Deviled!: Lake Erie Mysteries Book 2 (10 page)

W
hen we got back
to the hotel, my first thought was to go back to our room, crawl under the covers, and hope for a do-over. I changed my mind, however, when the hypnotizing aroma of strong, cinnamon-infused coffee tickled my nose. I spotted the coffee shop at the same time I caught a glimpse inside the sparkling display window of
She Devil
, the most exclusive women’s apparel boutique in a twenty-mile radius. I nodded in the direction of the gourmet coffee and bake shop, and June did nothing to dissuade me. We gave our order to the unenthused barista and took our cinnamon bun lattes and freshly baked pastries out to the porch that encircled the entire perimeter of the hotel. We laughed as June fought me for the sticky bun, which was roughly the size of my head and plenty big enough to satisfy us both.

I was finally starting to feel more like my old self, but there was still room for improvement. Looking across the courtyard at the inviting aquamarine water of the pool, I had an epiphany. The best ideas my friend and I ever had evolved over sinful foods or extravagant spending—or both—so I decided we needed to crank it into high gear, Francie-and-June style.

“Soak up that caffeine, my friend, because we are about to give our credit limits a real workout.”

“I like the way this is headed, Francie. What are you thinking?”

“I’m thinking we don’t step one foot farther into this resort until we relieve
She Devil
of two amazing swimsuits, cover-ups, and some fabulous coordinating accessories.”

“Now that’s the kind of workout you’re not going to have to talk me into.”

Side by side, we stepped over the threshold into shopping paradise. As if on cue, a retro remix of “Brown-Eyed Girl” filled the air. It was our song. Hamm sang it to me on our second date, and it’s been part of our special history ever since. I couldn’t resist grabbing a handful of ridiculously expensive and skimpy swimsuits to try on in a
Pretty Woman
-style fashion show medley.

I’m certain the shopkeeper was affronted by the guffaws and giggles coming from the dressing room as we modeled the suits that looked perfect on the mannequins but not so great on our real-life figures. Finally, the waspish retail clerk called a stop to our exploits. We were told to choose a purchase or go to the nearest Walmart to continue our shenanigans. As much as I was offended by her snooty insinuation, I couldn’t pass up a darling halter suit with a black-and-white-polka-dot top and a red, skirted bottom. Hamm was going to love me in it—as long as I intercepted the credit card bill before he saw it. June handed her American Express card over for a black, one-piece, strapless suit with a white cat’s face appliqued across the entire top. On anyone else it would have looked ridiculous, but on June it worked.

Having completed our first mission, I had one more shopping emergency to conquer. I needed something shiny.

Less than a full hour after my terrifying fight for life on the beach, I was feeling much more in control of myself and my surroundings.

“Next stop, poolside breakfast and mimosas.”

“I like the way you think. I really thought you would be making a beeline for the nearest cab to get you off this island by now. But I can see you’re determined to prove them all wrong. I’m proud of you, Francie.”

The poolside area was deserted at this hour except for one painfully pink man whose protruding belly just screamed for aloe. A blue and white cabana on the south side of the pool had not yet been reserved, so I whipped out my buzzing Master Card and secured it for the day.

We got comfortable on the cushioned loungers and slathered on the sunscreen. After all, we didn’t want to end up looking like our pool mate. The morning sun warmed my exposed skin and brought the extra benefit of comfort to my frazzled psyche. This was more like it. I looked down and admired my new ankle bracelet, its tiny anchor charm sparkling in the sunlight.

“Is it too early for nachos?”

“I think they’re still serving the breakfast menu, Francie, but nachos sound like a great plan for later.”

The waiter delivered our pitcher of mimosas and our breakfast to the cabana just as June got her iPad booted up and connected to the hotel Wi-Fi. I’d settled for a fruit and cheese plate which turned out to look more like a party platter. Six different kinds of cheese with mini croissants and a nice selection of the freshest fruits in season. I was in breakfast heaven. If June’s smile was any indication, she was pleased with her selection of chocolate chip silver-dollar pancakes and orange slices—a healthy choice for sure—with chocolate dipping sauce. It was nice to sit in silence and enjoy the simple things in life.

When I had my fill of cheese and my face was warm and rosy thanks to the combination of sunshine and mimosas, I decided it was time to get down to business. Research was June’s expertise, but I can navigate Facebook, Twitter, and Google like a pro. It was time to get my cyber-stalk on and find out more about the people we’d met so far.

Twenty minutes later, I was back to popping cheese cubes into my mouth, more out of frustration than a renewed hunger. “I hope you’re having better luck, June. I think we’ve come upon the last group of people in America who don’t make it their life’s goal to post, tweet, or update everything they do. I can’t get anything on Angelina and Damien beyond legal documents regarding their real estate purchases and a marriage certificate from fifteen years ago. Same with Gabriel. Just a bunch of professional pages for his theater group. I did manage to find a clown group based in Sandusky, but all I accomplished was making a donation to their balloon fund. Are you having any luck?”

I looked over to gauge June’s progress, but she was asleep, softly snoring while her iPad screensaver twirled and displayed the time. I nudged her shoulder. It was time to pack up and get to our first workshop of the day.

“
O
kay
, day. Bring it on.” June was fueled up, rested, and ready to go. “I think our first session is pretty appropriate, considering.”

“Hmmm? What’s that?” I didn’t even recall what we’d signed up for.

June held the flyer out toward me, pointing to our selection which she’d circled in purple ink. I accepted it, making a mental note that my friend’s penchant for color coordination never ceased to amaze me. Her ink pen was the exact shade of violet as the streak in her spiky blond hair, which in turn matched the shade of her body-hugging minidress. Her lime-green tennis shoes were the finishing quirky touch that gave June her unique style. She could pass as Tinkerbell’s modern counterpart.

Theatrical Weapons and Combat Staging was scheduled to begin at 9:30 in room 384. “Seriously, June? Do you think we could pick something else? I’m not feeling the whole weapons-and-combat thing. After this morning, I’m not sure gunslinging is at the top of my to-do list.”

“It might be exactly the right thing, Francie. Come on. Maybe fighting a make-believe assailant on the stage will help you remember more of what happened on the beach. Maybe you’ll even figure out who it was.”

I agreed, mostly because I couldn’t think of anything better to occupy the next couple hours.

“Great, Francie. Anyway, according to the blurb there are other weapons being demonstrated besides guns. Maybe we’ll end up in a swashbuckling pirate scene.”

The seminar was about to start, so all we had time for was a bagel and a banana on the fly—not that we were hungry, but it’s so hard to pass up free food. The room was filling up quickly. We had to maneuver our way through knots of people and squeeze past four seated attendees before finding two open spots in the middle of a row near the back of the room. No sooner had we settled ourselves in our chairs, than the earsplitting screech of microphone feedback assaulted us.

“Sorry about that. Welcome everyone. If you could all find a seat, we can get started.” Our presenter stood at the podium in front of the room, tapped several times on the mic, and fiddled with the controls on the side of the wireless device, adjusting the volume.

I’m not sure why I was surprised, but I hadn’t expected this session to be led by a woman. I fished my itinerary out of my bag and scanned the list until I located the information I wanted: Theatrical Weapons and Combat Staging, presenter: Dr. Alex Covington. Shame on me for assuming Alex plus weapons expert equaled man. Dr. Covington was not especially tall, but her straight posture and fit frame combined to make it clear that she was not a lightweight. She wore straight-leg black pants and a sleeveless, black, stretchy top that showcased her well-defined biceps.

“Ladies and gentlemen, we have some great activities in store for you this morning, but before we can get started, there is some important safety information we need to discuss.” Assistants in hotel uniforms walked down the outside aisles with stacks of handouts, and I heard groans as the packets were handed down the row from person to person. When I got mine, I scanned the information and recognized a lot of it as the same safety and accountability guidelines I had used in the past. While the others were skimming the reading material, I took in my surroundings. We were in a typical convention meeting room, but a few modifications had been made to facilitate this session. The front of the room was transformed into a split stage; props were utilized to create a simple, wide staircase to the left, and two floor-to-ceiling mirrors stood on the right. Interesting.

“Oh great,” June huffed. “Just what we need.”

“What now?”

June had also finished reading through her packet and was scanning the room. “Don’t look now, but we can forget our concern about Eddie Sneed’s whereabouts and safety. He’s just across the aisle and one row behind us. We’re going to have to question him about Bob’s house and the fun house fiasco, but it will have to wait.”

Of course I had to turn in my seat and gawk.
The nerve of that little weasel to just show up as if nothing had happened
. June placed her hand on my knee, preventing me from hopping up and causing a scene. I was going to have to be patient, but he wouldn’t slip out of my sight this time. “Okay, fine, but I’ve got my eye on him, and I will be getting answers before any of us leaves this room.”

“Firearms employed for theatrical uses must be treated as though they were actual live-firing weapons, and the rules for safe firearm handling, as well as plain common sense, should always be observed.” Covington read the words out loud, and I went back to pretending to follow along. She paused for effect and scanned the audience, making sure we were taking her words to heart. Then she continued.

“The gravest errors that can occur in the handling of stage weaponry originate from an inappropriate sense of complacency.” Again, she stopped to highlight the seriousness of her words.

“I will be your weapons coordinator. This means I am in charge of all weapons.  It is my responsibility to keep them secure between scenes and to maintain and control all blank and dummy ammunition. I will instruct and assist the actors who will handle the weapons, supervise loading, firing, and unloading, and, above all, oversee the staging and choreography of the scene and the safety of all who will be involved.”

June whispered to me, “This is a lot more serious than I thought it was going to be. I feel like I’m back in high school.”

“Give it a few minutes. The instructor is required by law to recite all that. I’ve heard the same introduction more than once. Once she finishes the formalities, the interesting part will begin. Maybe I’ll even get the chance to shoot that traitor, Sneed.”

June smiled at my enthusiasm.

“Okay.  There’s just one more thing we need to do before we get started. If you all would turn to the last page of your packets, read the release of liability clause, print and sign your name on the lines provided, and pass the forms to the end of the row, one of my assistants will collect them. We’ll get everyone confirmed, and then we can get on with a little murder and mayhem.” A smile spread across Dr. Covington’s face, lighting it up like a proud mother at a toddler’s recital.

I tried to get into the spirit of the session, even though I was a little less excited after having been shot at for real less than three hours before. At least I knew there was no threat with all of the safety protocol in place. Maybe June was right and going through the motions would actually help me figure out what had happened on the beach and who was after me.

We were divided into two groups. Attendees to the left of center stage would participate in a sword fight scene from
Romeo and Juliet
, while the other half of the room would be using pistols to reenact the final scene from Orson Welles’ film noir,
The Lady from Shanghai.
June and I ended up in the latter group.

“Oh darn. I was kind of hoping to be in the sword-fighting group. Those swords look pretty awesome, and I wouldn’t mind doing a little swashbuckling.” June flourished an imaginary sword for effect.

“Now that we’re here, I’m warming up to the idea, and I think you’re going to like this scene, June. There’s lots of action and intrigue; it’s not just a matter of point-and-shoot.”

I was excited to be assigned to the group performing
The Lady from Shanghai
. To sweeten the deal, Dr. Covington selected me to play the role of Elsa, the female lead in the production. I had a secret love of the film noir genre, and this particular film, based on the novel
If I Die Before I Wake,
by Sherwood King, was one I had watched many times, admiring Rita Hayworth’s dark portrayal of the gorgeous Mrs. Bannister. The bizarre yachting cruise and the complex murder plot captivated my imagination right up until the final scene, which takes place in a hall of mirrors not unlike the one from the fun house we’d been trapped in the night before. Come to think of it, the memory of the ending of this film probably triggered my overactive imagination and elevated my sense of dread and panic at the time.

Dr. Covington handed stage directions to the twelve people in our group who would be actively participating in the skit and scripts to the rest of the audience so everyone could follow along with the scene. Seeing Eddie accept a sheet of stage directions from Alex, I snatched my own copy from her hand more out of surprise than annoyance. I knew he was in the room, but I didn’t relish the idea of working with him one-on-one. I hoped she didn’t change her mind and reassign the lead to someone a bit more appreciative. She shot me a stern look, but that was the extent of her reprimand. I went back to my seat, glanced at the typed pages in my hand, and set them aside.

June shot me a look. “Don’t you even want to read the script?”

“Call me a stage geek, but I pretty much know these lines by heart. There are some variations between the screenplay and the novel, but I’ve got this. I’m more concerned about keeping my cool having to work with Eddie on the scene. That will be the true test of my skills. At least I can keep my eye on him until I get the chance to get the truth out of him.”

“Well, aren’t you Miss Celebrity Actress? You shouldn’t have any problem staying in character, though.”

“Yeah, I guess. It’s what I do, except I’m usually on the other end, being the instructor. It will be fun to get to play the role of stage actress for a change. I haven’t had a lot of time to get involved in community theater lately. Funny . . . I thought once the twins went off to college, I’d have all kinds of extra time to join in local productions.”

Sometimes I fumbled and stumbled through the crazy stuff real life hurled at me, but there wasn’t much on the stage I felt I couldn’t conquer. The room was buzzing with excitement. People were vying for position within their groups and trying to make themselves noticed for the roles they wanted to play. Between the adrenaline and the testosterone flying around, I knew the hormone level in the room could hold its own against an army of menopausal and pregnant women. We all were itching to get started on the weaponry demonstrations. Alex, as Dr. Covington asked us to call her, set down the cup of steaming coffee she’d been sipping while the groups acquainted themselves with the scripts. It was almost time for me and the two others selected as performers in the introductory activity to get our firearms and head up to the staging area to act out our mini-scene.

Alex made her way back to the podium. “At this time, I need everyone except for our first two groups of performers to take their seats.” She had to make the announcement twice before the buzz of excitement in the room began to fade and everyone made their way to their seats. I stayed up front and scanned the room to see where June was sitting so I could make sure she would have a good view of my performance. Every once in a while it was nice to be the center of attention and show off my skills for my friend, since, through no fault of her own, she found herself in the spotlight more often than not I finally located her, not sitting with the other participants waiting to observe me and my fine acting skills, but upstage left, tucked in the corner in a perfect Weaver gunman stance, right leg slightly back, allowing for accuracy to the target and a smaller profile to present to an attacker. Gabriel DeVille’s body was wrapped around hers, his hands covering her hands, demonstrating the move. She caught the raised eyebrow look I was throwing in her direction and scooted out of the circle of Gabriel’s arms. The spell broken, she headed across the makeshift stage toward the short set of stairs. At the bottom of the third step she turned to give me a thumbs-up in encouragement for my upcoming role and almost collided with that sneak, Eddie, who had apparently wandered behind the scenes and was now attempting to creep back out without being noticed. That’s hard to do while sporting a hideous hibiscus-bedecked Hawaiian shirt and the ever-present orphaned opossum headdress. He sidled up to me all nonchalant, like I hadn’t even noticed he was gone. And then the room was once again in an uproar. There was a loud crack overhead. I looked up and saw one of the spotlights above Alex dangling precariously by its cord. I ran to where she was standing, oblivious to the danger, and shoved her out of the way just as the spotlight broke free and crashed to the floor. Alex staggered away from her podium and tumbled down those same three steps to land in a limp heap at June’s feet.