Tegan slammed down a cup of juice onto the bench. "Great, more decorations. That's the last thing I need," she grumbled, trudging around the tree. "I need to have a talk with the council about this."
Once there, Tegan let out another blood-curdling scream.
Pippa and I looked at each other before Pippa dropped her cup and we both raced around to see what Tegan was screaming at.
There was a body hanging from the tree, upside-down and wearing a pumpkin over its head.
And this time, it wasn't a super realistic decoration.
This time, it was a dead body.
Chapter 3
"You really need to drink this," I said, putting a cup of water in Pippa's hand. "I can't be certain, but seeing a dead body cannot be good for you in your current condition."
Pippa took a sip. "Isn't the first time I've seen one."
"It's the first time you've seen one when you’re forty weeks pregnant."
"Hey, anything that gets this baby to come out, I say, bring it on."
The tour had come to a rather dramatic halt. I heard a few people asking Tegan for their money back, but they'd gotten more than their money's worth, in my opinion. I hoped she wouldn't cave and actually give any refunds. If anything, she should have charged extra.
I was still shaking. And there I'd been, thinking the scariest thing about the tour would be the ghost stories.
I should have known that this town could always surprise me.
With the streets now completely deserted except for the police vehicles, Pippa and I had retreated to the bakery, where we still had a view of the park, if we pressed our noses up against the window. We'd come back there ostensibly so that Pippa could rest before the ride home, but I thought the truth was we were both too curious to just go home without sticking our noses in a little bit. Or at least witnessing a little bit of the drama from our safe vantage point.
"Do you think Jackson will be investigating?" Pippa asked, her nose up against the glass.
"Undoubtedly."
There was a whole bunch of police cars, and an ambulance, although it was a little too late for that. The guy was long dead.
We'd both caught a glimpse of his face as the pumpkin had fallen off. He was young, probably around the age of Pippa and I, maybe a couple of years older. That made it all the more tragic, of course. Who on earth would do such a thing?
I hadn't recognized him, but Tegan had. She was currently answering questions and I was just glad I wasn't still out there in the cold with a dead body dangling over my head.
I told Pippa she needed to sit down again—even I needed to sit down, and I wasn't forty weeks pregnant—but she was running on adrenaline and refused. Meanwhile, I put my feet up and started guzzling from a jug of water like I hadn't had a drink in weeks.
"There is something very familiar about all of this," Pippa said, pacing back and forth. She really needed to sit down, her belly looked like it was about to cause her to topple over face first. "This murder is way too familiar."
I took my scarf off and threw it on an empty table. "Yeah, it is," I said angrily. "It's the very thing I wanted to avoid!" I hadn't meant to be so snappy. It was incredibly bad form to yell at a pregnant woman, I knew that.
Pippa stopped pacing and stared at me. "You're yelling at me like it’s my fault!"
I had to bite down on my tongue. It was wrong to tell a heavily pregnant woman off, wasn't it? But I'd just known that both of us should have stayed at home that night. I hadn't wanted to go. Pippa had practically dragged me out the door, against all my better judgments. "You are the one who forced me to go on this tour, Pippa."
"It's not about you," Pippa said. She started pacing again. "Don't worry, Rachael. You don't have to get involved. You don't have to do anything."
"Really? Great." I picked my coat up and slung it over my shoulder. "Let's go home then."
"Rachael, wait."
Just as I thought. It really was about me. I shook my head. I wasn't about to be dragged into this one. Just because I had been there, just because I had seen the dead body, didn't mean that this murder was any of my business. It didn't affect me in any way. I just wanted to go home and have a cup of tea and try to forget the entire evening.
Fat chance, I know.
Pippa followed me to the door. "I know you don't want to get involved, but this has triggered something in my mind. A memory." She had a heavy look of concentration on her voice as she grabbed my arm. "And I have a bad feeling that you're not going to get much of a choice in the matter."
My cup of tea was brewed, but I didn't even get a chance to take a sip before Pippa came running into the room with her laptop. Well, I say 'running,' but it was really more like a duck's waddle. I still thought she was moving too quickly, as she slammed the laptop down on the table and almost caused my cup of chai tea to spill onto the keyboard.
"I knew it," Pippa gasped.
"Knew what?" I asked uneasily. I had a feeling I really, really didn't want to know as I picked up my tea, keeping one eye on the laptop screen. But it was the kind of thing you know you'd be better off not knowing about, not looking at, never seeing—yet you can't stop yourself. Like the way I sometimes torture myself by watching a scary movie—I know I'll be scared, I know I'll regret it, but I get drawn in in a sick way and keep watching.
Then come the sleepless nights.
"Here, look at this," Pippa said.
My eyes were tired and I had to reach for my reading glasses before I could concentrate on the screen. "Can't you turn the brightness down?" I grumbled.
"Geez, you're old," Pippa said, quickly adjusting it. "Please pay attention."
I sighed. "This is another thing I am going to regret paying attention to, right?"
There was an old news article up on the screen. Pippa pointed at it quickly before flipping between tabs full of garish looking websites with flashing graphics. None of them looked very authoritative, to be honest. But Pippa was clearly transfixed with whatever she had discovered.
"I looked it up as soon as we got home. It took me a few tries before I found exactly what I was looking for, but I was right," she whispered. She looked positively white and I hoped it wasn't her anemia affecting her again.
"This murder, it is identical to one that happened exactly one hundred years ago," Pippa whispered as she showed me the newspaper article. "Look."
I had to lean forward a bit and force my eyes to focus on the text. I gulped. She was right. Exactly a hundred years earlier, a body had been found in Belldale Park, hanging from the elm tree, upside-down, with a pumpkin over its head.
"The killer became legendary," Pippa whispered. "Of course, not many people still remember it today. But at the time, he caused the town to retreat indoors. It ruined Halloween that year."
Heaven forbid.
"The Belldale Halloween Killer," Pippa whispered. "They had another name for him as well, the Pumpkin Killer."
She told me that the police force had been baffled at the time—nothing much changes—and that everyone in the town had been a suspect at the time. When Pippa got to the end of her story, she had one final point to add. "He was never caught."
A shiver ran down my spine, I had to admit. It was seriously creepy.
But it was time for me to be the levelheaded one.
"It's just a coincidence," I told her, standing up and taking my glasses off. "Nothing more, nothing less." Unless I nipped this in the bud, it was going to grow into something gigantic in Pippa's head. She'd grip tight to some ridiculous idea and never let go of it. "Come on, Pippa, you've got bigger things to worry about right now."
"I don't think anything is bigger than this," she said as she stared up at me from the table. There was a true look of fear in her eyes.
I finished my tea and shook my head at her. "Pippa, this was a hundred years ago! Unless the killer was a newborn baby at the time, there is no way he is still alive. Do you think there's a hundred and twenty plus year old killer out ther
e on the loose?"
Pippa's face was white. "What if he's back from the dead?" she whispered. "Or what if it’s his ghost?"
"Oh, this is ridiculous," I said, standing up. I rinsed my empty cup in the sink and placed it in the rack to dry. "I'm going to bed."
"Okay, maybe it's not actually a real ghost," Pippa said. "I mean, not a literal ghost."
I stopped and sighed. "What are you talking about, Pippa?"
"A metaphorical ghost," she whispered. "What if, a hundred years later, on the anniversary of the killing, someone recreated the crime? A copycat."
I gulped and crossed my arms, staring out the kitchen window where the curtains were still wide open. I had the sudden urge to close them. And to double-check all the locks in the house.
I steadied myself. "Even if that's true—which I don't believe it is—why is any of this my concern?"
I turned away from her and started to leave the room. It was a full hour past the time I'd vowed to be in my pajamas. I wanted to sleep this whole night away. Yeah, fat chance.
"Good night, Pippa."
But she wasn't about to let me get away that easily.
"Rachael, last time this happened, a hundred years ago, there wasn't just one killing."
"What are you talking about, Pippa?"
"The Pumpkin Killer took more than one victim. There were three. Rachael, any one of us in this town could be next."
Chapter 4
"Excuse me? Excuse me, miss?" A sharp piercing voice was trying to get my attention.
I shook my head, trying to see through the mental fog that had gathered before me. "Yes," I said, actually having to shake my head to get back to reality. To remember where I was.
Right. I was in my bakery. Everything was normal. Everything was fine.
Well, except for this incredibly disgruntled customer, an older woman with dyed black hair and a string of pearls around her wrinkly neck.
"Sorry, what can I do for you?"
"I ordered five pumpkin scones, not three."
"Right, yes, sorry. I'll just get those for you."
I grabbed a pair of tongs and reached into the display case to get her another two scones. We were almost out. Anything pumpkin flavor flew off the shelf this time of year. That was one of the few things I liked about Halloween, actually—the chance to make up for the profits lost at other times.
"That will be, umm, ten dollars," I said.
The lady rolled her eyes a little. "Not that I mind paying less, but it comes to fifteen dollars, dear. They are three dollars each," she said warily, handing over the cash.
"Right. Thank you for your honesty."
My mind was really not on the job. She hurried out the door in her tight pink dress and coat. I sighed.
"What's up with you this morning?" My assistant manager, Simona, twirled her long dark hair around her finger while she munched on a cupcake, leaning against the counter. I supposed that free cupcakes at that time of the day was a perk of the assistant manager's position now, though I didn't remember giving the okay to that.
Simona wasn't the best employee I had ever had, but she was the best I had with Pippa off on maternity leave. She also wasn't the worst employee I'd ever had—at least she hadn't murdered anyone, yet. Still, it was early in her career at the bakery.
I guessed Simona hadn't heard the news about the body in Belldale Park yet. Better to not worry her—better to not worry anyone, lest panic break out across the town. "Just a little tired," I said. "Not really in the holiday spirit." I wiped down the counter.
"Oh, that reminds me. I need to take next Monday and Tuesday off, as well as the weekend before," Simona said, finishing off her cupcake and dusting off her hands. "I'm going away with my boyfriend."
I just stared at her. She did realize I was short-staffed and this was one of the busiest times of the year, right? And she did realize she was assistant manager, didn't she? That position came with a certain amount of responsibility. It meant you couldn't just take half a week off with next to no notice.
I wanted to be fair and reasonable, and I believe in giving my staff time off when they need it, but I also couldn't let myself be a total walk-over. "I'm sorry," I said firmly. "You can't just take four days off with barely any notice. Who am I going to get to cover you?"
She shrugged as though that was none of her concern. "I can't cancel my trip, Rachael."
Unbelievable. I was already penning the 'help wanted' sign in my mind. Maybe I could hire someone new before the weekend to replace Simona entirely. Then maybe she would be sorry for being such a poor employee.
"Hey there, gang!" Pippa came through the door smiling—or rather, her stomach came through the door and she followed several minutes later.
I wondered how long after giving birth Pippa could be back at work. Maybe I wouldn't have to put up the 'help wanted' sign after all and still be able to fire Simona without going out of business.
I made her a drink while Simona flicked through a magazine. "Are there any dishes in the kitchen that need doing?" I asked her pointedly. She rolled her eyes before she tossed the magazine down and swayed back through the kitchen doors.
"Unbelievable," I muttered.
I noticed that Pippa had her laptop with her as I set down her hot drink. "Oh no, not all that again," I said as I saw what she had up on the screen. I glanced around to make sure no one could see, but Simona was in the back and the only other customers we had—a young couple—were on the other side of the room, and weren't paying any attention to us.
"It's okay," Pippa said, her legs up on the seat under the table as she sipped on a pumpkin latte. "I know you don't want to get involved. I won't hassle you about it anymore. No more pressure."
I sat down beside her, my apron still on. She'd given me an out, why didn't I just take it?
"That's just it, though. I don't think I can just ignore it. What if more lives really are in danger?" I whispered. "I've been practically useless at work today. I can't stop thinking about it."
Pippa's eyes grew wide. "Wait here. I need to grab something from my car."
It took her about five minutes to accomplish the simple task. I was starting to think I'd better go out and help her when she finally returned with an old, dusty looking book. I coughed as she sat it down on the table. "I got this from the library," she said. "It's a book that someone wrote fifty years ago, about the killings. It's called The Pumpkin Killer — 50 Years Later. And guess what?" she whispered, opening the cover and showing me the first page with a recent stamp. "It was borrowed last week."
"Well, maybe it's a popular book?"
Pippa shook her head. "No. Look at the last check-out date," she said, running her finger down the list. "The last time it was borrowed before last week was seven years ago."
I stared at the dates. She was right.
"So what are you thinking then?" I asked her, looking over my shoulder to make sure no one was listening. Or maybe I was checking for more than that. I suddenly didn’t feel safe at all. A creepiness had fallen over me, a feeling I just couldn't shake.
Pippa looked at me seriously. "Copycat killing. Someone is trying to recreate the infamous Belldale Halloween Murders from a hundred years ago."
A shiver ran down my spine. "But what kind of sicko would do that, Pippa?"
She stared at me. "A real psychopath. That's why we've got to be careful."
I was starting to re-think my plan to get involved. Maybe it would be better if, instead, I took a vacation for the next two weeks. I could go on vacation instead of Simona. See how she liked it. Of course, I'd probably return to a business that had been totally run into the ground and tens of thousands of dollars in debt.
"Oh, that's right!" Pippa said, slapping her forehead and slamming the laptop shut as she climbed awkwardly to her feet. "I've got to go to the store and get the candy for the trick-or-treaters."
I just stared after her as she went riffling through her purse looking for money. "Don't you think we've g
ot slightly more important things to worry about right now?"
She looked at me. "Rachael, this is important to me. I'm about to become a mother. I don't want all the neighborhood kids to hate me because all we've got to give them is apples!"
"We don't have any apples at our house," I pointed out. "I think we've got some packets of sugar, some baking powder... That's about it."
"You've proven my point," she said, grabbing her coat. "I've got to go."
Pippa didn’t look fit to be traipsing around the supermarket, or navigating a grocery cart up and down the aisles. In fact, she should have been at home on bed rest.
"Look," I said. "I'll bake some treats to give to the kids. I'll use the kitchen here. I'll make homemade chocolates and candies—way better than anything you can buy at the store. The kids will love you. And better yet, you don't have to worry about anything. How does that sound?"
She thought about it for a moment then nodded. "Thanks, Rach." Then she shot me a skeptical look. "Just promise they'll all be ready on time, all right? Don't go leaving it until the last minute."
"I promise," I said, crossing my heart. I thought about doing a pinky swear to make my promise seem even more official, but she finally seemed to believe me.
"Okay," I said, nodding for her to sit back down. "We've got a case to work on."
At four o'clock on the dot, I locked the door to the bakery. Simona was supposed to do it—she was supposed to be in charge of the afternoon shift—but she'd had a hair appointment she just couldn't get out of, apparently.
"Are you sure you're okay to walk?" I asked Pippa.
She stuck her tongue out at me. "The park is just down the road. Come on, I can see the elm tree from here," she said, pointing. "Anyway, I could do with the fresh air."
I pulled my sweater on over my t-shirt and nodded. "Well, just let me know if you start feeling unwell. Or you start feeling any contractions!" That was my bigger worry at that point.
"Is that really what you're wearing?" Pippa asked.
The sweater was made of a shaggy, fuzzy wool and was knitted in colors of white, grey, and orange
Bakery Detectives Cozy Mystery Boxed Set: Books 7 - 9 Page 11
