The Trouble With Snowmen (2 page)

Chapter 2

A little before midnight, thirty-year-old Larry White walked into Apartment Four. He’d never attended a séance before. The mood of the place seemed appropriate enough. Burning candles, wine bottles, and glasses covered a round table in the back of the dark room. An old-fashioned teardrop chandelier, which hadn’t been turned on, hung above it all. Otherwise, the front part of the apartment was void any furniture.

Five people already sat at the table. Larry only recognized the host, Maximilian, who immediately jumped up.

“Is that you, Larry White?” he asked.

Larry didn’t know Maximilian that well. They’d met a year or so back at one of Larry’s book launch parties and now kept in touch online. Well, Maximilian made sure of it by following him on all his social media sites, commenting on his blog, and even sending direct messages now and again. Neal, Larry’s assistant, took care of all that stuff and had laughed and made comments about Maximilian’s latest email invitation.

But it had sparked Larry’s attention. Since his next book was based around a séance gone terribly wrong, he thought he could do some pre-research. He didn’t know when he’d ever get another invitation to a real séance.

Maximilian’s hair shone bright white, glowing in the dark room. “I’m so glad you came. This is such a surprise. My séance is going to be perfect now!”

“Thanks for inviting me.”

“You’re welcome. Come on in. I’ll introduce you.”

They crossed the room to the table where Maximilian named the other four people. He then turned to Larry. “I’m sure all of y’all know my best friend, Larry White, from his bestselling splatterpunk novels and movies
, Night of Dismemberment
and
The Jugular Bite
and, oh my gosh, so many more I can’t think of them all.”

“I’m not sure if I would call them splatterpunk,” Larry said as he shook hands with everyone, but the word had already been said, and so it got the “What is splatterpunk?” question.

Maximilian responded, “Really? Y’all don’t know what that is? Well, it’s a hell of a lot more graphic and gory than traditional horror. The good stuff, you know.” He shuddered.

Larry usually didn’t mind the label ‘splatterpunk,’ especially when the media used it because he received more attention, but tonight he wanted to stay incognito. At least no one brought out their phones to take a picture with him or asked for his autograph. He did find it interesting that no one seemed to recognize him. It might’ve been because of his current “rough draft” condition, compared to how he usually looked during public appearances and television interviews. He’d been in such a rush to get out the door, he hadn’t had time to get public ready, which would’ve meant a haircut, a shave, and a nice suit.

He’d been working on his latest book for the past six weeks, and he hadn’t shaved once. While writing rough drafts, he always wore the most comfortable clothes he could find, usually jogging pants and a T-shirt. He also wore his running shoes. When he got stuck in the middle of a scene, he was ready to take off around the block.

Larry settled into his chair, which faced the front door. He accepted a glass of red wine and met more people as they arrived. He liked the bricked multiplex with its large windows, wood floors, recessed lighting, and glass doorknobs with key locks underneath them. It definitely had atmosphere. He smiled at the thought that it was the perfect setting for his work-in-progress. The old house could’ve easily been turned into a brothel instead of apartments. A monster-infested whorehouse.

After a few minutes, Maximilian said, “Well, I was waiting on one more person, but I guess she can’t make it. So let’s begin by holding hands.”

Someone sat to Larry’s right, but no one was in the chair to his left, so he had to stretch over the empty chair to hold the next lady’s hand.

“Everyone, close your eyes and relax,” Maximilian said and then hummed.

A flash of light caused Larry to open his eyes. Through tunnel-like vision, he saw her standing in the doorway, tall and shapely, the light behind her. For a second, Larry thought Maximilian had already conjured up a spirit. He glanced at the other people, who still had closed eyes in the dark room.

The woman stepped inside, shutting the creaking door behind her.

“Mr. Chase, is that you?” Maximilian questioned.

The guests gasped, stirred, and opened their eyes.

“No,” the girl said as she walked toward them wearing a tight, short skirt and high heels. “It’s me, Haley.”

“Haley? Haley . . .” Maximilian whined, breaking the hand-holding.

Everyone else followed suit. The low murmur of excitement and humor filled the room.

“Sorry I’m late,” she slurred her words together. “I didn’t know it already started. If I would’ve known it started, I was going to disturb you . . . no, wait. That’s not right. I wasn’t. That’s right. I
wasn’t
going to disturb you.”

Maximilian waved his hand impatiently. “Okay, okay. Sit down. Hopefully the atmosphere isn’t tainted.”

Haley sat in the only available seat, next to Larry. “I said I’m sorry.”

“It’s not always about you, princess,” Maximilian sang.

As Haley set a little sparkly purse down on the table, she curled up her lip and mimicked Maximilian. Then she took a wineglass and poured white wine to the top of the glass and took a sip, glancing at the lady to her left and then to Larry on her right. She set her glass down while still staring at him, wide-eyed. Her face began to distort. She puckered her lips and wiggled her eyebrows.

When she pushed out her boobs, Larry assumed she’d meant the entire display to be sexy. He smiled and nodded, not wanting to be rude.

Maximilian said, “Back to séancing.”

Larry put his attention on the host who held out his hands for the people beside him, and then he reluctantly held out his hand for Haley.

She snatched it, but instead of holding it lightly, she interlaced her fingers in his.

Larry glanced at the person on the other side of Haley to see if this was how this chick held hands, only to find that she held the woman’s hand in the normal, stranger way.

“Everyone close your eyes and relax.” Maximilian hummed. After a few seconds, he said, “Mr. Chase, are you with us tonight? Don’t be afraid to show yourself. We want to help you cross over to the other side.”

“Remind him about the four grand he owes me,” a woman said from somewhere across the table.

“Regina,” Maximilian scolded, “please, let me handle this.” He cleared his throat. “Mr. Chase, you remember me, right? It’s Maximilian, and you remember Regina. She can be a bitch when it comes to rent money, but I’m sure if you cross over and allow her to rent this apartment, she’ll let the four grand go. Right Regina? Regina!”

“Since you put it so sweetly,” she mumbled.

Larry had dropped everything in order to attend tonight. He had wanted to make sure he would be able to convey an authentic séance, which in turn would make his book scary and gritty. This situation, however, wasn’t going to help unless he changed his horror novel into a comedy.

He jumped after he felt hot breath on his cheek and then saw Haley had scooted her chair right next to him.

“Whatcha doing later?” she whispered.

“Excuse me?” He turned toward her.

“I don’t mean to be forward, but you . . . are . . . breathtaking.”

Larry touched his beard. “Really?”

“Can I make you breakfast?”

“I, um, don’t know what to say to that.”

“No, talking!” Maximilian shouted.

Larry cleared his throat and tried to move a little to his right, the chair making a loud screeching sound. “Sorry, Max.”

“My name is not Max!” he spat. “If my parents had wanted a common name like Max, they wouldn’t have bothered adding the ‘imilian.’ It has flair, like me. It’s . . . you know what, never mind. Let’s just try to calm down and be quiet so that Mr. Chase can communicate with us.”

“Don’t call him Max,” Haley sang.

“Ask Mr. Chase if he stashed any cash in that crap upstairs,” Regina said. “You would not believe all the stuff we found in this apartment.”

Someone next to her asked, “Is that so? Like what?”

Everyone had begun to talk now, first in a low whispers, but soon in normal conversational voices. Maximilian, even in the low-lit room, seemed upset. His mouth was tight and his eyebrows were scrunched together. Sure enough, he stood up, and with a dramatic sweep of his arms said, “This is not working. I quit. Jerry, turn on the lights.”

A big guy in a checkered shirt stood up and went over to the light switch. Everyone covered their eyes and blinked as the lights of the chandelier brightened.

Larry took this chance to check out Haley. She wore a leopard print button-up shirt, with not many buttons buttoned. Her long, red hair had been curled and didn’t seem to move much when she did. She had on a thick coat of makeup, black smeared down one of her eyes like it had gotten rubbed or wet.

Now that he thought about it, she actually reminded him of one of his characters, Lexi Dylan, who gets killed off—the prostitute.

“I’m sorry,” Maximilian said. He was already at the front door. “This is not happening tonight. See yourselves out.”

“Wait,” Regina said, following him out the door. “I’m sorry—”

Everyone else seemed confused as they finished drinks and talked amongst themselves.

Larry felt let down by the evening. He’d traveled way across town to get here, had to pack a bag, his computer, and his thoughts. He calculated that he had lost a day’s worth of writing and during the rough draft stage that could be devastating. He would have to unpack his laptop tonight, stay up all night, and try not to lose any more momentum.

“Hey you.” Haley squinted. “Do you want to get out of here?” She gulped another drink of wine, wiping a drip from her lips with the back of her hand, smearing red lipstick across her cheek.

Larry studied Haley, who seemed to be moving to music in her head. Perhaps all was not lost. He had planned on doing research tonight. “Sure. What do you have in mind? Do you want to go to your place? We could get to know one another a
lot
better, if you know what I mean.” He bounced his eyebrows like she had done a while ago. He knew it was bad, the whole thing, cheesy and awkward. He would’ve never said that to a woman he respected or planned on having any kind of relationship with. Nevertheless, if this woman wasn’t the type of woman to accept his invitation, then she wasn’t the right person to be studying. He would cut his losses and go home.

“What?” She put her hand on her hip. “Oh-no-you-don’t.”

Well, it had been worth a shot.

“
I’m
the snowman!” she insisted. “Do
you
live around here? I want to go to your place.”

“Oh,” he said, suddenly reconsidering the whole idea. For one thing, she talked nonsense. Snowman? Maybe it was hooker-talk for sexual pleasure. But then she was obviously drunk, maybe even a druggy or psychotic.

She turned her chair to face him, crossing her long, tanned legs, her breast bubbling out the top of her blouse.

Whoa. Something other than his mind made a quick decision. For the sake of research, he’d take his chances. “You know, I don’t actually live around here, but I’m staying at a friend’s house who does. I could drive us there.”

“Let’s go.”

They stood up. Haley was a little taller, but she did have on ridiculously high heels. She started a wobble-dance-walk toward the door but then lost her balance and clutched on to Larry’s arm, steadying herself for the rest of the way.

“I had to park down the road here,” Larry said as soon as they were outside. He hoped no one saw him with her. Even though his agent would probably say that being seen with a hooker would sell more books, he walked as fast as Haley could keep up, half dragging, half holding her up.

“This your car?” Haley ran her hand down his Beamer.

“Please don’t throw up in it,” he whispered as he opened the door and helped her in. He shut the door and hurried over to his side wondering what he had gotten himself into.

Chapter 3

Larry knew he wouldn’t want to drive the hour home at this time a night so he’d asked his ex-fiancée, Brenda Fisher, if he could use her downtown apartment while she was out of town. Even though Larry had visited a hundred times, it seemed a little strange unlocking and entering her empty apartment.

“This is a nice place you have here,” Haley slurred as she stumbled over the entrance rug.

Larry steadied Haley before snapping on the overhead lights. “Let’s get you on the couch.” Larry had doubts about his decision to bring her home. Brenda would be livid if she found out. Maybe he should’ve taken Haley to a bar or a restaurant. But he wanted to get her alone to talk, to pick her brain. A public place most likely would’ve been too loud. Besides, if she was a prostitute, like he suspected, he didn’t want to scare her off. He had to act like a regular customer, and he didn’t know how far undercover he would have to go.

“Wait, wait, wait.” Haley took a couple of steps to study a picture on the wall.

The picture was of Brenda and, Larry figured, an ex-boyfriend from the past. They stood in the snow all bundled up in hats, coats, and gloves, holding snow skis.

Haley squinted and went in closer, her face only a couple of inches away. “Who’s this? Do I know her?”

He sighed. “No, I told you, remember. This is my friend’s apartment. You don’t know her.”

“Are you married?” Haley pointed and stumbled, knocking the picture off the wall. The glass shattered when the frame hit the stone floor. “Oops! I’m sorry.” She bent down and began picking up the broken glass as she mumbled and cried, “I didn’t mean to break it. I barely touched it, and it fell off the wall. Why did it have to fall off the wall?”

“It’s okay. Don’t do that. Don’t cry. Leave it. You’ll cut yourself. I’ll get it.” He shook her hands and then brushed glass out of them. Thankfully, he didn’t see any blood. He helped her stand to wobbly feet. “Here, let’s get you over to the couch, and I’ll go make you a cup of coffee.”

“I’m sorry. I’m supposed to be sexy and all irresistible, but I don’t know if I can.” Haley stopped just short of Brenda’s couch. “Wait. Who are you?”

Wonderful. “I’m Larry. We met at Maximilian’s séance. You said you wanted to come home with me.”

Haley giggled through her wide smile, her teeth bright. “Larry. La, La . . . Lar-reee!”

For some reason, the way Haley laughed, causing her eyes to light up, made Larry a little more comfortable. “Hey! Are you making fun of my name?”

She laughed again. “No, nah, Larry, do you know my name? I’m Haley Monroe. Like the bombshell. You know, Marilyn Monroe. No relation because that wasn’t her real name. What was her real name?” She placed her hand on her cheek. “Wait! Don’t tell me. I got this.” She snapped her fingers. “Norma Jean! That’s it. Wait, the first and middle name doesn’t count, does it?” Haley rocked back and forth.

“Here, why don’t you sit down?”

Haley dropped to the couch like her legs had given out, and kicked off her shoes.

Larry sat down beside her. In this light and up close, she appeared younger, more delicate, than she had before. “I’ll go make us some coffee. Will you be okay until I get back?”

Haley put her hand on his arm, stopping him and then whispered, “Just a minute before you go.” She grabbed his shirt, pulling him forward, and kissed him softly.

A series of tingles raced through Larry as he closed his eyes and accepted her little kisses, surprised the moment felt so tender instead of how he’d expected it to feel with a woman like her.

She let go of her grip on his shirt, and the kiss ended.

When Larry reopened his eyes, Haley’s eyes were still closed and her eyebrows and lips were scrunched in a pout. He couldn’t tell if she had fallen asleep or if she was upset. He moved back a little. “Are you okay?”

Haley opened her eyes, and they glistened as if she was on the verge of tears, but she smiled. “I think I’ll take that cup of coffee now.”

Alone in the kitchen, Larry stared at the coffee pot for a second. He figured Haley most likely looked a hell of a lot less chaotic before the alcohol. Surely, she didn’t drink like this before she went to work all the time because how would she get any clients? But she didn’t act like a prostitute, all teary-eyed and everything. But what did he know, he didn’t have anyone to compare her to. Except for television, he’d never even seen a real prostitute before, which had been the entire reason he had brought her home in the first place. Still, it didn’t feel right. Something was off.

Hooker or not, in Haley’s condition, he would feel as if he had taken advantage of her if he let anything happen besides talk. As he made the coffee, he also made the decision to come clean. If she still wanted to stay and talk to him after that, well then, it would be her choice.

A few minutes later, he carried the cup of black coffee into the living room and stopped with a jolt. Haley had been very busy.