Deviled!: Lake Erie Mysteries Book 2 (11 page)

G
abriel
and I were the first to reach her. He was already on his cell phone dialing 911. I bent down and cupped Alex’s head in my hands. I could see that she was still conscious. Her forehead and upper lip were beaded with sweat, and her ankle was turned at an unnatural angle. The resort’s emergency medical responders rushed onto the scene just moments after Alex’s fall. After checking her vital signs and posing questions to the people in the immediate vicinity, the medics helped Alex up, and she was ushered out of the room.

Gabriel stepped up to the plate and took control of the conference session. I’m sure he was beginning to rethink taking on this whole convention scene, as the weekend was certainly not going according to plan thus far. In an effort to get the participants back into an organized and orderly state, he stepped up to the podium and announced, “May I have your attention everyone? Let’s please settle down and allow the medical staff to assist Dr. Covington. In the meantime, I will be taking over the role as weapons coordinator. Let’s try to focus. I hate to sound cliché, but the show must go on. I put in a call to hotel maintenance, and they are going to make sure everything is secure with the lighting system. Until they give us the okay, look over your lines and I’ll start getting the stage weapons ready. I’m sure there’s no cause for alarm, and we can go ahead and continue our lesson.”

After a brief moment of readjustment, the participants were ready to get back to work. It was amazing to me how people could just brush by the ugly and misfortunate plight of others as long as they had other things to keep them occupied. I, on the other hand, wasn’t quite ready to sweep this newest accident under the rug. The string of mysterious events taking place at this conference was feeling less like unlucky coincidence and more like an organized agenda. Whose agenda it was and its desired outcome remained to be seen.

Gabriel distributed each actor’s weapon along with an additional reminder about safety and technique. My character, Elsa, used a Colt 1908 vest-pocket nickel semiautomatic pistol with a two-inch barrel and a lovely pearl grip. The gun felt heavier in my hand than I imagined the ladylike replica would have been.

Due to time constraints, both groups were going to have to perform their scenes simultaneously. I figured it would work out all right, since it was the choreography and weapons demonstration we were focusing on rather than the actual dialogue. Besides, I was just excited to play my role and experience the high I always got from being at center stage. I must admit, I am a bit of a drama diva.

Gabriel cleared his throat. “Silence, please!” His commanding voice had the desired effect. The audience waited in hushed anticipation.

Then came the familiar command: “Action!” I felt like I was poised at the starting blocks of an Olympic relay waiting for the gun signal. The performance began.

I was transported in my imagination to a dark hall of mirrors where I stood in a black dress, perfectly composed and aiming my Colt straight ahead at the mirror image of myself. I was Elsa. The clanking of swords and the banter between Tybalt and Mercutio just feet from where we stood were drowned out as I focused on the voice of my deceived lover reciting his lines from just beyond my field of vision. It was a voice I had come to know recently—not that of a jilted lover, but rather one that sent waves of apprehension, frustration, and pent-up anger pulsing through my bloodstream. It was the voice of Eddie Sneed, but the familiar grating sound now carried a darker undertone. Did he have unexpected acting skills, or did he possess a true element of danger?

“With these mirrors, it’s kind of difficult to tell. You are aiming at me aren’t you? I’m aiming at you, lover. Of course, killing you is killing myself. It’s the same thing. But you know, I’m pretty tired of the both of us.”

I barely breathed as I anticipated the deafening sounds the blank shots would make when we fired at the images of ourselves in the mirrors. My hand was steady with my finger tensed on the trigger, waiting for the three-second count from the last word spoken until I fired my weapon. I inhaled and held my breath, feeling the anticipation and the adrenaline, knowing that a gun was pointed at my chest, even though it was not loaded with live ammunition. And then the screaming began.

I squeezed the trigger when the first scream pierced the air. The blast from the blank round was deafening, but I was still able to hear the sound of shattering glass behind me and the shouts all around the room. I tried to sort out what was happening amid the chaos. On the other side of the stage, one of the male actors was lying on the ground clutching his leg. Blood was oozing through his fingers where it seemed he had cut himself while wielding his sword. Although dulled, the swords are still blades and can cut if you aren’t extremely careful. People from the audience flooded onto the stage to help him. I was about to go lend a hand myself when it registered that the mirror behind me was shattered, and shards of the reflective glass were still raining down onto the stage floor. How had the mirror broken? We were firing blank rounds at each other, and there was nothing and no one else around me to have caused the mirror to shatter. Unless . . . the round fired at me was not a blank.

A
fter the fiasco
in the conference room, there was nothing else Gabriel could have done other than cancel the class and dismiss early for lunch. It was a beautiful, summer day—the kind of day a person should spend sitting on the beach or anchored out in the bay, not eating a brown-bag lunch in the courtyard, wondering what all of the recent accidents and coincidences had to do with us.

“It’s a good thing we haven’t had to pay for anything this weekend, because the only things we’ve gotten our money’s worth on so far is catastrophe.” June, deep in thought, bit into her turkey sandwich. “I wonder how Angelina is doing. I meant to ask Gabriel if he knew.”

“It probably slipped your mind, being wrapped in his arms and all.” Oops, my snarky side was rearing its sarcastic head.

“Hey, he was just showing me the most effective way to aim and shoot a pistol.”

“I bet Jack could have shown you how to do that if you were really interested.” June’s narrowed eyes and the scowl on her face told me I had gone too far. “I’m sorry. That was mean. I’m just feeling out of sorts. First Eddie disappears from the fun house and then he conveniently shows up as my partner in a shootout using blank ammo that shatters glass. And then we have Angelina turning up semiconscious in a burning building—one, might I add, in which I was taking cover from real bullets—and now Dr. Covington is whisked away in an ambulance.”

“And don’t forget Bob.”

“Ugh. Bob. Somehow it feels like Bob is smack in the middle of all of this. Everything has gone haywire since his murder and this investigation. I cringe every time I think about that box in his house.”

“And the clown videos in the theater.”

“And nearly getting sawed in half.” My head was starting to hurt. Instead of finding out what or who was at the root of all these strange goings-on, things kept getting exponentially worse. This was not turning out to be the relaxing, fun getaway we had planned.

My mental rewind was cut short when June pointed toward the gazebo in the middle of the commons area. I had no idea what she was saying because her mouth was full, but she obviously thought it couldn’t wait until after she swallowed. I directed my gaze in line with her pointed finger and scanned the grassy area. I saw people enjoying sunshine, snacks, pets, and other summertime activities, but nothing out of the ordinary. Finally she gulped, coughed, waved her hand some more and said, “Over there! It’s Damien. Come on. Maybe we can find out about Angelina.”

Like it or not, I was going, since June had a death grip on my arm as she propelled me up and toward Damien.

I had a chance to take in his appearance before we reached him. He was still Heathcliff-handsome, his black jeans and black T-shirt hugging all the right places. On second thought, I was not opposed to speaking to him.

When we approached Damien, he was standing statue-still, hands clasped behind his back—did I mention Heathcliff?—staring off in the direction of the charred beach office. His expression was unreadable. I pondered whether we should just walk away and leave him to his musings, but June settled the debate before I could weigh the pros and cons.

“Hi, Damien. How are you doing? How is Angelina? Is she going to be okay?” June fired questions at Damien in rapid succession. The image of Eddie Sneed flitted across my mind. Did people find June and me as annoying as Eddie? Yikes. Note to self: think before speaking . . . or at least try.

Damien looked up, acknowledged June with a nod, and fixed me with his dark eyes. Something about the way those eyes bore into mine sent a shiver from my hairline to my tailbone. I got the disturbing feeling that he was accusing me of something, but what, I did not know.

“She’s resting comfortably. She was overcome by the smoke and lost consciousness for a short time, but aside from some temporary memory loss, she’ll be fine.” He was staring at me again, and it was starting to get on my nerves.

“Damien, what is it? If Angelina is okay, what’s bothering you? Did she tell you something?”

“It’s not so much what she said,” he muttered in a low, gravelly voice, “it’s more the unanswered questions and strange accidents that keep piling up.”

He looked pointedly at me again. Did Damien think I had something to do with Angelina being in the office when it caught on fire? June was scrolling through messages or statuses or emails on her phone. Either she had some brilliant idea or she was dealing with all this in a wildly inappropriate manner. She looked up from her screen and said, “Don’t look now, Francie, but I think this party is about to be crashed.”

D
amien
and I both looked up and saw Detective Reed heading toward us. His shoulders slumped, and I felt something stirring deep in the pit of my stomach that I recognized as dread. I had been relieved to escape another round of accusatory questions after the episode in the theatre, but it seemed my luck had run out. Reed did not bother with formalities.

“Mr. DeVille, I just spoke to your wife. You should probably go on home. She’s feeling better and wants to be with you.”

I didn’t think the lady could crack a smile, but there it was. Her face lit up and her eyes twinkled, crinkling at the corners. She was downright pretty. I nearly let my guard down and relaxed, but when she looked at me, the smile disappeared and so did the mood. “Ms. Egge, I need to speak to you.”

I sat down hard on the wraparound cement bench that encircled the inside of the gazebo—more because my knees were beginning to shake so badly I didn’t think they could continue to support me than to signal my immediate agreement to speak to the detective. Damien and June backed away and stepped down from the gazebo. I sent a quick, pleading look in June’s direction; unfortunately, Detective Reed stepped forward and blocked my signal for help. She sat beside me with her elbows on her knees and stared straight ahead for what seemed like forever. I couldn’t take the uncomfortable silence for another second. My nerves were shot, and I thought I could feel my left eye beginning to twitch.

“I didn’t have anything to do with the fire, Detective, or Bob’s murder, or the accident on the stage. I don’t see why you’re wasting your time tracking my every move when the real criminal is running rampant on this island and needs to be stopped.” I felt a little more in control having started the conversation rather than always responding to the detective’s implied accusations.

Detective Evelyn Reed continued to stare out past the horizon. She was so still and so intense; she seemed to be fighting some internal battle. Finally, she released a long breath and turned to look me in the eye.

“Listen, Francie, I’ve thought long and hard about this investigation. The bottom line is that crimes are being committed, and it is my job to follow the leads and the evidence to find out who is committing them. My dilemma is this: all the evidence is shaping up to implicate you, but my gut is telling me you’re innocent.”

“I am innocent. You should listen to your gut. Your gut sounds reasonable to me.”

A chuckle seemed to take Reed by surprise. I could sense this conversation wasn’t easy for her. Confiding in me was making her uncomfortable. She started speaking again, her voice so low I had to tilt my head close to hers to make out her words.

“As I said before, Francie, I have to follow the evidence in this investigation. I’m sure you’ve noticed that the evidence, although circumstantial, continues to point in your direction. I may be chasing a ghost, but my hands are tied. There is more going on here than what meets the eye. There are powerful people in this area who have their own endgame in mind, and they know how to cover their tracks. They also don’t care who they take down in the process. I’m not authorized to go on a wild goose chase, as my captain calls it, based solely on a hunch or a gut feeling. I can’t tell you anything else with much certainty, and I can’t condone any vigilante justice, but it might be in your best interest to have your friend dig a little deeper into the Scorpion Island angle she was looking into.”

“Do you mean the mob is behind these crimes?” I couldn’t believe what I was hearing.

“I told you all I can. Just be careful, and don’t trust anyone.”

With that said, she stood and walked away, leaving me feeling like I had a heavy weight fastened to my chest and was being pulled ever-so-slowly to the bottom of the lake.

 I was still sitting there like a petrified log when June came back and took the seat Detective Reed had just vacated.

“What did she say to you? What’s wrong, Francie? You look like you just saw a ghost.”

“Jimmy Hoffa’s ghost, maybe. Come on, June, we need to get back to our room. I can’t breathe out here.” I started speed-walking back to the hotel, for once not caring if June followed. I just needed to get out of the open and process what I had just heard.

“Slow down, Francie. What has gotten into you?”

June caught up to me just as I reached our room and burst inside like the devil himself was on my tail. As soon as she crossed the threshold, I hung out the
Do Not Disturb
sign, slammed the door, and secured both locks. My frenetic mood was not slowed by the confines of the room. I paced back and forth like a windup toy that got wound too tight.

On my third trip around the room, I flicked on the TV and cranked the volume as high as I could. Only then did I feel safe to repeat the detective’s words and warnings to June.

After listening patiently, which I knew wasn’t easy for her, June agreed with me that there was more going on here than met the eye. She agreed with Detective Reed that we should dig deeper into the rumors surrounding Scorpion Island. Maybe it really was a hideout for organized crime. I had to admit it was the perfect setting, secluded and luxurious, for crime lords to plot and plan their evil agendas. But what did it have to do with me?

I sat down in one of the matching conversation chairs in front of the closed draperies. Scattered about on the table next to me were pamphlets, menus, and itineraries for all the workshop events, as well as brochures detailing the attractions and restaurants throughout the resort. Peeking out from under the pile of papers, were the red all-inclusive passes Angelina had given us on our first day of the convention. I remembered that the world-renowned Heaven’s Gate Spa was included in the amenities.

“Let’s skip the afternoon sessions and take a trip to the spa,” I suggested. “I think we could both use some extended quiet time to organize our thoughts.”

I held up the passes for June to see before tucking them into the inside pocket of my handbag which was still slung across my chest. She nodded. Although it was still early, recent events had me feeling mentally drained. It was time to regroup.