborhood dogs.

  “You’re distraught.” Parvis sidled around her toward the door. “It’s been a long day and night. I’m going to go now.”

  He passed quickly out the door.

  Laithe trotted into the kitchen, and looked up at Marisa. He blinked his green eyes.
<
br />   “You’re too late. You could have had a free pass to do whatever you wanted to him with your sharp claws, hopefully below his belt, and you missed it.”

  Laithe’s answering meow sounded regretful.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  A piercing scream shattered the early Sunday morning quiet of the assisted living center.

  Unable to sleep, Clara Eastwood was already settled into her customary chair in the deserted lobby. She cocked her head. It sounded as if the noise came from the patio.

  She debated with herself. On the one hand, if she’d dozed off and only dreamed the sound, she’d make a fool of herself if she reported it. She’d be the butt of everyone’s jokes, especially the contemptuous Mrs. Peters. On the other hand, if someone did scream and she didn’t report it, she’d probably be branded as either deaf or senile.

  Clara decided to investigate for herself. After all, she’d been a lunch lady for fifty years at the elementary school. There wasn’t much in the world that students hadn’t said or done in her cafeteria. Bracing her cane on the floor in front of her, she hauled her bulk up from the chair. Taking a deep breath, she thumped her way to the patio.

  The early morning sun had not yet had a chance to reach its potential for the heat of the summer day. The breeze riffling Clara’s short curls was a bit chilly. She drew her shawl closer with one hand as she slowly crossed the patio.

  Clara drew a sharp breath. On the far side, she could see a lump sprawled in the seat normally occupied by Mrs. Peters. Long red hair trailed out from it and dangled through the lattice work of the metal chair. On the ground beside it, a figure in a pale blue uniform was crumpled in a heap of arms and legs.

  Clara hurried the remainder of the distance, her cane thumping frantically on the concrete patio.