Killing Time

by Leslie Kelly

  “Do you know where Renauld is?” she asked the young woman, wondering what he was pulling and why he hadn’t told her about it.

  Jacey shook her head, then reached to pull up the loose strap of her flapper dress. Caro had noticed how attractive the young woman had looked earlier in the evening. Now there was a definite sparkle in her eyes and her cheeks were vivid with color. Not just attractive—Jacey looked downright beautiful. But also very intense, very much a hunter on the scent.

  “Damn, I can’t believe I got distracted and missed this. If one of my team’s not on it, I’m going to shoot myself.”

  “Well, just use the prop gun. We need you,” Caro said with a grin.

  When they entered the inn, they found a flurry of people rushing around asking what was going on. A couple of the contestants—who looked like they’d had a few too many glasses of mulled wine—were among them. A few, however, including Ginger, Mona, Whittington, Digg and Willie, were nowhere to be seen.

  “I can’t believe Renauld would spring something like a shooting without letting me know to have my crew set up,” Jacey complained as the two of them stood in the foyer, watching the contestants race around, checking rooms in the inn.

  “I know,” Caro replied. “To my knowledge, there was supposed to be a poisoned candy apple and a fall onto a pitchfork to eliminate two contestants tonight. Plus the assorted murders of a few extras.”

  “Weird,” Jacey mumbled. “But, maybe Renauld decided one of the extras would be shot.”

  Right. And Caro had been too busy having incredible sex this weekend to find out about it. Not professional. Not smart.

  But oh, God, how could she have resisted?

  “Let’s check the kitchen,” Jacey said, heading away from the common rooms where the contestants were busy trying to outsleuth one another.

  They did, but found nothing. Caro and Jacey continued the search, if only so Caro could get an explanation and Jacey could set up her shot ahead of the contestants’ arrival. They had no luck after fifteen minutes of searching the huge old house, from the basement through all the common rooms on the first floor.

  Then they froze, as did everyone else in sight, when they all heard the same thing. A scream.

  “One of the second-floor bedrooms?” Caro asked.

  “Yeah.”

  The two of them headed for the stairs and a few others followed. As they reached the second-floor hallway, they heard another scream from above.

  Caro and Jacey’s eyes met. “Third floor,” they said in unison.

  This time, knowing whatever was happening was going on one floor above them, they ran up the stairs, taking them two or three at a time. Jacey even kicked off her high-heeled shoes. She raced barefoot in her flapper costume, swinging her camera up in front of her face as they reached the third-floor hallway.

  A crowd was gathering outside one of the two suites. They beelined toward it. Some of the extras were milling about in the hall, looking disappointed that they couldn’t get in. Caro pushed past them into a large bedroom suite which, to her knowledge, was where Renauld had been staying during the shoot. He and Professor Whittington were the only ones who’d been rooming on this floor, since Whittington’s former roommate had been eliminated last week.

  Caro immediately spied the director whispering direction to a member of Jacey’s team, whose camera was pointed toward the open bathroom door.

  “What the hell’s going on? Why wasn’t I told of this?” Jacey hissed into the director’s face, angry but still conscious of the rolling cameras.

  Caro was about to ask the same thing, but before she did, she saw the startled look on Jacey’s face. Curiosity made her follow the camerawoman into the large bathroom, where members of the cast stood near the shower or sat on the counter. Willie even reclined on the closed lid of the toilet.

  All of them had their sleuth notebooks open. All were taking notes, trying to capture every detail of the scene so they could answer any potential questions on the next elimination quiz.

  “She’s been shot, that’s for sure,” one of them muttered.

  “Maybe it wasn’t a gunshot we heard—maybe it was a car backfiring and we were supposed to think it was a gunshot,” said another. “Maybe she just fell in the tub and hit her head.”

  Professor Whittington puffed out his chest and pointed out, “The wound is on the front of her body.”

  “What about a drowning?” Mona asked.

  Whittington gave her a withering look. “There’s no water. And she’s dressed. And there’s blood all over her!”

  When Caro finally swung her gaze to look at the victim in the bathtub, she gave thanks that the corpse was not naked, bloody and wet. Because the dead extra was none other than Miss Hester Tomlinson, the pastor’s sister. A shot of that particular woman in such a state was not something Caro wanted to contemplate airing.

  “How on earth did you get her to play an extra?” she asked Renauld, sotto voce, mindful of the cameras. Given the way the woman had protested the show, she couldn’t figure out why she’d want to actively participate in it.

  He didn’t answer, still intent on whispering instructions to the crew, including a lighting tech who was erecting a pole to illuminate the scene from above.

  “Let us through,” came a voice from the bedroom.

  Caro looked up to see two young men dressed as cops. She recognized them as real police officers from Derryville.

  “I sent for them since they were here at the party,” Renauld whispered. “Thought it would look very authentic to have the local police involved in this scene.”

  Caro still hadn’t forgiven Renauld for setting up the scene without her, but she did like this cop touch.

  The young officers pushed into the bathroom, both growing pale when they saw the corpse in the tub. Even Caro had to admit, it was disturbing. The makeup people had done a good job with this one.

  Though the bathroom was full to overflowing, the remainder of the contestants had to get in, so Caro stepped back out, making more room. Jacey, she saw, had climbed up onto the bathroom counter, one foot on the faucet, the other in the sink, and she was capturing every moment.

  “What’s going on?” a voice asked. Caro instantly recognized Mick, who had entered the room with Hildy.

  “An unexpected murder.”

  “The Derryville Demon strikes again?” This came from Hildy, who tried to peer around the bathroom doorway. Then she cocked her head sideways, and frowned. “Strange.”

  Mick spied one of the two young officers in the bathroom. “Good grief, you’ve got the Chipmunks in there? At least call Daniel. Unless you want the comic relief of fumbling cops on your show.”

  That was probably exactly what Renauld wanted, which would explain why he hadn’t called for the chief of police to appear in the scene. From what she’d seen of Daniel Fletcher, he seemed sharp-edged, intuitive and very capable. Unlike his two young patrolmen.

  Hildy was frowning, the expression accentuating the wrinkles in her face—both the real ones, and the ones she’d drawn on to accentuate her old granny costume. “Something’s not right here,” the woman said.

  Lots wasn’t right here tonight. Starting with how she’d let herself get so distracted by her whirlwind trip to Chicago with Mick that she’d missed a key decision to add a shooting victim in an upstairs bathtub!

  She couldn’t entirely blame Renauld. She’d been the one who’d gone away, leaving her cell phone and pager behind. Not that she regretted the trip. But she didn’t like losing control over her production. Didn’t like it one bit.

  “So what’s wrong?” Mick asked the old woman, apparently not noticing Caro’s sudden frown. “Did the ghosts tell you something?”

  She shook her head. “Nope. The smell did.”

  Before Caro could ask the woman about her strange comment, she heard Renauld call, “Cut! The blood, it is drying too quickly. Too sticky and dark. Get makeup to add more.”

  Caro stepped back into t
he bathroom as the contestants milled around. She met Jacey’s gaze as the young camerawoman continued to shoot. That was Jacey’s job, keeping the cameras going, even during the off moments.

  Digg apparently noticed, too. Caro saw the two of them exchange a long look.

  “Doesn’t she want to take a break or something?” Mona asked, looking at the woman in the tub.

  “How’s she going to get back out of that tub? That’s what I’d like to know,” whispered Willie.

  “Miss Hester?” one of the police officers said, giving the woman’s shoulder a little shake. “Ma’am, do you want to sit up? Want a glass of water or something?”

  No response. Not a flicker of an eyelid or the twitch of a finger. She’s good.

  “She’s in character like a good actress,” the other officer said. “That’s what actors do—they stay in character. Don’t you watch that Actor’s Studio show with that guy who looks like Guy Smiley from The Muppets?”

  The other officer frowned. “Guy Smiley doesn’t have a beard.”

  “He doesn’t?”

  Caro didn’t know why she was even listening to these two, who sounded like they were doing a scene from a Nickelodeon kids’ show.

  The second one replied, “No, he doesn’t. But I do know what show you mean. It’s on that boring channel. I watch it sometimes, though, because I like the part where he asks the actors to name their favorite swearword.”

  “Last count, the f-word was in the lead for this season,” his partner said with a grin.

  Caro just rolled her eyes as the two of them yucked it up, completely forgetting about seeing to the comfort of the dead extra in the bathtub. Who still hadn’t moved.

  The props person came in, carrying a big bottle of fake blood. She bent close to Miss Hester. “Here you go, sweetie. Don’t you worry, we’ll have something else for you to wear as soon as we’re done.”

  She liberally poured the blood on the large victim’s flowered dress, running a line of it down her arm, which dangled over the side of the claw foot tub. Caro thought the bit of blood dripping off the woman’s fingertips and pooling on the linoleum floor was especially effective. A quick glance toward Jacey told her the young woman had already noticed it, and was zooming in.

  “Uhh…something’s wrong here,” a woman’s voice said. Caro realized Hildy had entered the bathroom, but she didn’t have time to deal with the old woman right now.

  “Were there notes on this victim’s identity?” Ginger asked. “I don’t remember reading about her in this morning’s briefing.”

  “Is this a pop quiz kind of thing?” Mona asked, her eyes widening as her face went pale. “How can we figure out why the Demon killed her if we don’t even know who she is?”

  “You should have done something about that,” Renauld whispered to Caro. She hadn’t even heard him come up behind her in the bathroom.

  “About what?”

  “The notes,” he replied. “This was effective, but I don’t like being kept in the dark. And the writers should have been notified so they could include this in today’s briefing.”

  Caro wasn’t following. For some reason it sounded like Renauld didn’t know anything about this, either. But that was impossible.

  “You folks have a bigger problem than solving your TV mystery.” This time Hildy’s voice was loud and unwavering.

  Caro cast a quick glance at Mick, still standing out in the bedroom. She gave him a pleading look. “Can you take her out of here?” she mouthed, nodding toward Hildy.

  He squeezed into the crowded bathroom, giving her a reassuring smile. “Come on, Hildy darlin’, let’s leave these bloodthirsty souls to their murder.”

  She didn’t budge. “Murder is right.”

  Then, leaning close to Miss Hester, still lying silently in the tub, she poked her with one long finger. She leaned over, sniffed and nodded to herself. Everyone in the bathroom stopped talking, wondering what on earth the old woman was doing.

  “Yep. Can’t disguise that smell.”

  “Smell?” one of the officers asked, looking confused.

  “Of real blood,” Hildy explained matter-of-factly. “Smelled it one too many times in the old days whenever the gangs got riled up and went for their Tommy guns.” Hildy never seemed to have any qualms about referring to her colorful past.

  Then Caro realized what she’d said. Blood? Real blood? “Hildy, what are you talking about?” Caro asked, even as the truth began to sink in.

  “Well,” the old woman explained, “this here isn’t one of your made-up murders.” She shook her head and lifted Miss Hester’s hand. When she let go, it plopped heavily onto the woman’s pendulous belly. The victim didn’t even flinch.

  “What you got here is an honest to goodness corpse.”

  When no one responded right away, Hildy let out an impatient sigh. “Get it? She’s really dead!”

  Silence greeted the pronouncement. Silence, and the expression of disbelief on the faces of everyone in the room. Disbelief gave way to shock. Then understanding. Then horror.

  One of the female contestants, Deanna, fainted dead away, not even caught by the two men who’d been vying for her attention for two weeks. The incident seemed to snap everyone out of their lethargy, because, finally, one of the young policemen shrieked, “She’s really dead? But…but I touched her!”

  He punctuated his shrill remark by going pale. Then he promptly lost his candy corn and apple cider all over his shoes.

  Not to mention all over the victim.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  IN THE DAYS following the murder of Miss Hester, everyone in Derryville speculated on who had done it. And why. Mick had heard all kinds of theories.

  Miss Hester found out about kinky, evil things going on up at the set and they killed her to shut her up. Miss Hester figured out the fake killer and threatened to tell one of the contestants, so the fictional killer had become a real one, not wanting to lose the million dollars. Miss Hester had discovered a secret affair. Miss Hester had been attacked while praying for the heathens from Hollywood. Miss Hester had startled a thief. Miss Hester had been set on by the ghosts of the Little Bohemie Inn. Miss Hester had been having a fling with the director and he’d killed her in a jealous rage.

  Mick found that one especially hard to believe.

  But the one he disliked the most was the one that had begun to circulate yesterday.

  “Well, she did threaten to kill her. Right there in the church office. I heard all about it a few weeks ago.”

  Mick stiffened, but continued to eavesdrop on the two women speaking in the next aisle in the drugstore.

  “And she’d obviously been thinking about it. She had it all worked out in the book.”

  “In a bathtub, no less,” the first woman replied.

  Mick felt no compunction about listening to the two gossipy women. Because they were talking about his sister, Sophie.

  “Anyone with that wicked an imagination is bound to have murder in her soul,” a voice continued.

  “Poor Miss Hester. She was so good.”

  The first woman tittered. “But it doesn’t look like it’ll take long for Pastor Bob to replace her.”

  The women’s voices drifted away as they left the aisle. Mick didn’t care. He’d overheard enough to make his blood boil. The town suspected Sophie of the murder. “Damn that interview,” he muttered. “And double damn that book.”

  The timing couldn’t have been worse. Sophie had taped that morning show interview a week ago, but it had aired the very morning after Miss Hester’s murder. The whole world—not to mention the town of Derryville—had discovered that R. F. Colt was living in their midst.

  At first they’d been thrilled. They’d barraged her for interviews and autographs. Then they’d driven over to the mall in the next town and bought copies of her newest book. The one with a sanctimonious, heavy, pinch-faced female church deacon who was found murdered in a bathtub.

  “Jesus, Sophie,” he whispered
as he made his way to the checkout. Of all the times for her to come out of her writing closet. It had to be with a book that included a very obvious Miss Hester-like victim.

  That would have been bad enough if Miss Hester hadn’t died. But now, with the murder, the scandal was much more serious. Sophie was under suspicion of homicide.

  Hard to fathom, but even the state police had asked to question her, not trusting the locals to do the job. Especially because the chief was the suspect’s fiancé.

  “Hey,” he heard. He glanced up to see his cousin, Jared, standing near the checkout counter. “Your secretary said you were here.”

  “Have you heard anything?”

  “No. I’ve put in a few calls, though.” Jared looked around, as if making sure they weren’t overheard. “I’ve also called in someone I used to work with. He’s in business for himself these days. And he’s very good at tracking down people’s backgrounds.”

  Mick raised a curious brow.

  “It might be a good idea to know more about our victim.”

  Mick realized that was a good idea. Hester wasn’t an old-time resident of Derryville. She’d moved here only a few years ago, when Pastor Bob’s wife—who’d been loved by the town—had tragically died while only in her forties. Miss Hester, a helpful older sister, had been accepted by one and all due to their love for the pastor. But she’d always remained somewhat private. An enigma. A woman with secrets whose dour demeanor made her look older than her years.

  “Let me know what he finds out, okay?”

  His cousin nodded.

  “Let me know, too.”

  Neither of them had heard Daniel approach, until he spoke. The chief looked tired and haggard, his brow pulled into a perpetual frown and dark circles under his eyes.