Third Time's a Crime Read online

  As soon as he left, Cheryl said, “Well, I don’t know if anyone is in the mood, but we do have an episode airing . . .”

  Becca screeched and dove for the remote control. “Of course, we’re in the mood!”

  “Should I pop popcorn?” Scott asked.

  “I got it,” Mr. Hornsby called from the kitchen.

  Becca flipped on the TV to a commercial break.

  “I have it on DVR,” Dad said.

  Becca quickly navigated to the beginning of the episode. The opening was shots from the previous episode, including my feet dangling through the third floor. My leg stung just watching the replay of it.

  Scott pulled me onto his lap and nuzzled his chin into my shoulder. “I hate seeing that! How are you feeling now?”

  “I’m fine,” I said, enjoying the closeness of him. “I feel better just knowing that Dad and Becca are all right.”

  The episode unfolded quickly, with the elimination of Father Gabriel and Martha, followed by the Jeopardy-style game.

  When I saw Father Gabriel, I was reminded all over again that I hadn’t had a chance to speak with him after his elimination. A heaviness filled me, as if the lost opportunity was costing me a price yet undetermined.

  The next scene was of me in Cheryl’s office. I sat to attention as the image of me looking at the file with the red block print flashed across the screen, CONFIDENTIAL: THE TRUTH ABOUT THE MURDER OF JANE REINER.

  Scott gasped. “Hell!” He shot an angry look at Cheryl and Becca. “Is this some kind of sick joke? You all already know who murdered Jane!”

  Cheryl waved a hand at him. “It’s not what you think.”

  “Not what I think?” Scott demanded.

  “It’s a setup,” Bert said.

  We turned back to the screen; Harris’s velvety voice narrated the scene. “America! Each team was given an opportunity to cheat. This is a test of their character. Remember, you will ultimately decide which team is the most fit to solve this cold case in the castle.”

  On the screen, the image of me not opening the file changed to Bert doing the same, then next to Ashley, who opened the file, and ending with Dr. Arch opening the file to reveal the word CHEATER!

  I’d figured it had been a setup, but I had a slight advantage in that I knew the producer of the show. But how had Bert known?

  The episode ended with Dr. Arch’s appeal to the audience, claiming things were not as they seemed. In other words, maintaining he wasn’t a cheater.

  “Ha!” Becca said. “You think people are really going to buy that?”

  Cheryl shrugged. “He’s got a large following. I’m anxious to get back and find out how the votes are going.”

  “We can all go in the morning,” Dad said, taking her hand.

  Cheryl smiled and for the first time she looked relaxed.

  Seventeen

  The following morning, Becca, my dad, Bert, Scott, Cheryl, and I drove out to the Golden Castle. When we arrived, we were surprised to find the head of the historical society, Gertrude, with an older gentleman in tow. The man wore spectacles and had gray hair and a stern expression on his face.

  They stood on the front porch, blocking our entrance. The man handed Cheryl a letter as soon as Gertrude said, “That’s her, that’s the one.”

  He pushed the spectacles farther up the bridge of his nose, and said, “Uh, miss, I’m Daniel Lowenstein. I’m going to have to ask you and your crew to suspend productions until we can get the matter of the third floor sorted out.”

  “What’s going on?” my father asked.

  Cheryl huffed. “You can’t be serious. We’re in the middle of a production here. We’re not going to hold up our film schedule because of the third floor. We don’t even need access to that floor.”

  “I understand, ma’am,” Daniel said. “It’s just that Ms. Gertrude is very upset with all the destruction going on in the castle. I’m afraid we’re going to have to . . .” He glanced over at Gertrude as if to get strength from her. When she glared back at him, he continued. “We had an emergency board meeting, and we’re going to have to rescind the access we’ve allowed you.”

  “This is absurd!” Cheryl said.

  Guilt wrapped its ugly tentacles through my sternum and squeezed. This was because of me. My going up to the third floor had caused the damage. Scott put a hand on my shoulder, seeming to realize the distress I was feeling.

  “It’s not your fault,” he whispered into my ear.

  I thought again about my trip up to the third floor. Kyle had sent me. Why? Someone had sent him a text, but to what avail? Was someone trying to get me out of the way?

  Dr. Arch had been upstairs and denied it. He’d been outside by the pool the evening the groundskeeper had been killed. His plea from the previous evening’s show reverberated in my mind. He’d said things were not as they seemed.

  Could he be the one who wanted me out of the way?

  My father took the paperwork out of Cheryl’s hands. “I’m sure we can get this straightened out while you get your cast ready for production. What do you have, a few more episodes to film?”

  Cheryl nodded.

  “Certainly we can negotiate something,” my father said to Mr. Lowenstein.

  “No, we are absolutely firm about this,” Gertrude said, her gray bouffant bouncing as she spoke. A few curls escaped and stood straight up on the top of her head, almost looking like horns. “Pack up your things,” she screeched. “You all must be out of here by evening tonight.” She turned on a heel and stormed away.

  Mr. Lowenstein tracked after Gertrude like a lost puppy.

  “It’s impossible,” Cheryl said. “I’m going to ignore her. If RTV Studios calls me, then I’ll listen, but for now Gertrude is just background noise.”

  “Maybe we can work something out,” Becca said. “Get some shots inside and film the rest of the episodes on the grounds at large, and we won’t disturb the castle.”

  Cheryl scratched her chin. “Yes, something like that. It’s a thought. Let’s at least get our filming done now, see how much we can get in the can for the episode that airs tonight. I’ll have Mr. Martin, our Hollywood attorney, reach out to Lowenstein, see if he can work some magic.” She glanced at her watch, shaking her head in frustration. “We’re frightfully behind schedule. I don’t even have the status of the votes from last night. Not to mention, our second elimination is already behind schedule.”

  My father got a sour look on his face. “I’m sorry you’re behind schedule because of me.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” Cheryl said. She pushed open the door to the castle to reveal the cast and crew scrambling about. “Kyle!” Cheryl screamed.

  Becca looked around. It appeared that not even the breakfast buffet had been served. “My goodness, it’s anarchy here. You really do need me,” she said to Cheryl.

  “We do need you,” Bert said. “We need you!” His cheeks turned rosy when she smiled at him.

  “I’ll arrange the food service,” Becca said to Cheryl.

  Cheryl nodded distractedly as if feeding the cast and crew was the last thing on her mind.

  My father kissed her cheeks, then put one arm around her shoulders and the other around mine. “Listen, ladies, I know you’re going to be very busy here. I’ll head over to the Indian resort and get out of the way.”

  Cheryl pointed a finger at him. “No gambling!”

  Dad laughed. “You got enough of a gamble going on here for the both of us. I’m going to lounge at the pool.”

  Once Dad retreated, Cheryl clapped her hands in an authoritative manner. “Folks! Listen up! Get into hair and makeup immediately! We need to film the elimination right away!”

  Within a few minutes we were lined up in front of Harris. He held some cream-colored envelopes that Kyle had handed him. I assumed inside the envelopes were the r
esults from the vote the night before. Strangely, my nerves tensed. Scott and I hadn’t had a big piece in last night’s episode.

  Would we be voted off?

  Standing next to me, Scott pressed his lips together and stared straight ahead.

  Ashley wiggled and studied her fingernails, while Jessica smiled nervously. Dr. Arch and Karen looked relaxed and confident. Jack, the ghost hunter, tapped his foot repeatedly, but Bert seemed at peace.

  On Cheryl’s cue, Harris came to life. “Hello, America!” his voice resounded through the room. “Welcome back to Cold Case in the Castle! Where we’re committed to getting to the bottom of the unsolved murder of Jane Reiner. Last night, your votes poured in again and”—he tapped the envelopes he held—“I’m ready to reveal the results.”

  Harris peeled open the first envelope and silently read the names. He then made a dramatic show of assessing us, as the cameras rolled past us, capturing our nervous expressions.

  “Dr. Arch, Karen Kenley!” Harris called out. The camera zoomed in close on their faces. “Your fans from Hunting Bones did not disappoint! Again, they called in droves to support you. They are confident you can solve the cold case! You are safe from elimination.”

  Karen flashed a cocky smile and Dr. Arch simply nodded his agreement with his fans. Indeed, he thought he was the best person to solve the case, as well.

  “Jessica, Ashley!” Harris called out. The girls squirmed. “America thinks it’s wise to keep the grand-niece of the victim on board to solve the crime. Therefore, you are safe from elimination.”

  Jessica clamped a hand over her mouth and squealed, then let out a rush of air. “I’m so happy. I know my great-aunt died far too young and has waited a long time for justice. I hope we can get her that.”

  Harris drew a breath and ripped open the next envelope. He looked at us. “Scott and Georgia. Bert and Jack. One team will be leaving the castle immediately.”

  Bert looked grim, and grabbed my hand. “It was nice to meet you, Georgia. Good luck solving the mystery. I know you will.”

  Harris cleared his throat. “Uh. Excuse me. I haven’t announced who is leaving yet.”

  “It’s Jack and I,” Bert said. He thumped Jack on the back. “Sorry about that.”

  Harris’s nose flared and he looked around the room for Cheryl. “Can we retake that? This guy is stealing my thunder.”

  Cheryl laughed. “Just keep rolling. We don’t have time for another take.”

  Harris’s lips turned into a thin line, and I swore I could see fumes coming out of his ears. “Scott, Georgia,” Harris boomed. “You are safe from elimination.” Then he turned to sneer at Bert. “Bert, Jack. The viewers have spoken, and they don’t think you’re capable of solving this mystery. Please say your good-byes immediately!”

  Jack shook Scott’s hand. “Good luck. I know you and Georgia can do this.” He handed him the voltmeter. “You’ll need this.”

  “Hey!” Karen called out. “Is that fair?”

  Jack shrugged. “Is it fair that Dr. Arch and Ashley tried to read a confidential file and are still on the show?”

  Ashley blushed, but Dr. Arch remained aloof.

  “What file?” Jessica asked.

  Jack waved a hand, signaling his farewell. “Ask them,” he said, as he turned on a heel and left the room.

  Bert put an arm around my shoulders and pressed me into his large frame. “You can do this. Just believe.” He said good-bye to the others, and followed Jack out of the room.

  A wave of disappointment flooded me. I’d really begun to like Jack and Bert. After all, finding my dad and Becca may not have been possible without Bert, and now they were gone.

  Scott laced his fingers through mine. “Let’s solve this thing, G.”

  Harris clapped his hands together to get our attention. “Folks, yesterday we played a Jeopardy-style game and you were given access to parts of the castle previously unexplored. Now you will have the opportunity to investigate those areas.”

  Scott and I, with our cameraman, Adam, in tow, set off to examine the kitchen. We reached the kitchen using a rickety spiral staircase from the dining room. I gripped the rail as we descended.

  “The kitchen is below the dining room? What sense does that make?” I asked.

  Scott shrugged. “I think that’s pretty typical of the era this was built in. They didn’t have grocery stores and stuff, you know. They grew everything in the fields and then brought it in on ground level.”

  “Right,” I agreed. “But then how did they serve the prepared food? By running up and down these awful stairs?”

  Scott laughed. “It was a reform school. I suppose the boys on KP really felt punished.”

  Downstairs, the kitchen was poorly lit, with one small dirty window that just barely cleared ground level. I shivered. It was depressing down here and I couldn’t imagine being one of the small boys on duty.

  The tile floors were badly chipped and worn. The antique oven was almost in pristine condition, but burn marks scarred the cubbies and pantry where the supplies had been stored. Now, everything was barren and desolate.

  “Can you imagine cooking in some place like this?” I asked.

  “You probably can’t imagine cooking anywhere,” Scott teased.

  I jabbed his chest. “Shut up! I’m a pretty good cook.”

  He rubbed the sore spot on his pecs. “You are? Have you made me anything? All I remember is Chinese takeout.”

  Regret rolled through me.

  What kind of girlfriend was I? Hadn’t I ever cooked for him?

  “I make a great eggplant lasagna,” I said.

  Scott smiled. “Maybe you’ll cook it for me sometime.” He rubbed at his stomach. “Man, all this food talk is just making me hungry.”

  I opened and closed the door to the wood-burning oven. “It must have been a lot of work to keep this thing lit.”

  “Yeah,” Scott agreed. “It probably took a whole team of people. But I guess the rehabilitation program really worked. When kids left here they had skills. They could do something with their lives.”

  I nodded. “It is important to have skills,” I said, wondering about my own.

  Where would I get work after this show was over?

  After all, reality TV show cast member isn’t really something you can put on a regular resume, is it?

  Scott approached a small cubbyhole, and the voltmeter secured on his belt loop let out a sharp beep.

  “Whoa! What’s that?” I asked.

  “This is where her body was recovered,” Scott said, examining the cubbyhole.

  I recognized the cubbyhole from some of the initial information Cheryl had given the cast. I leaned in close to Scott and studied the small space. The wood was stained and rotted through. There was a blanket and pillow stuffed inside as if someone at some point had taken a nap in there.

  The voltmeter squawked louder, and the hair on the back of my neck stood on end.

  “Spooky,” I whispered.

  Scott shifted so I could lean in closer and then put his hand under my chin. He tilted my face toward him. “Are you scared, G?”

  There was a mischievous twinkle in his eyes that I welcomed, and as I pressed my forehead to his, the voltmeter nearly exploded with sound.

  He jumped away from me and looked at the device. There were several blue and yellow lights flashing. “What does it even mean?” he asked.

  I laughed. “I don’t know. You suppose there’s some ghostly energy around us?”

  He shrugged, and turned the device off. “Hey. What about that DNA kit you ended up with in the last challenge? Do you want to swab some stuff?”

  Would it do any good?

  The truth was, I’d only taken a DNA sample in the police academy. Reading DNA hadn’t been a part of my job as a communications officer, but I figured it
might make for good TV. So I pulled the kit out and swabbed around the cubbyhole.

  Adam, the cameraman, got in close as I put the solution onto the wood and then dabbed it away with my kit. “Maybe I can ask Karen if she can take a look at this for us,” I said.

  Although, after all these years and so many cooks in the kitchen, so to speak, I didn’t know what kind of DNA evidence would even be available on the slides. I packaged everything up and put it in my kit.

  “Oh, yeah,” Scott said sarcastically. “Karen seems really eager to help us.” He wandered around the corner and poked at a small box in the wall of the pantry. “Look at this.”

  “What is it?” I asked.

  “A dumbwaiter,” Scott said, yanking on one of the pulleys.

  “Wow. So that’s how they got the meals upstairs, huh?”

  Scott nodded. “Pretty cool.”

  “Is it big enough to hold a body?” I asked.

  Scott shuddered. “Geez, Georgia! And you’re always accusing me of being grim.”

  I pushed at him playfully. “Oh, shut it!”

  He scooped me into his arms and teased, “Well, let’s see if it’s big enough to hold a body. I’m sure I can stuff you in.”

  I climbed into the dumbwaiter. “I fit.”

  Scott looked amazed. “You are tiny!”

  I laughed. “Just because I have a big mouth doesn’t mean I have a big . . .” I bit my lip and looked over at Adam, who was smiling. “Never mind.” I pressed my palms against the cold wood, and shivers ran down my arms as I imagined poor Jane in this coffin-like box.

  I fumbled with the pulley system. “Can you hoist me up?”

  “What?” Scott demanded. “To the third level, so you can fall through that big crater that used to be a floor?”

  I cringed. “Right, bad idea!” I tumbled out of the dumbwaiter and looked over at Adam.

  He nodded at me, indicating he had the footage he needed. I was happy. Hopefully, people climbing into ancient dumbwaiters would make good TV.