Deviled!: Lake Erie Mysteries Book 2 (9 page)

“
O
kay
. This isn’t so bad,” I proclaimed. “The entrance should be right behind us. We didn’t walk in very far.” I faced the way we had come and stretched my arms out in front of me. I had to flex my fingers, as they were numb from the death grip I had on June. I took a step forward and touched a solid wall. I must have miscalculated. I ran my hand to the left. Nothing. I repeated the action to the right. More nothing. It was as if the entrance had sealed itself once we were inside. Probably a special effect, forcing unsuspecting thrill-seekers to keep moving in search of a way out through the maze of mirrors, no turning back. I wasn’t feeling brave any more.

Click, click, click. Click, click, click
. Moving around in the dark had me disoriented. I couldn’t tell from which direction the sounds were originating. I turned deliberately in a circle, stopping to listen after every step. The clicking sounds were there, at the same intensity, no matter which way I faced. They got louder and faster, and then I felt something scuttle across my foot. A lot of somethings. June screamed. At least I knew I wasn’t alone.

There must have been an emergency generator, because as suddenly as we had been immersed in total darkness, we were plunged into a garish circle of white light. Correction: June and I were in the middle of the spotlight; Eddie Sneed was nowhere to be seen.

What I did see were hundreds of tan, brown, and fluorescent-green skeletal creatures clicking their pincers greedily in every direction. Their beady yellow eyes darted about while their tails slapped venomous stingers in scary, staccato rhythms. The clickers turned out to be scorpions.

“Help! Help! Somebody get us out of here! Sneed, you little creep, where are you?”

I twirled like a ballerina on amphetamines, shaking my legs to avoid contact with the bloodthirsty insects. Soon, dizziness threatened to overtake me. Reflections of reflections spun around me until I felt like I was in the belly of a crazy kaleidoscope.

“Gabriel, is that you?” I heard June scream in the middle of a revolution. It crossed my mind that she might subconsciously enjoy the role of damsel in distress. Not me. I just wanted out. I continued to scream and hop and twirl until, at last, I heard a third voice in the space, a loud male voice, devoid of panic. It was not Gabriel.

“Who’s there? What’s going on in here? Hey, who are you two, and where did all these scorpions come from?”

I was amazed at the calm demeanor of the young park employee standing in the open doorway that now was located right where it should be. “Look out! These things are poisonous!”

“Sorry to alarm you, ma’am. They sure as heck look scary, but they’re not lethal. At least I’m pretty sure they’re not. This isn’t the first time a plague of scorpions has rained down upon us here.”

Who was this kid, all calm and biblical-sounding? And was there a good reason I should take his word about all this?”

He got between June and me and placed a steady hand on our shoulders. As he ushered us out into the warm night air, I remembered Eddie. “Did you see a short guy in an ugly Hawaiian shirt when you came in? He was the one who led us in here in the first place, but when the lights went out he disappeared.”

“Sorry. I didn’t see anyone coming out. I just heard you two screaming. I called the police right before I came in to see what was up.”

June joined the conversation. “You called the cops? Great. Wait a minute. If Eddie didn’t come out, he’s probably still in there. Do you think he was on the level? He could be in trouble. We should get him out.”

The young man, Curtis, according to his name badge, held up his hands. “Whoa. Nobody’s going anywhere. Let’s just stay right here until the police come, and they can sort all this out.”

As if on cue, the now-all-too-familiar blue lights appeared, and two of our three new best friends got out of the car. Detective Reed looked as fresh as if she’d just stepped out of the shower, while Officer Stark was still rumpled, runny, and red-eyed. Officer Rymer must have had the night off. Lucky him.

Reed stepped forward, all official and no-nonsense, pen poised above paper. “Ladies, I understand you encountered some difficulty in one of the attractions this evening.”

Really? Some difficulty? “I think being locked in a deathtrap and attacked by killer insects should be classified as something a little more serious than ‘some difficulty.’” I couldn’t help myself, even though I realized I probably wasn’t earning any brownie points in the law enforcement world.

“Stan, why don’t you go inside and look into the scorpion situation. I’ll stay out here and get these ladies’ statements.”

He didn’t object, but it was clear he didn’t relish the idea of being sent inside to be poisoned.

Stanley Stark shuffled toward the fun house entrance. He greeted the scorpion infestation with an onslaught of violent sneezes. Hundreds of scary little bug legs were probably hightailing it to every available nook and crevice in the place.

After listening to our identical versions of this latest misadventure, Reed looked over her notes and tucked her official notebook back into her pocket. “Okay, here’s how I see it. The entire resort has been experiencing blackouts and electrical problems since yesterday’s storm. We’re away from the main power plant in town, so it can take a while to work all the bugs out after a storm.” Her lips turned up at the corners. “No pun intended.”

“What about the scorpions?” I didn’t understand why no one seemed particularly concerned with the fact that we had been attacked by a marauding cyclone of bloodthirsty arthropods.

“It’s an ongoing problem, Francie. I’m not trying to downplay your concern, but this may be the handiwork of a group of pranksters we’ve been trying to pin down for years. You might be familiar with Scorpion Island. It’s only seventeen miles from here and the source of many rumors and urban legends. Some folks find it amusing to stir up allegations of mafia activity on the island and like to frighten locals and visitors alike with tales of underworld crime, sex trafficking and other undocumented claims. The scorpions have shown up before around the park. Holiday weekends are especially popular. I’m sure Officer Stark will confirm my theory that your uninvited visitors are quite harmless, although nevertheless alarming.”

I could sense June’s natural curiosity bubbling to the surface; unfortunately, it was accompanied by her snarky sarcasm. “Thanks for the clarification, Detective. That’s fascinating, but what about Eddie? I don’t think the harmless scorpions spirited him off to their parlor for a tea party.”

Evelyn Reed was nonplussed. “Of course, you’re right. We will locate Mr. Sneed just as soon as we drop you ladies back at your hotel. I would suggest you stay there this time.”

We reluctantly got into the all-too-familiar backseat of the cruiser, and as soon as Officer Stark returned from his mission, no worse for wear, we were once again escorted back to the main entrance of the hotel.

H
ow many times
were we going to leave this room in search of answers just to be escorted back to the hotel entrance by the police? The questions were multiplying, and although there was a seed of a theory taking shape, we were getting no solid answers. Someone was involving us in their less-than-legitimate activities, and we just kept spinning in infinite circles.

June headed straight for her laptop again. She was used to diving into Internet research, but I was not. I preferred to talk through my problems, but the person I most wanted to talk to was probably sinking his teeth into a thick, juicy steak right now. That thought made me realize I was hungry. I also needed to wash the remnants of Bob’s house and the police station off my tired body, so I headed for the room service menu. A snack would help me restore a sense of normalcy, and after all, it was on the house. A hot bath and a bite to eat would help me focus and clarify my thoughts.

I found some delicious-looking pepperoni-and-cheese-stuffed breadsticks and a nice California red blend on the menu. Meanwhile, June discovered some interesting information about Scorpion Island on the Internet. I listened to her findings from behind the partially open door of the bathroom, where I decided to take advantage of the luxurious whirlpool tub, especially since there were wide marble ledges all around it, perfect for holding a snack plate and a wine glass.

“Did you know there are only sixty residents on the island, and they’re all members of an exclusive club? Looks like everything on the island is controlled by this club, including real estate purchases. If you want to become a member, a current member has to quit, and you need recommendations from at least two other members. What do you say, Francie? Membership will only cost you $150,000 plus monthly maintenance fees.”

“Why not? Put my name on the list. I’m sure they have a nice golf course, so Hamm will have no problem.” I sipped my wine and munched on the last bite of my yummy breadstick as I listened to June’s commentary about the mysterious island.

“Not only is there a golf course, but there’s also a health club, a pool, and seven unique bars and restaurants. And, of course, there’s a boutique with all sorts of exclusive merchandise. It says here there’s even a tattoo parlor run by some famous Russian artist. He specializes in scorpion tattoos.”

“Of course he does.” My thoughts wandered back to Memorial Day weekend and two beautifully executed, mirror-image scorpion tattoos belonging to a set of gorgeous twins, Sirena and Senora Divine. Sadly, the first one was murdered by the second one, who then tried to murder June and me.

“On second thought, June, I think I’ll keep my money. I’m really not a big fan of scorpions—real, tattoo, or otherwise.”

“You have a point, Francie. Neither am I.” June continued to share her research findings as she came across more interesting facts. “The summer staff on the island comes mainly from Eastern Europe. There are a dozen men and the same number of women who live in separate dorms. They’re trained to recognize the residents by their appearance and also by the yachts they arrive in. Holy cow! I think it would be stressful to have a job like that.”

“I bet those people are not easy to work for.”

“No kidding. You wouldn’t want to stop by unannounced either. If you come in on a boat that isn’t recognized, you won’t even be able to dock. There are security guards patrolling the entire shoreline on land and in boats, and it doesn’t specifically say so, but this article makes it sound like they might be armed. In any case, they aren’t open to tourists. No wonder there are so many rumors and myths about this place. Sounds like the perfect place for high-class crooks to come for a little privacy and R and R.”

“Thanks for the geography lesson. I think I’ll stick to South Bass and Middle Bass Islands. And Kelleys, of course, as long as Senora is still safely behind bars.” I shuddered at the thought of the crazy lady who had nearly made our Memorial Day weekend trip the last vacation either of us would ever take. I leaned back into the soothing whirlpool tub, set my wine glass on the ledge, and closed my eyes.

As I was drifting off to sleep, I could hear June talking on the phone. Her voice was low and the bubbling water of the Jacuzzi muffled most of her words but I got the gist of it. She was asking her boss to do some digging for her to see how much truth there was to the rumors of crime bosses and mafia ties to Scorpion Island. I’m pretty sure I heard her mention Chicago and a potential anonymous source.

I woke up long enough to drag my water-wrinkled self out of the tub, throw on my pajamas, and head to bed, but, as is so often the case, once I was all snuggled under the covers, I was wide awake. My mind raced, and I tossed and turned, willing myself to fall back to sleep with no success. I finally got tired of watching the clock, and at 5:45 I got up, changed into yoga pants and a T-shirt, and decided to take a walk on the beach to clear my head.

T
he sun was still
at least a half hour away from making its morning appearance when I began my wandering trek down the shoreline. It wasn’t exactly dark, because the lights from the resort and park cast the beach in a comforting glow. When I was alone at times like this, it was easy to believe everything would be all right. I had almost convinced myself that today would be a new, drama-free day. I picked up my pace and was content humming “I Will Survive” along with Gloria Gaynor who was performing her song in my head. The dance party in my mind came to an abrupt halt when a whistling sound shot past my ear, and the sand in front of me shot up like a volcano eruption, leaving a crater in the wet mud. I changed directions and switched gears, sprinting back toward the hotel. When another sand explosion erupted just to my left, I realized I needed to get out of the open. As much as my brain fought against the idea, the reality was that someone was shooting at me. I scanned the beach for some kind of cover. The closest thing I could see was the tiny beach office just outside the hotel. I think I set a new personal sprint record as I ran for cover, all the while repeating the mantra “I will survive” in my head. I made it to the office and pulled at the door handle, praying it would open. Someone up above must have been watching over me as the knob turned easily in my hand. I ran inside, slamming the door behind me. I leaned against the door, doubled over hugging my waist, and sucked in as much air as my burning lungs could hold. After several more deep breaths, I inventoried my body for bullet holes, and, finding none, I began stabbing buttons on my phone, willing it to do my bidding. Another shot rang out, connecting with the wood just outside the door. I tucked myself beside the doorframe, away from the two windows, and managed to steady my breathing and speed-dial June. At least that was my intention. Hamm’s smiling face appeared on my screen.

“Good morning, sweetheart! You’re up and about early. I’m so glad you called. You’ll never guess what happened after I talked to you yesterday. I won a hundred-dollar gift certificate to Bay Harbor. We can have dinner there for our anniversary.”

“I’ll call you back, Hamm.”

“What? Wait.”

I didn’t have time to explain or feel bad about hitting the disconnect button. I jabbed my forefinger on the second icon in my favorites list and waited.

“Mmmmm?”

“June!”

“Yeah. Wha—”

“June, wake up. It’s Francie. Someone is shooting at me down on the beach. Call the police.”

“What?” She sounded clear and alert now.

“Call the police, June! I’m being shot at. I’m in the beach office just outside the hotel.”

“Oh, okay.”

“What do you mean, okay? Get help!”

The line went dead. All sounds from outside stopped as well. I inched along the wall to the edge of the window facing the beach. Should I take my chances and look out to try to see who was after me, or should I dial 911? The sound of shattering glass interrupted my decision-making moment. I only had time to punch in 9 before I noticed the smoke billowing out from beneath a storage closet door. The gravity of my situation struck me as explosions split the air. I almost missed the strained voice coming from across the room.

“Fireworks. Those are fireworks.”

“Who’s there?”

There was no answer, but I recognized the voice. I crouched down remembering my stop, drop, and roll, and staying below the sulfur-tinged smoke, I made my way across the room and peered around the reception desk.

“Angelina, are you okay?”

She didn’t answer. The air was heavy with the noxious smoke. Soon there would be no safe spot left in the cramped office. The fireworks that had been stored in the utility closet in preparation for the Fourth of July celebration were hissing and popping against the thin paneling of the adjoining wall. I had to get us out, and fast.

It appeared Angelina had been hit on the head. She was hovering on the verge of consciousness as I struggled to help her up from the desk chair and out the door Between the oppressive smoke and the weight of her limp body, I wasn’t sure I could make it.

“I’ve got all my life to live; and I’ve got all my love to give, and I’ll survive. I will survive . . .”

“
F
rancie
, wake up!”

“Turn off the alarm, June.”

“Francie, thank God! You’re okay.”

“Is it time to get up?”

“Francie, don’t you remember the fire? You were trapped in the beach office with Angelina, and the fireworks stored there somehow ignited.”

“Oh, that’s not good. Is it time for breakfast?”

My eyes finally focused in on June, hovering over me in a pair of men’s plaid boxers and a ribbed tank top, her hair spiked up in all the wrong places. She had my purse and her knapsack crossed over her shoulders and her laptop clutched to her chest. It looked like she’d left the hotel room in a rush. I was on a blanket on the sand, not snug in my downy bed. The resort’s private beach was filling with sleepy-eyed, disoriented guests, forced out of their beds at the insistence of the shrieking fire alarm.

As the sea of sleepy hotel guests in various states of dress and undress inched closer to the office, I could hear their chatter, like nails on a chalkboard, questioning and speculating about what had happened. It was all coming back to me. I’d been in the office when the fireworks exploded. Something had caused a spark that lit the fuses. Now I remembered. It was a gun, a gun directed toward me. The more alert I became, the more fear and panic tried to overtake me.

Sirens from the fire trucks at the scene still competed with the hotel’s fire alarm for most migraine-inducing sound of the morning. I massaged my temples, trying to remain calm. I watched the firefighters as they went about their business. Some stood at attention, hoses aimed like muskets at the fiery enemy. Others, armed with shields worthy of the best medieval knights, stormed the office, well-protected from the kamikaze missiles, rockets, and shells that would have made for a memorable Independence Day celebration, but in this context managed only to call up images of an air raid from an old war movie. I tried to stand. I needed to get away from here and whoever was using me for target practice. When I wobbled to my feet, the stars I saw were not from the fireworks. I slumped back down to the blanket and waited for the wooziness to pass.

The buzz of speculation wound down, and the hotel guests were given the all-clear to return to their rooms. June and I watched a few more minutes as the firemen wrapped things up. I finally convinced the hovering medic who kept trying to shove an oxygen mask onto my face to go find someone else to bother. I was feeling much better—physically, at least. Other than a dry throat and a bout of coughing, I was okay. My emotional state was another matter entirely. I was hanging on by a thread. What else could happen? Just when I decided the answer was
nothing
, I was once again surrounded by my three least favorite people. Officers Stark and Rymer stood off to the side, flipping through notepads and glancing at their watches, while Detective Reed began the questions. I could sense her frustration as, once again, I had no answers for her. I didn’t see anyone on the beach. I didn’t know where the shots came from, and most of all, I had no clue who would be using me for their morning target practice. She was gentler with her interrogation than during our previous encounters, as I’m sure she could see I was trembling and didn’t want me to lose it on her watch. I was beginning to think the lady might have a heart. She confirmed that there was, in fact, a bullet retrieved from the splintered wood near the office door, and it would be analyzed, but that did little to assuage my anxiety or to answer the question of why I was being targeted in someone’s disturbing game of cat and mouse.

Finally, Detective Reed was finished with her questions. I was able to satisfy her I didn’t need medical attention and wouldn’t be leaving the resort. I suggested to June that we do the only thing I could think of at this point. “Let’s head back to the room. There’s no reason to stick around and watch the aftermath. I was hoping to start this day off with some peace and quiet, but this is about as far away from calm as it could get, and to tell you the truth, the sight of a burning building brings back memories I’d rather not revisit.”

Not nearly enough time had passed since June and I had been locked in a burning building—a warehouse full of counterfeit designer merchandise instead of an arsenal of fireworks—and narrowly escaped our own premature demise. Just the sight of this fire was making me fidget. June put her steady arm around my waist and gently guided my steps back toward the hotel.

June was quiet and so was I. The walk was providing me just the right mental backdrop to try and sort some things out. Angelina had been taken away in an ambulance before I could talk to her. As much as I prayed she would be all right, I also needed to see her and find out what she might know about what was going on. I didn’t like that my name was being mentioned in connection with a fire for the second time in as many months.