Vanilla Beaned (17 page)

Angie's nimble fingers untied the last of the rope and Manny sagged forward. Mel caught him, staggered under his weight, and then Oz and Tate were lifting him off her. Together they draped his arms over their shoulders and they began to drag-carry him across the dark stage.

“He needs to have his head examined,” Mel said.

“Not the first time someone has said that, I'll wager,” Marty said.

“Focus, people,” Tate said. He was breathing heavily as he and Oz maneuvered Manny through the dark. “We have a man down and Holly is missing.”

“Take Manny out front,” Mel said. “Carlos can call an ambulance. The rest of us should look for Holly.”

“No!” Tate argued. “Whoever did this will not hesitate to hurt any of you. We stay together.”

“We can't cover the same amount of ground if we stay together,” Mel argued. “If we don't find Holly quickly, it could be dire.”

They were near the side door to the stage and Mel could see Tate's face illuminated in the glow of the stage lights. He was straining under Manny's weight but he also looked like he was wrestling with himself over the situation.

“We'll be careful,” Angie said. “We'll leave our phones open with a live call so we can hear whatever is happening if anyone finds anything.”

“Mel.” The voice was slurred but Mel recognized Manny's low growl immediately.

“Manny, are you all right? What happened? Where's Holly?”

His head was weaving and he looked like he was trying to raise his face up but his muscles were having none of it.

“Saw her leave the stage and went to follow, but I . . .” His voice trailed off as he fuzzed out.

“Manny, speak, what happened?” Mel demanded. She moved so she was standing right in front of him. She cupped his face so that he could see her eyes.

“Got jumped,” he said. He gave her a wan smile and his eyes rolled back into his head right before he went limp.

“Get him out front for ambulance pickup right away,” Mel said. “If he saw Holly go down the stairs, then she must have gotten snatched on the stairs or below. Let's go check it out.”

“Use your phones,” Tate ordered. His gaze pierced Angie and he added, “Be careful. Marty, go with the girls. I'll be down as soon as I can.”

Neither Mel nor Angie felt the need to let him know that their phones didn't work downstairs. They bolted for the door to the stairs just as Tate and Oz disappeared into the theater, hauling Manny as they went.

They wound down one set of stairs before Marty started puffing. “How many levels are down here?”

“Three,” Mel said. She paused on the landing to catch her breath but also to be sure that they hadn't missed anything. She did a quick scan of the wall to make sure there were no secret openings or hidden passages.

“What knucklehead thought having the dressing room three floors below was a good idea?” Marty said.

“Try doing it with a thirty-pound headdress,” Mel said. “I can't believe Holly has lasted as long as she has with this show.”

“She must be very fit,” Angie said. “Which may be the only thing that saves her now.”

With that grim pronouncement, the three of them picked up the pace and wound their way down the remaining stairs.

“Where do we start?” Angie asked. “Her dressing room and the bathroom have been checked.”

“Let's look for a back exit,” Mel said. “Maybe there is another way out of here and whoever snatched her took that route. We have to ask Fancy.”

“She isn't going to tell us jack,” Angie said.

“No, but I'm betting she sings like a bird for Elvis,” Mel said.

They both turned to look at Marty. His Elvis wig was askew, he had sweat stains in the armpits of his white
jumpsuit, and his aviator glasses with the gold rims hung off the end of his nose as if the earpieces couldn't latch on to his head quite right.

“What? Fancy who? What are you two cooking up?”

“You know that suave magic you use on the ladies at the bakery?” Mel asked. “Yeah, we're going to need a little bit of that right now.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, that's like my superpower,” he said. “You can't just expect me to flip it on for any old gal that comes along. It could have catastrophic consequences.”

“Fancy has worked here since she was a showgirl fifty-plus years ago. If anyone knows the layout, it's her,” Mel said. “Now get in there and find out what she knows.”

Angie opened the door to Fancy's office, saw Fancy pacing back and forth with her desk phone at her ear, and Mel gave Marty a solid shove into the room. Angie shut the door and they pressed their ears up against the gaps in the door frame hoping to hear what was said.

As the girls hurried past them to finish the show, it was impossible to hear what was being said over the clack of shoes, the rustle of feathers, and the whisper of voices. Mel caught snippets of the conversation, and it sounded as if the theories regarding Holly's disappearance ranged from she ran away in a romantic elopement, she was abducted by a crazed stalker, and Mel's favorite, she was snatched by an alien who was disguised as a human.

Of the three, Mel gave the last one the biggest props for creativity, but she also hoped it was the least likely since she barely knew how to deal with human beings, never mind aliens from outer space.

“He's taking an awful long time in there,” Angie whispered.

“Maybe his charm is working,” Mel said.

“Or maybe he forgot why he is in there?” Angie countered.

A crash sounded from the office. Mel and Angie looked at each other in alarm.

“What do we do?” Angie asked.

“I don't know, maybe one of them just tripped?” Mel said. Her voice went up on the end, as if she were asking a question instead of offering a hypothesis.

“Tripped over what?” Angie asked. “The wall?”

“I don't know.”

There was a grunt and the sound of fabric shredding. Mel strained to hear more and she was pretty sure she picked up the sound of a whimper.

“We have to go in,” she said.

“Are you sure?” Angie asked. “We could just walk away and pretend we were never here.”

There was another crash.

“I'm going in,” Mel said.

“All right, all right,” Angie said.

Mel shoved the door open. She opened her mouth to talk but the sight before her rendered her too stupid to speak.

“Oh, jeez,” Angie said and clapped a hand over her eyes. “Marty, zip up your jumpsuit and let's go. You can swap spit later.”

Mel didn't think that was going to be as easy as Angie thought since Marty was pinned to the top of Fancy's desk
while she stretched out on top of him, holding him in place while she planted a lip-lock on him that looked like she was trying to suck all the oxygen out of his lungs.

“Marty!” Mel called. She tried to look away, but really, what was the point? She could never unsee this.

Marty ripped his lips from Fancy's. He was breathing heavy, adding credence to the whole stealing breath theory Mel had going.

He'd lost his glasses and his gaze met Mel's when he rasped, “There is another exit. At the back of the main dressing room, there's a door that leads up to the parking garage.”

“Oh, no!” Angie cried. “If they took her through it, they could be long gone.”

“We have to go!” Mel said to Marty.

“Go! I'll call the police,” he said and waved them away while bracing his forearm against Fancy to keep her at bay.

Mel felt a pang of guilt for leaving him but he was reaching for the phone on Fancy's desk, and she knew now that he'd broken out of her lip-lock, he'd be able to fight her off.

Angie and Mel broke into a run, charging through the dressing room to the back wall. The room was lined with shelves that housed the elaborate headdresses with racks below holding the matching costumes. If the door was on the back wall, it had to be behind the costumes.

Angie dove into a section of red spangles while Mel cut through the black feathers. They pushed through the outfits until they found the wall. It was dark behind the clothes and Mel had to feel along the concrete for a door.

“Found it!” Angie cried.

Mel hurried to her side. It was a standard door and Mel hoped against hope that it wasn't locked. Angie grabbed the knob and turned. With a squeak and a squeal, the door opened into another stairwell.

It smelled dank and dirty. Mel felt along the wall for a light switch. The concrete was rough and cold against her fingers.

“I don't like this,” Angie said. She took her phone out of the front of her outfit and turned on the flashlight app. She shone it on the wall where Mel stood, and sure enough, there was the light switch just beyond Mel's fingertips. She flipped it on and the entire stairwell lit up.

They took a second to get their bearings. It was just like the other stairwell. Stairs wound up from the floor in a squared spiral of cold concrete.

Mel blew out a breath. She really, really hated stairs. Not for the first time, she promised herself that when she got home, she would eat less of her product and work out more—more, of course, meaning at all.

The clang of a metal door slamming shut echoed from above, breaking the silence and making both Mel and Angie jump. They glanced at each other with the same realization. Someone had just exited the building and it wasn't Elvis.

“I'm going to run up to the top,” Angie said. “Maybe I can catch them.”

“Yell if there's trouble,” Mel said. “I'm right behind you.”

Mel knew she couldn't keep up with Angie, and she didn't want to hold her back if she could catch up to Holly's kidnapper. It was a long shot, but they had to try.

Angie gave her a quick squeeze and took off running. Mel followed, trying to keep up but falling behind Angie's rabbit sprint up the stairs.

Mel was only on the second level when she heard the door above bang open. She moved more quickly but a cramp doubled her over and she paused to suck in a big breath before racing after her friend.

A sparkle at the foot of the stairs caught her eyes. It
could have been from Angie's costume, except Angie was in red and this was definitely blue. Mel's outfit was silver so it wasn't hers, but it wasn't Holly's either since she had been in black. Mel frowned. Maybe some of the girls used these stairs to get to their cars in the garage after the show. Maybe it was just coincidence except just to the right was a crawl space with a metal grate over it.

She leaned closer to examine it. The screws weren't flush with the grate as if someone hadn't put them in all the way, someone who might have been in a hurry. Sadly, her phone didn't have an app for a Phillips screwdriver, so she was forced to make do with her thumbnail. A couple of twists and she had the already loose screw free. She quickly unfastened the next one.

“I lost them,” Angie said as she came down the stairs toward Mel. She was winded and her face was bright red and sweaty.

“It's okay,” Mel said. “Give me a hand?”

“What are you doing?”

“Following a hunch,” Mel said.

Angie frowned at her but set to work on a screw using her thumbnail while Mel finished the last one. They used their fingers to grasp the grate and together they hoisted it off the wall. It was dark in the opening and Angie reached for her phone.

Mel couldn't wait. She reached into the black space, praying there were no spiders or rats inside. Her fingers brushed something feathery just as Angie's light snapped on behind her. It was the same black feathers as Holly's costume. Mel twitched the fabric aside and revealed a foot.

“Oh my god! It's her!” Angie cried. She dropped her phone and together they reached inside to haul Holly out.

Her feathered costume made it hard to grab her and Mel was worried that if she was injured, they could be causing more harm.

“Wait,” she said. “I'm going to climb in and see if she's okay. If we yank her out while she's injured, we could hurt her.”

“Okay,” Angie said. Mel noted her hands were shaking when she picked her phone up and flipped on the flashlight app. “Take this with you so you can see.”

Mel aimed the light into the darkness. She pushed aside Holly's legs and crawled into the small space. There was barely any room to maneuver.

She reached Holly's wrist and felt for a pulse. It took her a frantic second to find it, but when she did, it was strong. She then checked the rise and fall of her chest. The feathers rippled on each exhale.

“She's alive,” Mel called.

“Thank god,” Angie said.

“I'm going to try and rouse her,” Mel said. She leaned back over Holly, trying to get up to her face. She felt like she was practically lying on top of her and she worried that if her arm gave out, she was going to crush her. “Holly, wake up! Come on, Holly, I need you to open your eyes.”

A grunt sounded from Holly's lips and Mel was encouraged.

“You can do it, think about Sydney,” Mel said. “Sydney needs her mom.”

Holly lifted one arm as if to push away the sound that was interrupting her unconscious state.

“Yeah, I'm not going away,” Mel said. “But I might fall on you, so you really want to wake up.”

She said the last two words extra loud and Holly responded by grunting and swearing.

“What the—” Holly's voice trailed off as her eyes opened. Then she screamed.

Mel had no time to move as Holly began to thrash and fight. Mel took a knee to her rib cage, and with an
oomph
, she went down, making Holly panic and fight even harder.

“Holly! Stop! Holly, it's us!” Angie shouted as she grabbed Holly's legs so Mel could get out without taking a foot to the face.

Mel wriggled out of the crawl space and together she and Angie helped Holly climb out. She was blinking against the light and her lower lip wobbled as if she was about to cry.

Mel didn't hesitate. She hugged Holly close, giving her warmth and comfort. Angie did the same, and the three of them sat huddled for several long minutes.

“You're okay now,” Mel said. “You're safe.”

A sob was Holly's only response and then another and another. Angie and Mel gazed at each other over Holly's head. Angie jerked her head in the direction of the stairs and Mel knew that she was saying that they needed to get out of here since they had no idea who had done this, where he was, or if he was coming back.

“Holly, we need to get out of here,” Mel said. “It isn't safe.”

Holly's blue eyes were wide and full of tears. Mel felt bad about making her move before she had it together but it was too dangerous to sit here. Holly caught on immediately. She nodded and Mel and Angie helped her to her feet. Together the three of them made their way downstairs.

Before they reached the bottom of the steps, the door banged open and Mel saw Marty run in with Carlos on his heels. When Holly saw them, she paled and began to shake.

She raised her arm and pointed. “You! You did this to me.”

Mel and Angie looked at Carlos and Marty. Carlos? Was he involved?

Before Mel could register what was happening, Holly launched herself down the steps right at Marty. She had her fingernails extended like a wildcat. Marty saw her coming, let out a yelp, and ducked behind Carlos.

Carlos caught Holly around the middle and said, “Holly, stop, this guy is like a hundred years old. I don't think he's your man.”

Holly was trying to pull out of Carlos's hold but the man was built solid like a mighty oak. She'd have had better luck if she'd been wielding an axe.

“But it was him!” Holly insisted. “It was Elvis.”

“Someone dressed like Elvis grabbed you,” Mel stated for clarity even though she knew the answer was yes.

“Crap!” Angie said. “There are like what, three thousand Elvises running around Vegas right now?”

“Come on, we need to talk to the police,” Carlos said.
He looked at Mel. “They're already talking to your friend with the head injury.”

“Manny,” Mel said. “He was supposed to go to the hospital.”

“He refused,” Carlos said. “He was determined to find Holly first. He's making a righteous stink up there.”

“Manny was hurt?” Holly asked. “Take me to him.”

Carlos led the way upstairs—Mel really, really, really hated stairs now—to the theater's front office. Inside, Manny was talking to a Las Vegas detective. He was holding an ice pack on his head and the worry lines on his forehead were deeper than usual. When Holly stepped into the room, he dropped his ice bag and half rose from his seat.

“Holly, you're all right,” he said. He opened his arms and she stepped into them as naturally as if they'd known each other for months instead of hours. “I've been frantic. I sent Tate and Oz out to look for you.”

“I'll call them,” Angie said and she backed out of the room.

The detective rose. He glanced at Holly. “I'm Detective Barnes with the Las Vegas PD. You look a bit banged up, miss. Can I ask what happened?”

Holly nodded and explained that she was the last to leave the stage area after the first half of the show as she was the one who introduced Levi Cartwright for his part of the show. As soon as Levi took the stage, she headed down the stairs. She glanced at Manny.

“I was surprised you weren't there, but then I thought maybe you had found something out,” she said.

“No, I was tied up, literally,” Manny said. His tone was wry and Holly gave him a weak smile as she continued.

“I started down the stairs. Even though it's intermission, this is my biggest costume change so I try to give myself plenty of time. I entered my dressing room and then this Elvis person showed up . . .”

“Excuse me?” The detective gave Marty the hairy eyeball and Marty immediately held his hands up in the universal gesture for surrender.

“It wasn't me,” Marty said. “I was in the audience all evening.”

“He was,” Manny said. “I can vouch for him.”

Barnes turned back to Holly and asked, “Then what happened?”

“I told him he was in the wrong place and then
wham!
He clocked me in the back of the head and everything went black.”

“The same thing happened to me,” Manny said. “But when I woke up, I was tied up.”

“I was shoved into an air duct,” Holly said. “Luckily, Mel and Angie found me before the person who grabbed me came back.”

Detective Barnes frowned. “I'll want to see that area.”

“Of course,” Holly said with a shiver.

Barnes looked at Mel. “What made you look there?”

Mel explained that they had figured that there had to be another exit since no one had seen Holly at all. She mentioned that Fancy had told them about the alternate exit. She did not explain how she found it and noted that Marty looked vastly relieved.

“She's lucky you're so sharp,” Detective Barnes said.

“Thanks,” Mel said.

The detective was silver haired, with a kind face and a nice manner. She was glad he was the one who would be working with Holly on this. The poor girl was rattled enough as it was.

He turned back to Holly and asked, “Did you notice anything different about the person who did this to you?”

She sighed. “I thought the Elvis outfit made him different but apparently not.”

“I'm not following,” Barnes said.

“There's an Elvis impersonator convention going on,” Marty said. “There are thousands of us.”

“Oh,” Barnes drew out the word as if it helped him absorb how complicated the problem was. “I don't suppose there was anything distinct about this Elvis?”

Holly shook her head. “It was like he was in uniform.” She gestured at Marty. “Same black wig, sunglasses, and sparkly white jumpsuit.”

Again Barnes looked at Marty, who put his hands on his chest in a gesture of outraged hurt.

“Marty was the one who helped us find Holly,” Mel said. “We couldn't have found her without him.”

Barnes frowned. “Perhaps that's because he knew where he'd stuffed her body.”

“No!” Mel protested. “Trust me, he sacrificed himself to get the information.”

“Really?” Barnes asked. He crossed his arms over his chest and glared at Marty. “Explain.”

“Aw, man.” Marty's face was so red, he looked like he
was being roasted alive. He scuffed the toe of his white boot on the floor. “If you must know, I romanced the location of the back entrance out of Fancy Leroux.”

“When you say ‘romanced' . . .” Barnes asked.

Marty glared and Barnes had the smarts not to press it.

Manny choked back a laugh and then winced as his head clearly hurt.

“It's true,” Mel said. “We sent him into her office to get the intel out of Fancy and then we heard, well, she had him, oh, boy. Please believe me when I say he went above and beyond the call of duty.”

Barnes looked like he was trying not to laugh, too. “All right, I'm going to talk to Ms. Leroux. Please wait here as I'm sure I'll have more questions.”

The door shut behind him and Holly looked at Marty. “I think I owe you an apology and a thank-you.”

She stepped forward and kissed his cheek. If anything, Marty looked even more embarrassed, especially as the door opened and Oz walked in with Tate and Angie behind him.

“Hoo, dang, Marty was right!” Oz exclaimed. “These Elvis duds really are chick magnet material.”