Halloween Party Murder

by Leslie Meier

  “Shhh,” cautioned Pam, nodding toward the door, where Heather had paused, checking out the room. “Remember,” she whispered, “this fundraiser could mean some big bucks for the fund.” Then she lifted her head and made eye contact with Heather, waving her over.

  “I’m so glad you could come,” she said, as Heather seated herself. “Are you famished? Do you want to order?” she asked, looking for Norine.

  “Oh, no. Nothing for me. No food,” replied Heather, sounding horrified at the thought. “I wouldn’t mind some herbal tea, if they have that here.”

  Sue snorted. “It’s a donut shop. They have coffee.”

  “I guess then I’ll just have a glass of water,” said Heather, shrugging out of her stylish fake fur coat to reveal a painfully slim body and tossing back her long, silvery hair. “As you probably all know, I’m Heather Moon, and I live in that big, old haunted house on School Street.”

  “We’re so glad you could come this morning,” began Rachel, “and we’re so excited about the fundraiser, which is so generous of you.” She smiled. “I’m Rachel Goodman, and I know you’ve met Lucy . . .”

  “We’ve met,” said Heather, without much enthusiasm.

  “I just want to say that I’m sorry about any misunderstandings in the past,” offered Lucy. “I’m looking forward to working with you and publicizing the haunted house. I know Ted is always eager to promote local events, right, Pam?”

  “Absolutely,” said Pam. “I’m Pam Stillings, I own the Courier, along with my husband Ted, and I can guarantee that the paper will provide plenty of free publicity.”

  “That’s great,” said Heather, turning to Sue with a questioning expression.

  Sue took a sip of coffee, narrowed her eyes, and gave Heather a tiny smile. “I’m Sue Finch,” she said, “and it’s an absolute pleasure to meet you.”

  “Same here,” said Heather, as Norine arrived with their orders.

  “Ohmigosh, I didn’t see you,” she apologized to Heather, distributing the plates and then pulling her order book out of her apron pocket. “What can I get you, hon?”

  “Chamomile tea with lemon,” said Heather.

  “Oh, sorry. No can do. We’ve got Tetley.”

  “I’ll just have a glass of water. Thank you.”

  “Okay.” From her tone, it was clear that Norine did not approve of her choice.

  Heather pressed her lips together, but whether she was suppressing a smile or a thought wasn’t clear. She glanced around the table, then began speaking. “Well, as you know, my husband and I are hosting a grand Halloween party, including a haunted house, before we start modernizing the old place.”

  “It’s the perfect venue for a haunted house,” said Pam, enthusiastically.

  “That’s what we thought,” said Heather. “And my husband has the technical skills to provide amazing special effects. You wouldn’t believe what he can do with light and sound.”

  “Oh, I think we have an idea,” said Sue, as Norine arrived with a tall glass of water. A clear plastic straw topped with a white paper casing was in the glass.

  “Oh, oh. No plastic straws!” exclaimed Heather. “But what can I do with it? It’s already been opened, and now it’s going to go in the ocean . . .”

  “No big deal,” said Norine, extracting the offending straw.

  “But it is a big deal. Some sea turtle will eat it and die, and they’ll all become extinct.”

  “I’ll make sure it doesn’t get in the ocean,” promised Norine, furrowing her brow.

  “But how?” demanded Heather.

  “I just will,” said Norine, hurrying off to the kitchen.

  “Plastics, they’re terrible,” said Heather. “They last forever.”

  “So true,” agreed Pam. “But we really need to talk about the fundraiser. Do you have a date in mind?”

  “Well, I certainly don’t want it to conflict with the children’s party you ladies always have for the elementary school kids.”

  “That will be on Halloween, which is a Friday this year,” said Pam.

  “I think the haunted house party should be on a weekend, but maybe not the weekend just before Halloween. If we hold it a week earlier, it will kind of set the tone and get people in the mood, if you know what I mean.”

  “I assume you’ll need lots of volunteers to help construct the scary effects, and it will take some time to organize, too,” said Rachel.

  “Absolutely. Maybe Lucy can put out a call for volunteers in this week’s paper,” said Heather.

  “We’ll all be glad to help,” said Pam.

  “Well, I’m not sure how much I can do,” said Rachel. “My husband is running for state rep, and I’m pretty busy with his campaign.”

  “You get a pass,” said Sue. “But for the rest of us, it’s all hands on deck, right?”

  “Righto,” said Lucy, as they all nodded their heads. “And don’t worry,” she told Rachel. “I’ve been covering the campaign and Bob’s a shoo-in, running as an independent. Nobody ever heard of the Democrat, Andi Nardone, and George Armistead, the Republican, is ninety years old if he’s a day.”

  “I hope you’re right,” said Rachel. “You can’t ever be too sure; things can change in a minute in a campaign.”

  Chapter Two

  Lucy decided Rachel’s fears were unwarranted when she stood outside the IGA grocery store on Saturday morning, handing out leaflets for Bob. It was a brisk fall morning, and she enjoyed being out in the fresh air and sunshine, which she knew would soon be only a memory, along with the bright yellow and orange leaves that were already starting to fall. The store was busy; many shopping carts were loaded with pumpkins, potted chrysanthemums, and jugs of apple cider. She knew most of the shoppers, who were friends and neighbors, and everybody seemed pleased to learn that Bob was running for state rep.

  “It’s about time George Armistead took to his rocking chair,” said retired kindergarten teacher Lydia Volpe. “He’s been a state rep for over forty years, and I don’t think he even bothers to attend the sessions, or vote. And when he does vote, it’s always against anything that might raise taxes, like improving the schools or health care. I’ll gladly vote for Bob; I think he’ll be a great state rep.”

  “That’s great. I know he’ll appreciate your vote. And while I’ve got you, Heather and Ty Moon have offered to hold a haunted house fundraiser for the Hat and Mitten Fund, and we’re looking for volunteers . . .”

  “Say no more,” said Lydia. “I’ll be happy to help, but you know I’m already on the committee for the children’s party, and I really don’t want to go to any more meetings.”

  Lucy laughed. “Anything you can do would be appreciated. How about taking tickets on the night of the event; that’s just a couple of hours.”

  “Okay, put me down for that,” said Lydia, giving her cart a push and heading across the parking lot to her car.

  As Lucy watched Lydia’s progress, her attention was caught by a young mother struggling with a toddler on one hand and what looked like a four-year-old girl on the other. The toddler kept going limp, impeding their progress, and the mom finally just picked up the tot, telling the little girl to hang on to her jacket.

  “Why, Mom?” asked the girl.

  “Because I don’t have a free hand. I’ve got to carry Benjy, and I want you to be safe in the parking lot.”

  “Why does Benjy have to be carried?”

  “He’s little and gets tired.”

  “Well, I’m big, and I can take care of myself.” With that, the little girl darted away from her mother and ran ahead, just as a zippy sports car rounded the line of parked cars.

  Seeing that the little girl was directly in front of the approaching car, Lucy ran into the parking lot, waving her arms and screaming “Stop!” The car braked and stopped mere feet from the girl, who burst into tears and ran back to her mother. She fell to her knees and enfolded the girl into her arms, along with the toddler brother.

  “It’s okay, you’re
okay,” crooned the mom, smoothing the little girl’s hair.

  The driver of the car climbed out, and Lucy was surprised to recognize Kevin Kenneally, whom she’d frequently covered at press conferences. Kenneally, who was dressed in freshly ironed jeans and a North Face windbreaker, angrily confronted the little family. “You know, lady, you really ought to keep that kid under control.”

  “Well, maybe you should drive a little more carefully. If it wasn’t for this lady here, we would’ve had a real tragedy,” declared the mom.

  “This is a parking lot, not a playground,” insisted Kevin, turning to Lucy. “That girl was in no danger. I saw her and was braking.”

  Lucy was trembling, and her heart was pounding, but she wasn’t about to let Kevin have the last word. “Maybe so, but it didn’t seem like that to me. There’s no excuse for speeding in a parking lot where there are elderly folks and children. If a cop was here, you would’ve been cited.”

  “I’m not so sure about that, Lucy,” he said, with a knowing smile. On second thought, Lucy figured he was right; it was doubtful that a local cop would cite an assistant district attorney. “And if I were you,” he added, “I wouldn’t be so quick with the accusations.” Having said his piece, he hopped back in his fancy sports car, backed away too fast into a three-point turn, and zoomed out of the parking lot. As she watched him go, Lucy wondered exactly how much assistant district attorneys made these days, and whether his salary would stretch to cover such an expensive car.

  “Well, I never . . .” said the shocked mom, picking up the toddler.

  “What a reckless driver,” said Lucy, rolling her eyes. She took the little girl’s hand and began walking to the entrance. “My name’s Lucy, what’s yours?”

  “Stella. Stella Rose Levitt.”

  “And how old are you, Stella?”

  “Four.”

  “Well, remember to be extra careful in parking lots and to mind your mom, okay?”

  Stella scowled. “I’m a big girl.”

  “Yes, you are, but cars are bigger.” Lucy turned to the mom. “By the way, I’m campaigning for my friend Bob Goodman. He’s running for state rep. Can I give you a brochure?”

  “Sure, thanks,” said the woman, who was settling the toddler into the seat of a shopping cart. “And thanks so much for stopping that car and saving Stella. I can’t even imagine . . .”

  Lucy gave her a big smile. “No problem. And don’t forget to vote for Bob.”

  * * *

  Lucy recounted the episode that afternoon at a meeting of the Hat and Mitten Fund planning committee at Sue’s antique captain’s house on Parallel Street. “I’m pretty confident I got at least one sure vote for Bob,” she said, ending the tale. All the members of the breakfast group were there, as well as Heather Moon and Rosie Capshaw, who Lucy suspected had come to offer moral support to Heather.

  “I should think so,” said Heather, in her soft voice. “You saved that little girl’s life.”

  Rosie Capshaw didn’t hesitate to express her opinion. “I like Kevin and all, but sometimes he can be a big jerk.”

  “What kind of car was it?” asked Pam.

  “I dunno. Some sort of sports car,” answered Lucy, with a shrug.

  “It’s a second-hand Corvette, and he loves it,” said Rosie.

  “Men and their toys,” sighed Sue.

  “Well, I hope that mother will take better care of her children,” said Heather, sounding a bit wistful. “They’re really a gift from God, you know, and not everyone gets them.”

  Lucy’s ears perked up at this. Bill had told her that Ty and Heather wanted to start a family, and she wondered if they’d run into difficulties. She and the others were seated at Sue’s prized wine-tasting table in her breakfast nook, and were nibbling on home-baked madeleines and sipping chamomile tea in Heather’s honor.

  “Right,” added Pam. “I’m sure that near-accident was a real wake-up call for her.” She pressed her lips together thoughtfully. “Did you get her name? Maybe she could help with the fundraiser or the kids’ party.”

  “No. Her last name is probably Levitt; that’s what Stella said her name was,” said Lucy, reaching for another madeleine even though she knew she shouldn’t. “And in the poor woman’s defense, I have to say she really had her hands full with those kids.”

  “Families aren’t what they used to be,” offered Sue. “Lots of women keep their birth names; kids have different fathers and different surnames. It can be hard to keep it all straight.”

  Sue spoke from experience; she used to be engaged full-time as the part-owner, executive director, and head teacher at Little Prodigies Child Care Center, but was now semi-retired and acted mostly as a silent partner, helping out occasionally.

  “Well, let’s turn our attention to the matters at hand,” urged Rachel, draining her cup and setting it in the saucer. “I think the kids’ party is pretty much under control. We’ve done it so many times, it doesn’t require much thought.”

  “Can you do the fortune-telling?” Pam asked Rachel. “Or will you be too busy with the campaign?”

  Rachel traditionally put on a pair of oversized hoop earrings, wrapped herself in colorful scarves and shawls, seated herself in a little tent with a garden globe as a crystal ball, and pretended to tell the future. Her fortunes, really advice for good behavior couched in mystical terms, were terribly popular, especially with the older kids.

  “Absolutely, I wouldn’t miss it for the world. And the fortunes may include advising the kids to tell their parents to vote for Bob.” She furrowed her brow. “Would that be wrong?”

  “Actually, we could include his brochures in the treat bags,” suggested Lucy.

  “You can even get specially wrapped candies. Vote for Bob Bars or something,” said Rosie, who admitted skipping breakfast as an excuse for eating most of the madeleines. She was dressed in a plaid shirt and jeans and was much sturdier than her fragile friend, Heather; as a puppeteer, she was used to the hard physical labor that constructing and working her oversized creations required.

  “Thanks, Rosie, I’ll look into that,” said Rachel, impressed with the idea. “So the kids’ party is all set?”

  “Yup,” said Pam. “I’ve got plenty of refreshments, the DJ is booked, the soccer moms are doing the decorations, the PTA is organizing games, posters are up . . . can anybody think of anything I’ve missed?”

  “Sounds great,” said Sue. “Let’s move on to the haunted house. Any thoughts?”

  “I guess we could have one of those gruesome operating rooms; those are pretty popular,” said Lucy.

  “Oh, yeah,” said Pam, enthusiastically, reaching for one of the rapidly disappearing madeleines. “And surprises. Like a ghost that pops out of a closet, something like that. And I’m sure Ty will come up with lots of eerie noises and spooky lighting effects.”

  “You can count on him,” said Rosie, getting a big smile from Heather.

  Heather didn’t smile often, thought Lucy, biting into her madeleine, but when she did, she looked even more angelic than usual. Lucy tried to figure out how she did it, what made her look so ethereal, like a fairy or some otherworldly creature. Was it the long, ash-blond hair? Her big blue eyes? The fluttery clothes she chose, always in shades of white and dripping with lace and ruffles. And, of course, she was fine-boned and very thin, really too thin. Somewhat guiltily, she put down the rest of her madeleine on her saucer.

  “Actually,” continued Heather, speaking rather hesitantly, almost whispering, “Ty and Rosie had some thoughts about the tableaux that would elevate the haunted house above the usual stuff people expect.”

  Pam wasn’t sure she liked the sound of this. “Really? Like what?” she asked, in a challenging tone.

  “Oh, it was just an idea,” said Heather, shrinking into her lacy tablecloth shawl.

  “Don’t let Pam put you off,” said Sue, patting her hand. “Tell us how you want to do it. It’s your house, after all.” She stood up. “More tea, anyone?�
��

  Getting a few nods, she refilled the cups and then sat down, tenting her hands expectantly. “Go on, Heather,” she invited.

  “Well, we thought—” she began, looking to Rosie for approval and getting a nod. “Well, it’s really Ty, he’s the one with the ideas. He suggested we might base the tableaux on famous books and paintings. For instance,” she said, warming to her subject and speaking somewhat less hesitantly, “I thought I could portray Ophelia, but with a twist. You know, there’s a famous painting of Ophelia floating in a river by an artist named Millais. He painted the creek en plein air, out in the woods, and that’s how he got all the beautiful plants and nature in the background. But he had his model for Ophelia pose in a bathtub, so that’s what I thought I would do. What do you think?”

  “I think that might be rather chilly,” offered Pam.

  “And damp,” said Lucy.

  “Oh, I wouldn’t use real water. I’m going to use plastic sheeting and bubbles, and Ty will fix the lights, so it will look quite realistic. He says he can create the illusion of rippling water.”

  “It’s easy-peasy with the right equipment,” offered Rosie. “And I have some ideas for recycling the plastic in my puppets.”

  “I suppose someone will portray the artist, Millais?” asked Rachel.

  “Yes. Kevin Kenneally has offered to play the artist; he’ll wear a smock and a beret, and since he’s the assistant DA, I think I’ll be in very good hands.”

  Lucy was tempted to say something like “as long as he’s not driving,” but bit her tongue. She didn’t want to strain her fragile relationship with Heather.

  “Right,” said Pam, thoughtfully. “You’ll be in a rather vulnerable position, and you don’t want anybody messing with you.”

  Heather hadn’t considered this and was alarmed. “Do you think they would?”