Hex on the Beach by Kelley Armstrong

Chapter Eleven

The security detail has finally joined us. As we start forward, Marius puts his arm around my waist and leans down to my ear.

“Hope and Rian?” he whispers.

I sigh.

“Not quite what you figured, hmm?” he murmurs. “Fancy that.”

“If the words ‘I told you so’ leave your lips . . .”

“Do they ever?” he says, and I acknowledge that with a nod and briefly lean my head against his shoulder. When we stop outside the smaller theater, his arm falls from my waist. I lean against him as we listen to Ms. Dowling tell the tale of the poor younger Lake sister’s gastrointestinal distress. That gets a few jokes from the crowd. “Please don’t tell me it was the corndogs,” etcetera as people clutch their stomachs. Then we head into the main theater.

The first room is a small lounge, with benches and restrooms and a portable bar. For pre-show and intermission sipping and mingling. The original tour had then headed backstage for a bit of theater history and the story of the milkmaid ghost.

“You never did get a chance to finish that story,” Aiden whispers to Kennedy.

“I’m sure this version will be better.”

It is not better. In the hands of Ms. Dowling, the story becomes a very generic missing girl story. The milkmaid realizes she forgot something and slips out into the barn at night, never to be seen again.

“Tell me there’s more to it than that,” Rian whispers.

“Not really,” Kennedy says. “I just add more flavor.”

“So should she.” Rian pantomimes a yawn, and Hope tells him to behave.

“If you want to tell a story yourself,” Hope says. “I think you have one for Aiden.”

Rian grimaces as Aiden tenses, clearly expecting the worst. Then Rian meets Hope’s eyes and nods. He leans over to Aiden and whispers, “Can we talk later? I didn’t screw up anything else. Promise.”

“Of course,” Aiden says. “After the tour?”

Rian nods. “Sure.”

Ani motions everyone to silence, and we obey as the story continues. Or most of us do. Kennedy and Aiden step farther away, heads bent as they discuss something. Rian shoots them a worried look, but Hope shakes her head. She’s closer to her sister, and she can tell that whatever they’re discussing, it doesn’t involve him.

Ms. Dowling moves into the Lisa Lake story. This is the point, she says, where the younger sister tore off to use the lounge restroom.

At that, Kennedy glances over and frowns. She looks around before leaning in and whispering more to Aiden, while gesturing. I don’t see what she does. It’s a small backstage area, poorly lit, with costumes and boxes and clutter.

Ms. Dowling motions for us to follow her through the curtains onto the stage. Kennedy and Aiden bring up the rear, and when I glance back, Aiden is stepping through before Kennedy grabs him and pulls him backstage.

“Finally,” Hope whispers, shooting a gaze their way.

Rian chuckles. “Let’s hope so.”

I stay back near the curtain with Marius, the two of us blocking the way, in case anyone looks for Aiden and Kennedy. As much as I’d love to think they’ve snuck off for a romantic rendezvous, I suspect it’s all about the mystery. Either way, they are together, and that’s what counts.

Ms. Dowling leads us to the spot where Lisa Lake disappeared. I follow the group while keeping my eye on Ani and Jonathan, ready to distract them if they notice Kennedy and Aiden are missing. They’re busy pointing out something to each other inside the auditorium.

As we assemble, the two police officers move into the aisles and begin sweeping the theater. In other words, the chief knows perfectly well that last night was a setup, and her officers are making sure no “ghosts” are crouched between the seats.

Only when they give the “all clear” signal does Ms. Dowling begin.

“The group stood right where you are,” she says. “The same spot where every group stood for this tour. There was even a mark on the carpet to show the guides where to stop. While the carpet has long since been replaced, you can see a replica of the mark there.”

She points, and everyone cranes to see it.

“Of the Lake family, only Lisa was with the group. Her parents remained backstage, arguing over how to proceed. Mrs. Lake wanted to go after her younger daughter, while Mr. Lake wanted to continue on and hope no one noticed her absence. He was embarrassed by her outburst and the fact that it concerned a bodily function.”

Ms. Dowling turns to the right and waves at the wall. “The guide would have steered gazes to that wall, allegedly pointing out an architectural detail but really drawing their attention in preparation for the power outage and the shadow play. He had done that when—”

The lights go out. Ms. Dowling sucks in breath. She says something, but it’s drowned out by the murmur of the tour group—a cacophony of yelps and titters and excited whispers. A light flickers and someone shouts “There!”

I follow the light to see someone on the catwalk. It’s a light-haired young woman in a plaid dress. It’s still too dark down here to see, and I’m easing back to take Marius’s arm when my hip bumps a hand. As I pull away, murmuring an apology, I feel a tug on my purse strap. I wheel, grabbing my bag, and there’s a hand inside it. The hand withdraws fast. A yelp. Light flashes. It’s Marius, raising his cell phone. His other hand encircles the wrist of a young man with my credit cards pinched between his fingers.

“Officers!” Marius calls.

The young man lashes out, punching at Marius with his free hand. Marius doesn’t even stumble. He gives one twist and pins the pickpocket’s arm behind his back.

“And where do you think you’re going?” one of the officers calls as she steps into the path of a young woman edging toward the exit.

“Uh-uh,” says a voice, and I glance to see Jonathan grabbing another man by the wrist. He lifts the man’s arm and plucks out a cell phone in a flowered case.

“Hey!” a woman says. “That’s mine.”

Jonathan passes over the phone.

“What’s going on here?” Ms. Dowling says.

“Seems you had some pickpockets in your tour group,” Rian says as he checks his own pockets, everyone else doing the same. A few exclamations ring out—someone missing a cell phone, a few others missing cash or cards.

“Oh my goodness,” Ms. Dowling says. “Thank you for catching them, officers. I can’t believe anyone would do such a thing.”

“Oh, I think you can believe it,” Jonathan says. “Considering I saw you with this guy.” He waggles the arm of the man he’s restraining.

Ms. Dowling blinks. “Because he was asking about the tour. Which he joined with two friends.”

Jonathan lifts his cell phone, showing a photo of Ms. Dowling and the guy he’s holding. They’re getting out of a car together. In the next photo, she’s giving him a kiss before they presumably went their separate ways.

“I got suspicious this afternoon when someone told me you weren’t following the old tour properly,” Jonathan says. “That seems odd, since I presumed you’d borrowed our archives, which included a resident’s full accounting of the tour—she’d been the assistant guide that night. But it turns out those archives have been missing for years. That got me digging. You didn’t quite represent yourself accurately on your application, Ms. Dowling. You’re not a historian, and you never went to Columbia. You run a vlog on ghost stories.”

She bristles. “It’s a history vlog. My angle may be ghosts, but I run an academic site specializing in the history surrounding ghost stories.”

“Well, this isn’t an actual ghost story,” Hope says, waving at the rafters where Ms. Dowling’s accomplice had appeared. “You faked it, together with your pickpocket boyfriend and his buddies.”

Ms. Dowling continues to protest, but the police are already calling in backups, who are apparently just outside waiting.

“This was a sting, wasn’t it?” I say to Jonathan as I walk over to him. “You knew.”

“Ani and I figured it out. We told Chief Salazar, who’d already had her suspicions.”

“There were reports of thefts last night,” Ani says. “Coinciding with both the tour and the chaos afterward. Chief Salazar downplayed it so she wouldn’t spook Ms. Dowling and her gang.”

“That’s the real reason they shut down stores last night,” Jonathan says. “A would-be thief set off a security alarm at the jewelry store, and the police were worried it wasn’t just a crime of opportunity.”

Ani nods. “They thought it might have been orchestrated. They just didn’t believe Ms. Dowling was involved.”

“They thought someone was taking advantage of her tour, because she seemed legitimately startled,” I say. “Who else knew about this?”

“Not me,” Hope says.

Rian raises his hands.

I turn a narrow-eyed look on Marius.

“Yes, Jonathan asked me to keep an eye out,” he says. “Though I would love to pretend it was my superior wits and reflexes that let me catch that guy with his hand in your purse.”

“Wait,” Ani says. “Where are Kennedy and Aiden?”

“They slipped out,” Hope says, waggling her brows.

“I think it was more about sleuthing than smooching, sadly,” I say. “They must have been trying to figure out the thefts.”

“They’re going to be disappointed,” Hope says. “I know I am. It’s such a Scooby-Doo solution. I’m still waiting for them to pull the mask off Ms. Dowling.”

“Yep,” Jonathan says. “Not exactly world-class thieves. Someone should go find Kennedy and Aiden, though. I suspect the police will want a head count.”

“I will,” I say. “Marius? May I get a little help with my escape?”

“One luck roll coming up.”