Chapter 6: Up, Up, and Away

“Elliot Keever? The guy Uphoff dumped before prom for Jon Velucci? It can’t be.”

Graham heard Elliot's name while he watched people high-five or fist-bump Batgirl after she reappeared. Apparently, nobody cared that she'd set off those smoke bombs inside the guest house; if anything, it made her a living legend with numerous party-goers. Unfamiliar with the party scene, the bookworm wondered whether events like this happened often. Clearly, the smoke detectors in the guest house had been disconnected, as they didn't go off.

Maybe high school party films with pure chaos are not overblown. I can see Percy accidentally setting a house on fire—the same with several others I've known since grade school.

Additionally, the talk about the incident died out when Mercedes re-arrived to play hostess to her guests. Graham assumed that the high-strung heiress had been kept in the dark about the smoke. It had cleared out rather rapidly, as had Tucker and his crew. The watchful young man had last spotted him near the Disney Princesses when Elliot entered the mansion.

Tucker could be a wildcard in this investigation, not from the standpoint of helping a thief, but by interfering with Keever or me. He is a nasty asshole.

“Yeah, Elliot,” a sexy pirate wench replied.

“I don’t believe it,” Mrs. Claus repeated.

“Isn’t that the guy with the short brown hair in our history class?” a third girl asked the pirate wench. Dressed in a red Playboy Bunny costume, her top featured a matching mask that covered most of her face above her mouth. “The one who carts Kayla to school every morning?”

Oh, crap! Has the info I accidentally revealed spread already? Graham asked himself, attempting to hide behind Iron Man, who walked stiffly away. With the fruit punch tasting more bitter lately, he only sipped to fit in. Glancing around, Graham saw several classmates say hello to the Armored Avenger, including Batgirl, but the red-and-gold superhero barely acknowledged them. Who was in there again?

Actually, Graham couldn't identify the trio's faces, as the pirate wench's bandana and eyepatch, along with Mrs. Claus's hat, covered parts of their faces. Despite the lack of pockets, the crime hobbyist regretted not carrying his phone with the two guest lists and what each person wore. Still, he wondered and worried more about the sudden interest in Elliot. Did I miss something?

“Oh, I totally believe it,” Reese called over. Standing with Simone, the two best friends took a few steps over to speak more easily to their classmate while maintaining enough distance to avoid joining their huddle. “I feel it all the time.”

“Huh?” Pirate Wench sounded.

“You fucked Keever?” Red Bunny exclaimed, appearing startled.

What? Graham screamed internally as he nearly dropped his cup.

“Dammit, Malina, wake up to your surroundings for once. I often sit on Elliot’s lap to tease him. The guy blushes so much, it’s adorable,” Reese admitted, chuckling. “How come you think I do it so often? Because I feel that python he’s packing. Shit, I bet it turns into a lead pipe when I get up and walk away while shaking my terrific ass at him.”

“No, no way. You’re always full of shit, Reese,” Mrs. Claus responded, glancing across the deck at Santa with a frown.

“Wait, why would Haylee dump him if he’s as big as you claim?” Red Bunny challenged.

“Well, duh! First off, Haylee wanted a more popular guy to escort her to prom, and she saw her chance when Velucci came free after cheating,” Reese proclaimed, holding up one, then two fingers. “Second, she’s an attention-starved fool.”’

“I’m still not buying,” Mrs. Claus stated.

“Ask Simone,” Reese countered.

“You’ve felt him?” Pirate Wench asked, with her jaw dropping down this time.

Is this what girls talk about in private? It feels so raunchy, Graham wondered with wide eyes.

“Don’t look at me,” the soccer star responded. “I only know because she’s been telling me for over a year.”

“It’s not like I knew from the start. I only kept sitting on his lap because Uptight Ass got so jealous about it while they dated,” Reese added.

“You guys talking about Keever?” Psylocke asked, walking over. Seeing their nods, Pomona smirked. “Whatever you heard, it’s likely true. I found it big and tasty.”

The trio gasped in shock while Reese laughed. Simone looked as uncomfortable as Graham felt. The dark-skinned soccer star slowly began to inch away from the group.

“Who wants the odds that big-talker Haylee never even took that dick on?” the hyper swimmer challenged before laughing uproariously.

Beyond uncomfortable with the discussion’s subject matter, Graham rapidly walked thirty feet away before stopping. While this sounds great for Elliot’s reputation, it’s clearly not relevant to the potential theft. I'd better move along.

“She’s fine. My whip barely cut her,” Ringmistress insisted.

“She doesn’t sound fine, Jackie,” Dorothy from The Wizard of Oz told the cheer captain. “Most of the JV squad is scared to be near you now.”

“That’s a positive, if you ask me,” Addison remarked. “Now, they will respect her authority more, Terra.”

“That’s an excellent point. Thank you,” the captain told the school editor with a smirk.

“Not if Mercedes throws one of her meltdowns. You know how she gets about her parties, and Bree might make a fuss. What if she starts to enforce her co-captain responsibilities more–”

“Never happening,” Jacqueline interrupted. “Brielle doesn’t have the attention span.”

“Two of the girls went to find Kayla,” Terra finished.

“Aw, hell!” the platinum blonde circus master screeched. “I don’t need them racing off to find Mommy. Kay will guilt-trip me over this for weeks.”

"Months," Addison warned.

“Where the hell is Haylee? She needs to get those girls away from Deam before they can spill the beans,” Jacqueline responded.

“Um, I thought you had her looking into why Mercedes invited Keever at the last minute?” Terra reminded.

“Addison can do that. Haylee is needed for cheer business. She can stop stalking Corbin and assist me,” Jacqueline declared.

“Well, Corbin was just over here, and I didn’t see Uphoff,” Addison revealed.

Ah, right. Corbin Barron is dressed as Iron Man, and Haylee is interested in him. I did hear that before. Hmm, perhaps she angered him. Corbin might not be as needy for attention as Percy, yet he does like to be chatty. Iron Man didn’t speak more than a few curt words.

Scanning the crowd again, the crime hobbyist’s heart skipped a beat with concern. Spinning in a circle before moving around to peer past bodies, Graham eventually admitted to himself that Batgirl had vanished again. Taking a deep breath, he slid over to stand next to a football player he’d tutored in the past in history class.

“Excuse me. Did you see where Batgirl went?”

“Krammee! I knuish Krammee shoed ip! Cuud to see ya, tro!” the drunk leprechaun shouted in an odd foreign language.

“Higgim! Whut’s uppening?” the Flash asked. “Wit. Yoish a smert kid. Whush sang Kurlifarnia Gurlz tong?”

“California Girls?” Graham repeated after his brain took several additional seconds to decipher the gibberish.

“Yeesh!” Leprechaun screamed. “Buttgurl hot Kurlifickin…Gurl!”

“Um, it depends. I believe several singers covered the original or performed a similar song on that topic. Wait, are you saying that Batgirl spoke with a California accent?” Graham queried.

“Tudd ya Krammee smert,” Leprechaun told several equally drunk teammates.

“Smucking hut seech gurl!” Flash agreed.

Nodding his thanks, the bookworm took the final comment to mean Batgirl was an attractive beach girl. If he understood correctly, that meant that the redhead had displayed three vastly different accents while roaming the party. Most unusual. With so little info, she should be at the top of our potential suspect list.

Graham briefly considered either finding Elliot or grabbing his phone from the mansion’s cloakroom. Then, he decided to wait. It was better to let his unofficial partner monitor the adult party until they switched. At that time, he could inform Keever of his additional suspicions.

While the crime hobbyist debated his next move, the often-picked-on bookworm sensed a feeling that he hated: Someone was watching him.

With a sly survey of his surroundings, Graham took less than thirty seconds to spot his watcher. A notorious girl in a pink polka-dot, corset-style dress, a pink bonnet, and a blue shepherd’s crook in her hand. The slim, short girl with neck-length black hair pulled her crook back when she realized Graham sensed her watching him.

Nellie Lampley, the school gossip.

Rolling his eyes, Graham initially dismissed Nellie’s interest. Walking away, he halted. Wait, Nellie might be obnoxious and frightening, but she usually knows everything. Turning around, the socially shy teen’s direct approach made the gossip’s green eyes widen in rare surprise.

---

Elliot snuck to the rear stairs, then slipped into the nearby half-bath. His upset wife had cornered Mr. Raddatz before he could deal with his guest’s request. Wilton vanished automatically, but Elliot suspected he waited close by, out of sight. The seventy-ish-old man had the air of old-school competence when it came to performing his duties. I can only imagine what Mercedes puts the poor guy through.

A hushed eight-minute argument followed, punctuated by several pauses as people entered or exited the mansion. Although he couldn't overhear most of the conversation, Elliot's eavesdropping picked up comments about some guests being upset by the increased security presence and a few other recurring troublemakers. The latter subject prompted Malachi to point out that they were his wife's friends. Petra hadn't responded well to that point. After proclaiming them his friends as well, she stomped off, reminding Elliot of her daughter for the first time.

Then, despite telling himself to wait a full ten seconds, Elliot began to follow Mr. Raddatz and the butler down the long hallway at the six-second mark. As if making up time, the two men speed-walked into the billiards room through the north entrance. Glancing at the groups of guests in the sitting room and conservatory, Elliot slipped through the partially open door to survey the game room.

Malachi walked straight to the bar in the room's northwest corner, where he immediately entered a heated discussion with a Roman Gladiator. A devil lingered nearby, listening to each man's point. Elliot recognized the Devil as Yanis Eike from his earlier tour. A quick glance found his mistress/escort, Xelina, aka Angel, slipping a cocktail while chatting with a woman dressed in some type of Roman costume. Elliot couldn't tell if she had dressed as an empress, a goddess, or a concubine. No matter what, the brunette didn't have much fabric covering her skin, particularly the gap down the middle of her ample cleavage.

“Dammit, Brask, I can’t do that,” Malachi hissed.

“Don’t act like a squeamish worrywart, Raddatz. It’s a terrible look,” the Gladiator declared. The slight headshake lent the statement an air of finality.

“It’s a credible threat,” the jewelry company owner insisted.

“I get actual death threats all the time. It doesn’t crimp my lifestyle. Now turn off the cameras in the room…please,” Brask directed.

Elliot found the man’s steely arrogance disconcerting. His demeanor held a looming danger behind a non-jovial smile. Within seconds, the young man knew Brask wasn’t someone to be taken lightly. Could he be seeking revenge against Mr. Raddatz?

“Konstantin Brask always gets his way,” a voice whispered near Elliot in the southwest corner.

“Usually because of his reputation,” a second voice replied before a third one warned them to keep it down.

Focusing on the voices, Elliot found that three men and one woman were already seated at the seven-person poker table. The curious young man quickly noted each person. A stocky Frankenstein’s Monster sat across from the dealer position, with a Jester to his left. A helmet-less Black Knight sat two chairs over to the monster’s right. The sweaty, white-haired man wiped his brow while he complained about his boiling costume and the helmet he couldn’t see through.

Indiana Jones and Green Hornet stood nearby chatting, if not flirting, with the beautiful dealer. Jasmine from the Disney Princess group and Elliot recognized each other at the same time. The small, friendly wave from the gorgeous dark-haired woman did the one thing Elliot hoped to avoid; it made nearly everyone in the room notice him.

“Ah, another buy-in? And a masked one at that. How interesting,” Konstantin Brask remarked.

“No, he’s not a player.”

Elliot realized Brask had referred to him only after Malachi’s reply. Looking over, he saw Wilton watching him while his employer attempted to draw the Gladiator’s attention away from the Invisible Man.

“Another planted security guard, Raddatz? How tacky,” Brask commented.

“No, he’s a friend of my daughter’s whom I’m mentoring. Pay him no attention,” Malachi said.

“A friend of your lovely daughter’s, and he’s caught your eye? Call me intrigued.”

Dracula whisked into the room, saving Elliot from further attention. Call that a sweaty, disheveled Dracula, whose slightly too-tight costume strained at the buttons and seams. The amateur investigator thought the man looked familiar under his smeared white face paint. Mercedes’s father confirmed his guess within seconds.

“Hold on, Smith. Let me finish here,” Mal said.

Elliot caught the tiniest nod toward Wilton. It appeared that Brask also noticed. The poker organizer spoke once the butler moved over toward the company accountant.

“Have you come to try your luck, Stithers?”

“I’d like to,” the disheveled Dracula admitted, earning a frown from his boss and friend.

“I had planned to limit the game to six players, yet it seems like we have eight candidates,” Brask said. His gesture at the table informed Elliot why he’d planned for only six players: the table could hold only six plus the dealer. “Perhaps we can squeeze an extra table together or we—”

“That won’t be necessary. Smith won’t be playing,” Mal declared, causing his employee to argue. “That’s my final decision. It’s my party.”

“Very well,” Dracula responded, shoulders sagging.

“Oh, my. It appears we’ve encountered a family squabble, my dear,” the Gladiator noted to his date. “You do refer to your employees as family, don’t you, Malachi? Or at least the male ones. I can imagine it might be an awkward reference to all the young beauties who take dictation in your office.”

“I’m not a degenerate like you, Kon,” Mal shot back, causing the other potential players to hold their breath. Even the Roman Concubine, as Elliot decided to label her, blanched at the insult and its possible consequence.

“But I suspect Mr. Stithers might be that type of gambler,” Brask speculated after holding Mal’s gaze for a long, hard stare.

The accountant in question seemed to twitch at the assumption.

“Not at all. I’m merely keeping Smith out of the game to give everyone a fair chance,” the Roman Emperor chuckled, nodding at Dracula. “My man is a numbers genius. He can’t help but count the cards, even if he doesn’t want to.”

“I see,” the Gladiator replied. “Now, if you don’t mind, I’d like my request fulfilled so that we can begin.”

“I’m not turning off the cameras in this room.”

“I don’t want anyone cheating, Mal,” Brask shot back, glancing at a pair of tiny cameras that Elliot hadn’t noticed until now. Then, the muscular, blond-haired Scandinavian god laughed. “Lock us in if it will make you feel safe.”

“You know, that sounds like an excellent idea. I’ll leave a guard inside with you. He’ll be behind the bar, Kon,” Malachi reassured swiftly. “He won’t be a prying eye, but he can serve drinks and let the losers out when the time comes.”

“That won’t be necessary, Mal. Xelina can serve as our hostess,” Yanis, the Devil, stated, more than offering.

Elliot’s glance in the slutty Angel’s direction found a shocked, unhappy expression. Despite Yanis acting as her patron, to put it politely, she opened her mouth to argue. However, Brask spoke first.

“Not happening, Eike. I wouldn’t put it past you to hire a mistress who has skills outside the bedroom. There will be no one extra, besides Mal’s guard. That includes my lady,” Konstantin said, moving over to kiss his date before instructing her to leave the room and behave.

Xelina took the opportunity to give the still-arguing Yanis a chaste kiss before fleeing potential imprisonment. Surprisingly, Green Hornet also announced he wouldn’t play, leaving the table with the perfect number of players. The masked vigilante admitted his wife would freak out if he disappeared from the party for so long.

“If my wife asks about my whereabouts, Tom, play up the locked-in angle, okay?” the helmet-less Black Knight asked, chuckling.

Nobody knew how Mr. Raddatz did it, since he never touched his phone. Elliot suspected Wilton had discreetly contacted someone, as a security guard appeared two minutes later. They swiftly made arrangements for the game. Stithers left the billiards room first, followed by Malachi. Wilton held out his arm for Elliot to follow before the butler shut and locked the door.

“I don’t need to worry about you. That’s why,” Mal told Smith, leaving Elliot to realize he’d walked into a disagreement.

“But, Mal, I can–”

“I said my decision is final. Trust me, Smith, it’s for your own good,” the charismatic jeweler said, slapping the other man’s shoulder. “And I don’t need the extra worry with this guy attempting to rob us.”

Stithers performed a double-take at the remark.

“How do you know it’s a man? Did you hear anything? Did Opal recall anything more?” the accountant questioned.

“Opal? Hardly. I love my aunt dearly, but she’s also a kooky woman,” Malachi admitted, glancing at Wilton. “She didn’t even realize her Opal Ornament had been stolen until she found the note. Sure, she noticed it missing, but assumed her cat took it off to play with again, which speaks–”

“Note? The thief left a note?” Stithers questioned, his mouth dropping open in shock.

“Yes, it’s how Aunt Opal found the broken window. I just received unofficial confirmation that the handwriting appears to match the letter I received. Fleeman said an expert should know for sure in a few days. It’s apparently not the highest-priority,” Mr. Raddatz commented with an annoyed expression.

“Broken window? I never heard of a broken window. I mean, I thought a thief disarmed the security or something. At least that’s how Mullen made it sound,” Stithers added.

“I’d hardly call that obsolete system much of a deterrent. My father insisted it be put in, but Opal’s too flighty to remember a complicated code. So, she had one of the most basic passcodes you can imagine,” Mal revealed. Then he finally turned to face Elliot. “Now, have you overheard everything you need?”

“Wha—Who’s this?” Stithers questioned. It might not have been his place to address his boss that way, but Malachi took it in good humor and chuckled.

“This young man is a detective my daughter hired to stop this Seeper fellow,” Mercedes’s father replied, laughing harder.

While Wilton seemingly fought back an urge to smile —if that —Stithers gaped at Elliot as if he had revealed himself to be truly invisible beneath the bandages. Taking a half-step back, the accountant opened and closed his mouth two times before he managed to get out a question on the third try.

“Mercedes hired a detective?”

“Something like that. Mr. Keever here is actually…Wait, is my daughter paying you?” Mal asked, stopping to consider the question.

“Um, I’m pretty sure she’s not,” Elliot replied, leaving out the recent angry offer to set up a threesome if he stopped the Seeper.

“Make her,” Mr. Raddatz insisted. “And if she doesn’t, the payment to you and Mr. Higbee will come out of her allowance. I’ll dock her triple the amount that you deserve for her behavior.”

Elliot nodded while Smith Stithers admitted to his confusion.

“Elliot is Evie Keever’s son. You know, the gorgeous realtor with signs all around town,” Malachi explained to his employee. “He’s also one of Mercedes’s classmates. She hired him and his partner to help with this possible thief. At first, I was against it, but after hearing from Avalon Ashmore, I’ve decided to indulge her adventure.”

“Ah, yes. Mercedes and her adventures,” Stithers acknowledged, sounding calmer.

“On the plus side, I think we’ve eliminated a few potential suspects in the billiards room,” Mal noted, nodding at the locked door.

Elliot wondered which of the poker players Mr. Raddatz meant, but Stithers seemed to agree, based on his nod.

“I think that leaves you to rejoin your friends for now,” Mercedes’s father told Elliot, trying to usher him toward the rear foyer. However, the mystery buff stopped the older man in his tracks with his comeback.

“That doesn’t mean one of those people inside the game room couldn’t have hired the thief.”

The popular town rogue paused to ponder the point while staring at the high school senior. Impressed, he nodded, then put his arm around Elliot’s shoulder.

“Good point. I think you should stick with me for a little while. I’ve got a few people I’d like you to meet. Once that’s done, I’ll also introduce you to a few lovely ladies,” Malachi added, forming a massive grin on his face. “You coming, Smith?”

“Uh, I need to use the bathroom first.”

---

“Don’t fucking test me, Pascoe!”

The threat from over by the pool house stopped Graham before he could reach Nellie. Turning left, the bookworm sighed when he saw James Bond and Austin Powers facing off. He also sighed in exasperation as his family friend shifted into an exaggerated kung fu stance. The two Fembots that flanked Percy backed away from the potential scuffle.

Checking on Nellie, Graham found that the gossiper had already moved toward the showdown between the two longtime rivals. Even if he didn’t feel obligated to Percy, the once-bullied young man could easily recall how many times Zayn Wesway mocked him as Jiggly Higgly.

“I will fuck you up, bitch,” Zayn warned again while Percy practiced a few over-the-top moves.

“With your license to kill, George?”

“George? Damn, don’t you know that I’m Bond, James Bond?” Zayn mocked, posing for the girls watching them.

“Dude, I meant George as in George Lazenby, the man usually considered the worst Bond,” Percy explained, dropping his head to palm his face in disgust. Running his hand through the shaggy brown hair, he nearly knocked off his wig before readjusting it. “Because you’re plain awful, Wesway. Where’s the style? Where’s the flair? And most vitally, where are the Bond Girls?”

“Huh?” Zayn sounded, looking around at his friends in confusion.

Although the hyper, fidgety, impulsive, and flirty senior often didn’t make sense, Graham thought he had a solid point forming. To support his argument, Percy pointed at the two sophomores behind him.

“I brought my Fembots along to add to the atmosphere of my character. It makes me look a little less ridiculous while running around to ask, “Do I make you horny, baby?” Percy continued. “They weren’t brought along for an easy fuck. First, that would be lazy. Second, they’re sophomores, so I don’t tempt myself with the easy out.”

“What…What the hell are you babbling about?” Zayn challenged.

“I mean that if I had chosen to go as 007, I would’ve brought an entourage of Bond Girls. Kayla could’ve been my Miss Moneypenny if Linus allowed it. Then, I’d have Carmen as Vesper Lynd, Isannah as Holly Goodhead, Pomona as Xenia Onatopp, Val as Honey Ryder, and, of course, Brielle as my Pussy Galore,” Percy listed.

“Hell yeah!” one guy from the assembled onlookers agreed. Others agreed with his selections, bickered over them, or criticized them as exploitative.

Whatever their views, Graham understood Percy's intent. Even Zayn appeared distracted by the fantasy images that tonight’s Austin Powers put into his head. That meant Percy would make his move soon. However, the bookworm didn’t see the first part of the strike coming.

“Oddjob, take him out!” Percy shouted, turning partially to point at Graham.

As the socially shy bookworm froze under everyone's gaze, Percy shifted into a crane-kick position from The Karate Kid. With Zayn watching the classmate he once tormented, Graham’s past savior kicked his rival, sending him flying backward.

“Take that, fake Bond! Oww!” Percy screeched. He hobbled on one leg as Zayn fell backward into the pool with a splash. “Ah, fuck! I think I pulled a hamstring or some shit.”

Swaying as he hobbled, Percy tried to raise a triumphant fist in the air, Rocky-style, while his pair of Fembots struggled to hold him up. Eventually, a few of the girls he had listed as his potential Bond Girls helped him over to a chair.

Chants of “Percy” morphed into “Austin” as the drunk party-goers found a person to cheer for a few minutes. Nearby, several guys shook their heads.

“Damn, he’s so getting laid tonight,” Karsten commented.

“Shit! I should’ve thought of that,” Bash groaned. Then he realized he hadn’t spotted many Star Wars prequel characters tonight. “I could’ve gone after a Stormtrooper or something.”

“Too bad nobody dressed up as the Kingpin,” Antonio grumbled.

“I got Quirke as Lex,” Ryle complained, tapping the S on his Superman costume. “He gets knocked over all the time. Nobody would’ve cared.”

Off in the distance,” Mercedes threw her hands out in disgust. Leave it to Pascoe and Wesway to create a scene at her party. Still, she didn’t have time to issue punishments. Mullen, the security guard her dad assigned to her, had sent a message a couple of minutes ago.

“Possible Mummy sighting. NW woods. Busy with your father. Be there ASAP.”

The northwest woods of the grounds held only Aunt Opal’s old art studio. Once a prominent part of her grand-aunt’s life several decades ago, it rarely saw a soul these days. Macon tried to use it as a clubhouse a few years earlier. But their father shot that idea down once he realized his son only cared about the nude paintings and sculptures stored inside the studio.

Three paths led to and from the art studio. Choosing the closest, Mercedes started down the middle brick walkway, ignoring how dirty the bottom of her dress might get. Although the gardeners maintained it, the uneven bricks proved deadly to Mercedes’s high heels. It forced her to take the trek at a slow, steady pace, watching the ground rather than looking ahead.

As the party’s noise and lights faded, the young heiress realized she’d forgotten how dark this section of her backyard could get. Even the moonlight didn’t shine through the canopy much this late in autumn. The darkness forced Mercedes to use her phone as a half-ass flashlight. Some music remained, but the crunch of dried leaves under her shoes made the loudest sounds as she finally reached the final bend before the art studio appeared.

Out of nowhere, something cinched around Mercedes’s ankle. Looking down, she couldn’t see anything because of her wide dress. Then Marie Antoinette found herself flying upside down into the trees, screaming.