Deviled!: Lake Erie Mysteries Book 2 (8 page)

“
S
o now what
?” June and I were secured behind the locked door of our room, but I realized it was still relatively early, and I wasn’t the least bit tired. There was still too much adrenaline flowing through my system. “We could watch a movie. We won’t even have to pay for it.”

June rolled her eyes at me. Come to think of it, it was a pretty lame idea. If June had suggested it, I would have treated her to the same response. “Okay then, what do you suggest?”

June plopped onto her bed and clasped her hands under her chin. “I can’t shake the thought that something is very wrong where Eddie Sneed is concerned. First the guy practically moves in with us. Annoying as he was, I don’t see him just backing off because we asked him nicely. Plus, he wasn’t anywhere he was expected to be this afternoon, most noticeably in the theater when we were treated to that film fest starring the terrible trio. I wouldn’t have minded so much or even thought about it again, but then he shows up at Bob’s house in the woods?”

“Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”

“Do I need to answer that?” June was already in motion. She was pulling a black fleece top over her head and unplugging her phone from the charger. The cute shoes she had worn to dinner were gone, and black velcro-closure sneakers had replaced them.

Not to be outdone, I did a quick change worthy of the best stage actress. My ensemble was now black leggings, black ballerina flats, and a long-sleeved black T-shirt with the Phantom of the Opera logo artfully displayed on the front. Operation Find Eddie Sneed was officially under way.

I used the room phone to dial up the courtesy shuttle that ran twenty-four hours a day picking up resort guests and delivering them to every destination in the complex. “I need a ride to the marina, please.”

Families with tired, sunburned children, teenagers in love, and groups of friends out for a good time entered and exited the resort shuttle as we made our way around the vast property. Only a rider or two gave us more than a passing glance. Two ladies dressed all in black were not the strangest sight people would see tonight by any stretch. When the shuttle stopped in front of the marina office, it was finally our turn to get off. We were the only people in the immediate area, since the office was closed for the evening, and I had to wonder who was filling in for Bob tonight. It was just after dusk and glowing lights beckoned all along the docks. The view into the amusement park from our vantage point was noteworthy. Roller coasters and ferris wheels sparkled in technicolor and the streets were lined with cheerful lampposts. Who wouldn’t want to vacation here?

I stood still, studying our location. “There must be a road somewhere nearby leading to the house. Bob would have insisted on getting to and from work without hassle. Let’s head around to the back of the building.”

“There it is, Francie. They did a good job of concealing the road from the public area, but it’s not like it’s a secret path or anything. We can walk it, but we better be on the lookout for cars. It was clearly built for motor traffic.”

It took under five minutes to reach our destination. There was still a light on in the quaint house, and by the day’s last rays of sunshine, I could see the neat, green lawn and the trimmed bushes under the picture window. I was having a hard time envisioning Bob tending the flowers and yard, but I figured a maintenance crew must have been part of the package deal.

“Quick!” June grabbed my arm and shoved me into the brush beside the road. We were in a stand of cottonwood trees, which could be a bad thing if I was supposed to be quiet. If I stayed there more than a minute or so, the snowy fluff falling from the branches would launch me into a sneezing fit I would be unable to control. I looked in the direction of June’s wide-eyed gaze and sucked in a huge gulp of air along with a wad of fluffy cottonwood seeds.

“What the . . .” I whispered as I willed myself to swallow back the inevitable sneeze. There was no mistaking the pair rushing away from the cottage hand in hand. Angelina’s golden hair shone in the emerging moonlight, and Damien . . . well, Damien was just impossible to mistake for anyone else.

Had they arrived, seen Eddie inside, and rushed off instead of going in? And why was everyone so hyped up about getting into the home of the late Roberto DeVille in the first place?

We remained motionless for what felt like a long time, waiting and watching until we were sure the DeVilles weren’t coming back or that no one else was following them out. “Ahchoo!” I couldn’t hold it in any longer. I doubled over at the waist and sneezed about twelve times in a row. “Sorry. I have allergies.”

“Oh, I know.” June looked out past our hiding place and tiptoed around the trees and back onto the road. “Come on. The coast is clear. But can you please be quiet?”

I found a tissue in my bag, gave my nose a good blow, and followed June. To say I was glad to get away from the offensive trees would be an understatement.

We crept up to the house, avoiding the front window and sticking to the shadows until we were safe beneath a living room window on the side of the house. Of course, we peeked inside.

E
ddie was sitting on an ugly
, green-plaid couch with a big cardboard box on the floor between his feet. He was concentrating on something he was holding, but I couldn’t tell what it was. After staring at the item for a few seconds, he put it back in the box and withdrew a square piece of paper. It looked like a photograph.

“Ahchoo!” I glanced at June and shrugged. What else could I do? Eddie stood up and looked nervously around the room. I wasn’t sure if he heard me or not, but he dropped the photo back into the box and made for the back door.

We waited almost five minutes, making sure Eddie wasn’t just taking a potty break or getting himself a glass of water. When we were pretty sure he wasn’t coming back, we made our way around to the back of the house, where we found the kitchen door left open in the wake of Eddie’s hasty departure. “We might as well have a look inside. It wouldn’t be breaking and entering, after all.”

June agreed. “Technically, we would just be entering.”

Walking through the small, functional kitchen, we got a glimpse into the private life of Roberto DeVille. There was a single, stained coffee mug in the sink, a takeout bag containing an uneaten hamburger and some cold fries on the counter, and one lonely chair tipped over in the middle of the room, away from the worn table. I reached down to set it right but realized I might be walking through evidence and pulled my hand back, leaving the chair where it lay. I made a point not to touch anything as we passed through the kitchen into the living room. “It looks like Bob’s dinner was interrupted. I wonder what really happened in the middle of that awful storm.”

I didn’t get any further into my musings, because June had made it around the couch, dropped to her knees in front of the big cardboard box, and let out an alarming yelp.

“Francie, this is awful. This is . . .” She stuttered unintelligibly and then clamped her mouth shut. June was so seldom at a loss for words that I was afraid to see what she had found.

I didn’t see anything too disturbing at first. It looked like the box was filled with a variety of electronic storage devices, from cassette tapes to CDs, DVDs, and flash drives. There were some old cameras—the kind considered cool until cell phone cameras became as good as or better than the average point-and-shoot. Also strewn among these items were various connector cords and some items I didn’t recognize. I had the sense they were parts of surveillance equipment, probably based on things I’d seen on TV.

But then I saw what had silenced June. I extracted the photo from her fingers and stared agape at the likenesses of the three clowns from the video. The way they were dressed, there could be no mistake. It looked like it could have been taken at a Halloween party, but wherever they were, their distinctive monochromatic outfits were a sure giveaway. I held the photo close to my face, trying to get a closer look at the red clown with the scared eyes, hoping to find a clue as to his identity. When nothing registered, I dropped the offensive picture to the floor and began scrutinizing the rest of the contents of the box.

There had to be at least a hundred photos in the bottom of the box. In addition to the three stars of the film, there were pictures of traditional-looking clowns making balloon animals on the causeway, passing out candy to children, and . . . wait—what the heck?—removing a wallet from an unsuspecting father’s back pocket. Flipping through a stack, I found another clown with another park visitor and another apparent act of theft.

“Wow, June, snap out of it and look at this stuff. Bob has pictures of klepto-clowns in here. Do you think this is the proof we’re supposed to get?”

June got a grip and began rifling through the box. She found a CD with a date from last summer labeled in permanent marker across the front. “Put this in your purse, Francie. We’ll look at it when we get back to the hotel.”

Realizing we were probably tampering with evidence, I hesitated—but only for a fleeting moment. I grabbed the CD and a handful of the photos and stuffed them in my purse.

“Wait a minute. Hand me that photo of the girl in front of the roller coaster. I know her.” June handed me the photo, and I was dismayed to see a former teacher’s assistant smiling in front of the roller coaster she operated during summer break. “She was unaware of being photographed just like rest of the people in these pictures.”

“Look closely, Francie, there in the background.” June pointed to two men dressed like park employees, standing off to the side. One was holding a bag; the other had a wad of cash in his hand. They were making an exchange of some sort.

The more we looked, the more surveillance-like photos we found. It seemed employees throughout the resort complex had been caught on film engaging in less-than-legal activities.

We bounced questions and theories at each other, and after a while, a possible understanding of the pile of evidence in front of us began to take shape in my brain.

By the looks of things, this information gathering had been going on for a long time. Bob had been spying on just about everyone at the resort, and it seemed probable that when he came across evidence of people committing crimes or indiscretions, he chose to use the photos for his own purposes instead of alerting security. Maybe he was blackmailing the clowns, and now that he was gone, they wanted the evidence of their wrongdoings destroyed.

June dropped the photo she was holding and watched it flutter back to its place among the rest of the artifacts. “Maybe he really was crazy. I can’t picture him being a stalker, but your idea about blackmail makes sense. In any case, this is one big box of creepy.”

I noticed the pulsing blue lights on the driveway right before I heard the siren’s wail. Feeling a sense of dread, I threw the photos I was holding back into the box, while June gathered up the ones on the floor and did the same. Then I stood up, deciding to face head-on whatever was coming next. They didn’t knock. I heard the clip-clop of thick leather heels approach the front porch and then recede. They entered through the kitchen at the back of the house, just as we had. I wondered who had called the police. It wasn’t us, and it wasn’t like we were the only intruders into Bob’s house of horrors that night. Someone was trying to set us up. Or were they trying to protect us from something? My head was starting to hurt again. It was getting hard to tell where we fell on the who-killed-Bob spectrum.

The next hour and a half was a blur. Detective Reed and Officers Rymer and Stark took turns rifling through the assortment of disturbing evidence in the box and posing the same questions over and over to both of us in every imaginable form.

W
e were hauled
off to the police station and cited for trespassing. We were questioned yet again, fingerprinted—for elimination purposes—and then unceremoniously deposited back at the hotel.

It felt good to be back in our well-appointed room once again, but by this time it was beginning to feel more like a prison. After one murder, three encounters with the police in less than two days, and evidence that June and I were the objects of someone’s sick joke, I had to admit to myself that this was not going to be the relaxing retreat I’d hoped for. I wanted to call Hamm and have him spirit us away in the middle of the night, never to return to Devil’s Island, but I knew nothing would be solved that way. I made up my mind. Let the police do their thing, but it was going to be up to me and June to figure out what was really going on.

“I don’t know about you, but I don’t plan on sitting around here waiting to be arrested for killing someone I don’t even know well enough to hate. I mean, Bob was annoying, but I never gave him much thought outside of the marina.”

I got no argument from June. She grabbed the pad of hotel stationery and the complimentary pen, sat in the desk chair, crossed her legs, and declared, “Let’s review.”

Point by point, we ticked off each of the strange events in the order in which they occurred. We made note of all the main players. First there were Bob, Angelina, and Damien DeVille. Next we met the young resort employee Sasha and Gabriel DeVille, and finally there was Eddie Sneed.

“Francie, give me the CD from Bob’s house. Let’s see what’s on it.”

June fired up her laptop while I dug for the CD. She popped it into the computer, and after ten seconds worth of unhealthy-sounding whirring and wheezing, an error message popped up on the screen.
Files unreadable. Files may be corrupt.

I was disappointed but not particularly surprised, especially when I saw the deep scratch across the surface of the CD. It wasn’t in a case when I tossed it in my bag, so I couldn’t tell if it was already like that or if it had met its demise in my purse. Next, I retrieved the photos and we scrutinized them for clues. Neither of us recognized any more people, but several of the images showed couples locked in steamy embraces and other guilty-looking individuals caught forever glancing over their shoulders. Somehow all these events and people were connected.

“I say we start with Eddie. He seems to be the most approachable, and he sure seemed eager to hang out with us—that is, until he disappeared and showed up at Bob’s house with his hands all over that surveillance stuff.”

“Umm . . . our hands were in that cookie jar too.”

I looked down at the photographs strewn across the coffee table. “Whatever.”

June shook her head at my lame response as she looked over her notes and jotted down a few more observations in her investigative reporter shorthand. “Let’s go, Francie. There’s no time like the present. If we’re going to do this, let’s do it.”

“Okay, but let’s call Eddie’s room first and see what he has to say for himself. I’ll call the front desk and have them connect us to his room.”

Eddie answered on the first ring. “Oh my gosh! I’m so glad you called. I have to talk to you. It’s really important. You might be in trouble, but I can’t talk here. Where are you? Did you see them? Are you guys okay? We need to meet. I have to show you something. You’re not going to believe this.”

“Slow down, Eddie. Take a breath. We’re not buying the bumbling idiot act any more. If you don’t want to talk here, let’s meet in the park. It’s public and no one should notice us, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“Yes. Good plan. Leave right now and meet me by the fun house. It’s close to the entrance, and there shouldn’t be a lot of people around at this time of night.”

I shared what Eddie said, and we both agreed we didn’t have a whole lot of choices at the moment.

He was already there when we arrived. Glancing over his shoulder once, he ducked inside. Great. I never did like fun houses. Once, when I was about thirteen, I got to visit a local carnival as part of a class field trip. After admiring my reflection in the infinity room, circling so I could see my budding curves from every angle, I got disoriented and couldn’t find the rest of my group. By the time the attendant located me, I was curled up in a tight ball, arms around my knees, tears streaming down my face.

The emotions of that day washed over me as I stepped over the threshold. Mirrors covered every surface, distorting our images into grotesque beings worthy of my nightmarish memories. I hung on to June’s arm with both hands, and I’m pretty sure I wasn’t breathing. Strobe lights pulsed and flashed, pushing the terror deep into my pores. Seeing my condition, June stepped up to the plate and dealt with Eddie.

“What’s this all about, Sneed? This better be good. I’m in no mood for games.”

“No games, I promise. I just didn’t want to be overheard or followed. You need to know—”

“Not again!” We were pitched into utter darkness, which, contrary to the rules of common sense, made me feel better. I didn’t have to deal with my crazy fears, and, sadly, I was getting used to flailing about in the dark.