Chapter 7: “There’s Been a Theft!”

“Going somewhere, Higgly?” Quirke, aka Lex Luthor, questioned as he and a poorly body-painted Hulk moved to block Graham’s way.

The crime hobbyist had let his guard slip because he’d needed to pee. Deciding to copy what he heard the Skeleton suggest to Wolverine earlier, Graham had snuck into the nearby woods. While relieving himself, the bookworm already got a scare when a girl dressed as Velma Dinkley from Scooby-Doo strolled down the path near Graham. Startled, he hopped farther behind a tree, only to trip over an exposed root.

Cursing his luck, Graham hoped he hadn’t pissed on himself. He also wondered where Velma had come from. Nothing seemed to be down that path. If anything, his excellent memory led him to think it might be the way to the cemetery, mentioned after his tour, out past the stone wall. Mulling over the possibility, the once-bullied student hadn’t noticed the setup until he’d walked into it.

“I’m shocked to see you here, Jiggly,” Zayn admitted, still dripping wet from his fall into the pool. “How the hell did you get into this party?”

“Mercedes invited me. So you better back off,” Graham declared, feeling slightly emboldened by his personal invitation. The party hostess needed his help, so he could expect her to defend his presence. That’s if she found them before Graham suffered a beating. “You’ll end up more than a soggy James Bond if you piss her off.”

“Why would she invite you, of all people? Did your parents buy your way in?” Zayn challenged, earning chuckles from behind his target.

Shit! Where did they come from? Graham swore in his head. The same Skeleton from before, along with Ghostface, now blocked his escape down the walkway he’d just come down. Wolverine appeared at Quirke’s side, sparking a memory in the bookworm’s brain. They had been talking about him when Graham passed the masked pair on the guest house’s porch, even if he’d hoped they hadn’t recognized him.

“Maybe he helped Mercedes cheat on a test or paper?” Quirke speculated, chuckling.

“I doubt Raddatz cheats like you do,” Wolverine scoffed at the suggestion.

“Yeah, she could just bribe a teacher with loot or her body,” Ghostface cracked. “I meant her booty.”

“Either way. It doesn’t matter. You’re going to pay for your part in Pascoe’s stunt,” Zayn declared. “The only question is how it’s happening.”

“We could toss him into the pool,” Skeleton suggested.

“Or strip him naked for all the girls to see the horror,” Quirke countered.

“How about we carve up the Plump Pumpkin?” Wolverine asked, locking a piece of his character’s claws into place on his left hand.

“Oh, I like that idea. Percy’s little buddy definitely needs to bleed,” Zayn proclaimed, nodding at Wolverine. “Still, we’ll need more than that fake claw. I’ll message Tucker. He can grab a few knives from the…Shit, Freddie, everyone thought you ran home.”

The ringleader of the bullies spoke over Graham’s shoulder, making him turn slightly. A mummy had just walked out of the woods from the same trail that he’d used a couple of minutes ago. Despite his predicament, the crime enthusiast wondered where people kept coming from in that direction.

Freddie Illig stopped hesitantly upon seeing the gathered group. Clutching a small bag tightly, he nodded at Skeleton and Ghostface before he took a wide arc around the pair. The move brought him past the Hulk, who offered a fist to bump. The Mummy appeared confused at first, until the brutish superhero thanked him for spiking the punch.

“You’d better watch it. I overheard Raddatz brag that her dad’s security force is after you,” Zayn warned, watching the Mummy tap the oversized Hulk hand.

Nodding his thanks for the warning, Freddie headed toward the party, then chose to walk behind the pool house rather than cut through the group of partiers, who hadn’t noticed the situation playing out in the nearly hidden section of the yard. Frowning at the lack of help coming, Graham surveyed his options. The pathway lay closest of all the escape routes. However, his bright orange costume would be easy to follow in the forest. A quick dash toward the pool area wouldn’t work, since he’d need to barrel past at least three people.

“You guys should think this through more. Those costumes won’t hide your identities forever. Once I’m able to, I’ll ask around. None of this will end well–”

“How? Like you’re going to do shit to us?” Quirke questioned, cutting off their target.

“I’m not worried at all. Once we’re through, you’ll know better than to point any fingers at us,” Wolverine vowed, checking over to see Zayn typing a message on his phone. “Tell Tuck to grab a pair of scissors or something, too.”

“He’s going to check the kitchen in the guest house,” Zayn replied, slipping his phone back into his wet pocket. “But it might take a couple of minutes.”

“Ain’t like we can’t get this side party started first,” Quirke remarked, nodding at Hulk.

Hulk and Skeleton stepped forward to grab Graham’s arms before he could react. They swung him around to face Wolverine, who started forward too, but stopped to stare past their friend in surprise. Their expressions and Graham’s caused the others facing them to turn around as well.

“How you doing, Higbee?” a cowgirl in a tight, skimpy leather vest and Daisy Dukes asked, stepping just outside the makeshift circle.

“Been better.”

“Shut up, Higgy!” Zayn ordered, cocking his head to check out Reese. While his eyes ran down her curves and exposed skin, the knockoff James Bond noticed her knee-high boots spread out slightly for better footing. “Move your fine ass along, Kersey. Nothing to see here.”

“Is that so? I’m pondering how far ya’ll planning to go with this,” Reese said, adding a twang to her voice while she chewed on a toothpick, taken from a cocktail. “I reckon if you plan to kill him, then I’ll need to be silenced too.”

“What?” Skeleton queried.

“We’re not killing anyone. What the hell?” Zayn responded.

“I’m not saying Higgy won’t end up with a visit to the ER once we’re done,” Wolverine said, smirking.

“Man, whatever,” the ringleader replied, rolling his eyes at the over-the-top threat. “Seriously, Reese, this doesn’t involve you. Just leave.”

“Uninvited doesn’t mean unwelcome,” the brunette countered, using a finger to poke her cowboy hat a bit higher on her head.

“I’m inviting you!” Graham exclaimed, hoping she’d help him escape.

“Shut the fuck up!” Wolverine shouted, attempting to backhand their prisoner, but Graham managed to lean away from the blow in time.

“Slow your roll, Eckard,” Reese ordered calmly. Then, she tapped near her right breast on her vest. “Move your eyes, just a tad, and ya’ll see that I’ve been upgraded to marshal.”

Qurike leaned forward to peer at the toy marshal badge that the swim star acquired during the party. “All I see is a drunk bimbo thinking she’s her stupid costume.”

“All I see is a gaggle of assholes looking for an ass-whooping,” Reese sassed back.

“Stick around. I’ll be happy to gag you for the banging. I call dips on that tight ass,” Eckard, aka Wolverine, replied with a sinister grin.

“Whoa! I’m not down with shit like that,” Ghostface announced, gaining a “Yeah” from Skeleton.

“Don’t be a pussy,” Eckard shouted at his friends. Stepping forward, he approached Reese, who dropped her hands down to the sides of her gunbelt. “Don’t be frightened. You’ll love what I’m packing.”

“Frightened? Ain’t no sugar water running through these veins,” Reese declared, while her fingers danced along the holstered squirt guns. “And water isn’t in these blasters.”

“Is this where I’m supposed to ask–”

The golden-brown-haired marshal moved lightning-quick, pulling both squirt guns out simultaneously. Shooting cross-armed, the pink gun’s liquid splashed Quirke in the face, while the green gun squirted its contents directly into Eckard’s eyes.

Both guys shrieked in pain, serving as a two-second warning before Skeleton caught a misfired blast that still did enough damage. Ghostface’s mask saved him because of its narrow eye slits. Hulk wasn’t as fortunate.

“Ya’ll paid to find out,” Reese declared, twirling the guns before turning to hold both directly at Zayn’s face. “Higbee, get out of here.”

Graham started to move, but then he saw Ghostface still standing. Inexperienced in fighting, the bookworm hesitated long enough to glance over at Reese. The cowgirl-turned-marshal held Zayn still with her plastic peacekeepers.

“Now, I suppose you think you have options, right? But if you think you can duck before I burn your eyes, that ain’t happening,” Reese warned, nodding to where his friends cried about their burning eyes. “The only choices are these: Do you want the tequila in the pink, or the Everclear in the green?”

Finally reacting, Graham kicked Ghostface in the balls, then ran past him. In his panic, he not only missed Zayn’s twitch, which earned him both squirts of liquor to his eyes, but he also ran the wrong way. Only after running for thirty seconds did Graham realize he had gone down the path, not toward the party.

“Aw, crap,” the bookworm moaned.

Catching his breath momentarily, he resumed his way down the rough, brick walkway, albeit at a jogging pace. He kept up the pace for another three minutes until the path split in two. Looking over his shoulder for pursuers, Graham chose the left side. Eventually, the curving walkway brought him to a building nestled in a dark portion of the wooded grounds.

A cursory glance at its large windows told him he’d stumbled onto the art studio Kayla mentioned. One side of the building’s roof confirmed Graham’s deduction, matching the conservatory’s slanted glass roof and providing light over the rear stone wall.

Shrugging his shoulders after another check behind him, Graham walked up to the door. Surprisingly, he found the door unlocked. Stepping inside, the crime hobbyist immediately stiffened. Despite supposedly no longer being used, the pungent smell of paint oils and clay met his nostrils.

The unnerving aspect came from the rows of white sheets that appeared to be draped over sculptures or other possible pieces of art. The white coverings added to the creepy Halloween atmosphere, as anyone could be hiding close by inside the studio.

This would be an excellent retreat point for the Seeper, if they needed to hurry while possibly changing outfits, Graham noted. Or a starting point.

With that realization, Graham considered turning on the lights, but he also worried about the group of bullies out looking for him. Deciding to do a quick, cursory search near the areas minimally lit by the moonlight, the young man edged around the first covered sculptures. Still, despite not wanting to, he found the courage to push the sheets aside and check for anyone.

The sixth covered area hit a form of paydirt, not on top of the table, but underneath. Graham found a discarded purple Batgirl costume.

“Holy crap,” the crime hobbyist muttered before forcing himself quiet.

As he picked up the costume, he also found boots and a utility belt. A stroke of luck, the discovery brought along many new questions. Realizing he needed help, Graham placed the outfit back where he found it.

I need to get Elliot and show him. The Seeper might be a woman, and she might be in another disguise.

Hurrying out of the studio, Graham noticed a wider walkway to the door’s right. Taking a different route made sense. Stepping off the small wooden porch, the bookworm thought back to his pee break. Hang on. Velma may have come from this direction. I guess the Mummy did too, but that was Freddie, right? It looked way too large to be Batgirl…come to think of it…Freddie's not that large, is he? I guess the costume could make him appear bulkier.

Consumed by his thoughts, Graham turned the bend in the walkway, which led to a relatively straight stretch of about forty feet before another slight turn. Mulling over his discovery and theories, the high school senior didn’t register the odd sound for almost a full thirty seconds.

Stopping, Graham peered ahead and squinted at the trail. Then he checked left, then right, for anyone. Finally, the confused searcher turned around to double-check the way he’d just come. Wary, he slowly retraced his steps. The sound grew louder and more insistent. A flicker of movement caused Graham to look up.

“What the…Mercedes?!”

Roughly twenty feet above Graham, the bratty heiress swung slowly back and forth upside down as she struggled to yell for help. Studying his pissed and panicked classmate, the temporary investigator noticed a piece of tape across her mouth, and possibly some around her wrists, which were behind her back.

Despite her unusual predicament, Graham clearly saw the orders in her eyes: Get me fucking down!

Malachi’s intentions to show Elliot around had vanished once he’d been called away to deal with more party issues. Waiting off to the side of the ballroom’s east entrance, the young man saw Fleeman, the head of security, point to an obviously drunk guest. It didn’t take long for the watcher to realize two things: the man held some importance, and he refused to leave the ballroom, even to the point of making a scene.

Fleeman demonstrated his experience and likely reason for his hiring by organizing the removal of the unruly guest without causing a commotion. Two men and a woman in costumes slowly enticed the man toward the French doors, which sat partially open along the west side of the mansion. Their sitting somewhat open felt like a security risk to the mystery-lover, but he also assumed increased security monitored the veranda outside those doors. Additionally, Elliot guessed these three costumed people might be part of the undercover security guards Konstantin Brask had alluded to earlier.

Knowing Mercedes's father might be busy longer than expected, Elliot began moving slowly along the inner wall of the ballroom. Gawd, it’s hot in here, he groaned, pulling carefully at one of the bandages around his neck. Realizing the stifling heat probably led to the doors being open, Elliot scanned the ballroom.

Round tables, two deep, lined the east, north, and south sides, minus openings for the doors on the east and north walls. Each table had either an orange or a black tablecloth, along with a large jack-o’-lantern on top. The eyes and mouth of the ceramic carved pumpkins shone from the candles burning inside. Along the walls, orange and black light bulbs replaced the traditional ones, adding to the spooky atmosphere. Only the chandeliers in the center had regular bulbs to light the vast room. Glancing over at the table to his right, Elliot also noticed that roughly half of them featured a witch statue. The witch wore the traditional black, pointy hat and matching robes, had green skin, and was accompanied by a broomstick and a black cat sitting at her side.

Standing against the wall, Elliot began scanning for people he recognized. Petra Raddatz, wearing her scandalous French Maid costume, had a group of men surrounding her on the northside of the ballroom. The abundant display of cleavage had heads nodding and swaying with each movement or laugh from Mercedes’s mother. Inching slowly toward his right, Elliot began to get a better view of the lady of the mansion.

Bucky seems to be getting handsy with his metal arm, Elliot commented. A dashingly handsome rogue, who appeared to be in his late twenties and dressed as the Winter Soldier, kept on grazing his hand along Mrs. Raddatz’s barely covered ass. The watching young man nearly laughed out loud as the Joker’s hand briefly touched Bucky’s while reaching around the other side of the sexy redhead. The two men leaned back and glared at each other, worried they might mess up one another’s game.

Unfortunately for the Joker and Winter Soldier, the French Maid kissed each of their cheeks before walking forward and into the arms of a Pirate. Carlo Galasso immediately escorted his business partner’s wife to the center of the ballroom for an extremely up-close and personal dance.

“Lord Raddatz’s bed is totally going to be free of his lady tonight,” a familiar voice said from Elliot’s right.

“Too bad Annie and Pam seemed locked in for that free side of the bed,” Belle responded to Alice from Wonderland, referring to Poison Ivy and Wonder Woman.

“Well, look who’s joined us,” Cinderella announced, tugging the arm of Elliot’s smoking jacket.

“Join us!” Sleeping Beauty ordered, reaching for the high school student’s other arm. The sexy, if not slutty, version of the Disney character appeared well on her way to being drunk.

“We’ve heard some intriguing details about you, Mr. Invisible Man,” Alice revealed, leaning around the seated Cinderella to kiss the bandage covering his cheek.

“Or should we call you Mr. Fantastic?” Belle inquired, giggling drunkenly with her friends.

“Hey, where’s Charlie Brown?” Alice asked, a slight slur in her voice.

“You mean the Great Pumpkin!” Sleeping Beauty corrected, throwing her arm around Elliot’s shoulder.

“He’s, um, busy,” Elliot responded, or at least tried after she’d pushed the side of his face into the opening of her pink dress.

The curious investigator sat with the Disney Princesses for the next fifteen minutes. During that time, they gossiped about people whom they pointed out. Most of the factoids, such as how many workers at R&P Tarzan had notched on his tree, seemed unrelated to Elliot’s reason for being at the party. However, he also earned significant brownie points with youngish shopgirls by using his copy of the guest list to reveal the men under masks.

The bits of information earned Elliot three sloppy, deep-tongued kisses as thank-yous from Cinderella, Sleeping Beauty, and Pocahontas. The trio each raced off to conduct their prowling hunt. Eventually, the departures left Elliot sitting with just Belle and Alice. He took advantage of his new repertoire with the pair to ask about other guests.

“Angel? Yeah, that’s Mr. Eike’s latest whatever,” Alice answered. “I assume he’s calling her a model or his assistant.”

“Those are the usual titles. Although escort or sugar baby seems more appropriate,” Belle added.

“So you’re familiar with him and his girlfriends?” Elliot asked.

“Oh, yeah! Mr. Eike has a reputation throughout the company due to his frequent visits. His side-pieces seem to last about six months at minimum, topping out at exactly a year,” Alice revealed. “He’s even absconded with a few workers.”

“Absconded?” Elliot repeated, raising a hidden eyebrow. Still, his amusement came through in his voice.

“That’s exactly how I heard Mr. Raddatz refer to it. This happened within a couple of months of my starting. Vittoria from marketing ended up seduced by him. She vanished for almost a year before resurfacing.”

“I think it was eight months. The story goes that the little harlot reappeared one day, acting as if she hadn’t disappeared. Apparently, the boss told people just to treat it like an extended leave,” Belle recounted.

“Is that normal at Raddatz & Padfield?” the amateur investigator queried.

“I wouldn’t say so, but it’s also not a shocking development. Employees like us often get whisked away for better opportunities if we’re willing to play ball,” Belle explained.

“And most of us are waiting in the on-deck circle for the big at-bat,” Alice added, giggling.

Elliot didn’t quite know how to respond. A couple of minutes later, he asked about the woman he knew to be Konstantin Brask’s date. Alice and Belle filled him in with all the details about the Scandinavian shipping magnate. They used that description because nobody knew his exact country of origin. One story said his father was reportedly a mix of Norwegian and Icelandic. Another tale claimed he was of Danish and Norwegian descent. A similar mystery surrounded Konstantin’s mother, with most people assuming a combination of Swedish and Finnish ancestry.

The two gossipy shop clerks confirmed Elliot’s guess about his demeanor. Brask had a reputation not only for being a man you didn’t want to cross, but also for an air of shadiness. Rumors swirled about what his merchant ships carried in secret compartments or about his involvement in several armed conflicts around the globe. Neither woman recognized Brask’s latest girlfriend, but that didn’t surprise them.

“That woman is a riot,” Alice remarked, referring to Francesca Horne.

“Rumor is that she sexually mentored Malachi when he was younger,” Belle added. “Even if not true, she’s extraordinarily close to the family.”

“Yeah, I heard she’s Mercedes’s unofficial godmother.”

“I’d say she spoils her like a real one.”

“Franny Horne spoils herself extravagantly,” Alice responded to her friend. “I think she’s vacationed at every high-priced resort in the world. If a new one opens, she’s usually a prime invitee to the grand opening.”

“That woman also knows her shit about jewelry. I swear she could school nearly every top executive at R&P,” Belle noted. “I mean, check out the Frost Diamond Necklace. Legend has it that she designed it herself.”

Up till now, a Marvel Captain Marvel and a DC Captain Marvel had blocked Elliot’s view of the surrogate Raddatz family member. Finally, as they moved aside, the shoehorned investigator got his first glimpse of the legendary necklace around the cougar’s neck. While studying, he also noticed the elderly woman speaking with Mrs. Horne. A quick question revealed her name: Avalon Ashmore.

“Sweet woman. Also unbelievably friendly and genuine,” Belle declared. “If anyone rivals Francesca Horne for jewelry knowledge, it’s Mrs. Ashmore.”

“Totally. She never forgets anything. The woman still remembers my parents’ names and the boyfriend who cheated on me a month after I started working in the main salesroom,” Alice relayed.

“Heads up. It looks like the big guy wants you,” Belle reported, tapping Elliot’s hand.

Looking up, the Invisible Man spotted Mr. Raddatz motioning for him to come over. At the same time, the jeweler headed toward Mrs. Horne’s group, which now included a Vampire Queen, Daphne Blake from Scooby-Doo, and Skylar Cloud, the actress. Gulping at meeting the sexy actress, Elliot briefly admired her minimal Cavegirl costume and the backside of Daphne as he stood.

“Elliot, come here. I have some people I’d want you—”

The party host never finished his greeting as the two things happened. First, the sprinkler system turned on for almost seven seconds. Second, the power went out, plunging the ballroom into near-total darkness. With only a few candles still burning in their jack-o’-lanterns, the only thing heard seconds later was: “My necklace! It’s been stolen!”

“Oww!” Mercedes screamed. Or at least that's the sound Graham imagined she made through the tape, after she landed with a loud thud and oomph onto the ground. The crunch of some breaking twigs and crumpled leaves also filled the night.

Rushing over, the young man quickly cut the tape around her wrists. He left the portion over her mouth for her to remove. It was a smart call, as Mercedes howled in pain from the sticky tape being yanked off.

“Dammit, Higbee, couldn’t you lower me more slowly?”

“Sorry! I couldn’t hold up your weight…Crap,” Graham groaned, realizing he’d said the wrong thing. Thankfully, the pissed-off heiress had other concerns at the moment.

After discovering Mercedes hanging upside down from the tree, Graham didn’t know what to do. First, he wanted to find Elliot. Then, he suggested calling her friends. After considering calling the security guards for help, the bookworm finally noticed his classmate lunging her head toward the art studio.

It took Graham six frantic minutes to find a knife in the studio. Then he worried about what would happen when he cut the rope holding Mercedes up. Kind of a weak person for his age, the slightly chubby young man held on as long as he could while trying to lower Marie Antoinette to the ground slowly. His arms probably lasted twelve seconds.

“That motherfucker!” Mercedes screamed, checking her neck, wrists, and fingers. “He took everything!”

“Huh?”

“Freddie! He’s the asshole who threw a bag or something over my head,” Mercedes revealed before spotting a sack. Kicking it, she continued, “He didn’t raise me up all the way at first. Instead, I was just high enough for him to tape my wrists and then my mouth, after the bag fell off. Then, that piece of shit stole all my jewelry!”

“All of it?”

“Yes! My diamond choker, pearl necklace, brooches, bracelets, and rings. Every single item!”

“Uh, were they all real?” Graham questioned, recalling his prior comment about Mercedes being a walking crime scene because of the same jewelry.

“What do you fucking think?!” the redhead screamed. “Oh, I’m going to kill him.”

“Wait, did Freddie say anything?” Graham asked, sensing something felt off.

“What would he say?” Mercedes challenged, storming over to the art studio’s front door. “My goddamn phone is gone, too!”

“I don’t know. It’s just weird. Illig’s not an idiot. He knows better than to think he could steal all that from you without getting arrested almost immediately,” Graham pointed out, following her into the studio.

“So?!” Mercedes shot back, switching on the lights.

“It’s just that I saw…I saw a Mummy before heading this way,” Graham revealed, faltering for a moment under her glare. “He seemed larger, more stockier than Freddie.”

“What the hell are you babbling about?” Mercedes questioned, lifting a phone off its wall receiver. Immediately, she tapped the switch several times in anger. “Great. The phone’s dead.”

“Dead? Oh, shit. What if that was the Seeper impersonating Freddie, and they’re making their move?” Graham speculated.