Killing Time

by Leslie Kelly

  Joshua Charmagne tapped a spoon against his wineglass to get the attention of the contestants. He’d settled pretty well into his role as host and innkeeper, once he’d realized he wasn’t going to find a playmate on the set.

  “We’ve come to our last night,” he announced, looking carefully at each of the final four. “If we don’t find out who the killer is, he will be free to wreak havoc on Derryville during the biggest social event of the season—the Christmas ball.”

  Leave it to Renauld to throw another holiday into the mix. God help them, if he decided to shoot some extra scenes with a September Christmas tree, Jacey was totally out of here.

  Well, no she wasn’t. Not until Digg was out of here with her.

  She put her attention back where it belonged. On her camera. On the scene. On the quiz.

  They began. The four contestants each sat in a corner of the room, answering two dozen questions related to the Derryville Demon case. They had to have been paying attention all along the way. The questions dated back to that first killing, in Sophie Winchester’s house. One misstep would lead to sudden elimination.

  They wouldn’t use all this footage, of course. The editors would trim down a thirty-minute quiz to about five, with close-ups on the contestants. The sweat breaking out on James’s upper lip. The way Logan’s eyes were narrowed in concentration. The nervous pencil tapping Whittington couldn’t contain. And Digg, watching them all with his standard, impassive, unreadable expression.

  He didn’t dare look at Jacey. She’d known he wouldn’t.

  Finally, the tests were collected and taken away to be graded while the cast and crew took a brief break. It seemed to take forever before Joshua Charmagne returned to the parlor to announce tonight’s first big loser.

  “I’m sorry to say farewell,” he said once the cameras were back on and the cast members assembled, “to Professor Whittington.”

  “YOU CANNOT BE SERIOUS.”

  Dead serious, Mick replied, meeting Caroline’s gaze, not flinching, though the words coming out of his mouth sounded unbelievable, even to his own ears. “Look for yourself.” He held out the proof he’d found, moments before, in his video cabinet.

  She took the video box. A tape still wrapped in plastic, unopened, from Mick’s collection. He heard her tiny gasp when she read the names of the stars of Psychedelic Sex Dreams.

  “Esmerelda Devane and Victoria Lynn.”

  Right. That’s why he’d recognized the names when Jared had first mentioned them. Individually, they’d have been unusual enough. Together, they were incontrovertible. At least to him.

  “Miss Hester made porn flicks?”

  Mick nodded.

  “Eeew.” She dropped the box.

  “I need to find all I have with those two in them,” he replied, turning his attention back to the stack of films in the cabinet.

  Caro didn’t say anything, just kept looking stunned and wrinkling her nose in distaste as if visualizing the whole thing.

  That’s what he’d been doing mentally since the second he’d recognized Miss Hester’s former name. Eeew was right.

  He began sifting through the movies, looking for the older ones that Earl was so fond of bringing to him on poker night…just so he could crack up about how the women might look thirty years later. That brought Miss Hester right back to the forefront of his mind. Earl had been on to something.

  “Wait, I don’t understand,” Caro said. “Doesn’t this make it look like Miss Hester was the one being blackmailed?”

  He nodded, having already considered that. “Yeah. I’m sure she didn’t want this getting out.”

  It would almost be divine retribution. The hypocritical blackmailer being blackmailed.

  “So she wasn’t the blackmailer after all?”

  “I don’t know. Either way is possible. But I honestly have to think she was the one who spotted someone from the past and exploited the situation. Because I just can’t see anyone from her past seeing her now and—” he held up the video box showing a buxom blonde “—recognizing her.”

  Caro nodded. “True.”

  “Either way, whether she was blackmailer or victim, I think we’re going to find that the person who killed her is someone involved with the reality show.”

  Caroline didn’t even try to argue. “I suppose it makes sense, given her past.”

  “And it explains why she fought so hard to keep Killing Time from coming here to begin with.”

  He returned to his task, finding another, and then a third video with the name Esmerelda Devane on the box. Victoria Lynn was on both as well.

  They were in for a long evening.

  “We just have to find out who on the set of Killing Time might have known Hester in her wicked old days,” Mick said. “I’m laying money on that bastard Watson.”

  Caro didn’t respond, knowing Mick’s feelings toward her director. “Okay, I get what you’re saying, but I still don’t see how. I mean, don’t we have to leave it to Jared’s investigator? Tell him to look into the porn industry of the ’70s and see what connections he can find?”

  Mick shook his head, waiting for her to figure out where he was going. “There’s a much quicker way.”

  She looked at him, then at the boxes surrounding him on the floor. She began to shake her head as it sunk in.

  “Huh-uh. You can’t be serious.”

  “I’m serious.”

  “I’m not watching porn tapes with you.”

  “It’ll be for research purposes only.”

  “Yeah, right. Like last time?”

  “Last time,” he retorted, “I wasn’t picturing a dead Miss Hester in the bathtub every time the naked star appeared on the screen.”

  Her face paled. “Oh, crap, you’re not really gonna make me watch Miss Hester pornos are you?”

  “Sorry, babe, you’re the one most likely to recognize a face.”

  “Do they show faces in those kinds of movies?”

  “Oh, they show lots of heads,” he said evilly. “Hopefully one of them will pop out at you.”

  She threw another pillow. “I’ll get you for this.”

  He grabbed her hand and pulled her down to sit beside him on the floor. “If you help me get my sister cleared of murder, you can get me any way you want me.”

  They grew quiet, and Mick groaned inwardly at how he’d worded that. The truth was, Caroline could have him any way she wanted him already. He loved her. They were going to be together. No matter what. He just didn’t have time to figure out how yet.

  After they examined all the tapes, finding four that had Esmerelda Devane’s name in the credits, they sorted them out. “Let’s eliminate the one that Victoria Lynn wasn’t in,” Caroline said, “and start with one of the ones she was.”

  So they did. As painful as it was, they began to watch the cheesy, poor-quality tapes. “Basement stuff,” he muttered, glancing over at Caroline and seeing the look of shock on her face.

  “Oh, my God,” she whispered. Then more bodies filled the screen. Lots of them. At the same time. “Oh, my God!”

  She threw her hands over her face, only peeking through and cringing every few moments to try to help him.

  He began to fast forward, pausing when someone new entered the frame. The low-grade, drug-era video was almost painful in its cheesiness, complete with mushroom-dream sex sequences where Miss Hester—Esmerelda—was dressed up as a geisha girl.

  It made Mick decide then and there to swear off sushi forever.

  When the movie ended, he couldn’t stop a sigh of disappointment. They hadn’t recognized a single person, other than Miss Hester. And he was still getting over the shock of that.

  He reached for the next box, removing the plastic wrapping as the first film ended and the credits began to roll. He was about to pop the tape out of the VCR, not wanting to waste the time even to rewind it, when Caroline gasped in shock.

  “Pause the tape, Mick.” She looked stunned. “Pause it now!”

&nbs
p; He did. Then he focused on the screen, wondering what had captured her attention. He read the first name. Then the second.

  And then he read the third.

  “Oh, my God,” he whispered.

  “He’s still at the inn,” Caro replied, her voice also hushed.

  Then Mick rose to his feet and held out his hand. “Let’s go get him.”

  ONCE WHITTINGTON had been eliminated, the cast and crew took a break from taping to prepare for the final showdown. Jacey met Digg’s eye as he, James and Logan were escorted from the parlor. An hour from now they’d return, be given details of the latest murder—that being Whittington—then they’d begin one final group meeting.

  That meeting would likely be the key to the whole thing. The three men would be playing a mental game, trying to be absolutely certain who the killer was, while also trying to bluff someone else into voting the wrong way.

  That’s why Digg had been such a good Derryville Demon. As Caro had said that first day of taping, back before Jacey had known who she was talking about, Digg had the perfect personality type. Stoic, calm, honest, heroic. He’d been everyone’s favorite, women and men, cast and crew.

  And oh, my God, he’s mine.

  It seemed impossible to believe, but he really was.

  “You do know you won’t be doing the taping with the individual finalists,” Renauld said. He’d entered the kitchen silently where Jacey had been sitting alone, grabbing a PB&J sandwich for dinner during their brief break.

  She glanced up. “I figured as much.”

  “You might have your job back, but we can’t afford to allow you to be alone with any of the final contestants, for fear they might later claim you influenced their choice.”

  She hated the pissy little director, she really did. But she had to concede that he was right. “I know,” she said, giving him as close to a humble look as she could manage. “Charlie said he’d be happy to step in for me.”

  Renauld nodded. “Good. With his camera experience, he’ll do fine at managing the team.”

  Jacey sipped again, then grudgingly admitted what she’d already realized about Killing Time. “The show’s going to be a hit. It’s really good.”

  Renauld seemed surprised, then met her eye. “I think you’re right. As long as we nail this next hour.” He managed a pleasant nod before walking out.

  The next hour, yes. The accusation sessions would be particularly critical. Each of the finalists would enter a private booth and vote on the killer. They’d also have to provide the motive and tie the entire case together if they wanted to win the one-million-dollar prize.

  All except Digg.

  All he had to do was stay cool and hope James and Logan—who’d been competing for Deanna for the past couple of weeks—would turn on each other. Jacey hoped so, too.

  She stayed in the kitchen until the end of the break, then returned to the parlor to tape the final discussion meeting between the three men.

  As expected, Digg kept cool, James and Logan got in personal jibes wherever possible and each man exited the room looking supremely confident of the outcome.

  Now it just remained to wait and see what happened.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  CARO AND MICK arrived back at the Little Bohemie just as the taping of the private booth scenes began. Caro groaned inwardly at first, then realized it was just as well. They’d get the show done, and afterward, once Chief Daniel Fletcher had arrived, get the answers to the rest of their questions.

  As they entered the expansive parlor, Caro instantly spied Jared and Gwen, waiting along with everyone else, including a very excited-looking Hildy. Everyone was drinking coffee and pacing around. In spite of what was happening in the real world, Caro felt a thrill of excitement. The expectation in the air was palpable as everyone speculated on who would win and who would walk away with nothing. It felt good to be part of this. She resented the hell out of the person who’d almost spoiled it all by dragging the sordidness of Miss Hester’s death into their midst.

  That person. She still couldn’t believe it was true, though she’d seen the evidence with her own eyes.

  “Where’s Renauld and the rest of the crew?” Mick asked Jared, keeping his voice low.

  “Apparently they’re taping the final guesses.”

  “Who lost the last challenge?” Caro asked, dying to know which of the four had been eliminated in the final quiz.

  “Whittington.”

  “Where is he now?”

  “Upstairs packing,” Jacey said.

  Caro hadn’t even realized the young woman was in the room. She gave her a quick smile of welcome, then asked, “Is Whittington with an escort?”

  “Absolutely.”

  Caro glanced at Jared and Gwen, who looked curious. “None of the eliminated contestants have been left alone. We don’t want them spilling anything to those who remain.”

  “And hopefully that prevented anybody from stealing our china on the way out, too,” Gwen added with a cheeky grin.

  “Where is our esteemed celebrity host right now?” Caro asked, wanting to know where everyone was before Daniel arrived.

  “Joshua Charmagne? I think he’s in his room, as usual,” Gwen said, “on the phone with his agent who’s supposedly getting him a major movie deal worth ten million.”

  Right.

  “He’ll be down soon,” Jacey added, “probably just in time to demand a fresh pot of coffee and a freshly baked croissant.”

  Caro wouldn’t be surprised, given the demanding nature of their guest star.

  She took Mick’s hand, squeezing it, sensing he was every bit as anxious about the delay as she. But there was nothing they could do except wait for the chief of police.

  He gave a resigned sigh, then asked, “What’s this final showdown?”

  Caro quickly explained the procedure.

  “So,” Mick asked when she’d finished, “they’re with Renauld and the camera operators in one of the third-floor suites—I assume it’s not the one where the real murder took place?”

  “Correct,” Caro add, shivering at the thought. “The tech crew is there, too. No one’s left the inn today at all.” She shot Mick another look that urged him to be patient.

  “Uh, no, actually the tech crew’s not there,” said Jacey. “Renauld’s orders—camera operators, contestants and him, that’s it. Nobody else.”

  Caro instantly asked, “So where’s Charlie?” Then, before Jacey could answer, Caro realized what else was seriously wrong with this picture. “Wait a minute, what are you doing here? Why aren’t you in on the taping?”

  “That’s the answer to your first question—Charlie’s covering for me. Renauld and I agreed that I should back off at this point. Just in case.”

  Good grief, Jacey and Renauld had agreed on something, and she hadn’t been around to see it. “That was probably a good move.”

  She felt Mick touch her shoulder. He nodded toward the door. Beside them, Jared and Gwen also watched with interest as Chief Daniel Fletcher entered. He was in full uniform and looked both serious and determined.

  He beelined for Mick. “He’s here?”

  Mick nodded, as did Caro. “Upstairs,” they said in unison.

  They’d called Daniel the minute after discovering the video connection. He’d made it up here pretty quickly considering he’d had to go to a local judge for a warrant first. When Mick raised a questioning glance at his future brother-in-law, Daniel tapped his pocket. He’d apparently gotten the warrant.

  “So you’re back to work?” Gwen asked. “I thought you went on a leave of absence.”

  “I came back on the job about an hour ago. Just in time, I think.”

  Caro couldn’t agree more.

  Now it just remained to wait here in the parlor until the person they all wanted to speak to came down the stairs.

  THOUGH MICK, Caroline and Daniel were the only three in the room who knew exactly how much was at stake tonight, everyone else was just as keyed up
. Even though he was completely distracted, wanting to nail the bastard who’d been about to let his sister take the fall for a murder, Mick couldn’t help catching the undercurrent of everyone else’s excitement.

  They’d come to the end of their road and were about to see the culmination of a job well done. Caroline literally sparked with energy and life, and he knew damn well it wasn’t just because of what they’d discovered watching Psychedelic Sex Dreams back at his place.

  She was in her element. Loving every bit of what she did, getting an almost physical charge from it. He liked the look on her face, the tension in her body, the half smile she couldn’t contain whenever any of the crew commented on how great this show was going to be.

  She’d have her hit. She’d have her success. She’d have her future.

  It was about time for him to figure where he was going to fit in it.

  “Here they come,” someone said.

  They—everyone—stood as footsteps approached from upstairs. Renauld Watson entered the room, followed by Digg, Logan and James. The crew reacted instantly, setting up for the final scene, touching up the makeup of the contestants, putting the room back in order.

  Renauld spied Caroline. Mick wondered at first if he was going to question her about where she’d been, but the cocky little rooster seemed too excited to care.

  “It’s perfect,” he said, low, to her, though Mick was close enough to overhear.

  Caroline met the director’s eye and they exchanged a long, comprehending look. Then Caro smiled. But she wouldn’t say a word.

  “Tell me,” he muttered once Renauld had walked away. Mick was caught up in the thrill in spite of himself.

  “You’ll see.”

  So he watched, along with everyone else while Joshua Charmagne emerged with three videotapes.

  “Now,” the host told the three final contestants once the cameras were rolling, “it’s time to see how you all explained this mystery, and to determine who is going to walk out of here a millionaire.” He paused, the heavy silence ratcheting up the anticipation. “And who is going to leave with…nothing.”