Peril by Ponytail (A Bad Hair Day Mystery) by Nancy J. Cohen Page A
Authors: Nancy J. Cohen
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heard?
Downstairs, they moved on to a combination bar and gambling den. Here were dressing rooms for the performers, a bedroom, and a lavatory. Marla smelled perfume as she peered into the bedroom that retained its old furnishings. A mannequin lay on the bed, lending a note of authenticity with its period dress.
“Why is the place supposed to be haunted?” she said. “Did someone die here?”
A movement in her peripheral vision made her shoot a second glance at the bedroom. The hairs on her nape elevated. Where before she’d seen a figure, now the bed was empty.
She swallowed with unease but had enough presence of mind to snap pictures. Her imagination must be running wild.
Raymond regarded her and stroked his jaw. “Well now, there’s the tale about the two women who liked the same man, gambler Billy McLean. One evening, his girlfriend pulled a knife on the hussy chiseling in on her guy. Delilah died right here over a gaming table. Then we have the man who was shot to death in his box seat. Some folks claim they’ve seen his ghost still sitting there. Another guy committed suicide after losing his fortune at cards.”
“What’s in that crawl space underneath the stage?” Dalton indicated an opening that led off into the dark.
“Old furniture and other items were discarded there and left behind. We’ll go through them eventually to see if any of it can be restored. Come, let’s go back upstairs.”
Marla accompanied them, eager to leave the premises. While the history fascinated her, this place creeped her out. She still wondered about that figure on the bed.
Raymond halted in the middle of the main floor facing the stage. “I’ve had a hard time getting the workers to come in here. They’ve reported hearing footsteps, finding items moved from one spot to another, their work being undone. They’ll nail a section one day, and when they return, the nails are popped out. They might believe spirits are to blame, but I know better.”
“What are their beliefs about the afterlife?” Marla asked, curious. She’d heard of the Day of the Dead where Mexicans revered their ancestors, but did they believe in actual ghosts?
“In the old days, people believed they were partners of the gods, chosen to nourish them. The energy residing in their hearts and blood, the
teyolia
or soul, sustained these deities. This is why the Aztecs held human sacrifices, to feed the gods the energy they needed to survive. After death, a person’s
teyolia
fled to the world of the dead, known as the sky of the sun.”
“So they don’t believe in heaven or hell?” Living in Florida, Marla knew more about the Cuban culture, but even then her knowledge was pitifully inadequate.
“Not in the sense that we do. Souls exist after death, waiting for the one day each year when they can return home to be with their loved ones,” Raymond explained. “Then there’s La Catrina, a goddess of death. She’s represented in Day of the Dead figures that look like female skeletons dressed in finery. People buy them as sculptures made from native materials. I don’t encourage these practices among my crew. Superstition doesn’t serve any useful purpose.”
“So do the workmen believe this goddess called to the man who disappeared? He saw her apparition on the hill and went for a look?”
“That’s correct. They think La Catrina summoned him to glory. I took a look around there myself and came up empty. These ghost stories are good for publicity, but they’re not real.”
“The only thing we have to fear is other people, not spirits.” Dalton’s statement put them firmly back on the ground.
Marla glanced up as a shadow flickered in her peripheral vision. Was someone in the rafters?
A rattling noise sounded right before the chandelier descended from above.
C HAPTER F OUR
----
Dalton flung her to the ground and shielded her with his body as the chandelier crashed to the floor with a huge clang and the sound of shattering glass.
Downstairs, they moved on to a combination bar and gambling den. Here were dressing rooms for the performers, a bedroom, and a lavatory. Marla smelled perfume as she peered into the bedroom that retained its old furnishings. A mannequin lay on the bed, lending a note of authenticity with its period dress.
“Why is the place supposed to be haunted?” she said. “Did someone die here?”
A movement in her peripheral vision made her shoot a second glance at the bedroom. The hairs on her nape elevated. Where before she’d seen a figure, now the bed was empty.
She swallowed with unease but had enough presence of mind to snap pictures. Her imagination must be running wild.
Raymond regarded her and stroked his jaw. “Well now, there’s the tale about the two women who liked the same man, gambler Billy McLean. One evening, his girlfriend pulled a knife on the hussy chiseling in on her guy. Delilah died right here over a gaming table. Then we have the man who was shot to death in his box seat. Some folks claim they’ve seen his ghost still sitting there. Another guy committed suicide after losing his fortune at cards.”
“What’s in that crawl space underneath the stage?” Dalton indicated an opening that led off into the dark.
“Old furniture and other items were discarded there and left behind. We’ll go through them eventually to see if any of it can be restored. Come, let’s go back upstairs.”
Marla accompanied them, eager to leave the premises. While the history fascinated her, this place creeped her out. She still wondered about that figure on the bed.
Raymond halted in the middle of the main floor facing the stage. “I’ve had a hard time getting the workers to come in here. They’ve reported hearing footsteps, finding items moved from one spot to another, their work being undone. They’ll nail a section one day, and when they return, the nails are popped out. They might believe spirits are to blame, but I know better.”
“What are their beliefs about the afterlife?” Marla asked, curious. She’d heard of the Day of the Dead where Mexicans revered their ancestors, but did they believe in actual ghosts?
“In the old days, people believed they were partners of the gods, chosen to nourish them. The energy residing in their hearts and blood, the
teyolia
or soul, sustained these deities. This is why the Aztecs held human sacrifices, to feed the gods the energy they needed to survive. After death, a person’s
teyolia
fled to the world of the dead, known as the sky of the sun.”
“So they don’t believe in heaven or hell?” Living in Florida, Marla knew more about the Cuban culture, but even then her knowledge was pitifully inadequate.
“Not in the sense that we do. Souls exist after death, waiting for the one day each year when they can return home to be with their loved ones,” Raymond explained. “Then there’s La Catrina, a goddess of death. She’s represented in Day of the Dead figures that look like female skeletons dressed in finery. People buy them as sculptures made from native materials. I don’t encourage these practices among my crew. Superstition doesn’t serve any useful purpose.”
“So do the workmen believe this goddess called to the man who disappeared? He saw her apparition on the hill and went for a look?”
“That’s correct. They think La Catrina summoned him to glory. I took a look around there myself and came up empty. These ghost stories are good for publicity, but they’re not real.”
“The only thing we have to fear is other people, not spirits.” Dalton’s statement put them firmly back on the ground.
Marla glanced up as a shadow flickered in her peripheral vision. Was someone in the rafters?
A rattling noise sounded right before the chandelier descended from above.
C HAPTER F OUR
----
Dalton flung her to the ground and shielded her with his body as the chandelier crashed to the floor with a huge clang and the sound of shattering glass.
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