Deviled!: Lake Erie Mysteries Book 2 (3 page)

I
followed
June through the lobby and into the revolving exit door, mindful of where I placed my feet. I was more skilled than most at walking in high heels, but I didn’t need to get my heel trapped in a door that never stopped turning. In the short time it took us to get outside, the sun had retreated for good, and its radiant glow had been replaced by dark swirling clouds in a sky the color of eggplant and green olives. We picked up our pace and strode down the sidewalk in the direction of the marina. Once inside the iron gate, it was apparent that the boating community was prepping for a storm. All the boats were battened down, lawn chairs and grills were stowed, and the weekend vacationers, children, and pets had all retreated to safety inside their vessels. Except for Hamm and Jack. I didn’t know if they were safe inside or not. The boat was not in the slip. Barb’s boat was gone as well.

A bolt of lightning split the ominous clouds, followed by exploding thunder, and then the sky opened up and the rain poured down.

I had to shout over the howling wind. “Come on, June, we have to get out of this weather. Let’s try the office.”

The rain was relentless, and the thunder and lightning refused to wait their turns, flashing and booming right over each other. I reached the office door first and tried the handle.

“It’s locked. What do we do now?”

“Run for it!”

A deafening thunderclap punctuated June’s sentence like an exclamation mark. We kicked off our fancy shoes and ran barefoot in the direction of the resort. The walking path was already flooding, and we kicked up spray like kids racing through shallow water at the beach. The hotel was just ahead, silhouetted in the dark sky by flashes of lightning. And then everything went black. All the power on the island went out, and we were engulfed in shadows and darkness. In the unfamiliar surroundings, the mix of shadows and blinding flashes of light was disorienting. We had to slow down to get our bearings.

Rain pelted my face like tiny shards of glass. We huddled together, pushing our way through the wind until the revolving door was within reach. June gave it a shove but it wouldn’t budge. The power outage had immobilized the door, so we had to make our way a little further down the walkway to a service entrance which had a nonmotorized swinging door. I pulled it open, and we practically blew right into the lobby. Emergency lights were beginning to flicker as the generator kicked on. There was just enough light to see our way to the main stairwell.

June leaned heavily against the stairway entrance door. A puddle was forming around her feet. “Should we get our hike on and walk the twelve flights, or wait it out here until the power comes back on?”

“Let’s do it. I’m freezing.”

“Stairs it is then. Make sure to record these points in your Weight Watchers log. This is going to be an unscheduled calorie buster.”

“Joke now, my friend. Your metabolism will crash eventually, and you’ll be asking me for advice.”

“Okay. Sorry. Come here and help me push. I can’t get the door open. Something is blocking the way.”

We both put a shoulder to the door and shoved. It gave about an inch, but that was it. I tried to imagine what could be big enough and heavy enough to barricade our entrance to the stairwell.

“Just push, Francie.” June was peering through the tiny opening into the blackness on the other side. “It looks like a canvas bag, probably overstuffed with somebody’s dirty laundry.”

“Well, let’s do this,” I said. “On the count of three—”

“Wait. On three or after? I’m never sure.”

I rolled my eyes. “One, two, then push.”

“Got it. One . . . two . . .”

We shoved. The jammed door sprung open, and we barreled through the opening, landing in a pile at the foot of the stairs. The oversized canvas bag that had apparently been propped against the door flopped over and thudded against the floor and out of our path. I only hesitated a moment before hitting the stairs all-out, determined to prove to June that I still had it in me.

“Come on, June. We’re going to catch pneumonia if we don’t get dry soon.”

Huffing and puffing, we finally attained the holy grail of floor twelve. I had barely enough energy left to get the door open and make a beeline for the bed. I flopped my wet self across the covers and took some deep breaths while my heart rate normalized. June headed straight for the bathroom and turned on the shower. Fifteen minutes later, she emerged from the steamy room cocooned in a white, fluffy bathrobe, a matching towel wound around her head.

It was my turn. There was plenty of hot water, even with the backup generator providing our electrical power. There were also plenty of plush towels and another complimentary robe. The memory of our teeth-chattering, underwear-soaking misadventure was fading away. Good riddance. I sat down on the pillow-top mattress of the queen bed and watched June reapply her makeup. “I think we’re getting too old for this kind of vacation,” I mused while fluffing my hair with my fingers.

“Now don’t go getting all dramatic, Francie. It was just a summer storm. They do happen here on the islands. Regularly, I might add.”

“I know, but after Memorial Day, I’m just a bit leery of coincidental disappearances. That empty boat slip spooked me. I’m not gonna lie.”

“Well, you have a point, my friend, but this time I assure you there is nothing to worry about. Hamm and Jack got the weather alert from the rest of the people at the docks and decided to leave so they could beat the storm. And men being men, they just forgot to tell us. I’m sure they thought we were already elbows-deep in some dramatic nonsense seminar and wouldn’t even notice they had left.”

I knew that what June said made perfect sense, but just to be on the safe side, and to ease the tiny voice of doubt trying to grab my attention, I spilled the contents of my handbag onto the bed, extracted my phone, and pressed Hamm’s number. He answered on the first ring.

“Hi, Honey. Is everything okay?”

“I’m fine, but I was a little worried about you. I tried calling you earlier, but it went right to voicemail. June and I just got caught in a torrential downpour here. We went to the marina to see if you guys had gotten the weather update, but when we got to the boat slip, it was empty.”

“Everything’s fine, Francie. Barb got the weather alert, and one look at the sky told us we’d better get a move on. We made it to Sunset Marina and got the boat tied up just as the storm hit. We’re at the clubhouse having dinner.”

“Well, that’s good. I feel better now. Promise me you’ll plug your phone back in when you return to the boat. I’m guessing you don’t have a lot of battery power. You’re always forgetting to keep that thing charged.”

“Yes, Francie, I promise. I love—”

And with that I lost the call. I’m sure he’d charged his phone for all of about five minutes. For a smart, successful attorney, sometimes I wondered how he managed.

June had a bemused “I told you so” look on her face, but didn’t rub it in. I felt better knowing the guys were safe and enjoying themselves. I just wished I’d had the chance to tell Hamm about our meeting with the DeVilles and our good fortune of scoring all the freebies. He would’ve gotten a kick out of knowing Bob’s bad attitude had resulted in such good luck for us.

Now it was time to get back to the matter of our evening plans.

“Are we really going to get dressed again and go to the dinner show? It’s probably been cancelled since the power went out.”

As if on cue, the lights came back on, and I blinked while my eyes adjusted to the brightness of the room. I didn’t recall turning on every light in the place, but I guess between the two of us we had managed to do just that. So far, we were not being conscientious stewards of the environment. Oh well.

“I guess the show must go on. It won’t take me long to get ready. We sure don’t have anything else to do tonight, and we don’t have to go outside again to get to the theater. Let’s take the DeVilles up on their offer for those VIP seats at the magic show.”

“Why not? I’ll make some coffee while you get ready.”

T
he Crystal Theater
was located on the main floor, just down the hall from the check-in desk. Wow! It was nothing less than magnificent. Crystal chandeliers glowed and sparkled with amber light. White pillar candles flickered on every table, infusing the tiered room with a fairy-tale-like quality. Two handsome, tuxedo-clad ushers appeared out of nowhere, took us both by the elbow, and escorted us down the stairs to a plush booth at the front of the theater. Angelina and Damien, already seated in the center booth, were engaged in friendly-sounding conversation. Our hostess rose to greet us.

“Welcome, Francesca. June. I’m so glad you could make it. I hope the storm and the power outage didn’t cause you too much inconvenience.” She extended her hand, indicating our places in the booth.

Our escorts bowed and took their leave while Damien got us settled in our seats across from him and his beautiful wife.  He filled four glasses from a bottle of champagne that had been chilling in an ice bucket beside the booth and settled confidently into his seat. There was no sign of the furious man we had encountered at the elevator.

Angelina held her sparkling champagne flute out to us and offered a toast.

“May we never regret this. Cheers!”

We raised our glasses, clinked them around the table, and sipped. Glancing sideways at June, I tried to gauge her reaction to Angelina’s unconventional toast, but she either didn’t notice or didn’t think it was all that unusual. Waiters in sharply pressed uniforms arrived and orchestrated a dinner event fit for heads of state: buttered rolls and a delicate summer salad lightly tossed with a tangy vinaigrette, followed by filet mignon and lobster. The asparagus with cream sauce would surely have had Hammond offering his firstborn child—or in our case, children; we have twins—in exchange for the recipe. Raspberry sorbet and mint cheesecake were the perfect finale to the production. Devil’s Island was living up to its marketing blurb to be a place to give in to your wildest desires. As we made our way through each delicious course, I paid close attention as Damien explained the magic trick I would be participating in shortly.

“It sounds simple enough, but let me make sure I have it all down. I wouldn’t want to spoil your show, Damien.”

“No worries, Francie. This is child’s play. I’ve done it hundreds of time.”

Since I had done it zero times, I still wanted to run through the details. “So, first you’ll be selecting me “randomly” from the crowd to come on stage. Then I’ll be assisted into the box, where I’ll lay down with my torso encased and my head and feet sticking out through openings in each end. Then, after some interaction with the crowd, you’ll begin to saw the box in half. So far, so good?”

“That’s right, Francie. The top of the box is solid, but once I get through the first inch, the saw will hit the trigger for the false bottom to drop out so your midsection can drop below the box. Then the saw goes the rest of the way through, while you use your best acting skills to make it look really painful.”

I caught myself waving my hands and wiggling my toes, excited to be part of the magic. “And then presto! Once I’ve convinced the crowd that I’ve been cut in two, you remove the blade, the false bottom pops back into place, and I’m whole once again.”

“Exactly.”

“I just have one more question.”

“Of course, what is it?”

“Has anyone ever actually been cut in half?”

Angelina and Damien burst into laughter and assured me they had performed this trick hundreds of times with no bloodshed. Their lighthearted attitude succeeded in putting me at ease. Almost. The lights blinked off and on. This time it wasn’t due to another power outage. Instead, it was a signal the show was about to begin. Damien excused himself to get to the stage, and I finished off the last drops of my champagne. In spite of myself, I was feeling a bit nervous.

June wished me luck and slid out of the booth so she could move around more freely with her camera. Damien began the show with some amazing illusions, and I admired the work of the light and sound technicians who were doing a great job setting the mood. It was apparent that nothing was short of first class at this resort.

Damien introduced his next trick, explaining that an unsuspecting woman from the audience would be sawed in half. Angelina took my damp hand in her cool, smooth grasp and gave it a squeeze for luck. Damien “randomly” selected me from the volunteers who wanted to participate in the illusion. I took a deep breath, stood up, and made my way to the stage entrance. June was at the opposite end of the stage giving me a thumbs-up. I was about to return the gesture when I noticed a waitress tap June’s shoulder and hand her a highball glass. I couldn’t tell for sure, but it looked like the girl who had been in the penthouse suite before we’d arrived. If it was her, she had pulled herself together, and there was no sign of her earlier tears. I didn’t have time to ponder it further; it was time for me to focus on my performance.

Damien reached out and helped me onto the stage, explaining to the audience what he was about to do. Meanwhile, two assistants directed me into the coffin-like wooden box positioned under a beam of light at center stage.

The stage lights blinded me, since I had no other choice but to stare up into them while lying flat on my back in my wooden sarcophagus. Damien continued setting up our illusion, playing to the crowd, but I couldn’t make out his words. All the outside sounds echoed around me, disorienting me further. I tried to look calm and cool and follow the show even though I could barely move my head. My eyes darted from side to side, my legs were cramping up, and I realized it was too late to rethink this whole gig. Just then, a shadow blocked the bright light from my eyes, leaving me to stare up at the imposing figure looming over me. My eyes fixated on the gleaming blade of the saw in Damien’s hand as it made its way toward my belly.

A hush had settled over the audience. All eyes were on me while my eyes sought reassurance from the darkly handsome sorcerer who held my life in his hands. Damien’s steely gaze was anything but comforting. The expression on his face confused me. Was he in a trance? I sure hoped he was in control of the razor-sharp blade he was drawing back and forth across the top of the wooden box that held me prisoner. I felt an icy shiver creeping its way down my spine. The blade sliced through the wood, and I sucked in my gut in anticipation of its impending contact. The trigger should have been activated by this point. Something was wrong, and I needed to get out. “Stop! Please stop! Let me out of here!”

There was a collective gasp from the audience. The action on stage was riveting, but I was not acting. I was panicking. The saw sliced through the top of the box and still nothing gave way beneath me. I tried pushing down on the bottom of the box with what little body weight I could leverage, considering all I had to work with was my torso. Still nothing. Damien continued sawing. I didn’t want to spoil the illusion, but this was getting too close for comfort. I felt the vibration and added pressure as the gleaming steel blade made a first cut into the insulating board situated on my stomach as a final layer of protection in case of an equipment malfunction. Damien the Magnificent, Magician Extraordinaire, didn’t seem to notice as he continued pulling the razor-edged blade back and forth across the last half inch of protection I had before being sliced in two.

That was it. My fight-or-flight instinct kicked in, and since flight was not an option, I had only one choice. “Stop, Damien. Stop! Something’s gone wrong!”

I screamed and begged, alternating between fury and terror, but my protests had no effect. His expression never changed, and the saw never stopped. How good an actress did he think I was? I realize the show must go on, but this was over and above any actor’s commitment to the craft. I sucked in a huge breath and screamed, “Ham and eggs!” then squeezed my eyes shut waiting for the tearing pain that would surely follow.

Was I conscious or was I dreaming? At this point, I didn’t know or care. I felt rather than saw a whirlwind of activity around my head. Finally, I dared to take a peek. There was June, pushing her way through a gathering crowd and throwing herself at Damien so she could wrestle the saw from him and stop the blade from reaching its intended destination. Thank God she had recognized the code words we had established in case of emergencies. I had never expected to actually need them.