Jeff Strand - Graverobbers Wanted - No Experience Necessary

I nodded my understanding. It suddenly occurred to me that this whole reporter charade would work better if I actually had a small notebook or a tape recorder. I considered making a comment like "So, Roger, is theol ' photographic memory storing everything all right?" but that would have been stupid. I probably should have planned a cover story before driving over here. The idea that I really suck as a detective crossed my mind.

"So was this whole thing your idea?" I asked.

"No, it was Mike's. We were friends all through college, and we'd rent maybe six or seven horror movies every weekend. We'd just sit in his dorm room andtoxify our brains watching these things. We sort of went our separate ways after he graduated, partially because his girlfriend, now his wife, was jealous of all the time we spent together...not that you need to write anything about that." She suddenly looked worried. "You're not going to use that quote, are you?"

"Not if you don't want me to," I assured her.

"Oh, good.It sort of slipped out. Anyway, I stayed in Chamber and was working full time as a trainer at the gym, and Mike moved from place to place trying and failing to carve out a career as a filmmaker. We met up again two years ago just by coincidence. Some friends came from out of town and wanted to do the theme park thing, so I took them to Universal Studios, and there Mike was, working as a photographer at the King Kong ride. We met up later that night and he told me about this whole idea for making custom-made horror movies. Oh, by the way, can I get you some coffee?"

"No, I'm fine," I said.

"I just now thought of that. I'd hate you to start your article with `Ghoulish Delights is run by Rachel Mallory, a woman who likes to talk and talk and talk and talk without so much as having the courtesy to provide refreshments.'"

"No, really, I'm okay. Roger's fine, too. Please continue."

"Basically, I thought it sounded like a lot of fun, though I wasn't sure if it was something we could actually make money at. Well, we couldn't get a bank loan to save our lives, so finally Mike swallowed his pride, called up his rich brother, and begged for the start-up money. He got it, we rented this place, and then he started calling people he knew wouldn't demand a regular paycheck. Pretty soon we had Carl, Farley, Linda, and Dominick, and we were set."

"And you're all making a living at this now?"

"Not a great one, but we do okay. To be completely honest, we don't make all of our money from Ghoulish Delights. We have to film the occasional wedding or barmitzva , but overall we're not starving to death."

"What does Mike's wife think of Ghoulish Delights?"

Rachel shrugged. "I don't see her much. Every once in a while she'll come in here and turn up her nose at one of Farley's creatures, but that's about it."

"But she'd rather he take some steady-paying job, right?"

"Of course.I'm sure she makes more with her waitress job than he does here. But then, she's sort of a—" Rachel held her hands out in front of her chest, miming substantial breasts, "—impressive woman, so good tips probably aren't hard to come by."

I began to feel a bit uncomfortable. Rachel certainly felt no love for Jennifer Ashcraft. She didn't seem anything like the murderous type, but then again, John WayneGacy performed at children's parties as Pogo the Clown, yet still murdered thirty-three people. Of course, clowns can be pretty scary.

Michael could have been having an affair with Rachel, and it could have turned ugly. I wasn't sure what kind of ugly end to an affair might result in Michael being buried alive holding a revolver, but it was possible. Yet if Rachel was the killer, would she be sitting here confessing that she didn't like Jennifer? And she'd been genuinely friendly, not giving any indication that she might have tied me up last night and pressed a bloody knife against my neck.

No, it couldn't be Rachel.

Probably.

"Is it all right if I talk to the others now?" I asked.

"No problem. Let's go on back."

Chapter 7

THE MAIN PART of the house was a large room, maybe forty by sixtyfeet, that was simply jam-packed with neat stuff. One wall was entirely overtaken by a rack of costumes. Above the rack was a shelf upon which rested a long line of Halloween masks, everything from Frankenstein to an undead boy scout to Richard Simmons. Another wall display contained dozens of (I assume) fake weapons: axes, knives, spears, chainsaws, etc. The room was also loaded with camera equipment, videotapes,buckets of paint, blueprints, storyboard paintings, and one large table in the center. There was also a small doorway, minus an actual door, which led somewhere unknown. Carl, Dominick, and Linda were all huddled around the table, playingwithStar Wars action figures, while Farley added some white paint to a piece of rubber.

Among the weapons, I noticed a crossbow.

"So, do we have another customer?" asked Farley, looking up as we entered.

"Actually, these gentlemen arefromDearly Demented magazine, here to do a story on us," Rachel told him. "Be nice to them."

"Never heard of that one," said Farley.

"Premiere issue is four months away," I explained. "But it's going to be flashy, don't worry."

Farley gestured toward Roger's crutches. "The magazine business is dangerous, huh?"

"More dangerous than you can imagine," said Roger. "Those computer terminals can be deadly. Hurt my leg typing an adjective.Happens all the time."

"Anyway," said Rachel, "I want each of you to talk to the nice men, tell them what you do around here."

"Right now we're having a great battle between Chewbacca and a couple ofStormtroopers ," said Linda. "This is what we get paid for. Life is good."

"Actually, they're blocking out a new plot scenario," Rachel told us. "Normally I'd be working with them, but I was busy sucking up to you two. Hey, Farley, why don't you show them what you're doing?"

We walked over to where Farley stood. There were several identical pieces of rubber spread out on the table in front of him. He finished adding a bit of white paint to the one he was working on,then set it down to dry. "What I'm doing right now is making generic wounds out of latex. These are throat wounds, as you can clearly see from the protruding windpipe." He tapped the protruding windpipe with his index finger to make sure we clearly saw it. "I've got all different kinds of wounds and scars, and when they're needed I just apply them to the actor with rubber cement, use makeup to make sure it blends with the skin, and then add a big dollop of blood.Instant carnage.Fun for all ages."

"Do you makethese yourself?" I asked.

"Absolutely.There're a lot of places you can order them from, but what fun is that?" Farley gave me a wicked grin. "How would you like a torn-out throat?"

"Nah, I make it a point never to simulate throatrippings this early in the day, but maybe next time," I said.

"Oh, come on," said Farley, picking up one of the fake wounds. "If you reallywanna understand the inner workings of Ghoulish Delights, you'vegotta get a little dirty. Dominick, youwanna slide a chair over here and grab a sheet?"

"No, seriously, that's okay. I'm allergic to latex. That's why I have two kids. However, I'm sure Roger would love to have part of his neck removed, wouldn't you, Roger?"

"Huh?"

Dominick pushed a chair over to where we stood. "Have a seat, Roger," said Farley. "We'll get you messed up real good."

Roger started to protest, but instead settled for giving me a dirty look as he sat down in the chair. The others stopped playing with their action figures and watched with amusement. Dominick handed Farley a small white sheet, which he draped over Roger's chest like a bib.

"Be gentle with me, I'm crippled," said Roger.