Several people held up something that looked like passport books.
“Excellent. List a clue from six or more places and you will receive a second prize. Those who solve the mystery, will receive cash prizes. Let’s just move along. Has everyone gotten a cookie, yes? Good. Excellent. Are there any other questions?”
“Did the killer leave a clue here?” an older woman asked.
“Yes,” Bertie said. “Several. Would you like a few moments to investigate the room?”
“Yes,” another older woman said. Then the two of them took off with determined steps, pointing out scuff marks on the floor and posters on the walls.
Everyone else fanned out and ate cookies, chatting. The teens remained. They stood next to Rossi and ate cookies over him, purposely dropping crumbs on his face.
“You got food on your face, dead guy,” the taller one said. “Hey, you think he’ll squeal if I kick him?”
“Do not!” I started while Myra and Jean also shouted, but that wasn’t what stopped the kid.
Rossi’s hand whipped out so fast, it could not be seen by the naked eye. His hand was on the floor, then the next instant, his hand was around the kid’s ankle. I could see the points of his fingers, talons at the moment, digging into the kid’s jeans.
His eye glowed and his fangs dropped.
“I know where you sleep, Jeremy.”
The kid shrieked and backpedaled, trying to kick off Rossi’s hold and getting all tangled up in the process. His friend yelled and tried to help, but instead he just pulled his buddy back harder, which made both of them land in a pile several feet away from Rossi.
Rossi was still. Dead still. I could see the difference now. He’d been trying to pretend to be alive acting dead before, now he was undead and acting dead.
The stillness was eerie. Despite having been raised around all sorts of people in various states of living, I felt chills roll down my arm.
“Naw,” one of the teens said. “No way. Did you see that? It’s a dummy. It has to be a dummy.”
“That was so freaky!” the other said.
“Jeremy, Scott, come on,” a man’s voice called out. “We got the clue. It was a dropped glove.”
He said that loud enough, some of the other people groaned, but most of them scribbled it down in their passports.
The teens got to their feet. “It’s a dummy, right?” Jeremy said. “There’s no way that’s real.”
“It’s a murder victim,” I said. “And let that be a reminder that messing with evidence is sloppy detective work.”
“And could get you killed,” Jean added.
I rolled my eyes, but both the boys went pale.
“Keep your hands to yourself around the actors, and you’ll be fine,” I said.
The boys rambled away from Rossi, throwing looks over their shoulders and shoving each other, like it was all a big joke. A roller coaster ride. A haunted house.
“Really?” I said quietly, not looking at Rossi. “Full vamp-out?”
His smile was quick and wicked. “I might enjoy this part more than I thought.”
“No,” I said. “No more of that.”
“Unless someone tries to hurt you,” Jean added.
“Yes. That.”
Bertie guided the crowd out of the room and kicked the stop block under the door so it would remain open.
