Murder of a Royal Pain

“Ever since then, all three of them have been seen and heard. When the opera house closed, everyone thought that would be the end of it, but it wasn’t. In the 1950s the building became a dance hall, and strange things started happening again. Ladies claimed that when they looked in the bathroom mirror they saw a beautiful woman with long black hair wearing a white dress covered in blood.”

A shiver ran up Skye’s spine. “That sounds a lot like one of the scary games my friends and I used to play at slumber parties, where we stared into a mirror until we convinced ourselves we saw an evil spirit.”

“I’ve heard of that game,” Justin agreed. “But the men say that they’ve heard both crying and voices arguing.” He took a breath and added, “When the dance hall closed, the weird stuff stopped. Then in the 1970s the building was bought by the American Legion and it all started up again.”

“Of course,” Skye muttered.

“During the next twenty-five years, before the American Legion moved to their new place, the caretaker said he saw ropes dangling from the roof, but they disappeared when he went up to check. Both members and guests reported seeing bloody axes leaning against the wall in the woman’s bathroom, and a man saw a pretty blonde covered in blood, running down the hall outside the restrooms.”

Great, Skye mumbled to herself. In the exact location I so carefully chose. To Justin she said, “That should be an interesting article. Make sure you have some direct quotes to back up your story.”

Skye had managed to keep Justin from seeing how much his story had upset her, but as soon as he and Jackie left, Skye buried her head in her hands. Why had she ever agreed to be a part of A Ghoul’s Night Out? All the fears she had managed to suppress came rushing back. Sighing, Skye opened her bottom desk drawer and reached for the Oreos. As she bit into the crunchy chocolate, she wondered if there were enough cookies in the world to calm her down this time.

CHAPTER 7

Oh, What a Night

Holy water, crucifix, garlic��check. Salt—check. Taser, flashlight, cell phone—check. Skye sat at her kitchen table inventorying the contents of her backpack. What else should she bring? She was prepared to fight off vampires, witches, and bad guys, but she needed something for werewolves.

Regrettably, she didn’t have any silver bullets for her shotgun. Hmm, maybe she should stop by the Brown Bag Liquor Store and pick up a six-pack of Coors Light. Wasn’t its nickname the Silver Bullet? If the beer didn’t kill the werewolves, at least it would get them drunk.

What worked against ghosts? Although Skye secretly thought her own house was haunted, she had never attempted to get rid of the apparition. Mrs. Griggs had been a benevolent spirit, causing trouble only if Skye tried to get intimate with Wally. Given that they had moved their more amorous activities to his place, there had been no need to drive the ghost away.

Unfortunately, the ghosts at the American Legion hall did not seem to be of the Casper persuasion, and the only idea Skye could come up with was exorcism. Was it too late to ask Father Burns to perform a quick one at A Ghoul’s Night Out?

She glanced at the kitchen clock. Five thirty. Only fifteen minutes before she had to leave. Probably not enough time to convince a priest to make a haunted-house call.

Skye considered calling Vince and asking him to adopt Bingo if she didn’t make it out of the Promfest event alive tonight. She knew her mother wouldn’t care for her pet. May’s dislike of all animals, especially cats, was legendary.

Intellectually, Skye knew she was being silly. She was no more in danger at A Ghoul’s Night Out than she was at school. But emotionally she felt she was opening herself up to the unknown—giving herself over to someone or something else’s influence. And she hated not being in control of the situation.

Taking a deep breath, she pushed her chair away from the table and stood. As ordered by Annette, Skye had applied green makeup to her face, and was dressed in black tights and a leotard. Over them she wore a knee-length sweater coat—no way was she prancing around in public with her curves jiggling. She would exchange the sweater for her costume in the privacy of the bathroom once she got to the hall.

Skye was shrugging on her backpack when the phone rang. She’d better let her machine answer it—the Promfest chairwoman was not someone you kept waiting. But her curiosity wouldn’t let her ignore the call entirely, so she hurried into the parlor to listen.

After the fourth ring, Wally’s smooth baritone said, “Skye, are you there? Pick up.”

She grabbed the receiver. “I’m on my way out the door. I have to be at the haunted house by six or Annette Paine will kill me.”

“I’m glad I caught you before you left.” Wally’s tone was tense and distracted.

“Why?” Skye felt a stab of anxiety. “What’s wrong? Are you all right?”