Murder to die for, p.3
Murder To Die For, page 3
Unable to hold back his tears any longer, Shray buried his face in Mia’s red wig.
“Please Sheriff,” Penelope sniffed. “We’re all upset. Can’t these questions wait until tomorrow?”
“I’m going to need you all to change out of those clothes and put them in the bags my deputy will provide.”
“You can’t honestly believe we had anything to do with this?” Shray snarled at her.
“It’s standard operating procedure. Where are your dressing rooms?”
“In the basement,” he answered sullenly.
“Rick will accompany you, Shray and I’ll accompany the ladies.”
As part of keeping the evidence chain intact, Cammie followed the ladies to the dank basement where two dressing rooms had been set aside. Mia and Penelope continued to silently weep as they removed their costumes, put them into two separate evidence bags and changed into their street clothes.
“This is shit,” Shray grumbled as he shed his costume in the room next door to the women. “Instead of wasting time getting your jollies off watching me strip, you and your boss should be out there looking for the bastard who killed my—” His voice broke and he angrily wiped his tears away with the palm of his hand.
“Believe me, bro, the sheriff is one of the best.” Shray threw him an incredulous look which Rick easily interpreted. “We may live in Podunk, Maine, but that doesn’t mean our law enforcement isn’t top notch.”
“Yeah, right,” he answered in a withering voice as he dropped the costume into the evidence bag and handed it to Rick. Once they were done, Cammie gathered them together in the women’s dressing room.
“Where are you all staying?” she asked.
“We rented a ranch out on Willow Street. 76 Willow Street to be exact,” Shray said. She knew the place. The family who owned it had just recently moved to Augusta. Rather than sell, they’d opted to rent out the well maintained property to help defray the higher cost of living in the big city.
“You’ll need to find another place to stay while Forensics goes through your place. We have two hotels you can choose from, depending on your tastes.”
“Are you crazy?” Shray complained. “We don’t have a change of clothes or any toiletries.”
“I’ll arrange to have those sent to you tomorrow morning.” She took out a small notebook from her back pocket and scribbled down two phone numbers. “We have the Timberwolf Lodge which is geared for the outdoorsy type. We also have the Shakespeare in the Woods Inn for the intellectual artist in all of us.”
Shray practically ripped the paper from her hand. “What a damned nightmare,” he grumbled.
“I’ll also need you all to come down to my office tomorrow at 10 am and make an official statement.”
“Anything else, Herr Hitler?”
“Hey, wait a minute—” Rick interjected as he took a step towards Shray. Cammie rested her hand on her deputy’s shoulder.
“That’s alright, Rick. They’ve suffered a shock. We can let it go. This time.” She turned back to them. “I know this is very stressful and upsetting. But if you want us to catch your friend’s killer, we’ll need your full cooperation.”
Shray glared at her, then angrily sighed. “We’ll be there,” he spat out.
She watched as the young Hindu threw his arms around the shoulders of both women as they left the basement.
“So what do you think?” Rick asked after they’d gone.
“They certainly seemed surprised and upset at the news of Keith’s murder. Then again, they have experience putting on an act.”
“Mia sure looked as though she were about to fall apart any minute,” he said as they walked towards the stairs.
“Yes, she does seem a bit high strung.” She patted Rick’s shoulder. “Which is why I’m going to have you use your considerable charm on making her feel warm and fuzzy tomorrow when you question her.”
“Oooooh, lucky me,”’ he muttered under his breath as he followed her upstairs.
CHAPTER THREE
Because of the tiny size of Clarke County, Cammie was able to call upon the services of the Forensics team from the much larger neighboring Aroostook County. Unfortunately, they were two hours away. When they arrived at 10 pm, she knew she was in for an all-nighter. She told Jace to go home; there was no sense in him sticking around since she had no idea what time she’d be done. Instead, he drove to Zee’s, got two large cups of coffee for Rick and Cammie and now sat in the room with the other locals, trying his best to calm down their fears.
It was close to one am by the time she and Rick finished interviewing the eight customers who had followed Cammie and Jace into the house earlier that evening. Five had still been downstairs and three had just reached the second floor when Cammie discovered the body. Once those interviews were wrapped up, she and Rick turned their attention to the fifteen actors who’d worked that night. As she expected, no one saw or heard anything suspicious. Though, what exactly was suspicious in a house overrun with zombies, vampires and all manner of nightmarish monsters, except for the presence of a real, flesh and blood monster?
“With all the screams and piped in moaning, no one would have heard any sounds of struggle or cries for help from the attic,” she said as the last person walked out the door. Plopping down on the couch, she rubbed her weary eyes and stifled a yawn.
“And no one would have thought twice about seeing someone covered in blood,” Jace added. “Shit, just about every actor in here was covered in blood.”
“It was inevitable,” Rick replied in a sage voice.
“What was?” Cammie asked.
“Come on, Cam. This house isn’t just haunted. It’s cursed! Everyone who has ever tried to do anything with this place has met with the worst bad luck of their lives. Those guys were crazy to buy it. It was like waving a red flag in front of a charging bull while you’re wearing cement shoes. This pile of bricks should have been demolished years ago.”
“You’re exaggerating,” Cammie said as she lost the battle against yawning.
“Am I?” Rick stuck his hand out and began to count on his fingers. “The Beaumonts bought this place in the 60’s and tried to turn it into a B&B. Right after opening, Mr. Beaumont suddenly developed some rare-ass cancer and died. In 1971, a legal firm bought the house and set up an office. Within six months they went belly up and had to declare bankruptcy.”
“That happens,” Jace responded.
“They couldn’t keep up with business before they bought this place. Then, six months later, they’re bankrupt? Coincidence? I don’t think so. In 1978, a family by the name of Garrett bought it. They weren’t living here more than a month before Mrs. Garrett found out her mother and father had been killed in a freak auto accident. She was so broken up, she went off the deep end mentally and was never the same. This house is like the frickin’ Hope Diamond. I’m telling you, Cam, I think the house was just playing with those people. But at some point, it wasn’t enough. It needed a life, just like it needed a life back in the 50’s when those five teenagers disappeared. Think about it. A life for each decade. Now it’s playing catch-up by taking Keith Blake. Don’t be shocked if this house ends up snatching another life.”
Cammie took a sip of her by now ice cold coffee and gave him a patient look. “I think you’re scaring yourself, Rick. The house didn’t murder Keith. A flesh and blood person did that.”
“You don’t need to believe me, but I’m telling you, this house is evil. Always has been and always will be.” He looked around and shuddered.
“Listen, Rick, there’s no reason the two of us should stay here. Why don’t you go over to Willow Street and check out how Forensics is doing over there?”
Rick stood up. “Okay, but do me a favor and watch your back at all times while you’re in here. I have yet to find a roadmap to hell to rescue you if the house eats your soul.”
After he left, Cammie and Jace exchanged bemused glances.
“Rick is in the wrong line of business,” Jace replied. “He ought to be writing horror novels. What he just told us is a guaranteed bestseller.”
“I don’t know. Maybe he has a point.”
Jace turned in his seat and gave Cammie an incredulous look. “You actually believe that shit about the house taking a life every ten years?”
“Not that. But you have to admit, this place has had a sinister reputation for over half a century.”
“Then dispel the reputation. Investigate what happened to those kids. Once you solve the mystery, all the rumors will disappear.”
“One murder at a time, sweetheart. Right now, I need to solve what happened to Keith. And why.”
She finally convinced an exhausted looking Jace to leave a half hour later. She then settled down to wait for Forensics to finish their job. After a few minutes of sitting in the living room while men and women dressed in white scurried about, an uneasiness began to shroud her like a wet, heavy blanket. Feeling as though she were a target sitting all alone, she immediately got up, and with the white booties she wore squeaking with each step, began to walk around the downstairs. She was reluctant to admit that Rick had spooked her with his theories regarding the Taylor House, but damn it, she could swear the house was watching her. Waiting for her to walk down a wrong corridor or enter an empty room and find herself alone so it could exact its own inexplicable revenge and snatch her away. She felt like a shark, constantly needing to move to avoid suffocating. By the time, the sun appeared over the horizon and Forensics was ready to wrap up their evidence gathering, her eyes felt as though they’d been bathed in sand. And her legs felt like two concrete blocks.
Colin Haskell, the team leader of the Forensics team, found her standing in the living room, watching the crew pack up their equipment. Short, slightly chubby and always looking as though he and his clothes just rolled out of bed, his disheveled appearance belied the fact that he was brilliant at what he did.
“Never thought I’d be investigating a bona fide haunted house,” he said.
“Did your team find anything in the house Keith was sharing with his three friends?”
“Besides a lifetime supply of condoms in the victim’s closet?”
“Really?”
“Yeah. He had all kinds. My favorite was the glow in the dark, extra-large.”
Cammie rolled her eyes. “Too much info, Colin.”
“We bagged everyone’s Ipads and cellphones. It was a nightmare getting the cell away from the brunette.”
“Mia.”
“She insists she can’t live without it. She’s addicted to texting and surfing all the social media sites.”
“Life’s a bitch sometimes, isn’t it?”
Seeing her bloodshot eyes and sensing the heaviness in her limbs, Colin said, “You look like one of the zombies who were terrifying people here last night.”
She chuckled. “I feel like one of the walking dead. What did you find here?”
“Interestingly enough, there didn’t appear to be any signs of struggle anywhere. We did find some long orange fibers up in the attic, but considering the victim was wearing an orange wig, I’m not holding out too much hope there. However, before your mood hits the skids, we did find this.” He held up his hand and showed her the evidence bag. Inside was a large kitchen knife, with a blade approximately 10 inches long. There was dried blood on the handle and along the edge. “It was in the corner of the basement, behind some boxes.”
Cammie took the bag and studied it. “Rick said Keith used a 10 inch butcher knife as part of his act.”
“Yeah I know. The sight of it always sent everyone into paroxysm.”
Cammie smiled at him. “And how do you know that?”
He grinned sheepishly. “My girlfriend and I went through the attraction three times.”
“Three?”
“She loves scary stuff.”
“And you don’t?”
He guffawed. “Shit Cammie, look at my job. I live scary stuff.” She took one more look at the knife before handing it back to Colin. “You’ve got a weird look on your face,” he observed.
“It seems inconceivable to me that Keith would use a real knife in his act. That’s a lawsuit waiting to happen.”
“That’s why they pay you the big bucks, my friend. You get to figure out all those pesky little riddles. I just collect blood and fibers and the occasional weapon.”
By the time Cammie arrived home, the sun was up. Yet despite the exhaustion that washed over her, she wasn’t surprised when she couldn’t fall asleep. She lay staring at the ceiling, half listening to Jace’s low snores while her brain went over the events of that night.
By isolating himself in the attic – the only actor who’d been alone - Keith had made himself the perfect target. With all the screams and piped in moans and shrieks, a bomb could have gone off upstairs and no one would have heard it. Or paid attention, assuming it was part of the show. Yet, according to Forensics, they found no signs of a struggle. The killer had been able to enter the attic, somehow get behind Keith and cut his throat. Which begged the question.
Had his killer been someone Keith knew?
Or was Rick right? By being the driving force behind buying the Taylor mansion and opening it up as a haunted house attraction, had he somehow unleashed the evil that lurked in its walls? An evil that claimed him for bringing unwanted light to a dark place?
CHAPTER FOUR
The Twin Ponds Sheriff’s Department was located in the middle of Main Street, the primary thoroughfare that ran down the center of town. The red brick building had once housed a mercantile store and it still retained a flavor of its past. There were large display windows on either side of the front door. Inside, there was a wide counter that ran the length of the room. Behind the counter stood two desks. The one to the left belonged to the department’s receptionist/dispatcher Emmy Madachuck, while the desk to the right belonged to Rick. Beyond them, down a short corridor was the most important piece of equipment in headquarters – the coffee machine. A few steps further was Cammie’s office. Next to her was the interrogation room and at the end of the corridor lay two jail cells.
After arriving at 7:30 am, it took two and a half cups of extra strong coffee to make Cammie feel human again. It was then that she noticed Emmy, who had also come in early, already banging away at her computer, doing the necessary background checks on Keith, Mia, Shray and Penelope. A few moments later, Rick showed up. Once again she both resented and marveled at the fact that he looked as fresh as a daisy. She didn’t dare guess at what she looked like. Taking her mug of coffee, she went back to her office and to the victim board she was setting up.
At precisely 10 am, Penelope showed up.
She looked just as exhausted as Cammie did. Her long blond hair was pulled back into a sloppy ponytail, she wore no make-up and it looked as though she’d just thrown on whatever was available – a wrinkled lavender t-shirt over black chinos.
“Hey, I love the tree out in your reception area,” she said as Cammie led her into the interrogation room. “I’ve never seen a Halloween tree before. That’s pretty cool.”
Emmy was in the habit of putting up small plastic trees in their front window for every holiday. At first Cammie thought it strange to see a pink tree for Easter, a red tree for Valentine’s Day and now a black tree covered with little pumpkins, witches, ghosts, and candy corn, its branches twinkling away with tiny orange lights in their front window. In time though, she came to appreciate the effort Emmy put into her displays, especially when she realized they always helped alert her to the upcoming holiday.
“It’s one of the things that makes our Sheriff’s Department that much more unique,” she answered as they sat across from each other.
“I’ll say.”
“Can I get you some coffee? Our receptionist makes a mean cup.”
“No thanks. I already had my cup of chaga tea this morning.”
“Chaga tea?”
“You ought to try it. It’s made from what people call ‘the king of medicinal mushrooms’. It stimulates and regulates our immune systems, helps fight cancer in its nutritional support, and reduces inflammation. And that’s just for starters.” She leaned forward and smiled at Cammie. “It also acts as an anti-aging agent and is great for the skin.” She sat back. “I drink it every day.
Cammie unconsciously brought her hand up to her cheek. With only two hours sleep, she probably looked like an ancient hag. And her skin felt like crap.
“Where are Shray and Mia?” she asked, noticing for the first time that despite her obvious fatigue, Penelope’s skin was glowing.
Bitch.
“Neither one of them got any sleep last night. Mia was a wreck, crying and sobbing until about dawn when they both fell into an exhausted sleep.” She rubbed her chin with her knuckles. “I managed to get some sleep, but it wasn’t restful. Every time I closed my eyes, I kept seeing images of Keith hanging from the rafters, a noose around his—” She abruptly stopped speaking as she took a long deep breath to steady herself. “They’ll be here, Sheriff. We want to do all we can to catch the bastard who killed our friend.”
“Which place did you end up picking to spend the night at?”
“The Timberwolf Lodge was closest. Nice place. But the owner sure is an acquired taste. What is he? Some kind of lumberjack hyped up on speed? I made the mistake of coming downstairs after we arrived to see if they had any tea to calm my nerves and he just wouldn’t shut up. I kept waiting for him to take a breath so I could make my escape, but he never did!” She shook her head to herself. “We probably should have picked the Shakespeare In the Woods Inn.”
Cammie laughed. “And spent most of the evening listening to the Inn’s owner entertain you with the Bard’s soliloquys.” She paused, then said, “By law, I’m required to inform you that this conversation is being recorded.”
