by Etta Faire
I also wondered how I was going to do all of this “local research” without telling anyone why I cared so much about a horror flick from 1987. I already had a librarian hot on my trail, and I hadn’t even begun my research yet.
I looked through the search results, realizing just what a powerful couple I was dealing with here. Barry had won many business awards as a financial planner. And, Ruth was a child psychologist with a weekly column in the Gazette called Dear Dr. Locke.
They were in all the social pages. Philanthropists. Friends of the Donovans. On the country club’s governance board.
And here I was, about to smack into their truck with my clearance sandals again.
When I looked up the director, Ned Reinhart, I realized he was even bigger than the Lockes. There were many articles in national newspapers and magazines about his special-effects techniques, his famous temperament, the women’s rights groups disgusted with his bikini thrasher movies…
I didn’t need to read them all. I chose one from a magazine the library carried and scribbled down the information.
Then I brought the first canister to the microfilm machine. Usually, I’d fudge the “one canister” rule, but I knew Mrs. Nebitt was looking for a reason to come over.
I quickly popped the reel into place, looking over my shoulder the entire time. Mrs. Nebitt was putting the books onto a cart.
I scrolled through 80s advertisements for Dirty Dancing, tanning salons, and new cordless phones, finally spotting the article and stopping on it.
Horror Movie to Be Filmed at Landover Lake;
Locals Skeptical
Wisconsin production team Toppletree will film its next movie in Landover from September 1st - 28th. The movie is called Camp Dead Lake and its primary location for filming is in the home of one of Landover’s most trusted couples, Ruth and Barry Locke.
Mandy Smalls, co-owner of Toppletree Productions and one of the main actresses in the movie, explains more about it. “I can’t give too much away, but the movie is about a camp where bad things happen. It should be a lot of fun to film. We need plenty of locals from Landover to be extras, so if you’re interested, look for us. We don’t bite.”
Sheriff Bellings cautioned residents not to sign on too quickly to be a part of things. “Landover’s not Hollywood,” he said. “They want to come in here with their big cameras and push people around so they can make the kind of movie ninety-five percent of the folks around here won’t even see. Decent people don’t watch teenage murder movies that promote promiscuity and AIDS.”
Mrs. Smalls says that’s not the kind of movie they’re making. “It’s got young people in it and a camp and a lot of death, but it also has a message that holding onto the past isn’t healthy. My husband and I pride ourselves on making slasher movies with a heart, and not just a lot of stabs to the heart…”
I pictured Mandy doing her famous fading Mom laugh when she’d said that last part.
The article included a photo of Mandy and Graham staring longingly at each other with the caption: Husband-and-wife horror team put love into every movie.
My stomach churned just a little as I hit print on the article, then rewound the microfilm.
Mrs. Nebitt waddled over to the printer.
Darn it. I hadn’t thought about that one.
A part of me wanted to jump up and race her to it. I could take her on.
Instead, I gave up and scrolled ahead to the next article, the one about Mandy’s death, titled: Actress Murdered on Set of Teen Slasher Movie.
Mrs. Nebitt slowly brought the printed copy to my area in the periodicals section, while reading it. “Thought I’d help you out,” she said when she got to me.
“You’re always so considerate,” I deadpanned.
“Mandy Smalls, huh? And the movie filmed in Landover.” She smiled triumphantly. “So, your favor is for the police department. They want you to solve this cold case for them. I know it’s been eating at Caleb Bowman for a while.”
“That’s not it, at all,” I said a little too loudly to be convincing as I snatched the paper. I kicked myself for not having a better lie set up to begin with.
She took her glasses off and rubbed her eyes, causing her smile wrinkles to swirl and stretch into each other. “Like I said before, I am the best in town at keeping secrets. Mum’s the word,” she said, strutting away.
“But, now that you know my research has something to do with the movie,” I called after her. “What do you remember about it?”
She didn’t answer.
“Know anyone in town named Crazy Hank?” I asked.
She adjusted her hearing aid, something she only did when she didn’t want to hear you.
And, I turned back to my research. There wasn’t much in the next article, except that Graham was quoted, explaining why Mandy hadn’t gone out with the gang that night.
“There was something about the footage we shot that day that she didn’t like. So, she stuck around to check it. She was a hardworking perfectionist. Nothing wrong with that.”
I still printed it out just to see if Mrs. Nebitt would bring me that copy too. She didn’t. She’d found out what the secret was, so she was smugly sipping her coffee, humming to herself as she put the books away in the nonfiction section.
I went to the microfilm cabinet and took out three canisters. I needed to speed this along, and I no longer cared if she came over to yell at me about the one-canister rule.
After scrolling over to one of the Dear Dr. Locke columns, I quickly looked it over.
The column was in the vein of Dear Abby, where two questions were selected for “the board certified child psychologist” to answer. One was about bed-wetting, the other from a parent worried about his child’s dumbed-down kindergarten class.
Neither was of relevance to my case, but I printed it out anyway. My research was going nowhere fast.
Nothing was panning out, and I had to be at work in less than an hour.
I went to one of the articles about Barry Locke receiving an award for Ethics in Business from a local nonprofit. I yawned and printed it out.
Ned Reinhart had gone on to direct many other slasher movies. The article I’d chosen was from 2001 about his career. I printed it out without reading it either.
It was the first time as a ghost cold-case detective that the library didn’t seem like the best place to do my research.
I pulled out my phone to see what the internet had to say about Mandy Smalls’ death, noticing that I’d missed a text.
It was from Justin. “Want to meet at my place for dinner? I’ll make spaghetti.”
I could practically smell the Parmesan wafting from my fingertips as I typed in a quick response.
“Yes!!! I should be done at work by 7:00,” I texted back.
“I have the night off,” he said.
We both knew that was code for “sleep over.” My heart raced, and it wasn’t in a good way. I never felt comfortable at his place. It backed up to the Dead Forest, and the other residents in the apartment complex seemed a little off.
I tried not to think about it as I went back to my research, now on my phone’s internet browser. I typed in “Camp Dead Lake Mandy Smalls murder.”
An article came up from Horror Monthly in 1997:
Ten Years Later,
Mandy Smalls’s Murder Still a Mystery:
Small Town Appears to be Hiding Stuff
My hand shook just a little reading that. I looked over at Mrs. Nebitt, who was busy putting away her books with her hearing aid down so I couldn’t ask her any more questions about Camp Dead Lake.
The clock in the upper left corner of my phone was a glaring reminder I’d have to read the article later.
I had to get to work.
I gathered up my stuff, headed to the printer near the front of the library, and waved goodbye to Mrs. Nebitt.
She smiled and made a turning-key motion over her mouth, indicating my secret was locked away with her.
We were a small town hiding stuff, all right.
Chapter 8
The Trouble with Bird Repellant
My boss, Rosalie, was helping two tourists in tennis dresses and sun visors when I entered the Purple Pony.
She swept back the graying dreadlock falling into her face as she put six jars of regular bird repellant into a brown paper bag, patting the bag like it was something precious and not an expensive blend of essential oils that did nothing to repel birds.
“I’m sure that is just a rumor,” I heard her say as I went into the back to put my purse in the large metal cabinet there. “Completely blown out of proportion last night. You know how things get misconstrued around Landover…” she added, lowering her voice.
I shut the cabinet and ran into the front part of the store to catch the last part of the conversation. I missed what she said, though.
As soon as the ladies left, I turned to my boss. “What was that all about?” I asked. “What happened last night?”
She lowered her voice even though the store was empty now. “Another bird attack.”
“What? And why did you tell them it was just a rumor?”
Rosalie leaned in. “She’s fine, so don’t freak out. Shelby Winehouse was attacked on her way to class yesterday. At the university.”
It felt like someone had smacked me across the head. I saw birds following her at the Shop-Quik, and I’d done nothing to warn her. “I… I didn’t know. I should call her,” was all I could think to say.
“She’s only a little shook up. But yes, you should call her.”
“So why did you tell those two ladies it was a rumor?” I asked, even though I knew the answer.
We were the small town hiding stuff…
Rosalie lowered her voice even further. “A bunch of us local business owners had an impromptu meeting last night in the backroom of the diner after the bird attack. We all decided that if any tourist asks us about birds, we are going to play it off like we don’t know anything about it. Nothing but a rumor.”
“No sharks in the water here,” I said.
She ignored me. “Grace Herndon at the Gazette told me she hasn’t reported on any of them, and she’s not planning to. I heard the police aren’t coming out for bird attacks anymore either, unless someone’s seriously hurt. So the campus police had to handle things last night. On the bright side, though, I sold a ton of bird repellant this morning while denying anything happened.”
“I’m going to call Shelby right now,” I said, even though it was technically “work hours” and I shouldn’t have been making a personal call.
I didn’t wait for approval. I rushed into the back and grabbed my phone, realizing Justin hadn’t mentioned anything to me about Shelby in his text about spaghetti.
And, he must’ve known.
I heard the wind chimes clang for the front room. But, I no longer cared about customers right now. It was probably more tourists looking for bird repellant because they heard a rumor.
I heard Rosalie laughing with whoever had come into the store while I waited for Shelby to pick up. I would need to get out there and help out soon.
Thankfully, it went to voicemail. “Hey Shelby. It’s Carly. I just found out about the bird attack. I heard you were okay, but are you? Give me a call so we can compare notes. I’m so sorry.” I hung up. The “I’m so sorry” sounded more like I was personally responsible for the attack than the general “I’m so sorry” you say when something bad happens.
I did feel responsible.
I almost called Justin too, to find out why in the world he hadn’t told me about Shelby, but I just tossed my phone back in my purse.
I was heading over to his place after work. There would be plenty of time to make him regret that decision.
Rosalie hustled into the back and scooted by me so she could get into the cabinet. She was humming something that sounded like We’re in the Money.
I moved aside to let her through. She leaned down and grabbed one of the Mason jars of the real bird repellant. “It’s for Shelby,” she said.
Shelby? Was Shelby in the front room?
I hurried out to see my friend, but it wasn’t her. It was Lila Donovan.
I forced myself to smile and give the woman an awkward hug like we were friends. We had mutual friends and we were around the same age, but there was something I didn’t trust about Lila Donovan, and it was probably the fact she was a Donovan. Donovans were the richest and most corrupt family on the lake.
As always, Lila’s outfit was perfect. Designer everything that was stylish and put together. She looked professional without looking like an itchy woman about to teach Sunday school.
“So, you’re here to help Shelby?” I asked. “How’s she doing?”
“She’s okay,” she said, looking around the store with one of those fake “this is great” smiles. I could tell the Purple Pony was not her usual kind of shopping experience. “She just stayed at school after the attack. By now, everyone’s heard they don’t do anything for a bird attack at the hospital except give you Band-Aids. And she doesn’t have good insurance, I guess.”
Rosalie plunked the large Mason jar of bird repellant on the counter and Lila looked at it like it was a glass of throw-up.
In her defense, it did kind of resemble it.
Her smile spasmed a little at the corner as she ran a hand through her perfectly highlighted blonde hair. “Is this it?” she asked. “I thought the special blend would look a little more special. And smell a little better.”
Rosalie tapped the lid. Her customer-service smile never even cracked. “This is the new-and-improved version, too.” She laughed. “You should have smelled it before the tea tree oil. But it does the trick.”
Lila studied the thick brown goop in the jar like she expected something to crawl from the slime. “I hear you make a lot of recipes yourself, right in your own bathtub. That sounds so… interesting.” Her lip curled a little with her fake smile.
Rosalie nodded, ignoring the insult. She tended to ignore rich-people insults when enough money was involved. “This is exactly what Shelby needs,” she said.
And it was. It was the only thing that was going to help Shelby now that we knew she was an actual target.
“I almost forgot the special instructions,” Rosalie said, hustling into the back again.
“Special instructions…” Lila said, mumbling to herself. As soon as she left, Lila turned to me. “I was also hoping I could talk to y’all about a little problem I’m having that you might be able to help me with.”
She smiled nervously, and I noticed her teeth were perfect, like she hadn’t just thrown her retainer away after high school. “I actually need something to get rid of an unwanted houseguest.” She chuckled to herself, taking a huge breath. “There, I said it. I cannot believe how easy that was.” Her shoulders relaxed.
I knew who the houseguest was immediately. Delilah Scott was Lila’s aunt, and her daughter Bette had been staying in Lila’s guest house for the last couple of weeks.
Bette was a Donovan who was not like the others. She was loud and opinionated. All Donovans were opinionated, but she was loud about it. She also took Lila’s daughter to shoot BB guns so she’d learn how to take care of herself.
“Is this about Bette?” I asked, just to make sure.
Her face fell. She was not expecting me to guess so quickly.
“Yes,” she admitted. “I hate that it’s come to this, but this looks like just the store I need to get the job done.”
“Why don’t you just ask her to stay at her mother’s house? Delilah has plenty of room.”
She turned her nose up. “Why didn’t she just go there in the first place? It’s rude for me to ask her that now when she should have thought of it in the first place.”
“So, it’s better to use a recipe to get rid of her?”
“I am willing to pay top dollar for something that works. So if y’all can’t do it, I’m sure I can find some other witch sh
op,” she said.
“We are not a witch shop,” I replied, my voice growing tense.
“We’re an everything-mystical shop,” Rosalie said from behind me.
I turned around. My boss was grinning from ear to ear like a woman who just heard the words “top dollar” from across the store.
I should have known she’d hear that. Detecting the sounds of money was her superpower in life.
“Lila needs a recipe for getting rid of unwanted guests,” I said. “I was just about to tell her that we deal with the paranormal, but we’re not a witchcraft store…”
Rosalie was carrying a plain printed document. She set it next to the Mason jar full of the cream Shelby was about to have to slather on her neck every day for the rest of her life. At least Rosalie had gotten the smell down to almost normal, thanks to some tea tree oil.
“So, you’re not a witch?” Lila said, head tilted so her hair cascaded along one of her shoulders.
“I’m what you call a paranormal expert,” Rosalie replied, straight-faced, like she didn’t just make that up. “I have many books and many recipes.” Rosalie rung up the jar as she talked. “I’m sure I can find something that will do the trick.”
Lila looked at me and smiled, opening her cute white purse like she did it a hundred times a day.
“Will it be safe?” she asked. “I don’t want anyone to die or turn into a frog or anything weird like that,” she said, pulling out her matching wallet.
I rolled my eyes behind her, even though you never knew what could happen with Rosalie’s recipes.
“And I need it ASAP.” She added.
“I’m sure I have just the recipe you need. I’ll check. I’ll only do it if I can make sure it will be safe.”
“Oh, relatively safe is okay. I just don’t want someone to die,” Lila said.
“So, close to death is completely okay?” I asked, realizing too late I was starting to sound like my ex-husband.
