by Dan Padavona
The park ended at a chain-link fence. A parking lot littered with potholes and scattered trash bordered the park. This was where kids drank after the police chased them off the railroad tracks. He planted one foot inside the links and grasped the top. With a grunt, he swung his leg over and hopped down. The landing drove the air from his lungs and buckled his stiff knees. As he hurried across the parking lot, another car rolled past.
He paused when the black sedan turned into the lot. Though sunset was a few hours away, headlights blinded his eyes.
Leland altered his angle, wary of the car, but the driver swung around and blocked him from leaving. His head shot up when the doors opened. Leland recognized the two thugs climbing out of the sedan. These were the men who guarded Troy Dean. Leland’s confusion turned to alarm when Dean stepped out of the backseat and strode at the teenager with ill intent in his eyes.
“I heard someone talked to the cops.”
Leland swiveled and ran for the fence. Footsteps pounded the blacktop behind him as the gang members closed in. All he needed to do was reach the fence, hoist himself over, and retrace his steps. Nobody in the neighborhood would lend a hand. But the high school was three blocks past the neighborhood. That was his best chance.
Leland’s chest heaved with exertion. He sensed the thugs behind him. No matter how fast he ran, they gained an inch with each stride. Hopping over a curb, Leland leaped onto the fence and clutched the links. He swung one leg over the bar before someone grabbed him by the belt loop and ripped him backward. The teenager cried out before his back slammed against the macadam. Air fled his lungs as sneakers stomped his shoulders and ribs. He covered his head and pleaded as the gang members beat him down.
The sky spun overhead. A heavyset thug with a goatee and tattooed neck ripped him to his feet and threw him against the fence. Leland squirmed and kicked out, but they were stronger, and he was outnumbered. While the two bodyguards held him against the links, Dean hurled a fist into Leland’s stomach. The boy coughed and wheezed as Dean grabbed him by the hair and yanked his head back.
Leland’s eyes widened when the switchblade flicked out.
“Barton Falls is ours. Nobody talks to the cops without me finding out.”
Dean’s eyes boiled with unhinged fury. The gangster placed the blade against Leland’s throat and pressed inward, just enough to break the skin. Blood trickled down Leland’s neck and dotted his windbreaker.
“What did you tell the cops?”
“Nothing, I swear.”
Another punch buckled Leland’s ribs and left him breathless and sucking air.
“You told them where we sell.”
“No.”
“And you gave them my name.”
“I swear, I didn’t!”
Blade in hand, Dean angled the knife across Leland’s throat.
“I could bleed you like a stuck pig, and nobody would stop me.” Dean’s eyes flicked over Leland’s body and stopped on his chest. The gangster turned the switchblade and clutched it in his fist. He stuck the tip against Leland’s sternum and made a stabbing motion. “Or I could stab you in the chest like I did your friend.”
Leland froze.
Dean grinned.
“That’s right. I murdered your buddy.”
“Why? Why did you kill Derek?”
“Because he wouldn’t keep his mouth shut. What is it with you backwoods druggies? I provide a service, and you repay me by turning us over to the police.”
Dean nodded at the two guards. This was it. They were going to kill Leland.
He closed his eyes a second before Dean whipped his forehead against Leland’s face. The bridge of Leland’s nose shattered on impact. Blood flooded from the boy’s nostrils as Dean loomed over him, cackling like a maniac. The guards released Leland. His legs failed to support him, and he crumbled to the blacktop and lay on his side, curled in a fetal position.
Dean placed his sneaker on Leland’s neck.
“Tell one person we did this to you, and it will be twice as bad next time.” He waited until Leland nodded. Then the gang leader stepped back and laughed at the broken teenager. “There’s plenty more where that came from, bitch.”
The three men turned and strode toward the black sedan. Dean swiveled his head and leered back at Leland.
“Don’t show your face by the train tracks, boy. That’s Royals territory now. You’re not welcome.”
For good measure, Dean spat. The glob landed below Leland’s eye and trailed down his cheek.
The teenager coughed blood as the sedan raced out of the lot.
CHAPTER THIRTY
October 31st
3:15 p.m.
“Knock, knock.”
Scout closed the browser when her mother’s voice came from the entryway. Had she forgotten to lock the door? Seeing her father had thrown her off. At least she was safe inside the guest house with Jack by her side. The giant Siberian Husky lifted his head and padded to the entryway, tail wagging and slapping against the wall as he greeted Serena and Naomi. Scout’s mouth watered. The sweet potato pie made LeVar’s home smell like Thanksgiving.
“Hey, Mom. I’m back here.”
“Ms. Hopkins is with me.”
“Just need to drop off a few dishes for LeVar,” said Serena, drawing a snort from Naomi.
What was that all about?
“There you are,” Naomi said as she rounded the wall. Scout’s mother eyed the essay on the computer display with skepticism before bending to kiss Scout’s forehead. She held her lips for several seconds. “That’s good. You don’t have a fever.”
Scout doubted that lips competed for accuracy with digital thermometers. But mothers possessed preternatural abilities to assess fevers with their lips and the backs of their hands. They also solved all the world’s problems with chicken soup.
“Hi, Ms. Hopkins.”
“How are you feeling, Scout?” Serena asked, setting the pie on LeVar’s card table.
“Better. I could have gone to school this afternoon, but I finished my essay.”
Serena and Naomi shared a smile.
“Ms. Hopkins and I baked an amazing sweet potato pie,” Naomi said, brushing the hair out of Scout’s eyes. “How about I grab plates from LeVar’s cupboard?”
“Seriously? I can’t wait. But won’t pie ruin dinner?”
Serena waved a hand through the air.
“It’s only three. You’ll get your appetite back by six, especially with how hard you’re working.”
Naomi and Serena laughed again, leaving Scout to wonder about the inside joke. She furrowed her brow and turned back to her essay as her mother helped Serena with the plates and forks.
“Before I slice the pie,” Naomi called down the hallway. “Are you over your upset stomach?”
“Yeah, my stomach feels—”
Scout clamped her mouth shut, closed her eyes, and dropped her head back. How stupid could she be?
“Hmm,” Naomi said, leaning against the wall with a dish balanced on her palm. “I could have sworn you told me you had a sore throat.”
Serena folded her arms and stood beside Naomi. They fixed Scout with unwavering glares as she fidgeted in the wheelchair. Then Serena burst out laughing, and Naomi joined in. To Scout’s horror, they shared a fist bump.
“Kids never learn,” Naomi said.
“We teach them everything they know,” said Serena, popping a piece of crust into her mouth. “But not everything we know.”
“They fall for our tricks every time.” Naomi set Scout’s plate on the table and sat. “So you played hooky, and we caught you.”
Scout opened her mouth to protest and stopped. They’d cornered her. No way to talk her way out of the lie.
Naomi eyed Serena and said, “Now that we caught her, we need to decide on a punishment.”
“You could take her computers away for a week,” Serena said, forking the sweet potato pie past her lips.
Scout lost her appetite. Naomi pondered the s
uggestion.
“No. How will she do her homework?”
“Ma used to make me eat soap when I lied.”
“Eat soap?” Scout asked, widening her eyes.
“Or whack me with the paddle.”
Naomi chewed and swallowed, a look of rapture on her face.
“This is amazing, Serena. What’s wrong, Scout? You haven’t touched your food.”
Serena turned to Naomi as she pointed her fork at Scout.
“Maybe Scout should plea bargain to reduce her punishment.”
Naomi set her fork down and assessed her daughter from across the table.
“Yes, a plea bargain.”
Scout dropped her shoulders.
“Okay, what do you want me to do?”
“Let’s start with the reason you skipped school. You’re investigating another case, aren’t you?”
When Scout didn’t reply, Serena set her forearms on the table.
“Tell your mother the truth, Scout. The truth shall set you free.”
Naomi snorted.
“All right. But this case isn’t as exciting as the state park investigation.”
At the end of summer, Scout’s team researched the Skye Feron disappearance and helped the sheriff’s department catch Alec Samson, the man who’d abducted Skye six years ago.
“That’s fine. I don’t want you losing sleep because of nightmares, anyhow. What’s so fascinating about this case that you played hooky?”
Scout picked at her food and retold the story of Violet Lyon’s podcast. Naomi and Serena shared curious glances as Scout mentioned the Halloween Man.
“LeVar doesn’t believe anyone murdered Violet,” Scout said.
“But you do.”
Scout shrugged.
“I’m not sure. It sounded convincing, but I admit it’s far-fetched. Until I figure out Violet Lyon’s identity, I can’t solve the case.”
Naomi rubbed her chin.
“The prosecution is willing to strike a deal, Scout.”
Scout dropped her eyes to the table.
“What’s my punishment?”
“Show us everything you’re working on—how you research the case, the evidence you’ve gathered so far.”
“That’s it?”
“For now. You’ll have your day in court.”
“Okay.”
“Eat first. You won’t regret it.”
And she didn’t regret it. Dessert melted in Scout’s mouth. After they finished, Scout helped Mom and Serena wash and dry the dishes.
“Oh, I almost forgot. Someone needs to bring Jack’s food down from the A-frame. We’re in charge of feeding Jack and taking him outside.”
“No problem. I’ll run up to the house before dinner.”
“So you want to watch me work?” Scout asked.
She didn’t want to mention her father’s appearance with Serena around.
“Lead the way, super sleuth,” said Naomi, pushing Scout’s wheelchair to the computer.
As Naomi and Serena pulled chairs from the card table and squeezed beside her, Scout displayed the geolocation information on Violet Lyon.
“Interesting,” Naomi said. “Those dots show where Violet Lyon posted from?”
“Geolocation is accurate within several miles. Notice they cluster around Barton Falls.”
“What’s next?”
Scout ran Google searches for Violet Lyon and Barton Falls. Except for links to the girl’s podcast, Violet Lyon didn’t appear to be a real person. To verify the results, Scout called up last year’s Barton Falls yearbook. Again, no Violet Lyon.
“She’s using an assumed name,” Serena said. “How do you figure out her legal name?”
Jack’s head swiveled between them, as if he understood.
“We keep snooping,” Scout said.
Scout moved through the yearbook, page by page. She assumed Naomi and Serena would become bored, but their interests only grew as Scout searched for the proverbial needle in a haystack. Violet might be staring them in the face in dozens of pictures, but how would Scout know? After they perused the athletic teams, Serena tapped the screen with her finger.
“Let’s think this through,” Serena said. “This girl spends her nights creating podcasts and making up stories. Does that sound like a soccer player or sprinter to you?”
“No, it sounds like someone in the drama club,” Naomi said.
Scout had to admit Serena and Naomi were on to something. But after Scout studied the names and faces from the drama club photograph, nobody jumped out at her. Frustrated, she moved to the next page.
Her heart leaped. The media club. It made sense someone interested in podcasting and internet streaming would join the media club. Eight boys and five girls comprised the media club. Was Violet in the picture? Scout stopped on a pretty girl wearing a black T-shirt with a lion on the front. The mischief in the girl’s eyes pulled Scout’s attention. It was as if the girl hid a humorous secret from the world.
“That has to be her,” Scout said, pointing at the girl.
“What?” Naomi scooted her chair closer. “Why do you say that?”
“Read the name. Valerie Leonard.”
“Violet Lyon, Valerie Leonard.”
“Plus, lion and Lyon are homophones.” Scout set the mouse aside and accepted hugs from her mother and Serena. “Why didn’t I figure it out until now? I should tell LeVar.”
Smiles etched across their faces as Scout placed the call.
“All I need to do is find Valerie Leonard, and I’ll prove Violet Lyon didn’t die during her podcast,” Scout told LeVar.
“You did it again,” he said. “Not sure we saved anyone’s life this time. But at least we know the Halloween Man didn’t murder Violet on her show. Valerie Leonard, you said?”
“Yes.”
“I’ll tell the crew. We wondered how your investigation was going.” After a moment, LeVar said, “I wish you were here with us, Scout.”
Scout’s throat tightened. She wanted nothing more than to join LeVar, Darren, Raven, and Chelsey in the field someday.
“I wish I was too.”
“Stay near your computer. We might need your help again later.”
“Will do.”
Satisfaction and a sense of belonging warmed Scout’s chest. The way her mother and Serena admired her amplified those feelings.
“Now what?” Serena asked.
“I guess that’s the end of the investigation.”
Disappointment drooped their faces. To Scout, the investigation seemed incomplete. She’d forgotten something important.
“I’m your boyfriend now, Violet.”
The Halloween Man skit returned to her. That was a line from a horror movie. Nightmare on Elm Street, Scout recalled.
“Oh, no,” Scout muttered, covering her mouth.
Naomi moved to her daughter’s side.
“What’s the matter, hon?”
In the movie, Freddy Krueger spoke that line. And someone named Krueger31 stalked Valerie on internet message forums.
“We need to find Krueger31. He’s the real Halloween Man.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
October 31st
3:40 p.m.
The pressure overwhelmed Valerie. Her life had become a nightmare.
She slumped to the floor inside her bedroom and twisted the lock on the door. Her shoulders trembled. Tears streamed down her face as her parents fought inside the kitchen. They argued over Valerie’s punishment for disobeying their orders and sneaking out with Derek. Wasn’t it enough that someone murdered her boyfriend?
A twin bed lay tucked in the far corner of the room with a Vampire Weekend poster affixed to the wall above her pillow. Opposite her bed, a desk held a computer and webcam, plus a broadcast quality microphone. She was broken. A fraud. If only her fans could see her now, sniveling like a terrified two-year-old.
A purr pulled her eyes to the closet. Loomis, her three-month-old Devon Rex kitten, padded out of hiding and
curled in her lap. The kitten nuzzled against Valerie’s chest as she stroked its fur.
“Don’t worry, Loomis. They’re just yelling. They won’t hurt you.”
The kitten meowed in answer and stretched its limbs, tiny claws digging against Valerie’s legs. Her father’s voice boomed through the downstairs and dominated Valerie’s mother. In this house, he had the last word. Every time. Anyone who questioned his authority learned never to speak out again.
Valerie pressed her ear to the door and clutched the handle as if it was a lifeline.
“Why didn’t you let the police look at the car?” Charisse sobbed. “Derek is dead. The least we can do is cooperate with the investigation.”
“I won’t let them examine the Passat, Charisse. Don’t argue with me.”
Loomis squirmed.
“Shh,” Valerie said, soothing the frightened kitten. “He just needs to yell himself out, and it will all be over soon. There’s nothing to be afraid of.”
Except she was afraid. Terrified by what had happened to Derek, frightened by her father’s rage.
“What harm would it have done?” Charisse asked.
“Are you crazy? First, they search the car, then they come back with a warrant for the house. The next thing you know, one of us leaves our home in handcuffs.”
“But we did nothing wrong.”
Ed Leonard didn’t reply. Valerie’s breath caught in her chest as she waited for her father to say something.
The ensuing quiet was like the split-second between lightning and thunder. Valerie’s mind returned to the locker room. Someone had locked her inside and stalked her. After she escaped through the fire exit, the Halloween Man glared at her across the parking lot. A moment later, he disappeared behind a row of vehicles. Nothing made sense. The Halloween Man wasn’t real. She’d created the legend to frighten her listeners.
Had she opened the gates of hell? Someone was dressing up as the Halloween Man. The possibility that the same maniac murdered Derek sent chills down her spine.
