“Maybe she’s just busy. I’m sure it takes a lot to run this resort, and with the added stress of planning a funeral while trying to appease all the people who aren’t allowed to leave the hotel, I’m sure we’re the least of her worries.”
“You’re right, of course, but something feels off.”
Fortified with a handful of mixed nuts and a glass of chardonnay, we hopped off our barstools and made our way over to the theater for our meeting with Gabriel. June was a bit anxious, considering we were going to plan the logistics of a mystery dinner theater put on by virtual strangers. She swung open the doors, ready with the bright smile and self-confident swagger she somehow managed to make look cute and sexy at the same time.
“Hello!” Her greeting echoed back to us in the cavernous space. Other than the stage lights, the huge old theater was dark. The place looked deserted. I stood for a moment, inhaling the essence of my college years, remembering all the possibilities of the empty stage.
June, deflated now, stood beside me still as a stone. Her voice was soft and tentative. “He did say four o’clock in the theater, didn’t he, Francie?”
“It’s only five after four. He’s probably just running a little late. Let’s see if we can find the light switch.” I made my way around the perimeter of the dimly lit room, locating a bank of switches near the emergency exit door. Click, click, click. Bright light flooded the space, illuminating the rich burgundy velvet of the theater seats. I’ve been in a lot of theaters, and this one was definitely up there in the top three for opulence, comfort, and cleanliness. It was hard to believe the Starlight Theater was no longer used on a regular basis.
Now that the lights were on, I spotted a note taped to the wall beside the entrance door. I could see the gilded D at the top of the creamy, embossed stationery from across the room, a clear indication of the author’s identity. Retracing my steps, I retrieved the note and read it out loud.
“Had to go to the prop room to grab some supplies. Be back in a flash. Make yourselves comfortable. —G.D.”
“See? Just like I said. He’ll be here in a few minutes. Let’s just—” I paused as the theater went dark. “What the heck? Did you turn the lights back out?”
“Shh. Do you hear that Francie?”
I stood still and listened in the dark; the soft swishing sound was coming from behind and above us. I turned just in time to see a bright beam of light coming from the old-fashioned projection booth and spotlighting a screen on stage that I hadn’t noticed until that moment.
June and I slumped into seats in the last row and stared straight ahead. I had a bad feeling about this.
Scratchy black-and-white images appeared on the screen. After about five seconds of indecipherable film, a series of distinct pictures emerged. It looked like one of those news clips where people tell their stories by holding up a series of placards, only this wasn’t about a courageous teenager, a mother’s love, or a patient who beat the odds. In fact, there was nothing uplifting whatsoever in the message.
The first clip was an ominous-looking clown dressed all in black. He wore a black wig, and a leering, black smile slashed his chalk-white face nearly in two. He held three posters in front of him. After a three-second zoom on the first one, proclaiming You Knew Bob, he tossed it on the floor, and the camera held steady on his second message: Bob Knew Us. His final poster read, We Know You. Next, the film transitioned in a fade-out to a second video clip. It was another clown, but this one was dressed in white from head to toe. He wore a tall, pointy hat with a big pom-pom at the tip. His blood-red smile had no mirth in it. In his white-gloved hands was his own series of poster messages which he held and tossed in the same manner as clown number one: If You’re Smart/Learn the Plan/And Follow Through. By the time the third escapee from Camp Creepy appeared, we were clutching each other’s hands so hard my fingers were numb. I stared at the ghoulish figure, praying his performance was the last part of the message. This clown, decked out in crimson, had a devilish quality about him. He wore a close-fitting hood that met his neck in a bouncy flounce of red ruffles. His skin was painted the same shade as his costume, but, unlike the other two, there were no exaggerated facial features added to his countenance. Truth be told, his eyes looked a little scared. The messages he held at arm’s length in front of him were scrawled in white paint on black posters: Get The Proof/Pack Your Bags/Seal Your Fate.
The screen melted back into gray snow, and then the light from the projector went out, plunging us into inky darkness for the second time. My nerves were jangling, my hands were shaking, and my teeth were chattering. Finally, I screamed. June’s own wail of distress matched mine octave for octave.
Could this get any worse? Oh yes, it could! A real-life, flashlight-wielding clown in full regalia peeked out from behind the curtain and ran across the stage and out the exit on the opposite side. Really? Had one of our earlier lunch mates followed us to the theater? It wasn’t like we needed to continue our sparkling conversation. Was he trying to find his two buddies or just making sure we had received the intended special feature? Before I could give it more thought, I was startled by a velvety voice asking, “What’s going on in here? Why are you two sitting in the dark? And where is Mr. Sneed?”
13
I am very proud, revengeful, ambitious, with more offences at my beck than I have thoughts to put them in,/ Imagination to give them shape, or time to act them in.
Hamlet
I had completely forgotten that Eddie was part of our class and by rights should have been with us in the theater. He had been so anxious to join us. We hadn’t run into him at lunch, but with all the other interesting characters in the Great Hall, his absence never even registered with me. Now, though, it did seem odd that he was nowhere to be found.
Gabriel flicked the light switch, and the theater was once again illuminated as if nothing strange had happened. However, here in the light, I could tell that June’s hands were shaking as much as mine, and beads of perspiration stood out on her forehead. Although I couldn’t see it, I was pretty sure her heart was racing in her chest. Mine was.
June was able to regain her composure before I was, so she recapped the entire incident for Gabriel—from our arrival at the theater, to the terrifying video messages, to the appearance of the flesh-and-blood mystery clown.
“You’re going to want to look at the video, Gabriel. It’s disturbing. I don’t know who this was intended for, but either I’m being paranoid, or this message was meant for Francie and me. Who would want to do such a horrible thing and why? It doesn’t make sense. We don’t know anything about Bob’s personal life, nor do we care about it. I’d like to know who is trying to pull us into this whole sorry mess.” June stopped her monologue and looked at Gabriel. “Oh, I’m sorry. I guess that remark was insensitive.”
“There’s no need for you to apologize, June. It sounds like you’re the victim here. And as for my brother, it wouldn’t be the first time his presence disturbed someone.”
I thought Gabriel’s assessment was fair; however, although true, it seemed a little coldhearted under the circumstances. But then again, people dealt with grief in many different ways.
“Let’s calm down and think this through,” Gabriel suggested. “My recommendation is that we call the police and give them the video. I’ll go up and get it and keep it in my office safe until we can turn it over. They can dust the projection booth for fingerprints and look for other clues. Did you see anyone besides the mystery clown in the theater, anyone at all?”
“How could we?” I said. “It was pitch-dark when we first got here.”
“The creepy clown didn’t stick around to chat,” June added.
“Oh, I’ll get to the bottom of this, don’t you worry, ladies.” Gabriel’s self-assured voice gave my own courage a kick in the pants.
Tucking my fear away, I made up my mind to be proactive. “I’m not going to stand around and let some demented clowns terrorize us. If this is supposed to be a joke, I�
��m not at all amused. I’m going upstairs to that projection booth myself and see if I can find out what’s going on. Are you coming, June?”
I didn’t have to ask. She was already heading for the lobby door marked Projection Booth—Authorized Personnel Only. Her don’t-mess-with-me expression was impossible to misconstrue.
The room looked perfectly innocuous. There were three, old-fashioned, reel-to-reel projectors mounted to the floor, each pointed at its own square window to the stage and screen. Set apart a short distance, at the end of the row, was a single digital projector. All three of the old-school projectors were still warm, but there wasn’t a filmstrip to be found among them. What did we expect, a signed note? I headed over to the modern machine and examined it. More nothing.
“Hey wait. What’s this?” I bent down near the wall and reached behind the projector to retrieve the red object.
June stared at the rubber sphere in my outstretched hand. “Looks like a clown nose to me. Yep, definitely a clown nose. Did you notice whether or not that jogging jester was missing any clown-type body parts?”
Now that I had spoiled the one piece of potentially helpful evidence, I felt my cheeks flush with embarrassment. We were no closer to figuring out who was behind the incident, and now it seemed like calling the police would only draw unwanted attention to ourselves. And to top it off, Eddie Sneed was still AWOL.
“It’s unfortunate, I know, but I see no reason to do any mystery dinner theater planning or set designing now. I apologize for the inconvenience and am more than happy to refund you both the price of the seminar. When I find out Mr. Sneed’s circumstance, I will deal with him accordingly.” There was an undercurrent of suppressed anger in his voice. “Dinner is scheduled from five until six thirty. It’s already close to five, so you might as well head out. Please enjoy your dinner and don’t worry too much about what just happened. I’ll get to the bottom of it.” With that, Gabriel left us.
“Let’s get out of here,” I said. “I’ve had just about enough of this. I could use a drink. Or two.”
“I’m right there with you.” June pulled the door shut behind us, and we made our way back through the hotel and out into the warm evening.
14
Do you think because you are virtuous, that there shall be no more cakes and ale?
Twelfth Night
As we walked the short distance from the hotel complex to the amusement park entrance, the topics of murder and malicious clowns almost prevented me from appreciating our surroundings. The smell of popcorn and cotton candy from the vendors stationed on every corner tantalized my olfactory nerves and tickled my taste buds, and there were plenty of interesting people doing plenty of interesting things to keep our minds occupied until we reached the Sky Chair, the ride that reminded me of a ski lift and traversed the entire length of the park. Even with plenty of stimulation for all five senses, it was my sixth sense that was currently occupying all my attention. My need for self-preservation kept getting in the way of enjoying my present environment.
“June, what are we going to do about those clowns? Who are they, and how did Bob know them? Do you think they work somewhere in the resort?”
June was chewing on her lower lip. “That’s as good a guess as any. Why do they think we can ‘learn the plan’ and ‘ditch the proof?’ What proof? And what are we supposed to do with it?”
“That’s exactly what I’d like to know. Do you think we should tell Detective Reed? Maybe she can track down the clown from the theater. He must have taken the film with him, even if he’s not the one responsible for making it.”
“I’m pretty sure Gabriel will share the details with the authorities. His brother was a big part of the video message, and they’ll want to figure out if it has anything to do with Bob’s murder. No doubt Reed and the gang will be back to question us again, probably in the middle of our next session.”
“Is it just me, or did Gabriel seem more upset about Eddie Sneed being absent than us being targeted by demented clowns? My head is spinning like the Tilt-a-Whirl.”
June didn’t answer me. I guessed it was because she had a soft spot for Gabriel.
“What if Eddie was the mystery clown?” I ventured.
“I don’t know. I think he was taller than Sneed. Plus, Eddie probably wouldn’t have been able to resist stopping to chat. We’re almost at the Sky Chair. One thing we can figure out right now is where we should eat dinner.”
“How about The Cheesecake Factory? Their food is good, they serve drinks, and of course there’s the cheesecake.” June didn’t offer a single objection to my suggestion.
The main dining and pub section of the park was two blocks long. The restaurants ranged widely in price and scope, from dogs and fries to miso salmon and mushroom risotto. The Cheesecake Factory was a new addition to the strip; therefore, it was located at the end of the street, right where the Sky Chair let us off.
In the last few years, there had been many additions and improvements to the already amazing island getaway. It must be difficult for the DeVille’s to stay ahead of the family entertainment game with all the new and exciting resorts and indoor water parks popping up like weeds and competing for a share of the tourist pie.
We were seated by a cheery hostess in a yellow dress who asked if we would like to see the wine list. “Yes!” times two was what she heard in response to her silly question. We ordered drinks without delay, and she scurried off to do our bidding.
We sipped our wine, and although I was starting to relax, I still couldn’t shake the feeling that we hadn’t seen the worst. Like it or not, a chain of events we had no control over had been set into motion. We still had a lot of thinking to do, but for the time being, I would concentrate on the menu and what I would order for dinner.
When I looked up from the menu, June was peering over my shoulder in the direction of the kitchen. “This resort is a lot smaller than I thought it was,” she said, her eyebrows scrunched together and her lips all bunched up.
“Why would you say that? This place is huge.”
“Then why do we keep seeing the same people everywhere we go? I mean, really, how many jobs can that Sasha chick have?”
“What?” I nearly pulled an Exorcist move trying to follow June’s gaze. The restaurant was busy, so it took me several seconds to zero in on her. There she was, wearing the same sunny dress as our hostess and the rest of the waitresses, so it was clear she was an employee of the restaurant. At the moment, she was standing in the doorway to the kitchen, her profile silhouetted by the bright lights of the workspace behind her. Her eyes were downcast and her hands were empty, arms straight at her sides. It was obvious she was being spoken to by an authority figure. Truth be told, it was evident she being reprimanded or scolded. Or threatened? The person dominating the conversation was just beyond the doorway, out of sight. After thirty seconds more, Sasha was nudged from the doorway toward the dining room full of seated patrons, and right behind her strode Gabriel DeVille. Gabriel? First we find this girl running from the DeVille penthouse crying. Next, she shows up at the magic show in the middle of my failed magic act with an unordered cocktail for June. Then she appears at our hotel room with spa passes neither of us ordered. Oh, I almost forgot, she was mingling with the zombies at lunch this afternoon. And now she was heading straight for our table.
“Hello. My name is Sasha, and I will be taking care of you this evening. I see you have your drinks. Are you ready to order?” She finished her scripted greeting and looked up. Her round eyes grew even rounder, and then she dropped her order pad. As she bent down to retrieve it, June gave me a laser-beam stare that bore into my brain. Neither of us spoke, but I knew exactly what her mind was relaying to mine. Did you see her face? She has a black eye. A real black eye. My mind acknowledged that I did.
Upright again and composed, she apologized for being clumsy and asked for the second time in her soft accent if we would like to place an order. Suddenly, I wasn’t feeling hungry but didn’t want t
he scene to get any more awkward than it already was, so I scanned the menu and made up my mind.
“I’ll have a Caesar salad. June, do you want to split a Godiva chocolate cheesecake?”
“Sure, sounds good. I’ll have the same salad. And another glass of wine, please.”
“Make that two,” I added.
I was impressed by how Sasha regained her composure. “Very good, ladies. I’ll put that right in.”
As soon as she walked away, Gabriel, who had been mingling with the other dinner guests, made a beeline for our table. Oh brother. So far the Drama Divas Convention was living up to its name. I was pretty sure it had been Gabriel berating Sasha just moments ago, but here was June, batting her long eyelashes and running her fingers through her spiky blond hair.
“Good evening, ladies! I’m so glad you chose this place for your meal. Do you mind if I join you?”
“Please, sit down,” June said without hesitation. More eyelash batting.
The three of us spent the next hour socializing. Gabriel sipped on a glass of pinot noir while we worked on our salad and cheesecake. I tried to keep myself occupied and act like I didn’t notice, while June and Gabriel talked to each other like they were the only two people in the place. I couldn’t help but wonder how Gabriel managed to get there before us. He must have a private car or taxi or something to zip around in as he surveys his kingdom. Over the course of the meal, as I moved lettuce and croutons around on my plate and downed more than my share of the cheesecake, I learned some interesting facts about Gabriel and the DeVille family. The DeVilles, as I had discovered, owned the entire Devil’s Island Resort, including the five-star hotel and conference center, the restaurants and spa, the amusement park, and the marina. I had also learned that Damien and his wife, Angelina, managed the hotel and hospitality end of the business. And then there was the recently departed Roberto, aka Bob, whom we had known for years as the crude and irritating marina manager. What was news to me was that Gabriel currently lived in Chicago and was an active member of the theater scene there. He was involved with four different independent theater houses and was visiting the family property in Ohio this coming weekend to scout fresh talent for two of his soon-to-be-released off-Broadway productions. He was the person who had orchestrated the entire three-day workshop we were attending and brought in all the presenters and performers. Having put together my own small-scale seminars for the college drama department, I could appreciate what a huge undertaking his project really was. On the other hand, I didn’t pay much attention to what June was saying. I had heard most of it before, and the majority of it was even true.
Deviled!: Lake Erie Mysteries Book 2 Page 6
