Actually, I thought it was a pretty neat idea. But then, I guess I've always been kind of strange. There'd been many times over the past few years when I'd been able to easily envision Kyle or Theresa turning into mass murderers, and it would probably be fun to see this captured on video. Yet somehow I just couldn't see Helen finding the idea to her liking. And it was probably expensive as hell.
Anyway, I wasn't here as a customer, I was here to gather information. "Okay, time to fess up," I said. "I didn't get your card from a party. I'm really a journalist. Have you heard of themagazineDearly Demented? "
Rachel shook her head. This wasgood, because I'd made up the magazine and would have hated to be quizzed on the contents had it turned out to be a real one.
"That's not surprising, since our premiere issue is still four months away. Our target audience is comprised of those people who are interested in the darker side of life, but in a fun way, of course. And I think a feature article on Ghoulish Delights would fit exactly with what my editor is looking for."
"Really?Who's your editor?"
I gestured to Roger."Him. He doesn't quite trust me out on my own yet."
It would have been more believable to say Roger was my photographer, but that kind of lie generally works better when one is in possession of a camera.
"We've actually had a few stories done on us," Rachel remarked. "Mostly just local newspapers, though channel eight sent a camera crew out last Halloween and did a short feature. It was sort of slanted toward calling us a bunch of sick lunatics, but we got a couple of gigs out of it."
"Well, I can assure you thatifDearly Demented called you a bunch of sick freaks, it would be a wholehearted compliment."
Rachel smiled. "We'd be honored to have you do a story on our little outfit. Would you like a tour now, or would you like to set another appointment?"
"What would work best for me is if I could just talk to eachperson, find out exactly what it is they do for Ghoulish Delights. For example, what exactly do you do?"
"At the moment I'm doing my job and Michael's...that's Michael Ashcraft, our director...so I'd be absolutely overwhelmed if business weren't slow right now. Basically, I'm the producer, so I'm responsible for overseeing, well, everything. I do most of the interaction with thecustomer, from the interesting and informative sales pitch you just heard to making sure they're happy with the condition of their home afterward. And I'm responsible for all the financial aspects of the business, making sure we run things as cheaply as possible so we don't price ourselves out of reach."
"What does something like this cost?" Roger asked.
"The price varies substantially based on what options the customer requests, sort of like a new car."
"How much for a base model?"
Rachel smiled again. "To be completely honest, we prefer to wait until a customer is completely enraptured before springing the cost on the poor person."
"That bad, huh?"
"Well...it's more expensive than taking the family out to play miniature golf."
I nodded my understanding. It suddenly occurred to me that this whole reporter charade would work better if I actually had a small notebook or a tape recorder. I considered making a comment like "So, Roger, is theol ' photographic memory storing everything all right?" but that would have been stupid. I probably should have planned a cover story before driving over here. The idea that I really suck as a detective crossed my mind.
"So was this whole thing your idea?" I asked.
"No, it was Mike's. We were friends all through college, and we'd rent maybe six or seven horror movies every weekend. We'd just sit in his dorm room andtoxify our brains watching these things. We sort of went our separate ways after he graduated, partially because his girlfriend, now his wife, was jealous of all the time we spent together...not that you need to write anything about that." She suddenly looked worried. "You're not going to use that quote, are you?"
"Not if you don't want me to," I assured her.
"Oh, good.It sort of slipped out. Anyway, I stayed in Chamber and was working full time as a trainer at the gym, and Mike moved from place to place trying and failing to carve out a career as a filmmaker. We met up again two years ago just by coincidence. Some friends came from out of town and wanted to do the theme park thing, so I took them to Universal Studios, and there Mike was, working as a photographer at the King Kong ride. We met up later that night and he told me about this whole idea for making custom-made horror movies. Oh, by the way, can I get you some coffee?"
"No, I'm fine," I said.
"I just now thought of that. I'd hate you to start your article with `Ghoulish Delights is run by Rachel Mallory, a woman who likes to talk and talk and talk and talk without so much as having the courtesy to provide refreshments.'"
"No, really, I'm okay. Roger's fine, too. Please continue."
"Basically, I thought it sounded like a lot of fun, though I wasn't sure if it was something we could actually make money at. Well, we couldn't get a bank loan to save our lives, so finally Mike swallowed his pride, called up his rich brother, and begged for the start-up money. He got it, we rented this place, and then he started calling people he knew wouldn't demand a regular paycheck. Pretty soon we had Carl, Farley, Linda, and Dominick, and we were set."
"And you're all making a living at this now?"
"Not a great one, but we do okay. To be completely honest, we don't make all of our money from Ghoulish Delights. We have to film the occasional wedding or barmitzva , but overall we're not starving to death."
"What does Mike's wife think of Ghoulish Delights?"
Rachel shrugged. "I don't see her much. Every once in a while she'll come in here and turn up her nose at one of Farley's creatures, but that's about it."
"But she'd rather he take some steady-paying job, right?"
"Of course.I'm sure she makes more with her waitress job than he does here. But then, she's sort of a—" Rachel held her hands out in front of her chest, miming substantial breasts, "—impressive woman, so good tips probably aren't hard to come by."
I began to feel a bit uncomfortable. Rachel certainly felt no love for Jennifer Ashcraft. She didn't seem anything like the murderous type, but then again, John WayneGacy performed at children's parties as Pogo the Clown, yet still murdered thirty-three people. Of course, clowns can be pretty scary.
Michael could have been having an affair with Rachel, and it could have turned ugly. I wasn't sure what kind of ugly end to an affair might result in Michael being buried alive holding a revolver, but it was possible. Yet if Rachel was the killer, would she be sitting here confessing that she didn't like Jennifer? And she'd been genuinely friendly, not giving any indication that she might have tied me up last night and pressed a bloody knife against my neck.
No, it couldn't be Rachel.
Probably.
"Is it all right if I talk to the others now?" I asked.
"No problem. Let's go on back."
Chapter 7
THE MAIN PART of the house was a large room, maybe forty by sixtyfeet, that was simply jam-packed with neat stuff. One wall was entirely overtaken by a rack of costumes. Above the rack was a shelf upon which rested a long line of Halloween masks, everything from Frankenstein to an undead boy scout to Richard Simmons. Another wall display contained dozens of (I assume) fake weapons: axes, knives, spears, chainsaws, etc. The room was also loaded with camera equipment, videotapes,buckets of paint, blueprints, storyboard paintings, and one large table in the center. There was also a small doorway, minus an actual door, which led somewhere unknown. Carl, Dominick, and Linda were all huddled around the table, playingwithStar Wars action figures, while Farley added some white paint to a piece of rubber.