Part 20 (2/2)
”Wait a minute! Team Trekkie? Am I...are we...are you asking both of us to spend the night with you in the Ax Murder House?” Van Vleet stammered.
”Of course. The more the merrier, sport.” Langley gave Drew a robust slap on the back.
”Awesome!” Drew said, pumping his fist in the air. ”Awesome!”
”That invitation is only good if Blondie here is in,” Keelie qualified.
”I need just a minute to confer with my team partner,” I said, and grabbed hold of Drew's elbow, herding him away from the eyes-and ears-of the show's crew.
”Listen, Drew. This is not what I signed up for. Uh-uh. No way. Not gonna happen.”
”Are you joking? This is my ticket to the big time!”
”Your ticket. Hate to break it to you, dude, but it's a twofer. And this half of the twofer ain't interested.”
”Why the h.e.l.l not?”
”What part of haunted and murder did you miss?”
”I don't believe you're actually considering refusing Keelie's invitation!” Van Vleet ran a hand through his hair. ”Unbelievable. And you call yourself a journalist!”
”You're not at all concerned about spending the night in the Ax Murder House?” I asked.
”No. h.e.l.l no! Why should I be? It's just a house. But you heard what Keelie said. It's pure gold in terms of the public's fascination with the supernatural,” he said. ”And with Keelie and her entourage along for a sleepover, big media markets, here we come!”
I frowned. ”But...the murders, Drew! The murders!”
He shrugged.
”And the ax.”
Nothing.
”The hauntings. The gouge in the ceiling. The ax killer!”
”All the better to pique the public's interest.”
”People died, man. They died. You're sick to want to capitalize on that. Sick, I tell you.”
”And you are a wimpy little red s.h.i.+rt,” Van Vleet said. ”And undeserving of that Star Fleet emblem on your chest. Go ahead. Chicken out. Spend the rest of the ride wondering what dirty trick Keelie will come up to torment you with next. And when your boss finds out you pa.s.sed up an opportunity to spend a night in the Murder House with Keelie Keller and her cast mates? I wouldn't want to be you. But you go ahead. You tell Stan Rodgers your high moral code kept you from capitalizing on the biggest story of the summer. Go ahead-loser.”
Dirty tricks? Wimp? Chicken? Loser?
Okay. Someone, tell me. Is there a sign on my forehead that instructs people on which b.u.t.tons of mine to push, because Van Vleet had pushed nearly all of them-in one fell swoop.
The a.s.s.
”Fine. Whatever. I couldn't care less,” I heard someone say. It took a second for it to register it was me. ”I'm a country girl. Better a farmhouse than pitching a tent, I say. No big deal. Nothing to see here, folks. Just me getting a good night's sleep out of the elements. That's all. Yup. Piece. Of. Cake.”
”You're full of c.r.a.p, Witchiepoo,” Van Vleet said. ”You're scared s.h.i.+tless, and you know it.”
I tapped my chin. ”Isn't that like an oxymoron?” I asked. ”How is it possible to be full of c.r.a.p and s.h.i.+tless at the same time? As Mr. Spock would point out, 'most illogical.'”
Van Vleet muttered some words that would never come out of Captain Kirk's mouth and hurried to break the good news that Team Trekkie would gladly accept Keelie Keller's Ax Murder House invite.
A few minutes later Keelie joined me. ”So, I hear you're in.”
”With a few of my own conditions. You get your peeps. I want mine.”
”When you say 'peeps,' who exactly did you have in mind?”
”My sister, Taylor. You know. The one you call 'stuck-up.' My cousin, Frankie, and his...his...his...Dixie.”
”What about that handsome trooper?”
I shrugged. ”I'm not in charge of the trooper's itinerary.”
”I don't know. The producers already had to do some major arm-twisting to get the owners to exceed the customary limit of ten people,” she said.
”Those are my stipulations,” I said. ”Take 'em or leave 'em.”
”I don't-” A growl the likes of which I'd never heard erupt from my gammy even after she wolfed down the six pack and a pound from the taco joint, ripped out of the pet.i.te redhead like the rumbling of Mt. Vesuvius. ”To...be...continued,” Keelie managed through clenched teeth, and hightailed it in the direction of the nearest field.
I'll take that as a yes.
The next hurdle? Sealing the deal with my ”peeps.”
This could be a little dicey. I winced. Considering the history of our first night's lodging, dicey probably wasn't the best word choice. Let's go with...tricky.
I pondered the magnitude of the challenge before me. It would take pleading, cajoling, overt manipulation, blatant arm-twisting, and, if all else failed, out-and-out blackmail.
Oh, for that Vulcan mind meld about now.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN.
”Lizzie Borden took an ax. Gave her mother forty whacks.”
”Tiara, please. Would you please stop reciting that disturbing ditty?” chided Langley Carlisle-and not for the first time. ”It's getting on my last nerve.”
Personally, I thought the Englishman showed considerable restraint. I was ready to crown her-but not in a Miss America kind of way.
”Come on, Lang. Loosen up. Do you realize how freaky cool this is? We're spending the night in a house where eight people were axed to death! A house that's supposed to be haunted! I'm totally trippin' here.”
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