Chihuahua of the Baskervilles (19 page)

“Now that Thomas is dead, Cheri will get his share when Charlotte dies,” Angus said. He took the paper from Suki, put it back in an envelope, and slipped it into one of the desk’s cubbies. “Makes you think, doesn’t it?” he said, as he closed the desk’s front. “That much money could buy a lot of freedom for a young woman.”

“Or dental work for Ivan,” Suki agreed.

“Or advertising for Ellen’s dog-clothing business,” Michael added.

“C’mon, let’s go.” Angus led them outside, where he shut the door behind them. As they went down the hall, he paused and tried the door to Ellen’s room. “Locked. Interesting.”

“In all fairness,” Michael said, “I’d lock my door if there were strangers staying in the house.”

“I call that paranoia,” Angus said, starting down the stairs.

“How can you call it paranoia when you just searched Charlotte’s room?” Michael demanded.

“All right then, I call it inconvenient.”

In the foyer, Michael took his leather jacket off the coat rack and zipped it over his sweater. “I’m starting to feel like we should tell Charlotte everything we know, even if we have to confess to rummaging through her house.”

Angus blew out a breath. “Maybe so.”

Suki settled a purple velvet tam on her head and picked up her camera bag. “Good thing we’re making waffles tomorrow. Maybe that’ll put her in a good mood.”

Angus locked the front door behind them with Thomas’s keys. Outside, dead leaves rattled across the sidewalk, driven by a chill wind. They crossed the street and walked the short distance to the Miramont Castle.

A woman stood at the door, wearing a wine-colored wool cape over her black Victorian dress. “Thank you for coming to pay your respects,” she said solemnly. “Tickets?”

“Anne Marie said we could come in as long as we didn’t eat dinner,” Angus said. “We’re with
Tripping
magazine, here to write up the wake for an article.”

“She told me to keep an eye out for you.” The woman leaned forward and lowered her voice. “You understand that there’s nothing
funny
about this wake, don’t you? I mean, we don’t eat peyote or anything.”

“I understand, ma’am. Our magazine title refers to travel, like
day tripping,
with perhaps a soupçon of the surreal.”

“Oh, I see!” She opened the heavy front door for them. “Up the stairs, the room on your left.”

They climbed the massive staircase, risers creaking under their feet. Candelabra bulbs flickered in the light fixtures, and the faint sound of a melancholy piano piece came from somewhere.

As they reached the large landing, the chatter of voices overlay the music. They turned left and saw a coffin on a metal stand with flowers around the base. Perhaps a dozen people milled around, wearing costumes.

A woman in a nun’s habit saw them. “We’re not ready!” she said, flapping her hands at them. “Go back!”

“It’s all right,” Charlotte said, coming forward. “They’re with me.”

“Oh.” The nun subsided. “Sorry about that.”

“Next time, smack ’em with your ruler,” a man in a topcoat said, elbowing her in the ribs. She giggled.

Angus recognized the man as Shermont Lester, from the Chamber of Commerce. Angus lifted a hand in greeting and was rewarded with a stately nod.

Charlotte came over to them. “You’ll want to go back down anyway. Diane, she plays Emma’s mother, will be on the stairs in a minute, to give an introduction on what you’re going to see.”

“Where’s a good place to stand for the show?” Michael asked.

Charlotte looked around. “It doesn’t really matter. Maybe on that side.”

“Then that’s where we’ll be,” Angus said. “We’ll go down now and wait with the punters. Break a leg!”

Charlotte smiled. “I haven’t heard that in a while. Thank you.”

The sound of voices became faint as they turned the corner onto the landing. At the bottom of the stairs, another woman in Victorian dress stood talking to three newly arrived guests.

As they descended, Michael spoke in an undertone. “It’s so weird that we’re attending this made-up wake when Charlotte’s husband died just yesterday.”

“Presumably Emma Crawford was well liked, whereas Thomas was not,” Angus murmured. “There’s a lesson for all of us.”

They waited downstairs as more and more people gathered around them. After fifteen minutes, Diane, the woman playing Emma Crawford’s mother, took a head count and began her speech.

“Thank you for attending this wake for my beloved daughter. Tonight you will meet her fiancé, some of our friends, and other notable figures of our time. We ask that you remain quiet as we pay our last respects to Emma Crawford. Thank you. Now if you’ll all follow me.”

They trooped back upstairs, the floorboards’ creaking drowned out beneath the clomp of shoes on wood.

Diane stood at the top, one arm extended in the direction they should go. “That way. You’re welcome to file by the coffin as you go in. Then find a place to stand against one of the walls.”

Angus and the others walked past the coffin. Cheri lay inside, hands crossed over her chest, looking young, virginal, and quite dead.

The parlor was large enough that everyone had a good view. The costumed men and women seemed unaware of their audience. Shermont Lester and Charlotte stood together, talking in low voices. Diane went to stand next to a young man with a sorrowful face—presumably Emma’s beau. One woman sat in an upholstered chair and dabbed at her eyes with a lacy handkerchief.

When the audience had assembled, the young man stepped forward and introduced himself as William Hildebrand, a railway engineer and Emma’s fiancé. “Emma was one of the sweetest women I’ve ever known. Always cheerful, always hopeful, and she knew that death is only a transition. A dozen of my friends and I are going to bury Emma in her chosen spot on Red Mountain, and I know she’ll be watching.” He choked up and went over to the coffin, where he retrieved a white rose from one of the vases around the bottom and laid it on Cheri’s breast.

“Very affecting,” Angus murmured.

One by one, the others came up, said something nice about Emma, then told their own stories. Charlotte, playing the wife of the founder of Manitou Springs, talked about the challenges of living in a fledgling town.

Local notables, such as Father Francolon, the first owner of Miramont Castle, were followed by more well-known figures—Wild Bill Hickock and deputy sheriff Wyatt Earp.

As the actor portraying the famous lawman began to talk, Suki leaned over to Angus and whispered, “I don’t suppose Earp will reminisce about the time he spent pimping in Peoria.”

“
No.
Really?” Angus whispered back.

She nodded. “Busted and fined twice. I wrote a paper on him in college.”

Earp placed his rose in Emma’s coffin before joining the ranks of the other costumed actors.

Finally the cast gathered in a line behind the coffin. “Again, thank you all for coming,” Diane said.

The watchers, wondering if the show was over, began to shuffle and talk, but stopped as the lights dimmed and theatrical fog spilled across the floor.

Cheri sat up slowly in her coffin, scattering roses, her nightgown glowing white in what was probably the illumination from a black-light bulb. They heard the rustle of paper.

“I am Emma Crawford,” Cheri intoned. “My spirit guide, Eddie Five Eagles, told me to come to Manitou Springs. While it’s true that I died before I could wed, I believe the healthy waters—”

“Healthful,”
Michael muttered.

“—extended my life and allowed me to know love, however briefly.” Cheri looked down, then up again.

“She must have the script in her lap,” Angus whispered. “I wondered how she’d learn her lines at the last minute.”

“I ask you to remember that death is but a veil…” Cheri glanced down again. Her mouth, poised for the next word, opened wide. She began to scream, the sound thin and frantic as she gripped the sides of the coffin. “Get it off me! Get it off!” The black light showed the whites of her eyes around the irises.

Charlotte rushed to Cheri’s side. “Get what off you?” She looked into the coffin and stepped back with a shriek.

A black-and-brown tarantula crawled into sight, long legs tapping on the white cotton of Cheri’s gown as it slowly traversed her rib cage, toward her throat. She craned her head away, panting and wide-eyed.

“We need a glass, or a bowl!” Shermont said, looking around the room.

Angus started toward Cheri, but then he saw Charlotte. Her face had paled to the color of paper, and strangled noises came from her writhing mouth, as if she couldn’t catch her breath. He caught her as she slumped.

The rest of the cast milled about uncertainly, shouting suggestions, while the audience gasped and babbled. A little girl hid her face against the legs of her mother, who patted her back and said, “They should really warn people before we buy tickets. This is too scary for Hannah.”

Doors opened at the other end of the parlor, and light from the hall outside shone into the room. The fog swirled and thinned.

Ivan trotted into the room. “What is this noise?” He pushed several people aside and reached the coffin. Moving quickly and decisively, he snatched the spider off Cheri, threw it on the floor, and stomped it several times under his black boot.

“Ew!” several watchers exclaimed, as he lifted his foot. The woman playing Emma’s mother gagged noisily.

Ellen came running in from the other room, followed closely by Bob Hume. “What happened?” She flicked on a light switch and glanced at the mess on the floor. “What
was
that?”

Angus lowered Charlotte to the floor as the last shreds of fog dissipated. She still breathed, but it sounded strained and difficult. “Someone call 911!”

Almost as one person, everyone in the audience took out their cell phones.

Shermont Lester pointed to a woman close to him. “May I use that to make the call? Everyone else, put your phones away and follow Diane to the buffet. Charlotte will be fine. I’m sure she’s just fainted, but better safe than sorry.”

As people began to file out, Ellen rushed over and knelt by Charlotte’s side. “I should get the corset off her. She could barely breathe in it.”

“Just like in
Pirates of the Caribbean,
” Bob Hume said, looking worried. “The movie. Not the ride.”

“Bob, you’re in my light,” Ellen said. “Why don’t you go unplug the fog machine?”

“All right. I hope she’s okay.” He wandered off.

Ellen deftly unbuttoned the front of Charlotte’s dress.

Cheri came over and stared down at her grandmother. “Did she have a heart attack?” Her voice was very small.

“I don’t know.” Ellen looked at Angus. “Hold her in a sitting position so I can pull the dress off her shoulders.”

Angus put his hands under Charlotte’s arms and pulled her limp torso upright.

Ellen tugged the dress down to Charlotte’s waist, revealing a tightly laced corset. “Now lean her forward.”

Charlotte’s head lolled forward, her chin resting on her chest.

As Ellen loosened the corset’s laces, Cheri stood and watched, her hands clasping and unclasping.

Ivan came over. “Cheri, you are all right?”

“Of course I’m all right,” she snapped. “I just wanted the spider off me. You didn’t have to kill it!”

Ivan threw his hands in the air. “What should I do? Pat it on the head and tell it to run along?” He made a noise of disgust and stuffed both hands in his pockets.

Ellen gave the corset laces a last tweak. “Okay, lay her on her back.”

Angus did as she directed. Shermont Lester handed Ellen his frock coat and she covered Charlotte with it.

Charlotte’s breathing seemed easier, and some of the color had come back into her cheeks.

Angus got to his feet and looked over to see Michael and Suki standing by the coffin. Michael made a small but urgent
come here
gesture.

Angus strolled to the wall that ran behind the coffin, passing unnoticed behind the backs of the other actors. Their attention was all for Charlotte, lying motionless on the floor.

“Take a look,” Michael whispered, pointing to the interior of the coffin.

Angus looked inside. A full-length pillow, covered in white satin, cushioned the bottom of the mock coffin. Cheri had kicked it askew when she got out. Several small, muddy paw prints were visible on the white lining below.

Suki set her camera to video and hit
RECORD
as Angus carefully lifted the cushion.

“What are you doing?” Shermont Lester had turned and spotted them.

“Making sure there are no more surprises in here,” Angus said, peering beneath the cushion before he pulled it all the way out. “But it turns out there’s one surprise left.”

The woman playing Marie Francolon shuddered. “Not more spiders, please.”

“No, not that.” Angus put the cushion on the floor.

The others came over, except for Ellen, who stayed by Charlotte.

Inside the coffin, the muddy paw prints trailed across the white satin, spelling out a single word:
Death.

Suki switched to still photos and framed her shot. The resulting flash made everyone wince.

“Oh, my God,” Cheri whimpered, putting both hands up to her mouth. “Which one of you did it?” She backed up against Ivan, then jerked away, stumbling over one of the vases and knocking it over. Water and white roses spilled across the floor.

Ivan grabbed Cheri’s waist to steady her.

“Let go of me!” she shrieked.

“Calm down, Cheri,” Shermont said.

“What if
he
put the spider in there?” Cheri demanded.

“What if
you
did?” Shermont shot back.

“I didn’t!”

On the floor, Charlotte moaned. The group rushed to her side, except for Suki, who was focusing her camera on the spider’s pulpy corpse.

Charlotte’s eyes fluttered open.

“The paramedics are on their way,” Ellen told her.

Charlotte nodded weakly. The brown wig looked oddly young above her face, which was haggard. She put a hand under the coat that covered her. “It felt as though something was crushing my chest. What time is it? I must be holding up the next performance.”