Deviled!: Lake Erie Mysteries Book 2

by Maureen K. Howard

  Huffing and puffing, we finally attained the holy grail of floor twelve. I had barely enough energy left to get the door open and make a beeline for the bed. I flopped my wet self across the covers and took some deep breaths while my heart rate normalized. June headed straight for the bathroom and turned on the shower. Fifteen minutes later, she emerged from the steamy room cocooned in a white, fluffy bathrobe, a matching towel wound around her head.

  It was my turn. There was plenty of hot water, even with the backup generator providing our electrical power. There were also plenty of plush towels and another complimentary robe. The memory of our teeth-chattering, underwear-soaking misadventure was fading away. Good riddance. I sat down on the pillow-top mattress of the queen bed and watched June reapply her makeup. “I think we’re getting too old for this kind of vacation,” I mused while fluffing my hair with my fingers.

  “Now don’t go getting all dramatic, Francie. It was just a summer storm. They do happen here on the islands. Regularly, I might add.”

  “I know, but after Memorial Day, I’m just a bit leery of coincidental disappearances. That empty boat slip spooked me. I’m not gonna lie.”

  “Well, you have a point, my friend, but this time I assure you there is nothing to worry about. Hamm and Jack got the weather alert from the rest of the people at the docks and decided to leave so they could beat the storm. And men being men, they just forgot to tell us. I’m sure they thought we were already elbows-deep in some dramatic nonsense seminar and wouldn’t even notice they had left.”

  I knew that what June said made perfect sense, but just to be on the safe side, and to ease the tiny voice of doubt trying to grab my attention, I spilled the contents of my handbag onto the bed, extracted my phone, and pressed Hamm’s number. He answered on the first ring.

  “Hi, Honey. Is everything okay?”

  “I’m fine, but I was a little worried about you. I tried calling you earlier, but it went right to voicemail. June and I just got caught in a torrential downpour here. We went to the marina to see if you guys had gotten the weather update, but when we got to the boat slip, it was empty.”

  “Everything’s fine, Francie. Barb got the weather alert, and one look at the sky told us we’d better get a move on. We made it to Sunset Marina and got the boat tied up just as the storm hit. We’re at the clubhouse having dinner.”

  “Well, that’s good. I feel better now. Promise me you’ll plug your phone back in when you return to the boat. I’m guessing you don’t have a lot of battery power. You’re always forgetting to keep that thing charged.”

  “Yes, Francie, I promise. I love—”

  And with that I lost the call. I’m sure he’d charged his phone for all of about five minutes. For a smart, successful attorney, sometimes I wondered how he managed.

  June had a bemused “I told you so” look on her face, but didn’t rub it in. I felt better knowing the guys were safe and enjoying themselves. I just wished I’d had the chance to tell Hamm about our meeting with the DeVilles and our good fortune of scoring all the freebies. He would’ve gotten a kick out of knowing Bob’s bad attitude had resulted in such good luck for us.

  Now it was time to get back to the matter of our evening plans.

  “Are we really going to get dressed again and go to the dinner show? It’s probably been cancelled since the power went out.”

  As if on cue, the lights came back on, and I blinked while my eyes adjusted to the brightness of the room. I didn’t recall turning on every light in the place, but I guess between the two of us we had managed to do just that. So far, we were not being conscientious stewards of the environment. Oh well.

  “I guess the show must go on. It won’t take me long to get ready. We sure don’t have anything else to do tonight, and we don’t have to go outside again to get to the theater. Let’s take the DeVilles up on their offer for those VIP seats at the magic show.”

  “Why not? I’ll make some coffee while you get ready.”

  6

  All the world's a stage, /And all the men and women merely players; /They have their exits and their entrances, And one man in his time plays many parts.

  As You Like It

  The Crystal Theater was located on the main floor, just down the hall from the check-in desk. Wow! It was nothing less than magnificent. Crystal chandeliers glowed and sparkled with amber light. White pillar candles flickered on every table, infusing the tiered room with a fairy-tale-like quality. Two handsome, tuxedo-clad ushers appeared out of nowhere, took us both by the elbow, and escorted us down the stairs to a plush booth at the front of the theater. Angelina and Damien, already seated in the center booth, were engaged in friendly-sounding conversation. Our hostess rose to greet us.

  “Welcome, Francesca. June. I’m so glad you could make it. I hope the storm and the power outage didn’t cause you too much inconvenience.” She extended her hand, indicating our places in the booth.

  Our escorts bowed and took their leave while Damien got us settled in our seats across from him and his beautiful wife. He filled four glasses from a bottle of champagne that had been chilling in an ice bucket beside the booth and settled confidently into his seat. There was no sign of the furious man we had encountered at the elevator.

  Angelina held her sparkling champagne flute out to us and offered a toast.

  “May we never regret this. Cheers!”

  We raised our glasses, clinked them around the table, and sipped. Glancing sideways at June, I tried to gauge her reaction to Angelina’s unconventional toast, but she either didn’t notice or didn’t think it was all that unusual. Waiters in sharply pressed uniforms arrived and orchestrated a dinner event fit for heads of state: buttered rolls and a delicate summer salad lightly tossed with a tangy vinaigrette, followed by filet mignon and lobster. The asparagus with cream sauce would surely have had Hammond offering his firstborn child—or in our case, children; we have twins—in exchange for the recipe. Raspberry sorbet and mint cheesecake were the perfect finale to the production. Devil’s Island was living up to its marketing blurb to be a place to give in to your wildest desires. As we made our way through each delicious course, I paid close attention as Damien explained the magic trick I would be participating in shortly.

  “It sounds simple enough, but let me make sure I have it all down. I wouldn’t want to spoil your show, Damien.”

  “No worries, Francie. This is child’s play. I’ve done it hundreds of time.”

  Since I had done it zero times, I still wanted to run through the details. “So, first you’ll be selecting me “randomly” from the crowd to come on stage. Then I’ll be assisted into the box, where I’ll lay down with my torso encased and my head and feet sticking out through openings in each end. Then, after some interaction with the crowd, you’ll begin to saw the box in half. So far, so good?”

  “That’s right, Francie. The top of the box is solid, but once I get through the first inch, the saw will hit the trigger for the false bottom to drop out so your midsection can drop below the box. Then the saw goes the rest of the way through, while you use your best acting skills to make it look really painful.”

  I caught myself waving my hands and wiggling my toes, excited to be part of the magic. “And then presto! Once I’ve convinced the crowd that I’ve been cut in two, you remove the blade, the false bottom pops back into place, and I’m whole once again.”

  “Exactly.”

  “I just have one more question.”

  “Of course, what is it?”

  “Has anyone ever actually been cut in half?”

  Angelina and Damien burst into laughter and assured me they had performed this trick hundreds of times with no bloodshed. Their lighthearted attitude succeeded in putting me at ease. Almost. The lights blinked off and on. This time it wasn’t due to another power outage. Instead, it was a signal the show was about to begin. Damien excused himself to get to the stage, and I finished off the last drops of my champagne. In spite of myself, I was feeling a bit
nervous.

  June wished me luck and slid out of the booth so she could move around more freely with her camera. Damien began the show with some amazing illusions, and I admired the work of the light and sound technicians who were doing a great job setting the mood. It was apparent that nothing was short of first class at this resort.

  Damien introduced his next trick, explaining that an unsuspecting woman from the audience would be sawed in half. Angelina took my damp hand in her cool, smooth grasp and gave it a squeeze for luck. Damien “randomly” selected me from the volunteers who wanted to participate in the illusion. I took a deep breath, stood up, and made my way to the stage entrance. June was at the opposite end of the stage giving me a thumbs-up. I was about to return the gesture when I noticed a waitress tap June’s shoulder and hand her a highball glass. I couldn’t tell for sure, but it looked like the girl who had been in the penthouse suite before we’d arrived. If it was her, she had pulled herself together, and there was no sign of her earlier tears. I didn’t have time to ponder it further; it was time for me to focus on my performance.

  Damien reached out and helped me onto the stage, explaining to the audience what he was about to do. Meanwhile, two assistants directed me into the coffin-like wooden box positioned under a beam of light at center stage.

  The stage lights blinded me, since I had no other choice but to stare up into them while lying flat on my back in my wooden sarcophagus. Damien continued setting up our illusion, playing to the crowd, but I couldn’t make out his words. All the outside sounds echoed around me, disorienting me further. I tried to look calm and cool and follow the show even though I could barely move my head. My eyes darted from side to side, my legs were cramping up, and I realized it was too late to rethink this whole gig. Just then, a shadow blocked the bright light from my eyes, leaving me to stare up at the imposing figure looming over me. My eyes fixated on the gleaming blade of the saw in Damien’s hand as it made its way toward my belly.

  A hush had settled over the audience. All eyes were on me while my eyes sought reassurance from the darkly handsome sorcerer who held my life in his hands. Damien’s steely gaze was anything but comforting. The expression on his face confused me. Was he in a trance? I sure hoped he was in control of the razor-sharp blade he was drawing back and forth across the top of the wooden box that held me prisoner. I felt an icy shiver creeping its way down my spine. The blade sliced through the wood, and I sucked in my gut in anticipation of its impending contact. The trigger should have been activated by this point. Something was wrong, and I needed to get out. “Stop! Please stop! Let me out of here!”

  There was a collective gasp from the audience. The action on stage was riveting, but I was not acting. I was panicking. The saw sliced through the top of the box and still nothing gave way beneath me. I tried pushing down on the bottom of the box with what little body weight I could leverage, considering all I had to work with was my torso. Still nothing. Damien continued sawing. I didn’t want to spoil the illusion, but this was getting too close for comfort. I felt the vibration and added pressure as the gleaming steel blade made a first cut into the insulating board situated on my stomach as a final layer of protection in case of an equipment malfunction. Damien the Magnificent, Magician Extraordinaire, didn’t seem to notice as he continued pulling the razor-edged blade back and forth across the last half inch of protection I had before being sliced in two.

  That was it. My fight-or-flight instinct kicked in, and since flight was not an option, I had only one choice. “Stop, Damien. Stop! Something’s gone wrong!”

  I screamed and begged, alternating between fury and terror, but my protests had no effect. His expression never changed, and the saw never stopped. How good an actress did he think I was? I realize the show must go on, but this was over and above any actor’s commitment to the craft. I sucked in a huge breath and screamed, “Ham and eggs!” then squeezed my eyes shut waiting for the tearing pain that would surely follow.

  Was I conscious or was I dreaming? At this point, I didn’t know or care. I felt rather than saw a whirlwind of activity around my head. Finally, I dared to take a peek. There was June, pushing her way through a gathering crowd and throwing herself at Damien so she could wrestle the saw from him and stop the blade from reaching its intended destination. Thank God she had recognized the code words we had established in case of emergencies. I had never expected to actually need them.

  7

  Suspicion always haunts the guilty mind.

  King Henry VI

  Back in our hotel room, I was lying on the bed with a warm washcloth on my forehead. June was pacing at the foot of the bed, organizing her thoughts about the evening. She asked me the same questions I was trying to work out for myself.

  “What happened tonight? I thought you had this all under control, Francie. I didn’t think you were in any real danger until you shouted ‘Ham and Eggs.’ It took me a second to realize what was going on, since I hadn’t even thought about that silly code since we made it up.” She stopped pacing and sat on the edge of the bed. “Damien was acting pretty spaced-out. Do you think he was on something? Was he trying to pull something?”

  I just groaned in response, too exhausted to speculate on questions I didn’t have answers to. She wasn’t listening anyway. I could almost see the investigative wheels turning in her head, and she was mostly just talking out loud as she processed her own questions. I was spared the next round of unanswerable questions by a loud knock at the door.

  I didn’t stir from my place in the center of the bed but watched with interest as June marched to the door and squinted through the peephole before swinging the door open. Standing in the hallway were two uniformed police officers.

  The taller of the two addressed June. “Good evening, ma’am. I’m Officer Devon Rymer, and this is my partner, Stanley Stark. Are you Francesca Egg?”

  I bristled at the officer’s mispronunciation of my name, which rhymes with ledge, not leg, if you please. I typically am not bothered when people address me as something that pops out of a chicken’s behind, but something about this guy already rubbed me the wrong way. He was tall, well-built, had neatly-trimmed dark hair, and looked about the same age as my son, Ben, but he exuded an attitude of cocky superiority from all the way across the room. I wanted to smack the smug right off his face.

  His companion, Officer Stark, stood about a head shorter than Rymer. If his red, runny eyes and matching nose were any indication, he suffered from year-long allergies. I wouldn’t have been surprised if he wiped his nose with his uniform sleeve. He sneezed, and June and I offered him a simultaneous Gesundheit. He sneezed again. June grabbed the box of tissues from the nightstand and held it out toward Officer Sneezy.

  “I’m June, but Francie is right over there.” She pointed in my direction and the two officers shuffled a few feet further into our room. I was beginning to wonder what these guys were doing here, and why they were asking specifically for me. Did this have something to do with the magic trick gone wrong? If so, wouldn’t I be the wronged party here? Come to think of it, shouldn’t Angelina and Damien have sent a doctor or a medic or at least some utterly unqualified hotel employee to check up on me? I shivered just thinking about my recent close call. Maybe I could milk this episode for more compensation. At this rate, by the end of the weekend, I might own stock in DeVille properties. Before I could imagine myself stretched out on the penthouse sofa enjoying the view with a fancy drink in my hand, Officer Annoying broke the spell.

  “Ms. Egg?”

  “Yes, I’m Francesca Egge.” I enunciated my last name, hoping he would get the hint. “What seems to be the problem, officer? Is this about the magic show? I told Damien—Mr. DeVille—that I was fine. I was just shaken up and needed to lie down. I certainly don’t need to fill out a police report. Accidents happen in theater, but the show must go on.”

  The second officer—Stark was it?—took over the questioning as he inched his way closer to me. “Does this scarf belong t
o you, Ms. Egge?” He held out the scarf June had been wearing earlier. It was inside a plastic bag marked Evidence.

  My mouth took on the characteristics of the Sahara Desert. I swallowed once, twice, trying to work up the appropriate ratio of saliva to sand so I could speak if the need arose. I really didn’t think I was going to like what was about to happen next.

  “Yes, it’s mine,” I said, still having a hard time getting words to form through the dust in my throat. I had no choice but to accept ownership, since all my stage props had embroidered name tags sewn into them to avoid mix-ups behind the curtain during rehearsals and shows.

  Officer Rymer stood statue-still while Stark closed the gap. I did not feel like they were there to protect or to serve me. My eyes darted around the room, settling in on June’s bewildered stare. I tried to use my mental powers, such as they were, to connect with her thoughts so I could figure out what I was supposed to do next. I got nothing. Just then, the two-way radio at Rymer’s belt crackled to life. Stark’s did the same. Before either of them could reach for the volume knobs on their devices, a crisp female voice filled the dead air.

  “The family has been notified and would like the body of Roberto DeVille released to the funeral home for preparation. Possible—”

  I looked again to June, who was now standing behind the two cops. Finally, our telepathic powers were in sync, because I knew beyond question she was thinking the same thing I was: Body? DeVille? What has happened? And why on earth are two cops questioning us in our hotel room?

  “What was that about?” I demanded of the officers. I was mad. I felt Officer Rymer owed me that much. I at least had the right to know what all the questions were about. “Did something happen to Bob? Is he…” I couldn’t bring myself to finish the sentence, but I felt it in the pit of my stomach. Bob DeVille was dead.