A Rose From the Dead (24 page)

She nudged me with her foot this time, but the only famous persona I could possibly incarnate was Pippi Longstocking, and somehow she paled beside Marilyn. So I kept my reply to a hearty, “Ditto.”

Looking ill at ease in front of his fans, Chet said, “Why don’t you step up onto the stage and wait until I finish here, and then we can discuss it?”

“Sure,” Sue said, and motioned for me to follow as she wiggled her way up the steps, obviously still channeling Miss Monroe.

I followed, but I didn’t wiggle. I was running out of time and, as we stood there watching Chet sign autographs and chitchat with his fans, out of patience, too. “Listen,” I said to Sue, “when Chet comes up here, would you mind if I asked my favor first? I’m in a real time crunch. Then you can have him all to yourself.”

“Okay.”

That was easy. Waiting was not. I paced, stewed, checked my watch, and paced some more. Finally, the last fan left, clutching the convention brochure with her hero’s handwriting on it, and Chet sauntered up the stairs and made straight for Sue.

I held up my hand to get his attention. “Excuse me, Chet, could I ask you a favor?”

But his focus was on Sue—and her low-cut sweater. “Now, what is this about you wanting me to return next year?” he asked her.

“You will come back, won’t you?” she asked in a breathless voice, squeezing her boobs for him again. “I’d—we’d—be so grateful.”

He smiled. “You didn’t ask what I charge.”

“And you didn’t ask what I’d be willing to pay.” She whispered something in his ear that made him blush.

If I didn’t need that tape player, I’d be so out of there. But I had to stand there like a mope until Sue got her way.

Chet turned so he was angled toward her, where he apparently thought I couldn’t see what he was doing; then he picked up Sue’s hand and flipped it palm up so he could rub his thumb in the center. “Maybe I can tink of someting,” he murmured.

Ew.
I really didn’t like this side of Chet. His wholesome handyman image was quickly dissolving into a puddle of lecherousness. But I couldn’t let a little dirty water stand in my way.

As they gazed lustfully into each other’s eyes, I said, “While you two are busy
tinking
, would you mind if I popped into your RV, Chet, to use your Beta cassette tape player?”

Without even taking his gaze away from Sue, he said, “What for?”

Duh.
“So I can watch a tape. I’ll only need about ten minutes and you won’t have to lift a finger. I can get Lizard Lover Luke to let me in. Please? It’s very important.”

“Sorry. I don’t let people use my personal equipment.”

“I totally understand, but I promise I’ll be careful. I wouldn’t ask if I wasn’t desperate, but it’s hard to find those Beta machines.”

“Do you have to watch this tape
now
?” he said, giving me a frown, probably because I’d spoiled the mood.

“Yes. Right now. I’ll be quick, though.”

Sue held a finger to her pouting lips. “Sh-h-h! Don’t tell anyone, but she’s investigating Sybil’s death.” Then her eyes opened wide and she said excitedly, “Oh, wow. I just had a terrific idea.” She leaned close to him to whisper, “Why don’t we all go to your RV? You know, for a little threesome?”

Chet turned a speculative gaze on her, and at her suggestive wink, he eliminated the last shred of hope I had for any wholesomeness when he murmured, “A treesome? Maybe so.”

Maybe not. I didn’t want anywhere near that forest. Trying to look disappointed, I leaned between them and said quietly, “You know, that’s a tough invitation to turn down, but I don’t have a single minute to spare, so how about letting me inside for ten minutes to watch my tape, and then you two can have the RV to yourselves?”

Sue gave Chet a doe-eyed, pleading look, cooing, “How about it, lover?”

Chet pondered it for a moment, then smiled slyly. “I tink that just might work.”

W
hen we arrived at the loading dock, Lizard Lover Luke was pushing his empty dolly up a wooden ramp toward us. “Hey, boss,” he said, “that was my last load. I got your slide-outs all tucked away, so all you have to do is disconnect the power when you’re ready to roll. I’m going to take off now unless you need me for something else.”

“You’re done for the day, Luke,” Chet said. “I’ll meet up with you in Minneapolis tomorrow afternoon.”

“Sure thing.” As Luke passed me, he said quietly, “I see you get to check out his equipment after all, heh-heh.”

Crawl under your leaf, lizard boy.

“This way,” Chet said, and led us down the ramp to where the RV was parked, although calling the vehicle an RV was about as appropriate as calling a full-size Hummer a go-cart.

Chet Sunday’s customized motor coach had a full diesel truck cab and extended an impressive fifty-two feet in length, with three hydraulic slide-out rooms that extended the living space to an astounding 378 square feet. I knew all this because I’d watched the show in which he’d given viewers a tour of the interior. Being somewhat of a car buff, I was fascinated by the whole concept. I also knew Chet drove the coach himself, preferring it over air travel, not that I blamed him. The inside was as luxurious as a suite in any five-star hotel, which, sadly, I’d seen only on the Travel Channel. It sure beat being squeezed into an airplane seat the size of a tissue box.

The outside of the coach was painted gold with
MAKE IT EASY
in thick black letters, and a smiling Chet leaning jauntily against a ladder, holding a paintbrush, as though he’d just painted the words himself. The ladder, toward the front of the coach on one side, cleverly disguised a door; on the other side it framed one of the windows. Next to Chet on both sides was a big ad for Habitation Station.

Chet used his key to unlock the ladder-disguised door, an oak-paneled beauty on the inside, with a small tinted-glass window near the top. All the windows were tinted black, no doubt for security reasons. The door was located near the truck cab, which naturally had its own door for the driver. Two steps up and we were inside the coach, staring around in amazement.

Chet spread out his arms. “My little home away from home.”

Little? Hardly. We were standing in the living room, which contained a white leather sofa and recliner on one side and a fifty-inch LCD big-screen TV built into an oak cabinet on the other. The windows above the sofa and chair were covered in white pleated shades, separated from each other by brass sconces, with recessed lights in the ceiling. The floors were oak with a black walnut border, with plush, cream-colored carpeting under the seating and dining areas.

“It’s a little crowded now,” he said. “The slide-outs have been pushed in.”

“What’s a slide-out?” Sue asked.

“Where the floor slides out to expand the room,” he explained. “This coach has three slide-outs, one for the living area, one for dining area, and one for the bedroom.”

“Oh, a bump-out,” she said, finally getting it.

“Bump-outs are for campers,” Chet said. “This is a custom motor coach, top of the line.”

Well, weren’t we impressed?

I turned to my left, where beyond the sofa I could see a kitchen/dining area, complete with oak cabinets, marble countertops, and built-in refrigerator, microwave, oven, and cooktop. The round oak dining room table sat four, with white leather chairs that matched the other furniture.

“Oh, please give us a tour,” Sue begged, hanging on to his arm.

Chet glanced at his watch. “We’ll have to make it quick.”

“I hope that’s the only thing we make quick,” she said with a giggle.

Barf bag, anyone?

“The cab is up front, through that last doorway,” Chet said, pointing toward an opening in an oak-paneled wall. “I like to keep it closed off from the living area. It makes me feel more at home when I’m back here.”

“I see what you mean,” Sue said, stretching her long body out on the sofa.

“This is my media room,” Chet said, stepping through the first doorway.

The small space between the living room and the cab contained a short white sofa opposite a wall of built-in electronic equipment, with a desk below. Toward the front and one step down was the cab, with white leather swivel chairs and state-of-the-art driving equipment. Thick, custom-made folding panels had been pulled across the front windshield and locked into place for privacy, blocking all daylight.

“As you can see,” Chet said, pointing out the various electronic components, “I have a computer, a flat-screen monitor, live tracking satellite, surround-sound stereo, DVD/VCR player, eight-track recorder, turntable, and right at the top, a Betamax tape player.”

Woo-hoo! No need to show me the rest of the coach. I’d found everything I needed. Restless Sue, however, had moved on.

“Wow,” she called from the rear of the coach. “I’ve never seen a round bed before.”

“Wait till she sees the sauna,” Chet said to me with a chuckle.

A sauna in a motor coach? No way. The videotape would have to wait a few more minutes.

I followed Chet toward the back of the coach, through the living room and kitchen, and into a short, oak-paneled hallway, where he stopped to open a door onto a small space lined with red cedar benches and marble on the walls. “Here is the sauna.”

Sue came running up to peer inside. “A sauna! Oh, Chet, we
have
to try it out.”

“The bathroom is across the hall,” he said as Sue slipped past him and wiggled her way to the bedroom, where I caught a glimpse of an expanse of bed and mirrored walls.

Keeping one eye on Sue, who was sprawled on the bed and appeared to be getting ready to take off her sweater, Chet said to me, “I’ll set up the tape player; then we will leave you alone.”

“Thanks. I really appreciate it.”

He led the way to the media room and turned on the TV and the tape player, then picked up a remote control and pointed out the
PLAY
button, as if I’d never operated one before.

“Now let’s see if you can work it,” he said.

To humor him, I took the cassette out of my purse and inserted it into the slot, then pressed the
PLAY
button. The monitor flickered; then suddenly we were looking at a sweaty, naked couple moaning and writhing in happy delirium on red satin sheets.
Yikes
. I quickly hit the
STOP
button and risked a glance at Chet, who seemed as astonished as I was. Darn. I should have made sure the movie was rewound.

Embarrassed, I scratched the tip of my nose, a nervous habit I’d picked up in law school. Come to think of it, I’d had a pretty sore nose that entire year. “Um, I didn’t know what was on that tape.”

“Perhaps you’d rather I made you a DVD copy so you can watch it at home? Alone? Then you won’t have to waste your time here.” His eyes shifted toward the bedroom, and I knew he was in a hurry to get back to Sue.

“How long would that take?”

“Ten—fifteen minutes at the most. I have to set up my equipment first.”

“Chet,” Sue sang out. “Are you coming?”

“Listen, you’ve got company, so if you don’t mind, I’ll just catch a few minutes of the tape, then slip out. That way I won’t be a bother.”

“It’s not a bother. Just leave everyting to me.”

“Really, no, but thanks anyway. You go do—whatever—and I’ll let myself out when I’ve finished.”

He studied me. “You’re stubborn, aren’t you?”

“I like to think of myself as determined.”

“Okay, then. Make yourself comfortable. We’ll be a while.” He stepped through the doorway and closed it behind him.

I waited until I heard Sue giggle; then I put my purse on the floor beside the sofa, pressed
REWIND
on the remote, and sank onto the soft leather. When the machine stopped, I hit
PLAY
and
MUTE
, then leaned back to watch. The movie title appeared, followed by the names of the actors. The movie opened with a shot of what was obviously a college dormitory. A girl was lying on her stomach on her narrow bed, reading a book. Her blond hair was wound into a tight, prim bun on top of her head, and she had on owlish wire-rimmed glasses and a thick, old-fashioned terry-cloth robe. I could see where
that
plotline was headed.

I moved closer to the monitor, where I could also see that the girl definitely wasn’t a young Sybil. Cross off that idea.

Hearing a tap on her door, the actress, whom I assumed was Sugar Shackup, called, “Come in,” and her door opened to reveal a studly male student with a square jaw, heavy mustache, black-framed glasses, and curly brown hair. He wore plaid pants, a gold chain, and a shirt that was open to halfway down his chest, revealing muscular pecs and curly chest hair.

Wait. Chest hair…Chester? It had to be Chester Domingo. I moved even closer to see his face. Could that be Conrad Urban? I couldn’t see any resemblance to Ross or Jess, but the thick mustache and glasses hid a lot.

All at once the monitor went dark, along with everything else in the room, leaving me in pitch blackness. I couldn’t even see my hand in front of my face. Had the tape player overloaded the circuit?

Within seconds, to my great relief, the door opened and Chet appeared with a flashlight in his hand (and clothes on his body). “The electricity is down. I’ll have to go outside to check the power supply. Stay where you are, and I’ll be just a minute.”

“Do you have another flashlight?” I rubbed my arms to banish the goosebumps. There was no way I was going to sit in a dark, confined space.

He produced a blue plastic disposable lighter from a cabinet. “There’s a candle in the storage compartment behind the passenger seat. You can use it until I get the juice back on.”

I followed his flashlight beam and stepped down into the cab, where I found a short, vanilla-scented pillar on a brass candleholder in the compartment. Chet waited until I’d lit the candle; then he started to close the door, shutting off the media room from the rest of the trailer.

“Keep it open, please,” I said nervously. “Just until the lights come on.”

He obliged. I put the lighter and the lit candle on the desk, then sat down to wait. I could hear Chet talking to Sue as he moved through the coach; then I heard the door open and close, and then silence. Still on edge, I stood up and went to look at the various electronic components, trying to distract myself. Thank goodness I had some light.

A few minutes later the door opened again, then quietly closed. Then I heard nothing more. Strange. Why would Chet come back inside before the electricity was on? Or maybe it was Sue leaving, deciding to follow him outside to see what the problem was.

After a long moment of wondering, I called, “Sue?”

Silence.

A sound from a distant room, like a soft rustle of cloth, raised more goosebumps on my arms. Was someone inside or not? “Chet? Sue? Are you there?”

More silence. Maybe I’d imagined the rustle. Then a hard thump, like a shoe against wood, told me it hadn’t been my imagination after all. Someone was in the coach and didn’t want me to know it. What I did know was that I needed to get out of there, so I picked up the candle and moved quietly toward the doorway.

Just as I reached it, the hair on the nape of my neck prickled. I stopped, listened, and heard breathing that wasn’t my own. Someone was on the other side of the doorway. My heart hammered wildly as I took a step back, trying to think what to do.

Suddenly, there was a blur of motion and the candle snuffed out, leaving me once again in the dark. Only this time I had company.