Mayhem Takes a Dare: The Second Marisa Adair Mystery Adventure (Marisa Adair Mysteries Book 2) (3 page)

The tall figure of a man neatly dressed in a dark suit and tie sidled up to Tara. “I am afraid he’s right.” He drew in a deep breath, and released it in a regretful sigh. “I did think his bladder and bowel contracted and relaxed in their final release of body fluids—”

“Ewwww.” The bartender, who had sprawled across the bar to better film the fallen man, dropped his cell phone.

“—but the brown fluid around his feet smells like whiskey—” The tall man craned his thin neck. “—leaking from that bottle upturned on the bar.” He knelt at Alex’s side, rubbed the wet, ripped shirt between his fingers, brought his hand to his face, and sniffed. “And although it is a nice shade of red, I’m afraid that’s not blood.”

Uniformed police pounded into the bar. They surrounded Brianna and the gun hanging loosely in her hands.

One of the grim officers grabbed the gun and wrenched it from Brianna’s limp fingers. “As reported on the 911 call, it’s a paintball gun.”

“Paintball!” Marisa and Tara spoke in unison. Their stunned faces turned to Alex.

He extended his stained hands. “I tried to tell you I was fine, but no one would listen to me!”

One hand grasping her sliding tube top, Carla pushed herself through the crowd of policemen to the hysterically crying woman. “Brianna, I’m here, baby.” With her free hand, she tried to cradle the wildly swinging head to her striped breast. “I’m coming with you.”

A law enforcement official firmly peeled her from the prisoner. “No, ma’am. If she chooses to use her one phone call to contact you, that’s her option.” He hauled Brianna toward the door. “Personally, I think she’s getting a one-way ticket to the psych ward, and there won’t be any visitors in her near future.”

* * * * *

After the police left, Marisa shook her head in disbelief. “I can’t believe this place didn’t close.”

“Why would it? It’s not like it’s a real crime scene. The crazy woman was taken away to a hospital so she can get help, the fake gun was confiscated by the police, and the fake blood was cleaned up by the waitress, albeit begrudgingly. The only casualty was Alex’s shirt, and since he had a spare one in his car, no harm done. Plus, it was too late to call off the gathering.” Tara stopped peering around the room and turned to Marisa. “Where the heck is that guy?”

“What guy?”

“You know, the one who stopped Brianna from hitting Carla. I’m still trying to figure out where I’ve seen him.”

With a sigh, Marisa let go of her vision of a long soak in a hot bathtub. “He’s probably part of your online group. That looks like him, joining them over there—”

“I need to get another look at that guy.” Tara grabbed Marisa’s arm, and dragged her to the cluster of online group members.

Listening to the rising voices as they approached the milling group, Marisa realized they were discussing basketball. “I thought for sure they’d be discussing the murder of one of their own members, not to mention Brianna’s attempt to hold us up with a paintball gun!”

Tara snorted. “There should be a research grant to study the in-state rivalry between the University of Kentucky Wildcat fans and the University of Louisville Cardinal fans. Here we are, not far from the home base of the Cards, and just listen to those UK fans. They’re across the state from their home base in Lexington and giving the Cards fans hell!”

“UK fans do love references to the Big Blue Nation. Perhaps they think they’ve planted their blue flags in Louisville.” Based upon the set faces and clenched fists of several of the males and females, Marisa calculated it would take only one more round of drinks for violence to erupt between the Cards and Cats fans.

Oblivious to imminent violence, Tara continued along her theme. “A formal research study would find some shared characteristics between the two groups. For example, the Cats fans tend to be more aggressive and less patient than the Cards fans.”

“That’s because the Cards fans have to wait decades between their championship wins, while Cats fans know their coach had damn well better have a showing in the March matchups or else.” The man next to Tara smirked. The top of his thinning head of wispy gray hair barely reached the pretty blonde’s shoulder, and his greedy eyes fastened on her chest.

Marisa was fairly certain she heard growling noises from other members of the group.

In the near darkness of the dimly lit club, Tara hastily pointed at the bar with her glass. “Look at that woman with the short hair sitting alone at the bar. I bet we could deduce whether she’s a Cards or a Cats fan.”

Marisa hid a small smile as everyone started talking and speculating. Nothing like deflection and competition to get people’s minds off pounding one another into the floor.

“How about you, do you want to take a stab at it?” Tara gestured toward the hovering young man who’d intercepted Brianna’s angry arm at the bar. “You look like you’d be pretty good at deduction.” Tara’s smile was sweet and innocent.

Marisa knew Tara was up to something. She stared carefully at the young man in baggy jeans, red and white bandana, square glasses with gray lenses, and his wallet chained to his pants. Marisa sucked in her breath. It was Lieutenant Dreamus Camden. Without Tara’s clues, Marisa would never have guessed his identity. What was he doing here and why was he in disguise? Was it because of Caleb’s murder?

Camden flicked his eyes over Tara’s tight white t-shirt, emblazoned with the University of Kentucky Wildcat emblem and seeming to barely hold her large breasts. “I’d say since that woman is sitting there quietly, minding her own business, she must be a Cards fan.”

Tara’s mouth opened in outrage.

Marisa poked her in the ribs.

“No,” argued a very thin woman in a flowing black lacy top and snug boot cut jeans, a purse nearly as large as herself draped over one bony shoulder. Her skinny arms glowed like radioactive tree branches in the near darkness of the club. Her head sprouted three short pigtails, one on each side of her head and one in the middle. She looked like an emaciated triceratops. “She has to be a Cats fan. A guy approached her, and she practically took his head off. All that repressed aggression points to a Cats fan.”

His eyes still on Tara’s chest, the little gray man sneered. “Or she’s just cranky.”

“A grumpy person can be a Cards or Cats fan,” argued Tara.

The final consensus was split down the middle, with roughly half voting for Cards fan, and the remainder for Cats fan.

“How do we know if we’re right?” frowned the dinosaur-haired woman.

“I’ll go ask her,” volunteered Marisa.

“I’ll go with you.” The voice was as low and wispy as fog obscuring headstones in a deserted graveyard. It belonged to a tall man who had materialized from the gloom next to Marisa. With his dark suit, somber tie, and conservatively buzzed head, he stood out in the room full of men and women dressed in the extreme Goth fashion of flowing black or the timeless uniform of jeans and t-shirts. The dim light highlighted his bony face with its shadows. Marisa recognized him as the man who had loomed over Alex when he was on the floor.

As Marisa and her companion approached, the woman at the bar looked up. Her face, bare of makeup in the soft bar lights, was smooth and slightly inquiring.

Marisa smiled. “We were having a discussion over there.” She pointed to the group, who were all focused on Marisa and her errand. “We were wondering if you are a Cats fan or a Cards fan.”

“What?” The woman’s face indicated she thought they were either lunatics or speaking a different language.

Her companion, with his persistent silence, wasn’t helping. Feeling foolish, especially with the bartender’s amused eyes on her, Marisa explained the wager.

Her face clearing with understanding, the woman laughed so hard Marisa wondered if she’d fall off the barstool. “I’m from Indianapolis. I’m the DJ for tonight. I don’t know anything about cards or cats.” She perked up. “Hey, I have CDs of my music mix for sale for five dollars each. Give me a second and I’ll run out to the car and get them.” She jumped off her barstool and headed for the door.

Marisa couldn’t help but laugh. “What a wasted exercise
and
we’ll have to fend off the sales pitch for the five-dollar CDs!”

His gaunt face disturbingly cadaver-like in the blue glow of the rows of computer screens, Marisa’s companion offered her his hand. “I didn’t have the opportunity to introduce myself earlier. I’m the High Priest of Death.”

Marisa took his ice-cold hand and shivered. “What do you mean, you’re the High Priest of Death? I thought Tara’s website was loosely based on King Arthur’s court.”

He shrugged. “Loosely is the key.” His low voice crawled along Marisa’s spine. “Came-A-Lot is really based on more generic monarchies. Each user sets up his or her profile, with the user as the queen or king of the profile. Then, friends can be added, with tags related to the monarch’s court.”

“I think Tara mentioned you have accountants added as Grand Viziers, amateur musicians as Minstrels, and so on.”

His fleeting smile brought a short flash of animation to his deathly pale face. “I chose the High Priest of Death user name because I am the online funeral director of the Palace of Happy Endings, as well as a funeral director in real life…or shall I say death?” With a professional smile and a flourish, he handed her a card. “In case you ever need my services—”

“Panhandling happy endings for business or pleasure, Steve?” The thin woman with the trio of pigtails glided up next to Marisa.

“The Queen of Water Retention!” snarled the funeral director.

“That’s Empress of Endless Seas, you oaf! You should use the tag of Court Jester, since you think you’re so damn funny!”

Marisa started to ease away.

The smaller woman grabbed her arm. “I’m Marina Poole Waters, which explains my affinity for water. You’ve met Steve, all dolled up in his death suit and face to match.”

“I have a viewing later, Marina Poole, as you well know—”

The smirk was replaced by sadness. “Caleb. I heard he was murdered. What happened?”

Steve’s face smoothed into professional lines. “Closed casket. Need I say more?”

“What was Caleb’s online identity?” asked Marisa.

They turned to her as if they’d forgotten she was there. “He was the Knight of the Round Ladies. He saw himself as the answer to a big girl’s prayer for casual sex.” Marina Poole’s mouth tightened in anger.

Steve shrugged. “Caleb went for quantity, both in numbers and sizes of his partners.” His eyes met hers with direct speculation. “I, on the other hand, go for quality.” His eyes drifted from Marisa’s tailored print blouse to her snug jeans.

Marina Poole snorted.

“What’s your online identity?” Steve hastily asked Marisa.

“I’m Marisa, Tara’s friend. I haven’t been online to see the group.”

Marina Poole and Steve looked as shocked as if Marisa had said she’d never heard of electricity.

Sipping her diet drink to hide her smile, Marisa watched Steve and Marina Poole inch away from her, as if she had a contagious disease.

“Once upon a time, you’d have had the same look of dismay on your face, Marisa. The group
was
your life!” Tara’s eyes crinkled engagingly at the corners.

Marisa shrugged. “Once I stopped drinking, the group just didn’t hold the same appeal. I was relieved to hand it over to you. Remember, I’m only here tonight because you dragged me.”

A young woman walked up to Tara. Her baggy top couldn’t completely hide her huge breasts. Her boxy jeans appeared to be several sizes too large.

Marisa was relieved to note the shirt was emblazoned with the name of a high school, not a college. She didn’t think she could take any more college rivalry in one night.

“Hi, Taylor!” Tara turned to Marisa. “Marisa! Meet Taylor! Online, she’s the Queen of the Classroom. Taylor teaches high school, and she also coaches the cheerleading squad.”

While Taylor was resisting the shorter woman’s pulling arm, Tara insistently tugged harder.

“Ummph.” Tara appeared to be in a tussle with the other woman, who had her face turned away. Tara swiped at the curls straggling into her face with one hand, and pushed the woman forward with her other hand. “Marisa, this is Taylor.”

Marisa stepped forward to shake Taylor’s hand. The first thing she noticed was the defiant fear in Taylor’s eyes. Then she realized that the other woman looked familiar.

As Marisa stared into the face, tantalized by an elusive memory of short curls bounding around a flirty face with irresistible dimples, Taylor tried to tug her hand away. The curls had been tamed into straightness by a ruthless hand, and there was no sign of dimples. In her head, Marisa heard the loud tones of raucous rock music.

Reality did a slight shift, and Marisa realized the woman was Sarah. Before her stint in chemical dependency rehab, Marisa had frequented the strip club where Sarah worked.

Sarah, who was not a high school teacher. Sarah, who was not a cheerleading coach.

Marisa’s eyes narrowed and she inadvertently squeezed the other woman’s hand too hard. Sarah yelped.

Tara waved. “Look, it’s the Royal Bloodhound!”

As her friend rushed away, Marisa ignored the sound of a man’s barking. “What are you up to, Sarah?” Marisa hissed, keeping the other woman’s hand trapped in her own.