Wild Spirit: A Coastal Caribbean Adventure (Tyson Wild Thriller Book 20) by Tripp Ellis

Author:Tripp Ellis [Ellis, Tripp]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Tripp Ellis
Published: 2020-10-11T16:00:00+00:00

22

“You’ve been to the other side,” Countessa said, her eyes full of wonder and curiosity.

"Other side?" I asked, knowing what she meant.

A thin smirk curled on her plump lips. "You've tasted death. And it wasn't to your liking."

I was a little stunned by her insight, I had to admit. Though, I didn't buy into all the mumbo-jumbo.

"I'd like to speak with you more about it sometime," she said as she turned to face the camera. The photographer focused, and Countessa flashed a devious smile. We posed, and the photographer clicked a few shots. The strobes flashed, momentarily spotting my eyes.

"Give my assistant your number, and I'll be in touch," she said. It was almost a subtle command.

She had a way of speaking that was silky smooth. Effortless, yet authoritative without being harsh.

The Queen focused her attention on the next guest, who stepped onto the backdrop as we stepped away.

The show always kept rolling.

Little Miss Darkness nodded to her assistant, who greeted me at the edge of the backdrop. Sage had a clipboard, multiple pens, and silver sharpies for signing autographs. A bottle of hand sanitizer was slung on her hip like a pistol. She seemed prepared for every contingency. She was laser-focused and was used to managing multiple issues at the same time.

I gave her my number, and the assistant flitted away, back to manage the crowd.

We stood in a second line to pick up the prints.

"Damn, brother,” JD said. “Countessa is all about you."

"Morbid curiosity," I said.

"Shit, it would almost be worth dying for that kind of attention. I bet she could revive me."

We picked up our prints, and Jack marveled at the image.

We walked around the convention, weaving through the maze of vendor booths. They were sectioned off with pipe and black drape, and the aisles were crowded with eager fans. The sea of bodies made it hot and stuffy. The air was filled with an odd combination of latex from the masks, the smell of freshly printed T-shirts, perfume, and body odor.

A text from Denise buzzed my phone. It was a full-color image the sketch-artist had produced of the clown that had attacked Hazel Perkins. I zoomed in and studied it carefully, then showed it to Jack. “Have you seen anything like this around here?”

“Not yet." He pointed down the aisle. "But there are a ton of masks over there.”

We moved to the vendor booth and perused the selection of full latex masks that covered the head and neck. There were ghouls and demons. Witches and warlocks. Famous icons from '80s horror movies, and several creepy clowns.

But none of them were a match.

I showed the merchant the clown image on my phone, “Have you seen a mask like this?”

She peered through long dark hair that fell into her face. She looked back at the selection of masks behind her for comparison. “No. We don’t have that one.” She pointed to a similar mask with different colored hair. “But that one’s popular.”

“Are there any other mask vendors at the convention?” I asked.

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