I said goodbye and drove onto the back road, my thoughts racing.
If Adrian was right in thinking that Peter had pushed Claire onto the train tracks, that meant the entire literature club had witnessed the event. But why would Peter wait so long to start killing the witnesses? No one had pointed a finger at him in the initial investigation into Claire’s death, and for the past three years, the club had maintained silence about that fatal night. It was as if they’d made some kind of pact to keep quiet about the fact they’d been there when Claire died.
Maybe something had triggered Peter’s killing spree. One of the literature club members could’ve had an attack of conscience and threatened to tell the police. Or maybe they’d grabbed an opportunity to milk Peter for some blackmail money—a more likely option, given that Peter’s family was well-to-do. Blackmail sounded like something Jackson would’ve considered…but he was one of the first to die, so why would Peter have been motivated to kill the rest of the members as well?
The oaks lining our driveway were now bare, their brown-barked arms lifted toward the pale sky in what seemed defiant gestures. My time in Larches Corner was nearly over. I would meet with Jonas tomorrow, then I’d head back to Greenwich and my cozy carriage house, where I’d be surrounded by my favorite books and mementos from my Peace Corps days in China. I could catch up with Dietrich and Stone and go to the billiards party for Red and Susan.
I shoved thoughts of Peter Bear aside and went into the house to bag up my treats. Mom was still out, so I figured she was helping Dad close up the office. All the better for any trick-or-treaters who showed up. The Blake home would not be offering pine nut snacks this Halloween.
19
I scrounged up a couple of old plastic jack-o’-lantern lights and plugged them up on the front porch. I was glad to see their small bulbs still lit up, albeit dimly. I turned on all our outdoor lights, then donned a coat and settled into a chair to wait.
A gray minivan inched up the drive, and I recognized the driver as a young mother from my parents’ church. Her three children, all under the age of ten, piled out. Although the mom had her window rolled down, she didn’t get out, but simply waved her children on.
I was amazed as all three trooped up the steps without hesitation. They were dressed in refreshingly wholesome costumes—one was a firefighter, one a cowgirl, and I was fairly certain the orange-faced youngest was an Oompa Loompa.
They politely asked for treats and seemed enthused about my offerings. Their mom gave a smile and wave as the children climbed back into the van. I couldn’t imagine seeing that kind of easily bestowed trust in Greenwich, even though it was quite a safe place to live. Growing up in Larches Corner had more perks than I’d previously acknowledged.
In the faded dusk, I could’ve sworn I heard someone walking toward me, but I couldn’t see anyone. It was possible that a parent had parked at the end of our driveway and dropped their kids off so they didn’t have to turn around.
I peered toward the sound, only to feel startled when a black-clad figure emerged. The taller person, who was wearing a hooded cape, was definitely not a child.
Something glinted in their hand when the light caught it. Apprehension raced through me and I wished I’d thought to place that hunting knife within reach.
Because the person was carrying a scythe—and it wasn’t pretend.
* * * *
I glanced at the front door, calculating how long it would take me to close the distance and get inside. Was I being paranoid? Was it just some older kid or a parent who’d decided to trick-or-treat, too?
As I waffled between options, the person stopped short and turned their hood my way, as if to stare at me. This was not okay, I decided. I raced inside and locked the door, only to realize I’d managed to keep the candy bowl firmly in my grasp the entire time.
I wished my mom already had an attack alpaca patrolling the property, although I doubted it would guard against human intruders. After putting the bowl down, I grabbed my phone and pulled up the emergency number, just in case. Then I snatched up the hunting knife and sat where I could watch the door.
I waited in excruciating silence as the minutes ticked by. Then I heard scuffling light thuds as someone walked up to the door. The doorbell rang, but I stayed frozen to my chair.
Someone shouted, “Is anyone there? Trick or treat!”
It took me a moment to process that it was a child’s voice. I realized that leaving the lights on told the trick-or-treaters that our house was still open for business. Setting the knife on the table behind the door, I opened it a crack.
A girl around nine years old held her orange treat bucket up to me. She was dressed as an anime heroine with a pink wig. A car was idling in the driveway behind her, its lights on.
I grabbed a bag of candy and dropped it in her bucket. “Did you see anyone else out there?” I asked.
The girl, who was already heading down the steps, threw a dubious look over her shoulder. “No, I’m the only one around.”
“Okay,” I said to her retreating back. When she was safely in the car and it pulled to the end of the drive, I turned off all the lights and shut the door, locking it behind me.
I knew I hadn’t been seeing things. Was someone trying to play a trick on me? Jonas wouldn’t do something like that, nor would Chloe, and they were the only people I’d been hanging around with since I’d been home.
About fifteen minutes later, Dad unlocked the door. Mom was close behind him, carrying a large brown bag that was doubtless full of Chinese food.
“We thought we’d celebrate your last night here.” Mom’s bubbly demeanor was a stark contrast to my anxiety-ridden mood. “I know how you like the Lo Mein and orange chicken from Yang’s, so we drove over and picked some up. Sorry we got home a little later.”
“That sounds wonderful,” I said, taking the bag from her and heading into the kitchen. I set out plates and drinks as my parents changed, then I served up the delicious food.
Dad gave me a concerned look. “You feeling okay, honey? You’re a little pale.”
I told my parents about the creepy person in the driveway, and they both agreed I’d done the right thing by going inside.
“Even though our town’s pretty safe, I’ll still occasionally hear of evil things happening on Halloween night,” Dad said. “Nothing’s happened to children, but black cats tend to go missing or turn up dead.”
Mom’s eyes flashed, signaling that she was putting up the shield wall around her threatened child. “That punk had better not show his face in my yard again.” She gave a sharp nod, as if to back up the seriousness of her threat. I could almost visualize her coming up with some unique contraption to stop the intruder, like setting up a trip wire or building a makeshift catapult to toss boiling liquid on him.
I was reminded of Katrina when Mom got all protective like this. Although I had to admit, I’d also inherited some of Mom’s righteous zeal to bring the bullies—or the murderers, in my case—to justice.
“It’ll be okay,” I said, trying to sound convincing. “It was probably just some teen trying to do something dangerous on Halloween.”
But as I finished my chicken and noodles, I doubted that was the truth. There’d been something foreboding about the stranger in our driveway. A fleeting thought stole through my mind—what if it had been Peter Bear? He was out of jail, and maybe he wanted to throw a scare into me for some reason.
Mom dished more fried rice onto her plate. “Oh, and Ella van Dusen did a great job at the clinic today. You were clever to think of sending her over, sweetie. I think working with the animals will be kind of therapeutic for her. She came after school and I think she’s already fallen in love with that stray Rottweiler mix.”
I cringed. “Tracy van Dusen might not share your sentiments when Ella starts begging for a Rottweiler.”
“He’s quite tame a
round people,” Dad put in. “Although he hates other dogs, which could be why someone dumped him.”
“I’m glad to hear she’s enjoying something,” I said. “She seemed to have no hobbies and no real friends.”
“She’s probably been living in her big sister’s shadow all these years,” Mom said. “She just needed a chance to prove herself, that’s all.”
I excused myself to my room after dinner, ready to unwind from the stress-inducing evening. So much for having a pleasant hometown Halloween.
And the night wasn’t over yet. After a long soak in the tub, I snuggled in bed and tried to get into one of Katrina’s old psychology textbooks, which was so dry, it started putting me to sleep. I didn’t feel like getting up to rummage through the boxes of books my mom had packed away, so instead I logged in to Twitch to watch a couple of gamer peers. One of them had a fantastic headset, so I zoomed in to see the brand and was pricing it online when I heard something thwack into the side of the house.
I scrambled out of the bed. Peering into the hallway, I saw that Mom and Dad had already shut the lights off in the living room, which meant they’d gone to bed.
I didn’t think calling the cops was the best idea, but I didn’t want to wake up my hard-working parents, either.
I did the next best thing. I called Jonas.
* * * *
Jonas didn’t ask why I was calling him instead of waking my parents when something had been thrown against their house. He just said, “I’ll be over in a minute.”
Once I heard Jonas’s truck easing up the driveway, I crept out the front door to meet him. He’d already killed the truck’s headlights, but he’d left his park lights on.
He strode directly to my side, his warm, familiar smell putting me at ease. I couldn’t see very well in the darkness, but I was pretty sure he had a twelve gauge strapped onto his shoulder.
“Where’d you hear the sound?” he asked.
I turned on my phone flashlight and aimed it just below my room’s window. “It sounded like it hit over there.”
He led the way to the area I’d indicated and I followed a few steps behind. He stopped short, aiming his long, heavy flashlight at the grass. “Something’s here,” he said. He didn’t have to add that I should stay back, because I could hear it in his warning tone.
He grabbed a fallen tree branch and poked at it. His light bounced against white sideboards of the house, and I nearly gagged when I saw a dark red smear across the lowest one.
It looked like blood.
I didn’t want to entertain the idea that someone might’ve killed an animal and thrown it against our house. Who would do something that twisted?
A killer, that’s who.
Instead of following my immediate instinct to run inside, I edged closer to Jonas. He was flipping something over with the stick. Relief filled his voice as he announced, “It’s just a pumpkin, Belinda.”
I leaned in to get a better view of it. This time, I noticed the trail of pumpkin seeds and flesh that lined the red on the wall. A thin oval pumpkin was resting prostrate on the ground, partially cracked on one side. But the pumpkin was red.
“Looks like someone painted it not long before they threw it against the house,” Jonas explained.
While I was glad to hear it wasn’t coated in blood, blind fury began to course through me. Who was callous enough to trespass in our yard and vandalize my parents’ house like that? Now the entire section would need to be repainted.
“What a stupid stunt!” I burst out.
He nodded. “It’s definitely stupid to go creeping around like that out in the country, especially when lots of locals are armed. Sounds like the kind of thing a teenager would do without thinking of the consequences.”
Sure, it sounded like that. But I still perceived a sinister intent, given the earlier appearance of the grim reaper.
Jonas discreetly aimed his flashlight toward the ground, then clicked it off. “Now, do you want to tell me what this was really all about? It’s not like you to get jumpy over noises outside your house. Did The Haunting of Hill House really bother you? I could tell you didn’t like it.”
I had to smile. “No, this has nothing to do with the book.” I told him about the hooded person’s earlier appearance in our driveway.
“I don’t like it,” he said. “You should report everything to the police tomorrow—the caped stalker and the vandalism are likely linked.”
“I know. I plan to. But I’m leaving tomorrow.” I knew I sounded petulant.
“I’ll be around for your parents,” he said. “Don’t worry about that.”
I knew that in my head, but it helped to hear his verbal reassurance. “Thank you, Jonas. And thanks for coming over so late. I was such a coward.”
Jonas took a step closer and I could only make out the shadow of his form in the dim beams of his truck lights. He didn’t even have to touch me, but I felt I’d been enveloped by his protective force field. I could’ve stood there all night.
He finally placed a hand on my shoulder. “You’re no coward, Belinda. Now, you go back inside and try to get some sleep. I’ll check your yard, just to be sure no one’s lurking around. In the morning, be sure to let the police know. You still want to come over at eleven?”
Wild horses couldn’t drag me away. “Of course. I’m planning on it,” I said demurely.
He gave my shoulder a brief pat, then clicked on his flashlight and stalked off. I plodded into the front door and locked it behind me. Although I was irritated that someone had dared to damage my parents’ home—I dreaded telling them about that in the morning—at least now I’d be able to sleep, knowing Jonas was on the job.
But as I attempted to drift off, I tried to imagine who would show up with a real scythe and a freshly-painted pumpkin. Was it malicious or simply a Halloween prank? Was there a reason they had targeted our house?
There was one person who could analyze the situation and give me a better picture of the culprit. Only thing was, she was likely to drive over and try to hunt him down herself. I’d give Katrina a call first thing in the morning.
20
I called my sister at seven thirty, after I knew she’d had time to down her first cup of coffee. She’d probably pick up another at a drive-through on her way to the office—she always said that one of the best perks of being employed was buying fancy coffee for yourself.
I could hear Jasper fussing in the background when Katrina picked up. “Hey, sis. Hang on.”
She gave some commands to Tyler, who must’ve been standing nearby and trying to console his baby boy. The fussy noises came to an abrupt stop.
“Sorry,” Katrina said. “Jasper’s teething or something, I guess. We have to give him frozen teething rings to chew on.”
A desire to see my rapidly growing nephew washed over me. “When are you coming in again? I’m sure he’s getting so big.”
“We’ll be there for Thanksgiving, but not before. Both of us are booked solid—maternity leave didn’t help me.”
“It helped Jasper,” I said. “Anyway, something weird happened last night. For Halloween.” I recounted the story of the threatening person in the driveway and the smashed red pumpkin. “Do you think it’s just regular teen horseplay or something more personal?”
Katrina took a deep breath, like she was trying to calm herself down. “I’m not sure, but given the fact that you’re asking me, I’m wondering if you think it’s something personal. Which tells me you’ve put yourself in harm’s way somehow, BB.”
How did she do that? Always turning things around and reading me like a book.
I told her about the deaths of the literature club members, winding up with how police had released Peter Bear yesterday. “Do you think he’s the killer?” I asked.
“From the way you’ve described him, I kind of find it hard to believe.
He seemed happy with Rosalee, right? Then he was devastated when she died.”
“But Tori came right over that next day, and I’m pretty sure she was having some kind of romantic meal with him.”
“That could just be Tori—sounds like she was always enthralled by him, no matter who he was with. Maybe she offered to bring him a meal, and he didn’t realize she was angling for a private date.”
It was funny that Katrina and Chloe had both formed the opinion that Tori was the obsessive type. “I’m sure that’s possible,” I said. “But what about the fact that Tori was murdered right there in Peter’s horse barn? Someone had to lure her in there, don’t you think? Who better to do that than Peter?”
“You told me yourself that something’s not adding up with the Peter-as-murderer hypothesis.”
“Maybe I’m like every other girl, blinded by his amazing looks and kind personality,” I said.
“Tell me this—can you picture him driving over to the house, donning a grim reaper costume, and hurling a red-painted pumpkin toward the wall?”
I had to admit, it seemed a really far stretch. “But what if he was trying to scare me? He knows I’m helping Chloe with her news stories, so maybe he wanted to get me to back off?”
Katrina was chewing at something and she spoke around it. “In that case, don’t you think he would’ve targeted Chloe first? She’s the lead reporter.”
“Good point. I’ll call Chloe and make sure nothing strange happened to her last night. Sorry to bother you so early.”
Katrina sighed. “You know you can call me anytime. What are sisters for?”
Jasper’s cries grew louder as Katrina moved toward him. My big sister had a lot on her plate, but if anyone could handle all the pressure, it was Katrina.
“I’ll let the police know before I go,” I said.
“And you’d better call me once you and Jonas have that talk,” she said.
“Will do,” I said, nervous and excited to remember that today was the day for that.
Belinda Blake and the Birds of a Feather Page 14
