There she had tripped and ended up sprawled in a greenly glowing cemetery among tilted tombstones. Before she could get up, a zombie had risen from his grave and was looming over her.
All Skye remembered after that was screaming and screaming. Then she was outside, and Vince was kneeling in front of her, begging her not to tell their mother that he’d left her alone. She never had, but she had threatened to reveal his secret anytime she needed to make him do something for her.
The thought of all the times she had blackmailed Vince throughout the years brought a smile to her lips, and she slowly managed to calm herself down. After she took a few deep breaths, her heart rate returned to normal and she no longer felt like throwing up.
Squaring her shoulders, Skye picked up her backpack—it had dropped to the floor during her panic attack—and forced herself to continue walking down the hallway. Still hoping to be on time for her first appearance (she was the last of the three witches to emerge), she picked up her pace. She was only a few steps from the door leading to her assigned spot when she heard the first scream.
Skye came to an abrupt stop, her heart jumping in her chest. She had gotten used to the fake moans, groans, and shrieks of the haunted house, but what she had just heard was not one of them. It was real.
CHAPTER 8
Moments Like These
Who was screaming and why? Despite her fears, Skye felt compelled to find out. If someone was in trouble, she couldn’t pretend she hadn’t heard anything and walk away, or wait for someone else to take care of the problem. She wasn’t that kind of person—she helped others even if it meant risking herself.
After the first shriek, there had been a moment’s pause, followed by a steady wail. Skye cocked her head and listened intently, turning slowly toward where she thought the sound was originating. Her auditory directional skills were poor, but it seemed as if the screams were coming from behind the wall where she was standing.
That couldn’t be right. That was the area where she was supposed to appear and disappear, and given that she was the last of the three witches, it was near the end of the circuit. The only person who should be in that section was herself.
Instantly she stiffened. Could the shrieks be coming from the spirit of the woman with the long black hair? No. These screams sounded all too human. Her pulse beat erratically as she approached the door that led to her designated passageway.
Skye put her hand on the knob, trying to get up the courage to turn it, but before she could make herself twist the cold metal sphere, she heard the tippy-tapping of high-heeled shoes—a sound that could very well be the footsteps of an opera star’s ghost. She choked back a cry. Were they coming from behind the door or behind her? A chill raced up her spine. She couldn’t tell.
She jerked her hand away from the knob, twisted, and plastered her back to the wall. Should she hide, try to get out, face her fears, or all of the above? She had to do something.
A loud moan made her jump, rousing her from her indecision. It was better to take positive action and gain the advantage of surprise than to stand there and wait for whatever or whomever to come get her.
Skye reached into her backpack and withdrew both the stun gun and the bottle of holy water, figuring it was best to be prepared for the natural as well as the supernatural. For easy access, she tucked the vial into her cleavage, and transferred the Taser to her right hand.
Once armed, she turned the knob, opened the door a crack, and peered around the corner. At first she couldn’t see anything in the darkness. She groped for the flashlight she had stuck in her belt, but it dropped to the floor.
Carefully she squatted to retrieve it, blindly patting the linoleum until her fingers touched the cold metal. Grasping the cylindrical base, she felt for the switch and thumbed it to the ON position. Nothing. She shook it and it came on briefly, only to sputter out. She tried again, hitting it against her thigh, and this time it didn’t even flicker.
Shit! That would teach her to buy cheap stuff at the dollar store. If she got out of here alive, she was putting a police-quality Maglite on her birthday wish list, and she was buying Energizer batteries, not the low-priced generic ones she usually opted for. The bunny would never let her down.
Unhappily, that didn’t help her now. But on the upside, while she had been trying to figure out what to do next, her eyes had adjusted to the darkness. The narrow area between the hall entrance and the door in the false wall was empty. Maybe the screaming hadn’t come from there after all. Yes, that must be it. She could still hear faint whimpers but they came from a little farther away, beyond the next partition.
Skye told herself she had to put on her big-girl panties and do what had to be done. Still, as she slipped inside the small space, she left the outer door open for a quick getaway.
She could no longer hear the footsteps or moans. Had the ghost moved on to scare someone else? Or maybe the whole thing had been a part of the haunted-house act of which Skye wasn’t aware. With that optimistic thought, she noticed that the door located in the false wall was ajar. She placed her palm against it, but before she could push, a hand wrapped around the edge. Without thinking she yanked the door shut.
A wail of pain rang through the cheap plywood.
Great. She had just pissed off a ghost. No, wait a minute; a ghost wouldn’t have felt anything. Gripping her stun gun, she flung open the door. As she burst into the passageway, her head slammed into something solid and unyielding. Her vision blurred and she crumpled to the floor.
For an instant everything went black and she couldn’t move. What had happened? Damn! Someone must have hit her. Was he or she standing over her right now, ready to plunge a knife through her heart?
Skye’s eyelids flew open. She could dimly make out a sprawled body in front of her, and she realized what had happened. They both must have tried to go through the door at the same time and hit their heads. As Skye’s vision cleared, she could see that the other person was dressed in a long, cobwebby black gown, wearing stark white makeup and fangs. Who was playing Countess Dracula? Skye searched her memory, but came up blank.
The woman sat up slowly, reached for the flashlight that had rolled a few inches from her hand, and flicked it on. She stared at Skye. Fear, stark and vivid, glittered in the woman’s eyes, and her mouth formed a large circle. Screaming, she struggled to her feet and, keeping her gaze on Skye, backed through the door, then turned and ran.
Clearly Skye wasn’t the only one spooked by the haunted house. She eased to her feet, her head still swimming. Why had the countess run away like that?
Warily, Skye stepped farther into the passageway. The door had swung shut, as it was designed to do, and it was even darker here than in the outer hallway. Skye took a moment to get her bearings, then reached out and felt along the wall. Somewhere nearby was a panic button that would turn on an emergency light in the passageway, as well as a signal in the control room indicating that there was a problem. And a freaked-out Mrs. Dracula was definitely a problem.
She knew the button was at shoulder level and the size of a doorbell. Shuffling forward, she inched down the narrow corridor while trailing her hand against the rough plywood. If she went too fast, she might overlook the switch.
Where was the blasted thing? Had she somehow gotten turned around? Was she going the wrong way? Or had she missed it? As she took another step, her right foot slid into what felt like a large pile of clothes. Still unable to see in the darkness, Skye crouched. Tentatively, she reached out and touched the mound, then ran her fingers down its length.
Yikes! She yanked her hand back. It wasn’t someone’s abandoned laundry. It was a person.
Hesitantly, she grabbed what she hoped was the shoulder and shook it. “Hey, get up. Are you all right?”
Skye tried again, but there was no response. She needed help. Jumping to her feet, she continued her search for the light. Her breath was coming in shallow, quick gasps, and by the time her fingers stumbled onto the switch, her che
st felt as if it would burst.
She pushed the plastic button and light flooded the passageway. Blinded from the sudden glare, Skye instinctively closed her eyes as she swung around and stepped back to the person on the floor.
When she opened her eyes, she recoiled, then stood frozen in shock. A woman was lying on the floor in front of her, unmoving and corpselike. And she was a dead ringer for Skye herself!
CHAPTER 9
It Might Be You
Sheer black fright swept through Skye. Her mind reeled with confusion. Was she going insane? The situation was jarringly reminiscent of her recurring nightmare—the one in which she was attending a funeral, went up to pay her respects, and instead of finding the deceased in the casket, she saw herself.
Panic, unlike anything she’d ever experienced before, welled up in her throat. Her breath whistling rapidly in and out and her heart pounding like a jackhammer, she sank to the floor. Huddled against the wall, Skye gripped the stun gun and stared at her doppelgänger, trying to make sense of what was in front of her. Several minutes ticked by, but her brain refused to function and she remained paralyzed.
The sound of running footsteps roused her from her stupor. As the initial shock began to wear off, she calmed down. Regaining a fragment of self-control, she realized that the person sprawled a few feet from her was one of the other two witches. During the rehearsals they had discovered that all three of them looked nearly identical once they were in costume and makeup. Only the strange light and her already agitated state of mind had kept her from immediately comprehending the woman’s true identity.
Once Skye understood what she was seeing, she crawled over to her double and pressed her fingertips to the woman’s carotid artery, feeling for a pulse. There was none that Skye could detect, but she did note a line across her look-alike’s throat where the green makeup had been rubbed away. As Skye took the woman’s wrist to check for a pulse there, she saw a long rope with green stains clutched in the witch’s right hand.
Unable to detect a heartbeat, Skye used the bottom of her skirt to wipe off the makeup from around the woman’s mouth. Her skin had a bluish tinge and she didn’t appear to be breathing. How long had she been lying there?
While debating whether to remove the woman’s prosthetic nose and chin in order to identify her, Skye heard a male voice from outside the door shout, “The signal came from this section.”
“Stop. Don’t come in here.” Skye struggled to her feet and blocked the entrance. Raising her voice, she ordered, “Go back and call nine-one-one. Someone’s been attacked and is badly hurt.”
The men argued, but after explaining what she had found and asserting her position as a police consultant, Skye dissuaded them from attempting to enter the passageway. She instructed them to post guards at all the outer doors and make sure no one left the building. While one of the men went to phone for help, the other ran off to round up the rest of the security detail to stand watch.
Skye was surprised at how quickly Roy Quirk arrived. According to her Timex, it had taken him less than three minutes. With the chief out of town, and as Wally’s second in command, Officer Quirk was in charge. Roy was in his early thirties, and still looked like the football player he’d been in high school.
He nodded to Skye as he stepped inside the passageway, then quickly assessed the scene. Ten minutes later two paramedics burst through the door. Quirk moved aside, giving them access to the woman. From where Skye stood pressed against the wall, she couldn’t see what the paramedics were doing, but after only a minute or two they got to their feet, murmured a few words to Quirk, and left.
Quirk flipped open his cell phone and barked out several orders, then turned to Skye. “We need to keep people out of this area. Please move into the exterior hallway.”
Skye frowned. She wasn’t exactly “people.” She was the psychological consultant to the Scumble River Police Department, which made her Quirk’s colleague, not some civilian. “I take it that, since the paramedics are gone, the woman’s dead?”
Quirk didn’t answer; instead he asked, “How long ago did you find her?”
“I’d guess close to fifteen minutes ago, but I can’t say for sure.”
“Has anyone else been in here?”
“Not since I found her.” Skye shook her head. “I persuaded the guys from the control room not to come in. Instead I had them call you and post guards at the exits.”
“How did they know you needed help in the first place? Did they just happen by?”
“No.” Skye explained about the panic button, then added, “As well as working the sound system and the lights, the men act as a sort of security force for the haunted house.”
Quirk made a note on the pad he had taken from his shirt pocket. “Did you touch anything?”
“Yes.” Skye recalled her movements. “The door, the wall from the door to the light switch, the switch, her neck, shoulder, and wrist. Oh, and I also wiped some makeup from her mouth with my skirt.”
“Son of—” Quirk cut himself off and gave her a sour look. “You contaminated the scene.”
“What was I supposed to do?” Skye put her hands on her hips. “It was pitch-black. I didn’t even know she was there until I tripped over her. Then I had to see if I could help her.”
He clamped his lips shut, took her arm, and led her to the door.
“Did you call the coroner?” Skye persisted. She certainly had no desire to stay with the body, but she suspected Quirk had never handled a murder on his own.
“I’ve got it all under control.” Quirk nearly pushed her over the threshold. “You stay here and don’t let anyone but the officials in.”
“But I need to tell you—”
Quirk shut the door before she could finish.
She yelled through the wood, “Someone needs to find Countess Dracula.” There was no response, and Skye doubted that Quirk had heard her.
The news that something awful had happened spread quickly, and as Skye stood with her back to the door, the cast and crew gathered around her and shouted questions.
“Did you really find a body?”
“Who is it?”
“Were they murdered?”
“I can’t say anything.” Skye held up her hands in a quieting gesture. “The police have arrived and are handling it.”
“Ms. Denison, why did you want to find Evie Harrison?” asked a girl dressed as a zombie cheerleader.
“What are you talking about?” Skye puckered her brow. “I’m not looking for Mrs. Harrison.”
The undead cheerleader toyed with the fake knife sticking out of her chest. “I heard you shout that you needed someone to find Countess Dracula—that’s Evie Harrison.”
“I see.” Skye digested that information. She wished she had a list of cast members and their roles. “In that case, I would like to find her.” Skye raised her voice and said to the crowd, “Does anyone know where Evie Harrison is?”
No one answered, but the cheerleader poked Skye in the arm with a pom-pom. “So why do you want her?”
“I need to ask her something,” Skye equivocated, not willing to explain that she had encountered Evie near the body, or that Evie had run off screaming.
“Oh.” The teen scratched at the makeup that made one side of her face look as if it had been shredded.
“Why are you so interested?” Skye asked.
“Evie’s my mom.” The girl bit her lip. “And it’s sort of weird that she’s not here with everyone else. I thought maybe she was hurt or something.”
“You’re Cheyenne, right?” The teen nodded and Skye reached out and put a hand on her shoulder. “The last time I saw your mom, she was fine.” Skye crossed her fingers. Evie had been physically okay. “Hey, I bet you know everyone here, right?”
“Maybe.” Cheyenne’s expression became guarded. “So what?”
“Do you know the other two witches? The ones dressed like me?”
“Yeah. I know them. Mrs. Kennedy was my teacher i
n grade school, and the other is Bree’s mom.” Cheyenne pointed to a trio of zombie cheerleaders.
“Have you seen either one around here since the police arrived?”
“Not that I remember.” Cheyenne turned to go.
“I’ll keep an eye out for your mom.” Skye took a step after her. “And you let me know if you see Mrs. Kennedy or Mrs. Miles.”
The girl nodded, then walked away and joined a group of teenagers who stood in a tight cluster as far from the adults as possible. The kids were laughing and joking, and seemed fine, though a couple of the girls kept sneaking worried peeks in the direction of the door Skye was guarding.
What did she know about the other two witches? Skye mentally went through the Rolodex in her mind, trying to dredge up information. She had met Nina Miles a couple of years ago. Her oldest daughter, Farrah, had been a member of the cheerleading squad whose captain had been murdered. And during that same period, her youngest daughter, Shawna, had cut off the hair of one of her classmates in order to stop the other girl from performing the starring role in the annual dance recital. If Nina was the dead witch, that meant three children were now motherless.
Not that she wanted the body to be that of Hope Kennedy. Shoot! She didn’t want either of the two women to be the dead witch. She didn’t want it to be anyone. What she really wanted was for this to be a nightmare and to wake up.
She pinched herself, but other than a red mark on her arm, nothing had changed: She was still standing in the drafty hallway of the old American Legion hall. The crowd had backed off and was now milling around in small knots. Skye knew they should all be separated and not allowed to talk to one another, but what could she do? There were just too many of them.
As she strained to hear fragments of conversations, several Scumble River police officers arrived, followed closely by Simon Reid, who, in addition to owning the town funeral home and bowling alley, was also the county coroner.
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