by Leslie Meier
Sergio gave them a wink, then marched over and hauled Lenny to his feet, snapping handcuffs onto his wrists.
As Bruce escorted Hayley back up the narrow passage to the pantry, he turned and grinned. “I’m resisting the urge to pick you up and carry you out in my arms like Fay Wray.”
“You are my hero, Bruce, but let’s not push it. I can walk just fine.”
He chuckled and leaned over and gave her a sweet kiss on the cheek. As they emerged from behind the pantry wall to the kitchen and storeroom where everyone else—Liddy, Randy, Dr. Reddy, Jodie, Pia, and Chet—all waited anxiously for them, Hayley turned to Liddy and remarked, “I have to admit, Liddy, you were right about one thing.”
“What’s that?” Liddy asked, perplexed.
Hayley turned to her husband, sizing him up, and then said with a smile, “Bruce does look oddly sexy in his gorilla suit.”
Chapter Thirteen
Lenny Bash sat glumly in a chair, his hands cuffed behind his back, when Lieutenant Donnie finally arrived at the restaurant.
After reading Lenny his rights and calling the station to have Donnie come over and escort Lenny to jail, Sergio had finally dismissed Dr. Reddy, who grabbed her daughter firmly by the hand and huffily fled the scene, much to everyone’s enormous relief. Hayley announced that Dr. Reddy would definitely not be invited back for next year’s Halloween party at Hayley’s Kitchen.
“Are you seriously considering doing this again after what happened this year?” Liddy asked.
“I’m an eternal optimist,” Hayley explained. “Besides, what are the odds that another fugitive will be hiding behind the walls of my restaurant this same time next year?”
“Given your track record, I’d say they’re pretty good,” Bruce cracked.
Donnie sadly shuffled over to Lenny, took him by the arm, and hauled him to his feet, muttering, “Okay, Lenny, let’s go.”
Sergio instantly noticed his young lieutenant’s dispirited demeanor, and walked over and pulled him aside. “Everything okay, Donnie?”
“Yeah, Chief, I guess,” Donnie shrugged.
No one in the dining room believed him for even a moment.
“Come on, Donnie, you can tell me. I know something’s bothering you,” Sergio said, patting him on the back.
He turned and lightly shoved Lenny back down in the chair before confiding to the boss, “I’m just a little bummed I wasn’t the one to catch the perp. I really wanted to prove to you that I’m worthy of that promotion you gave me.”
Sergio smiled warmly. “Donnie, there is no doubt in my mind I made the right decision about making you a lieutenant. You’re one of my best officers. You’re smart, loyal, a real good chicken.”
Donnie looked up at Sergio, confused. “Sorry, Chief, what?”
“Chicken. A good chicken. It’s another way of saying nice person, right?” Sergio said, turning to the others, who had no idea what he was talking about.
“Egg,” Lenny mumbled from his chair.
Sergio spun around to Lenny. “What did you say?”
“Egg. The saying is, you’re a good egg,” Lenny sighed.
“Chicken. Egg. It’s practically the same thing,” Sergio snapped.
“No, it isn’t,” Lenny argued, shaking his head.
“Nobody asked you! You’re under arrest! So just sit there and be quiet!” Sergio yelled, before turning his attention back to Donnie. “You’re a good egg, Donnie. I’m real proud of you.”
Donnie lit up. “Thanks, Chief. I’m going to work hard and be the best lieutenant this town has ever seen. I know I can do it because I’ve got a great role model in you to look up to. I can only hope to be as upstanding and trustworthy and, most importantly, brave as you . . .”
Someone came up behind Sergio and tapped him on the shoulder. He cranked his head around, and at the sight of Pennywise the Clown hovering close to him, Sergio let out a terrified high-pitched shriek so loud, Hayley thought her wineglasses might shatter.
Everyone burst out laughing, even Lenny, who wisely got himself under control and quickly clammed up after Sergio shot him a stern look of warning.
Sergio then grabbed the evil clown mask by the red hair and ripped it off, revealing Mona’s son, Chet, who was giggling hysterically.
“Very funny, kid!” Sergio roared. “You want me to arrest you, too?”
“For what, making an officer of the law scream like a little girl?” Chet howled.
“That’s enough, Chet; show the Chief some respect,” Mona barked, attempting to be serious before she lost it all over again and guffawed, unable to catch her breath.
Lieutenant Donnie, trying his hardest not to join in on the raucous laughter and tick off the boss, hurriedly escorted Lenny out of the restaurant to his police cruiser.
“Come on, everybody. I’ll finally put that pot of coffee on, and we’ll have a late-night snack of leftover Halloween treats,” Hayley offered.
“I can’t be drinking caffeine this late at night,” Liddy said. “I won’t be able to sleep a wink.”
“There’s hot chocolate left, if anyone wants some,” Chet said with a mischievous grin.
“Thin ice, mister man,” Mona growled, pointing a finger at her son. “You are on thin ice!”
Island Food & Cocktails by Hayley Powell
Another Halloween is finally behind us! This year, however, will definitely stand out as one to remember, especially given the sad passing of Mr. Candy, the school’s music teacher. I hear his students are going to put on a band concert as well as a bake sale in his memory so they can purchase some new music stands for the band room, something that Mr. Candy had been requesting for some time.
It’s no mystery that Mr. Candy had quite a sweet tooth, and the irony of his last name was not lost on anyone. Anyway, I thought I would make a candy pie as my own personal tribute and drop it off at the bake sale. This is the perfect recipe to share with you at this time of year because it will help you use up some of that leftover candy you may still have piled up from Halloween.
Speaking of a sweet tooth, I also have a pretty big one, and the other night, I found myself sitting in the living room scarfing down a bag of candy that I had bought for Halloween, but perhaps may or may not have forgotten to leave out on the front porch for the trick-or-treaters. As I munched on a Kit Kat bar, I flash-backed to a memory from many years ago, when my brother, Randy, and I were little kids. It’s a Halloween story he loves to tell this time of year at cocktail parties.
Randy was about eleven years old and had been planning for weeks to go out trick-or-treating with his friends to load up on candy, especially since Halloween was the only time of year that our mother would allow us to indulge; she did so for a week straight before she started worrying about our weight and cavities, and then she would confiscate whatever candy was left and donate it all to Housing for the Elderly, where she worked.
Randy and his buddies had been plotting their trick-or-treat route for weeks with military precision because they were expecting to each score a pillowcase full of sugary sweets. This year, Randy was secretly planning to hide at least half his haul where our mother wouldn’t find it, so he could gorge himself well beyond the typical allotted week of inhaling our stashes, and Mom wouldn’t be the wiser.
Unfortunately, Randy was so caught up in preparing for Halloween, he neglected all his household chores and responsibilities, and needless to say, our mother was growing increasingly frustrated. She warned Randy that he better stop dragging his feet or else. Of course, Randy promised he would get to the chores, but he never did.
So when Randy’s math teacher called the house and informed our mother that he hadn’t turned in two homework assignments and failed a pop quiz that week, well, that was the proverbial straw that broke the camel’s back.
With one day to go before Halloween, Randy waltzed through the door that night for dinner, only to discover our mother standing in the middle of the room with her arms crossed and tapping one foot on the f
loor with her pursed-lipped, narrow-eyed expression that said, “You are in a world of trouble!”
Randy took one glance at her and knew he was in a code-red situation. He expected her to rant on and on about how irresponsibly he was acting. What he did not expect was for her to ground him for the whole week, allowing him to only go to school, and then he had to come straight home. He was also banned from all extracurricular activities and social events—including trick-or-treating!
Well, you can imagine there were elephant tears, lots of pleading, endless promises to bring his grades up, but this time, Mom didn’t budge. I honestly thought she would. I overheard her on the phone, telling her friend Jane about it, and how she would have expected this kind of behavior from me, but not her normally well-behaved Randy. I should have been insulted, but as they say, when the shoe fits . . .
Anyway, Halloween arrived, and much to my surprise, Mom was still sticking to her guns. As I left with my friends, a crestfallen Randy had lost all hope of her changing her mind and stomped upstairs after dinner, slamming the door to his room not once, but twice, to make a point.
I met up with my posse, but after only a half hour going door to door with our plastic pumpkins, I decided to head home because I had been sniffling all day and wasn’t feeling too well. I was walking down our street and could see a steady stream of kids going up and down the steps of our front porch as my mother handed out fistfuls of candy.
That’s when I noticed a group of kids milling about around the back of our house. Curious, I snuck around to the other side and peeked around the corner to see what they were up to. Somebody had brought a ladder and had leaned it up against the house right under Randy’s bedroom window. I could see him climbing down, his empty pillow case in hand. Somebody gave him a Frankenstein mask, and he put it on and zipped around to the front, where he joined a group of kids approaching our house to get some candy. After our mother dropped some candy bars in his pillow case, Randy broke off from the group, ran back around to his friends, returned the Frankenstein mask, and then borrowed a Harry Potter mask. Then he did the same thing all over again. Our mother was loading her own son up with candy and didn’t even realize it!
Randy repeated this trick at least six more times, using a number of different masks, including Thor, Batman, Minnie Mouse, Lurch from The Addams Family, the Creature from the Black Lagoon, and the blue My Little Pony.
I had to admit, it was a genius plan. So clever, in fact, I was actually proud of his ingenuity, and so I decided not to rat him out.
But just when you think you’ve pulled one over on your parent, there always comes a surprise. Two days later, as I was coming downstairs for dinner, I heard Mom on the phone again with Jane.
“I know, Jane, I actually couldn’t believe it was him. He must have come to the door four or five times before I finally figured out it was Randy. The mask was different every time, but I don’t know of any other boy in the neighborhood who had a Pink Power Ranger patch on the front pocket of his jacket! I knew right then and there he was trying to pull a fast one.”
I never did have the heart to break it to Randy that our mother knew all along what he had done that night because it has been his favorite story to recount over the years at Halloween parties.
Of course, I guess now, if he reads this column, he will finally know the cat is out of the bag.
So Happy Halloween, dear brother, and here’s to many more!
With the arrival of fall, you can count on three things to never change.
• A drop in temperature, ushering in the colder months ahead.
• The annual return of the Pumpkin Spice latte.
• Store shelves stocked with bags and bags of candy corn.
Over the years, candy corn has become highly controversial; to me, there only seems to be two sides of the fence. You either love it or hate it! There really doesn’t seem to be any middle ground, and I am definitely on the side of those who do not love it. That said, however, I thought that, for this column, instead of just ignoring it, for those of you who do love candy corn, I have an extra special cocktail recipe just for you!
So drink up, enjoy, and Happy Halloween!
Candy Corn Martini
Ingredients
2 ounces vodka
3 ounces sour mix
2 ounces pineapple juice
1 ounce Grenadine
Whipped cream for topping
Combine vodka, sour mix, and pineapple juice in a shaker with ice and shake well.
Strain into a martini glass and slowly pour the grenadine in so it settles on the bottom.
Top with whipped cream and enjoy.
No-Bake Candy Pie
This is a quick and simple, no-bake pie recipe that you can customize to your own personal preference with candy bars or loose candy. I love Heath Bars, so I freeze them, then smash them with a rolling pin to put in my pie. But I have a friend who loves Butterfingers, so she uses those instead. I have also used M&Ms, Reese’s, and Snickers for variety. You name it, I have probably used it. Give it a try with your favorite leftover Halloween candy, and I know your kids will thank you!
Ingredients
1 8-ounce package cream cheese, at room temperature
1 8-ounce container of whipped topping, thawed
5 Heath Bars broken in pieces (save some to sprinkle on top of the pie or crunch more candy)
1 pre-made chocolate or graham-cracker pie crust
In a bowl, beat the cream cheese until smooth. Fold in the whipped topping. Add in your crushed candy, minus the candy for the topping. Spoon into the pie crust and smooth over, then sprinkle the reserved candy over the top. Refrigerate for 2–4 hours. Slice and serve!
SCARED OFF
Barbara Ross
Chapter One
“Aunt Julia, can you come and get us?” My thirteen-year-old niece, Page, was on the line, barely holding it together, a quivering voice with a sniffle at the end.
“I can hardly hear you.” There was some kind of commotion in the background. “Are you still at Talia’s?”
Another sniffle. “Yes.”
“What’s wrong?”
“Some older kids came. They brought some beers.” More sniffles.
“I’m on my way.”
I turned off the TV, shoved my feet into a pair of flats, grabbed my keys, and headed for the stairs. I hoofed it down the harbor hill toward my mom’s house, where my car was stored in her garage. I was nervous, curious, but not panicked. Page was a sensible kid, mature for her age. Surprised as I was by the call, I was confident she could handle herself until I got there.
As I went, I turned back to look at my place. My studio apartment was dark, as I intended, to discourage trick-or-treaters. Gus’s restaurant on the first floor of the building was closed up tight. For two off-seasons, I had run a dinner restaurant in Gus’s space with my boyfriend, Chris. But Chris and I were no longer, and neither was the restaurant. We’d talked about trying to carry on despite the change in our personal status and decided it would be too hard.
Mom’s porch light was on and welcoming, even though it was almost ten o’clock and no one would still be trick-or-treating except the hardiest of teenagers. She was babysitting for my three-year-old nephew, Jack. I didn’t stop to go inside but hurried around to the three-car garage at the back.
My sister, Livvie, and brother-in-law, Sonny, were in Portland, attending a Halloween party at a friend’s house and then staying overnight in a hotel. It was the first time they’d been away without the kids since—honestly, it may have been the first time they’d ever been away without the kids. Livvie had been pregnant with Page when she and Sonny got married, so their domestic life started with a bang, like two teenagers shot out of a cannon. I really, really hoped whatever was going on with Page wouldn’t require me to call them.
Page had declared herself too old for trick-or-treating. She and her best friend, Vanessa, were supposed to be having a sleepover at their new friend Talia’s hous
e. It had all been arranged by my sister. I was merely backup to the backup.
Busman’s Harbor was quiet as the grave. As I drove down Main Street, the stores that were still open in the off-season had brightly lit windows displaying Halloween or harvest scenes, but no one was about. I drove cautiously nonetheless, wary of stragglers in costumes jumping out from between parked cars.
I saw the flashing blue lights of all three of Busman’s Harbor’s patrol cars as soon as I turned off Main onto Talia’s street. Adrenaline surged, tensing my body and causing my heart to thrum in my chest. Whatever was going on was way more serious than I’d assumed. Every light in Talia’s big Victorian house was on, which made it look like a demented jack-o’-lantern from the street. I screeched to the curb and jumped out, pelting toward the steps.
My friend Jamie Dawes, in his police uniform, opened the front door. “Whoa, Julia. The girls are fine.”
I two-stepped, catching my breath. “Then why are you here? And why did Page call me to pick her up?”
“C’mon in, and see for yourself.”
* * *
Jamie led me into a large front hallway, open to the third floor with a staircase winding along the walls. An enormous brass chandelier hung from the ceiling three stories above. The curtained French doors that presumably led to the front room were closed. I followed Jamie toward the back of the house.
The granite countertops and hardwood floor in the big kitchen were sticky with spilled, smelly beer. Potato-chip crumbs were dusted across the room, like feathers from a particularly vicious pillow fight. Most of the cabinet doors hung open. One had obviously served as Talia’s parents’ bar. It was empty except for a single, quarter-full bottle of gin tipped on its side.
“Did the other kids take off when you pulled up?” I asked.
“No. Something spooked them before we got here. We drove up the street to waves of teenagers, half of them in costume, running in the opposite direction. It was like the zombie apocalypse.”
