Killing Time

by Leslie Kelly

  But it was worth it. She was coming to the end of her own adventure. Just a few more minutes and she’d be picking up a plain brown bag filled with money. Lots of money. Then this stupid town and her pious brother and his chippy girlfriend could eat her dust as she rode away and never looked back.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  GETTING OUT of his car in front of the Little Bohemie Inn Sunday night, Mick wondered if he should have accepted Caroline’s offer of help from the costume department after all.

  Everyone—from cast to crew to all the extras from the town—was dressed in full Halloween regalia. There were wizards and clowns, witches and killers. Old man Shin made an interesting-looking Batman, particularly since his chest sunk in instead of bulging out in the costume. Sid Shepherd, a local accountant, was walking around in a big white diaper, which made Mick wonder what had been in that guy’s bottle. And Tim Morrison was dressed in drag, complete with hooker heels and a feather boa.

  All in all, the crowd kinda made his simple Zorro mask and cape look bland.

  “You made it!”

  He glanced up and saw his sister, Sophie, in a Little Bo Peep costume. How completely out of character. Might as well put a Barney suit on Stephen King. Beside her, Daniel, her fiancé, wore a cowboy hat, plaid shirt and a silver badge. A western cop. It worked.

  “Are you trying to lure the sheep toward the wolf?” he asked his sister when she stood on tiptoe to kiss his cheek.

  “I don’t know. Do you have any particular sheep in mind? Just tell me where you’ll be.”

  He laughed in return. His sister knew all about his tattoo.

  “As a matter of fact, I do. But I don’t need my kid sister’s help to lure her. So I guess you’ll just have to lead some other poor helpless sheep back home for yourself.” He glanced at Daniel.

  “Ha ha.” Easygoing as always, Daniel didn’t appear to take offense. “She’s trying to do advance damage control with that sweet little costume, you know, before the interview airs tomorrow. I told her she should just come as Freddy Krueger and get it over with.”

  Mick knew Daniel was referring to the morning show segment, when Sophie was going to reveal herself as R. F. Colt. “How did the taping go?”

  “Fine,” Sophie replied. “I autographed so many books afterward that my hand went numb.”

  She didn’t sound displeased about it. Good. It was about time his sister got to take the bows she deserved for breaking out as such a big sensation in the horror fiction world.

  “You really think Derryville’s ready for their own celebrity psycho?” he asked.

  She giggled, then gestured around them to the party underway on the lawn of the inn. “I think I fit right in these days, don’t you? Anyone happening along would think we were all a little psycho having a Halloween bash in September.”

  Before Mick could reply, he felt a familiar tingling sensation which told him one thing. Caroline was nearby. Though it had only been a few hours since he’d dropped her off at the site, his whole body had grown cold, missing her, wanting her. He sucked in the warmth her presence had always provided.

  “Hi.” Her soft voice washed over him, reminding him of the incredible way they’d spent the night before. And this morning. And this afternoon when they’d arrived back at his house in Derryville. God, would he ever get enough of her?

  He smiled. “Hi yourself.” Not caring that his sister and Daniel were watching, he turned around and pressed a quick, possessive kiss on Caroline’s surprised mouth.

  She smiled, then pulled away with a warning look. “No more of that. I’m on the job.”

  She wasn’t in costume, which made her stand out. “I thought you were going to dress up. How come I had to if you didn’t?”

  “I won’t be on camera,” she said with a grin as she looked him over from head to toe. He lifted his Zorro mask, which had been dangling from his fingertips, and put it over his eyes to complete his costume.

  “Very sexy,” she said with a purr.

  “You should have come as a devil.” His tone was every bit as sultry as hers. “I recall you wearing something red and sinful this morning.”

  Sophie chuckled. Hell, Mick had almost forgotten his sister was standing there. Color rose in Caroline’s cheeks.

  “I guess you two have become really friendly roomies?” Sophie asked.

  “Mind your own beeswax,” Mick retorted, the familiar childhood retort coming out of his mouth before he thought about it. He’d said it to her many times over the years. Intuitive, nosy Sophie had always been able to find out anything she wanted to know.

  “Anything in particular I should know about tonight? Any specific problems anticipated?” he asked Caroline.

  “If you can keep the Civil War soldiers from actually killing each other, I’d consider your job well done tonight.”

  “Is one of them my grandfather?”

  She nodded.

  “And the Confederate soldier a man with white hair down to his shoulders, a pair of glasses five inches thick and a layer of spit and denture cream clumped up on his bottom lip?”

  “Eww…I didn’t notice the denture cream.”

  “It’s usually mostly spit,” Sophie offered. “At least it was when he taught my tenth grade Geometry class. Everyone used to race to class to avoid sitting in the front row, within firing range.”

  Caroline laughed helplessly. “Okay, yes, it was him.”

  “No problem then,” Mick said with a shrug. “He and Grandpa haven’t tried to kill each other in a good, oh, twenty…”

  “Thirty at least,” Sophie said helpfully.

  “Yes, thirty years.”

  Caroline and Daniel exchanged an amused look.

  “So, is anyone getting killed tonight?” Sophie asked.

  “Oh, it’s going to be a bloodbath,” Caroline replied. “We’re thinning out the cast fast and furiously now.”

  The four of them walked toward the crowd gathered around the bonfire, the hay ride and the hot-cider stands. On a stone patio set up as a dance floor, a few couples, including some of the contestants, shook to the Monster Mash. Others watched a group of kids bobbing for apples.

  “Reminds me of the Halloween parties we used to go to as kids,” Sophie said, sounding reminiscent.

  Caroline nodded in satisfaction. “It’s supposed to. Though, things have changed a little bit since the old days.” She shook her head and emitted a heavy sigh. “We’ve had to replace the apples in the barrel already because some kid kept biting into them, but dropping them back into the water. Another little girl was horrified, saying they would all get streptococcus germs and die if they bit from the same apple.”

  “Welcome to the twenty-first century, land of ten-year-olds who watch C.S.I.”

  “Don’t go dissing my favorite show,” Sophie said, pointing her index finger at Mick.

  “Besides,” Daniel added, “it’s only fair that the kids get into the spirit, right? This is Killing Time. Isn’t dying the whole point of the thing?”

  Caroline shook her head. “No, solving the mystery is the whole point of the thing. That, and backstabbing your way to a million dollars and fifteen minutes of fame doing spots on all the morning TV shows when it’s over.”

  “Any frontrunners?” Sophie asked. “I’ve been hearing the odds at the nail salon are heavily on the fireman. But I have a feeling that’s because all the women in the salon are picturing him naked, rolling around in a million one-dollar bills.”

  “Sticky,” said Mick.

  Before she could reply, the director of the show, Renauld Watson, approached them. Like Caroline, he wasn’t dressed in costume, though his Hollywood designer outfit probably appeared more costume than reality to most of the residents of Derryville. Especially since it probably cost more than the average Derryville resident’s car.

  “This is perfect,” Renauld said, giving them all a beneficent smile. “Imagine the ratings on Halloween night.”

  Mick shrugged. “Sorry. I’ll be
trick-or-treating.”

  Sophie nodded. “Me, too.”

  Renauld shot them each an annoyed look. “It’s a 9:00 p.m. show. Even children will be finished by then.”

  The guy really got on his nerves, which made it way too tempting to push his buttons. Mick couldn’t help saying, “By then I’ll be busy with the toilet paper and soap.”

  “And shaving cream,” Sophie piped in.

  Renauld shook his head, muttered something and walked away.

  “You two are incorrigible,” Caro said.

  “You should see them when Jared’s around,” Daniel said with a heavy sigh. “They try so hard to make him stop being serious that they never let up.”

  “Speaking of which,” Mick said, “what’s he dressed up as?”

  Sophie answered. “I’ll give you one guess.”

  Mick didn’t have to think twice. “A secret agent.”

  “Uh-huh. And Gwen’s Madonna. But the real kicker is Hildy.”

  Sophie nodded toward someone in the crowd, and Mick snorted a laugh. “Good grief, she’s dressed up as a little old lady?”

  Hildy’s costume included a cane, gray wig in a bun, oversized flowered dress and granny glasses.

  “She’s certainly dressed up as somebody other than herself,” Caroline said as she admired the costume.

  “Okay,” Mick said. “Let’s go celebrate Halloween before Watson decides to deck the inn in holly for Christmas.”

  JACEY DIDN’T HAVE to attend the party in costume. She was working, after all, her camera in hand as she cruised the party, capturing moments, big and small. But for some reason she couldn’t explain, she’d given in and looked through the prop room for something. She hadn’t had any luck and had given up when she’d run into Gwen Winchester, the owner of the inn. Gwen, who’d been incredibly gracious, had invited Jacey to come up to the attic and search through some old trunks of clothes for a costume. Hence the outfit.

  “A flapper?”

  The low, deeply timbered voice at her shoulder made Jacey shiver a bit, which even the chill in the night air hadn’t been able to manage. She paused her camera—which had been zooming in on Willie P. in a sheikh costume trying to pinch the butt of dancing girl Ginger.

  “Well, there’s a stretch,” she said when she looked at Digg in his fireman costume. He looked good, incredibly good, but then again, he always did.

  She told herself she hadn’t been looking for him all evening, hadn’t been wondering where he was, and with whom. Lots of people had drifted in and out of the party, going inside to get warm, taking hay rides, or visiting the haunted house set up in the garage of the inn. She’d visited all those areas and hadn’t seen him once.

  “Had to search hard for your costume, hmm?”

  He shrugged. “What can I say? Might as well wear what feels good. My gear at home isn’t nearly this clean, and it’s made of much sturdier fabric.” He grinned, his teeth shining white in the semidarkness. “But I liked the fireman’s hat.”

  She laughed, eyeing the hat, which looked like the ones little boys played dress-up with.

  “Besides,” he added, “it suited my personality.”

  “I thought the whole point of dressing up for Halloween was to be someone completely different from your personality. To hide who you are.”

  He looked at her intently, those dark eyes glittering in the dancing light of the bonfire. His gaze slid across her hair, which she’d pouffed up in a bob, to her bare shoulders and the thin black straps of her fringed dress. “You didn’t stretch too far, did you?”

  Oh, right. L.A. Goth to Charleston-dancing twenties girl.

  He probably saw her skepticism. “You look like an incredibly sexy, beautiful woman, which is exactly what you are in real life, isn’t it?”

  She almost dropped the camera. “Oh, please.”

  “Please what?”

  She wasn’t about to be one of those women who turned away compliments just so they’d be repeated. She knew she wasn’t beautiful and the last thing she wanted was for him to try to convince her she was. How utterly embarrassing. How…how Ginger-ish.

  “Please drop the Latin lover bit. You don’t need it with me.”

  Her jab didn’t phase that always calm exterior. “You know me better than that. Actually, you know me quite well, don’t you?”

  She shook her head but he interrupted her protest. “Oh, you do. You see everything through that camera lens, and the invisible one in your mind. I’ve seen you watching me since that first ride in the limo. Just as I was watching you.”

  “Why?” she asked, almost unable to believe this conversation was really happening. “Why me? Why when there are so many other women here, more beautiful, more available, hell, nicer women all around you?”

  He raised his hand to run a few fingers through a wisp of her hair, tucking it back in place beside her ear, then smoothed one fingertip across her cheekbone. She sighed, her cheek curling helplessly into his hand.

  “You’re unique. You’re wounded. You’re funny. You’re beautiful.”

  She shook her head.

  “And you’re obviously in need of a bad-ass man to take care of your every bad-ass need.”

  She shook her head as he threw her own words back into her face. “I think you’ve been drinking too much hard cider.”

  He held up his fingers in a Scout’s honor sign. “Stone sober.”

  “Halloween dementia.”

  “Just a little honesty between friends under the stars.”

  She looked up at those stars, brilliant in the dark blue sky, wondering if this conversation was really happening. If the warmth she felt was merely the weight of her covers as she dreamt this conversation, or if Digg was really here, close and warm and solid. “Please…”

  “Please what? Please go back to being the nice jogging partner you’ve spent this week with? Please be like the rest of the world who sees the tough veneer and ignores the perfect paleness of your skin and the sparkle of your eyes?”

  Jacey thought those were the most words she’d heard Digg speak at one time, but she wanted him to stop. She couldn’t have this conversation. Hadn’t she been avoiding a serious conversation with him from the moment she’d become aware of these powerful sparks between them?

  But it appeared Digg wasn’t abiding by the rules. Though it wasn’t really Halloween, he was honoring the holiday by being daring, risking danger and pushing them both toward a line she’d thought they wouldn’t cross.

  “You want me to pretend I haven’t noticed the curves you hide under your black, shapeless clothes?” He stepped closer, glancing down at her body, separated from his by no more than an inch. Everywhere his eyes caressed her, she reacted, until her legs were shaking and her breasts aching sensitively against the dress.

  “You should get back to the party,” she said. Even to her own ears, her voice was weak and unconvincing.

  “Maybe I’d rather have a more private party.”

  She tsked. “Smooth lines don’t become you.”

  “It wasn’t a line, Jacey. I wasn’t talking about sex…although, I want that, too.”

  Was that an earthquake? She was sure the ground had just shaken, which would explain why her legs felt like jelly and she half stumbled against him. His hands caught her around the waist and he easily braced her against his body.

  That big, warm, broad body.

  He brushed his lips against her temple, rubbing his skin against her hair. “You can’t be surprised that I want you.”

  She took a deep breath, forcing away a stab of disappointment as she took a tiny step back. Regaining her space. Losing his heat. “Sex, sure, not a surprise. You’re a guy. I’m just, well…you’ve got a lot of women who’d be happy to take care of that for you.”

  “You didn’t let me finish. Yes, I want you—which I can’t say is true about any other woman right now—but I also want you to drop the act, to open up the way you do when we run. To see what’s happening here.”

>   “What’s happening here?”

  “Oh, Jacey,” he said softly, sounding almost amused, “you’re falling for me.”

  “What?”

  “But that’s okay, because I’m falling for you, too. All you have to do is give us a chance to see how far we fall.”

  The arrogance of the man, assuming she was in any way “falling” for him! They hadn’t even kissed, had barely touched. Okay, they’d shared several wonderful, quiet mornings this week, jogging through miles of trail in the early dawn hours, sharing a private time of day that Jacey had never shared with anyone before. But that didn’t mean anything, other than that they both liked exercise. Right?

  “Stop trying to figure it out. Just put down the camera and let’s see what happens.” He held out his hand. “Let’s dance, Jacey.”

  She was close, so close her fingers were already moving to the switch on her camera. He leaned in until their lips brushed in a featherlight touch so gentle and intimate she wondered if she imagined it.

  But before she could find out, they heard what everyone else did.

  A gunshot.

  “WHY DIDN’T YOU tell me there was a shooting scene?” Jacey called as she came tearing up the front lawn toward the steps of the inn.

  Caro looked over her shoulder, watching the camerawoman hurrying to catch up. Her camera bounced along her hip. Caro would bet it was already taping. “I didn’t know.”

  She’d been as surprised as everyone else when the boom had echoed through the party. It had seemed to come from inside, but with the clear night, it could actually have been from somewhere else. That seemed unlikely, though. She’d given a quick look around, seeing no signs of activity other than the party.

  She also hadn’t seen Mick, whom she’d instinctively sought out. He’d said something earlier about going to the haunted garage to look for Jared, but had disappeared, along with several other familiar faces. Most of the people still outside braving the rapidly cooling night were the extras who still wanted their few minutes of fame on the show, along with a few townspeople who’d had a little too much of the spiked cider and were now trying to do the Time Warp without breaking their ankles. She didn’t see one of the cast members outside, nor any members of the crew, except Jacey, who caught up to her on the porch.