Murder in Wax Read online

  “No,” Jamie shouted while shaking Paula by her shoulders. “We aren’t going to do anything. We’re going to stick to our original plan.”

  Tamara stared at her with horror. “You’re just going to leave your sister there?”

  “When she’s eventually found, they’ll assume the wall collapsed, and she accidentally fell to her death,” Jamie informed them then glared demandingly at her friends. “Are we agreed?”

  As she glared at Tamara and Paula, a sobbing Paula slowly nodded. Tamara couldn’t take her eyes off Chelsea lying motionless below the bridge. Jamie grabbed Tamara’s arms and shook her until she made eye contact.

  “Are we agreed?” she cried out in anger.

  Tamara stared into Jamie’s nearly psychotic eyes and nervously nodded as well.

  §

  Several hours later. It was early evening as Sheriff Carter stood on the bank of the stream below the bridge and watched the paramedics strap the motionless eighteen-year-old girl onto the stretcher. Chelsea wore a neck and back brace to keep her immobile while they moved her. She was alive but had yet to regain consciousness. As the paramedics carried her up the bank, Sheriff Carter watched and shook his head.

  Sheriff Carter was in his mid to late forties. Considering the low crime rate of his town, he remained physically fit, which only made his six-foot-two stature all the more impressive. He was a serious-looking man with short, light brown hair and a neatly trimmed beard. His much younger deputy, Havens, frowned while watching the paramedics remove the critically injured girl.

  Deputy Havens was in his mid to late twenties. Despite his tall stature, he was more lanky than muscular. He was considered adorable by the women in town. What barely constituted as a mustache on his upper lip may have had something to do with that. There had been plenty of debate as to whether or not the few hairs on his chin were meant to be a goatee.

  “I’m surprised she’s alive after a fall like that,” Deputy Havens remarked.

  “She’s not out of the woods yet,” Sheriff Carter reported while maintaining his frown. “Something about this stinks, Havens.”

  “You don’t think it was an accident?” his deputy asked with surprise while turning to face him.

  “She had blood on her shirt,” the sheriff reported while remaining in his own world. “I’m no expert, but I don’t think that blood will turn out to be hers. Apart from a few scrapes on her legs, she didn’t have any cuts. The blood on her shirt looked almost like--” He placed his hands out in front of him and reached for the deputy’s jacket. “Almost like hands grabbing her.”

  The deputy stared at him with horror. “You think someone pushed her?”

  The sheriff didn’t respond to the question. “Did you find her shoes?”

  “No, they weren’t anywhere near the bridge,” Deputy Havens informed him.

  “Spread out the search,” the sheriff announced. “I want to know where she lost her shoes. It could be important.”

  “Sheriff,” a deputy called from beyond the bridge. “We found her shoes!”

  “Where?” Sheriff Carter called back.

  “In the meadow,” he announced. “Quite a distance from here.”

  “Show me!”

  The sheriff and Deputy Havens followed the other deputy into the meadow where he indicated the shoes discarded haphazard several yards from each other. Sheriff Carter paused within the meadow to pick up several crushed flowers and stared at them. Both deputies watched him with bewildered looks.

  “I don’t like this,” Sheriff Carter announced then looked around with genuine suspicion. “I’d like to search the entire area.”

  “What are we searching for?” Deputy Havens asked looking lost as if he missed what the sheriff obviously had seen.

  “The blood on her shirt could be from whoever pushed her,” the sheriff informed him, “but how did our perp get blood on him. She didn’t have any blood on her hands. That was a lot of blood. Seems unlikely she injured him during the attack, or she’d have blood on her.” He eyed his deputies. “I think someone else could be injured. We need some dogs. Asap.”

  §

  Jamie paced the hospital waiting room while her mother, Dorothy, sat on a nearby chair and sobbed into her handkerchief. Another woman clung to Jamie’s mother and spoke softly and reassuringly. Jamie’s mother was possibly a fine catch in her early years, but with little regard for makeup or even a decent hairstyle, she looked more like an old-fashioned librarian. Her long, slightly graying hair was worn in an old granny bun, and her clothes suggested old-fashioned in every sense of the word.

  “She’s going to be okay, Dorothy,” the woman announced. “I know she’ll be fine. The Lord will take care of her. We need to pray for her.”

  Jamie listened to the conversation and fidgeted. Each time a doctor or nurse appeared from the emergency room, she jerked with fear that her sister was somehow going to survive. The doctor finally approached Dorothy. She sprang to her feet and stared at him with anticipation. Jamie twitched while nervously wringing her fingers together.

  “Mrs. Smyth,” he announced in a soothing yet concerned tone. “Your daughter is currently in stable condition.”

  Dorothy sobbed with relief and hugged her friend. Jamie’s expression dropped as all color drained from her face.

  “We need to talk,” the doctor informed her and escorted her to a private area.

  Jamie trembled and started to pant. Her face was nearly white, and her palms were sweating. Sheriff Carter approached her, practically appearing out of nowhere. She jumped when she saw him. He offered a sympathetic smile.

  “How’s your sister?” he asked.

  “Uh, the doctor just showed up to talk to my mother,” she informed him. “If you want to talk to her--”

  “Actually, I’d like a word with you,” he announced and indicated the nearby chairs.

  Jamie slid into the chair almost unable to maintain her balance as she trembled.

  “When was the last time you saw your sister or your friend, Christine Marion?”

  “Uh, I hadn’t seen Chelsea since we’d left for school this morning,” she informed him as her voiced cracked. “Paula, Tamara, and I were with Christine after school. Last time I saw her, she was heading home. Paula, Tamara, and I decided to go to town rather than head home.” She stared at him a moment. “Why are you asking about Christine? What does she have to do with Chelsea falling from the bridge?”

  “Jamie,” he announced timidly while staring into her eyes. “Christine was murdered in the woods not far from the bridge where we found your sister.”

  Jamie stared at him unable to move while managing to wipe her sweaty palms on her pants. Everything was unraveling faster than anticipated.

  “We believe someone killed her, and your sister may have witnessed it. We found a flower from the same meadow where we found Chelsea’s shoes on the path not far from Christine’s body,” the sheriff announced then drew a deep breath. “We believe the killer then went after your sister to keep her quiet.”

  “I--I don’t know what to say,” she gasped while trembling. “Do, uh, you know who did it?”

  “Did you happen to see anyone near the woods when you and your friends left Christine?” he asked. “Did she have a boyfriend?”

  “No, she didn’t have a boyfriend,” Jamie immediately announced then fumbled for something to say. “But, uh, there was--” She suddenly looked at the sheriff as her eyes lit up. “We saw some guy near the woods. We’d thought he’d left. It could have been him.”

  “Anyone you know?”

  She shook her head. “No, I’m sure he wasn’t from town,” Jamie replied. “He was dressed sort of grungy and wore a dirty green jacket and a black baseball cap. I really couldn’t see his face.”

  “Maybe your friends got a better look at him,” Sheriff Carter announced. “Why don’t you check on your sister? I’ll stop at Tamara and Paula’s houses later and see what they remember.”

  Jamie nodded and wat
ched Sheriff Carter walk away. Once he was gone, she bolted up from her chair and hurried to a nearby payphone.

  Chapter Four

  Seven years later. The small town of Fairview Glen was comprised of tiny homes with fenced yards and quiet streets. Beyond the small town, there was farmland as far as the eye could see. Some farmers grew crops while others raised cattle or sheep. Just beyond the vast farmland was a newly constructed resort area containing large, impressive hotels with swimming pools, nightclubs, and restaurants. Although the town attempted to distance itself from the booming resort area, the younger generation embraced the idea of a new, modern world at their doorstep.

  Nestled somewhere between town and the resort area was a large, out of place, newly constructed museum surrounded by a lush cornfield. Scaffolding surrounded the left, front corner of the building where workers were completing the finishing touches on the building’s exterior. A large, historic home resided just a short walk from the museum. Apart from the house and museum, the only other building residing among the never-ending farmland was an old funeral home just on the other side of the cornfield.

  A jeep pulled into the secluded museum parking lot early that morning and stopped near the main entrance. Two young, attractive women in their early twenties, Devon Vincent and Ivy Jennings, looked out the jeep’s windshield and stared at the large and impressive museum. Both immediately cringed when they saw the words ‘wax museum’.

  “You didn’t mention it was a wax museum,” Ivy announced while displaying her distaste. “Those places are creepy.”

  Ivy’s strawberry blonde hair was meticulously styled and her makeup perfectly applied with just the right shade of lipstick. She was dressed to kill in a conservative, yet flattering thin-strapped dress, which revealed just enough of her cleavage.

  “The owner didn’t mention it was a wax museum either,” Devon remarked then drew a deep breath and collected herself. “I hate interviews.”

  Devon was the typical girl-next-door with a classic tomboy appeal. Her long dark hair was worn up in a simple ponytail, which she’d actually taken time to make it neat. She usually didn’t wear makeup, but today she wore a little eyeliner and a little lipstick. She was dressed even more conservative in a simple blouse, revealing none of her ample cleavage, and black dress pants usually reserved for church. She wore a pair of black dress boots to complete her conservative, job interview outfit.

  “You’ll be fine,” Ivy insisted then frowned. “I’m the one who should be nervous. You’re going to make me late for my audition with Burt Danson.”

  “I’m sorry. I almost forgot,” Devon announced then smiled timidly at her friend. “Good luck with the acting audition.”

  “I’m up against Jamie Smyth, goddess of Fairview Glen,” Ivy remarked dramatically then rolled her eyes. “I’ll need all the luck I can get.”

  “Call me tonight and let me know how it went,” Devon announced then got out of the jeep.

  Devon remained standing in the parking lot staring at the creepy museum even after her friend’s jeep pulled away. She gathered her courage and approached the front entrance. Devon stood before the large, double doors with stained glass windows and knocked several times, but there was no response. One of the men on the scaffolding, Karl Price, appeared to be watching her.

  “Devon? Is that you?”

  She glanced alongside the building at the construction worker. “Karl?” she announced with surprise. “I didn’t know you were working for Larry’s Construction.”

  He jumped off the scaffolding near her. “Yeah, I started a couple of months ago.”

  Karl was only a year or two older than she was and a year younger than Devon’s brother. By almost any woman’s standards, Karl was a handsome man and possibly a fine catch if good looks were all a woman needed. Having a decent paying job would only add to his stud status. His dark hair was the perfect length, reaching partway down to his collar, and he had the most captivating blue eyes. He stood a respectable six-foot with just enough muscle to gain attention. Pure eye candy. His loose morals and shoddy intellect was another story. Devon could admire his shoulders all day but become bored the moment he opened his mouth.

  “What brings you here?” He eyed her, not used to seeing her so neatly dressed, and grinned. “I don’t remember seeing you this dressed up before.”

  “I have a job interview.”

  “Oh? Your old man setting you free from the ranch, huh?”

  “Something like that,” she muttered, although it was a sore subject.

  “The boss is probably in the basement,” he informed her. “He must have a workshop down there. I hardly ever see the guy.” His mood immediately turned enthusiastic. “Hey, why don’t we go out for drinks tonight? I broke up with Jamie, so I’m available. It’ll be fun. I’ll pick you up at seven.”

  Devon stared at him a moment in mild disbelief. As if his being available was all a woman needed to jump into his arms. Was he asking her out or summoning her to his side? He always did have an inflated ego.

  “I’m sorry,” she replied while shifting uncomfortably. “I’m helping my father at the ranch tonight.”

  She didn’t know why she lied as if attempting to spare his feelings. A simple, ‘I’m not interested in going out with you’ would have been acceptable, considering how poorly he’d treated women over the years.

  “Yeah, I understand,” he replied with some disappointment then managed a smile. “We can go out some other time.”

  Devon managed a tiny smile and immediately regretted not setting him straight right away. Now there would be another awkward moment later on.

  “I, uh, better get to my interview before I’m late,” she announced, even though she had intentionally arrived fifteen minutes early.

  Chapter Five

  Devon entered the museum and passed through the small lobby area. She then paused and stared at the never-ending walkway of partially finished displays. Although far from complete, the background for the sets was realistic and almost creepy. She wandered through the maze of displays and winding walkways. A majority of each set was mostly contained on one side of the walkway, alternating which side, but the walkway itself was built through the display, so visitors would be entrenched in the scene on both sides. The walkway material itself changed with each set to maintain a particular feel. The walkway could be fake gravel, stone, brick, fake ground, or even just concrete depending on the time period and relevance to the display itself.

  Judging by the sheer number of empty displays, it would be some time before the museum would be opening. She wasn’t sure how long she walked the never-ending walkway in and out of displays, but she didn’t seem to be getting anywhere fast. She finally reached what looked like a dungeon entrance with an open, wrought iron door, fake torches on either side of the opening, and block stone steps leading down to the basement. The sign read ‘dungeon’. That was unsettling. Fake torches lining the stairs were the only source of light, although the stone steps were oddly illuminated to keep anyone from tripping. If the owner was going for creepy, he succeeded. She was nearly paralyzed with fear about continuing down the steps, and the museum wasn’t even complete yet.

  If someone chose to avoid the dungeon, the winding walkway curved and continued back through the museum to the front past more displays. Unfortunately, Devon’s business was down a level in the basement or as it was apparently called the ‘dungeon’. Devon felt slightly apprehensive, and she didn’t even know why. She proceeded down the broad, stone steps to the bottom. The stone dungeon atmosphere gave way to the beginning of the first of many displays, which were all obviously horror sets. A chill swept through her as she easily recognized most of the sets without their respective monsters. Being immersed within the horror displays was chilling even with the lights on. Devon was both impressed and frightened. She walked through several displays with a strange uneasiness and nervously rubbed her chilled arms while carefully studying each one.

  She paused within an
elaborate church scene that contained a large, marble altar. There were amazingly realistic silk flower arrangements and unlit, electronic candles displayed upon the altar and around the set. A stained glass window with a false light behind it gave a mysterious glow to the display. As she continued through the ‘dungeon’, she lost track of how many displays she’d passed through. Each one was more terrifying than the last. There was the mad doctor’s lab, a vampire display, a phantom’s lair, two cemeteries, the church display, the mummy’s tomb, and several others she couldn’t even comprehend.

  The one that frightened her most was the dungeon’s very own torture chamber. If they chose to do so, visitors would pass through an open, iron door and enter the massive room containing torture devices. Since the room was sectioned off, visitors could opt out of the torture chamber part of the tour. Devon couldn’t resist poking her head inside to take a peek. Even though there weren’t any wax victims, the chilling devices were enough to send terror through her. There were shackles on the walls, a stretching rack, an iron maiden, a guillotine, and various other equipment she couldn’t even guess their painful purpose.

  Devon continued on the main walkway toward the very back of the dungeon before finally reaching a door marked ‘morgue employees only’. She somehow assumed that was the room she was looking for. Devon knocked on the door. There was no response, but she heard music coming from inside. Devon slowly opened the door and saw an elaborate workshop with several life-like wax men and women crowding the room. Some were dressed in expensive costumes, while others were unclothed, revealing doll-like bodies covered in wax.

  The cluttered workshop was filled with wax body parts, looking more like a psychopath’s paradise than a workshop. She finally encountered her first live person. A man in a white lab coat sat at the counter with his back to her while holding a paint pen in his hand. She watched while he applied the final touches on a wax head resting on the counter before him.

  “Try not to blink,” Brant announced then immediately groaned. “Damn it, you moved.”