“Ta-da,” said Julian.
It occurred to Ellery that he had never visited Great-great-great-aunt Eudora’s or any of his family’s graves. He did not even know where the Pages were buried. In fact, for all he knew, the early Pages might be scattered somewhere amid the tombstones of Seal Point.
“You can see right down into the cove from here.” Julian pointed to the starlit waves foaming on the beach far below. “The Blood Red Rose used to anchor there, where no one could see her.”
“Wouldn’t the water be too shallow?”
“You’d think so, but I guess there’s a way in, if you know it.”
“Or maybe that’s just a legend,” Ellery said.
Julian shrugged, turned back to study the moonlit structure. “What do you think of it?”
“It’s…impressive.”
“My father’s buried here.”
“Oh, I thought…” Actually, what had he thought? He had assumed Julian’s father and mother were divorced.
“I don’t really remember him. He was a lot older than my mother. And he was sick.”
“How old were you when he passed?”
“Four,” Julian said.
This was an unexpected bond between them. “I was seven when my dad died,” Ellery said. “I remember him, but not as well as I’d like to.”
Julian stared at him. “Did your mother remarry?”
“Yes. George, my stepdad, has been…well, I love him. He is my dad.”
“You’re lucky.”
Thinking of Brett Ainsley, Ellery had to agree.
“So?”
Ellery repeated cautiously, “So?”
“Want to peek inside?”
“Not really,” Ellery said honestly.
Julian laughed. “You made all those scary movies, and you don’t want to look inside a real live crypt?”
“Mausoleum,” Ellery corrected. “Crypts are the underground vault part.”
Julian stared. “That’s a weird thing to know.”
Ellery shrugged. “Like you said, I’ve been in a lot of scary movies.”
“True. Come on. You’ll like this. The statues are covered in gold leaf, and the ceiling is painted with ships and sea monsters. It’s really cool.”
Ellery opened his mouth to decline the pleasures of exploring the family crypt—er, mausoleum—but Julian went up the steps to the stone door.
“If you twist the head of the mermaid on the ship’s figurehead, it releases the spring…” He stepped back as the heavy door slid silently open.
“Cool, right?”
“That’s pretty cool,” Ellery agreed. Figuratively and literally. The building seemed to exhale in a gasp of chilly, grave-scented air.
Julian smiled back at him. “No electric lights, but there are oil lamps.”
“I hope you’re kidding.”
“I brought a lighter. And we have the flashlight.” Julian shone the beam briefly around the inky interior. The beam seemed to catch the glitter of eyes and then move on.
“What was that?” Ellery said.
“Eleanor.” Julian stepped inside the mausoleum. “The first Mrs. Captain Blood. Her statue, I mean.” His voice faded.
The hair rose on the back of Ellery’s neck in an instant atavistic response. He did not want to step inside that building. Elliot Parker had not survived six gruesome installments of Happy Halloween! You’re Dead by accident.
“Hey, you know what? I don’t think this is a good idea.”
“Are you afraid?” Julian was laughing as he turned. “Are you afraid of ghosts?”
“Am I afraid to go exploring a haunted pirate crypt in an old graveyard at midnight? Is that a serious question?”
“It’s not a crypt, remember? It’s a—” Julian seemed to tumble and then stagger forward, losing his balance. “What the—” he began in a strange tone, and then his voice died away.
“Julian?” Ellery sprang to the threshold, peering into the darkness. “Are you okay?”
Silence.
“Julian?”
No. Not silence. He could hear Julian breathing—breathing strangely, heavily.
“Not funny, Julian,” Ellery snapped. His eyes strained in the pitchy interior, trying to discern Julian’s crouched figure from the statues ringing the center of the room.
Julian had dropped his flashlight when he’d tripped. Ellery saw movement near the wall and the flashlight switched on, illuminating a tiled mosaic floor and the base of a pedestal.
“Are you all right?” They had both done a fair bit of drinking that evening, but Ellery didn’t suspect Julian of being drunk so much as being a jerk. He’d had experience with people who thought that because Ellery had been the star of a successful horror movie franchise, it was hysterical to try and scare the wits out of him.
“Yes. I thought I felt something…” Julian’s voice quavered.
The white beam of the flashlight rolled slowly around the floor of the mausoleum, picking out dried leaves, a pistol, and eyes. Not painted. Not jeweled. Human. Dead, staring human eyes in a dead, waxy human face.
“Jesus Christ!” Julian shot out of the darkness and into Ellery’s arms. “It’s Brett,” he babbled, clutching Ellery. “He’s dead.”
Chapter Nine
Ellery sucked in a sharp breath.
This was not the first dead body he’d encountered. It was not even the first dead body in pirate’s costume he’d found. That didn’t make it any better.
In some ways, it made it worse. As bad habits went, this was one he really didn’t want to develop.
He fumbled for the flashlight Julian still held, and pointed it in the direction of the body. Brett Ainsley stared sightlessly back at him.
“Oh my God.”
How? Why? Okay, why was probably a dumb question. But how? Just a few minutes earlier they’d seen Brett being escorted outside. How had he wound up a corpse in a closed crypt—er, mausoleum—half a mile away. Ellery’s thoughts were a confused jumble. He felt shocked and a little sick, the image of the dead man seeming to burn itself onto the retina of his memory.
Julian freed himself, lurched forward again, blocking Ellery’s view for a moment. He whispered, “He killed himself…” He bent to retrieve the pistol.
“Don’t touch it!” Ellery warned.
But Julian had already picked up the pistol. He stared at it, stared stupidly at Ellery, and then dropped the pistol from nerveless fingers. It clanged on the tile floor.
“Fingerprints,” he said dully. “I forgot.”
“You forgot?” Ellery repeated in disbelief.
Forgot? How the heck could Julian—a professed mystery buff—forget about fingerprints?
“I didn’t think.” Julian looked around the gloomy chamber as though searching for an answer. “I don’t understand…”
Ellery stepped back from the entrance of the mausoleum and felt for his phone in the cavernous pocket of his velvet frock coat. At the same time, he was shouting, “Jack? Jack, can you hear me?” There was no reason to believe Jack was still within earshot. It was just…instinct. Or possibly wishful thinking. “Jack, we’ve got a situation here.”