Haunted Be the Holidays: A Krewe of Hunters Novella

by Heather Graham

  Kody headed back to the stage-left wing where she’d left her shoulder bag draped over one of the Victorian chairs ready to come out for the night show set.

  As she walked, Clara called after her, “Hey, did you see the performer outside? He might give us a run for our money tonight!”

  Kody wasn’t at all sure why, but Clara’s words sent a shiver racing down her spine. She stopped and turned back.

  “A performer outside? Was he wearing a something like a death’s head mask—similar to the one in the play?”

  “Yeah. I hadn’t thought about it, but, yes, it’s kind of similar. It’s getting crazy busy out there. Kids galore—with parents. And just people dressed up. Everyone stopped for this guy though. A hell of a dancer.”

  Kody forgot about her bag. She hurried back to the stage and rushed down the stairs, heading along a velvet-carpeted aisle to reach the lobby.

  “Kody!”

  Charly was behind the glassed-in box-office area, looking dapper in his tux. He kept his hair long, and by his appearance might have been a dressed-up and slightly aged rocker from the eighties.

  “Yes?”

  Courtesy caused her to pause for a minute. And smile.

  “Sold out for tonight’s performance, too—you go, girl!”

  “Thanks, Charly!” she said and burst out to the sidewalk beyond the theater.

  The performer was gone. She walked up and down, but she didn’t see him.

  Walking back, she frowned.

  There were drops of blood on the sidewalk, leading from the corner…

  Right up to the door of the theater.

  Then they stopped, as if whatever had been dripping that blood had simply vanished into thin air.

  * * * *

  “Halloween.”

  Jackson said the word wearily.

  “You know,” he continued, “when I was a kid, I loved the holiday beyond imagination. Now, now that I’ve been where I’ve been, seen what I’ve seen, and in heading up the Krewe…”

  Halloween spelled trouble, and Brodie McFadden knew it well. There was something about a plethora of jack-o-lanterns, movie monsters, front-lawn-graveyards, ghosts, ghouls, and goblins that seemed to bring out the devious machinations of the most heinous criminals.

  “It’s because it’s a wonderful night to hide in plain sight,” Brodie said.

  They had already walked several miles around the area.

  They’d paused to talk to several “vampires.”

  None proved to be covered in real blood.

  Halloween might have been better celebrated at malls or neighborhoods—or at house parties. But no matter how many venues offered special events and candy, people still took to the streets.

  “Looking for a needle in a haystack,” he murmured.

  Of course, every patrol officer out there tonight had been warned to be on the lookout for the woman who had come into the pharmacy. And yet, despite his belief in Rebecca Cameron’s certainty, they might just be on a wild goose chase.

  Yes, looking for a needle in a haystack.

  “Maybe I should go this alone. You can head to the theater—”

  “No, and Kody will understand,” Brodie said. He paused for a moment, looking at Jackson. “Hey, who knows? Maybe we’ll turn a corner and find this woman.”

  “Doubtful,” Jackson said.

  They turned a corner.

  They were about five blocks from the pharmacy—almost as if they were at the point of a perfect triangle from both the pharmacy and the theater.

  They had come upon the Anderson House, a beautiful old mansion built about a decade after the White House, but still privately owned. Herbert Iberville, who owned it now, had made a fortune producing and directing music videos, and as such, he loved anything theatrical.

  The yard had been done up amazingly for the holiday—both sides of the sloping lawn had become part of a cemetery with monsters having a graveyard bash.

  Music played. “I See a Bad Moon Rising” ended and “Monster Mash” began as they paused in front of the house.

  Kids were hurrying up the long walkway to the antebellum-style porch, where candy was being given out. “We’ll head on up and ask them if they’ve seen anything--unusual,” Jackson said.

  “Wait,” Brodie murmured.

  He was looking to the left. Haphazard Styrofoam gravestones littered the yard with pumpkin-headed scarecrows, zombies, monsters, witches and more interspersed between them.

  Some zombies were crawling out of the ground. A green witch sat on a tomb sipping tea and speaking with a mummy.

  The work in the yard was phenomenal, and the owner had evidently created it with a great love for set design and the holiday. It was fantastic, but there was just one thing that seemed oddly out of place.

  Not out of place…

  It was a vampire. A female vampire. But she wasn’t chatting with the other fabrications.

  She was lying wide-eyed between a few of the tombs.

  He headed off the path and to the side of the yard.

  Before he even reached the vampire, he smelled it.

  The tinny smell of blood, mixed with the smell of death.

  Without turning around, he lifted a hand to Jackson, who quickly followed in his wake. The yard was on a slope; he strode up it past all manner of the creations and came to the woman. Down on his knees, he studied her.

  Blood was all around her mouth. It dotted the crimson dress she wore in dark stains and clotted on her black cape.

  Jackson hunched down beside him, his cell phone out as he called it in.

  Hide in plain sight.

  Looking down at the corpse, he wondered just how long the thing had been hidden in plain sight.

  And was this the “vampire” who had walked into the pharmacy?

  He didn’t touch the corpse. That was the medical examiner’s duty. He studied what he could see. Pinpoint pricks on her neck—real or drawn-on. Bright red lipstick, dark eyes…she had been in her mid to late twenties. Medium height, medium build. Nails long and sharpened to points.

  Patrol officers arrived quickly, creating a perimeter.

  Trick-or-treating was over for the night at Anderson House. Kids were filing out.

  Brodie stood and waited, watching to make sure none of the revelers stepped past the yellow crime scene tape.

  “Hey, mister! Way to ruin Halloween!” a boy in a “Walking Dead” outfit called to him.

  “Yep, way to ruin it. Sorry,” Brodie said.

  An older kid at the boy’s side nudged him, looking up at Brodie. He looked scared—as if Brodie was the most frightening thing he’d seen all night.

  “FBI,” he murmured.

  “Yes, and sorry, kid. Truly, I’m sorry.”

  And so, I’m sure, is she, he added silently as the kids moved away.

  Without the costume, she’d been young and lovely.

  And now she was young, and lovely, and dead.

  Suddenly, with no sound reason, Brodie worried about Kody. She would, of course, understand why he wasn’t there at the theater. He didn’t like not being there—now. Because there was a killer out there. Someone who could hide in plain sight, and even hide his victims in plain sight.

  It was Halloween.

  But…

  She was in a theater.

  As he thought of her, his phone rang.

  It was Kody.

  He tried to keep any fear out of his voice as he answered, quickly apologizing, explaining the situation, and apologizing again.

  “No, no, it’s all right, but…when you’re done there, you need to come here.”

  “What’s wrong?”

  “I think, at some point, your killer might have been here...this may be silly, and it may be nothing…”

  Something else that might be nothing.

  Nothing wasn’t working out so well.

  Kody continued, “And I have evidence. I mean, seriously, this could be nothing. Just drops of paint, or makeup, but I’m fe
eling strange about it. Some kind of strange instinct...I think I might know who your killer is.”

  * * * *

  “I…I could be overreacting,” Kody told Brodie. “And I really don’t know why—I guess what he was wearing reminded me so much of what Brent Myerson wears when he becomes the creature that…It gave me chills. Funny—I should have thought more that someone was ripping off our designs, but it just made me uneasy instead.”

  Jackson and Detective Angus Hilton were outside—where she believed she had seen blood drops.

  Kody and Brodie were in her dressing room.

  She was in costume for the night’s performance, sitting at her dressing table and just finishing with her hair.

  Jackson and Brodie had studied the drops, and he’d told her more about their trip to the nearby pharmacy at Detective Angus Hilton’s request—and their discovery of the corpse, the woman who had been in the store.

  They didn’t know what the drops meant yet, if anything—maybe some poor fellow who had cut himself shaving had come up to read one of the advertising posters for upcoming productions that were on either side of the entrance. Maybe someone just had a cut…easy enough to get a cut to cause that tiny amount of blood.

  “No, you always report it when you think something might even be slightly wrong,” Brodie assured her, reaching for her opening act hat as she set a last bobby-pin into her hair. “Sometimes in life you take chances. When it comes to anything suspicious—safe is better than sorry.”

  She glanced over at him quickly, accepting the ladies’ straw hat her character wore for Act I. Brodie was always…perfect. Perfect for her, and in her mind, perfect for anyone. She was fairly tall—5’9”—and she loved his solid 6’4”. He had the darkest hair she thought she’d ever seen, and eyes as deep and blue as the ocean, along with a handsomely rugged jaw and striking features.

  He was also polite and courteous, especially to those who needed help. He was good at laughing, and at honesty…

  And he saw the dead, as she did now.

  Brodie was, she knew, an amazing investigator and would soon become an amazing addition to Adam Harrison’s Krewe of Hunters. But she’d never imagined she’d be doing children’s theater so quickly and easily or taking on a leading role in a major show. She’d also never imagined that an investigator accidentally on the job during murders in Key West would wind up being the mainstay of her existence, her best friend, an amazing lover, and basically, her life.

  “The woman you found…is there an I.D. on her yet?” she asked. “I feel…well, a little like a kid crying ‘wolf.’ You and Jackson were on a case…”

  “Which started because a woman looked past Halloween and feared someone might be in trouble, or at the least, causing trouble. Kody, trust me. You did the right thing. And with what went on at the pharmacy—a matter of a few blocks from here—it only makes sense for us to have an especially heavy presence here.” He came around the dressing table and she turned to look at him.

  “It’s not just what we think are blood drops that’s bothering you, is it?” he asked.

  She inhaled and winced. “I think I’m being silly,” she murmured. “I mean, Clara saw the guy, and she just appreciated a good performance. While I saw…”

  “Hey,” he murmured, smoothing a tiny stray hair back from her forehead. “The situation in Key West is not that far in the past.”

  She nodded. She still missed her friend, a laid-back singer who could be a bit off the wall—but someone she had loved dearly.

  It wasn’t that long since Kody had nearly been killed.

  “I just can’t become paranoid!” she said.

  “No.” He was quiet a minute. “There’s no way out of what I do—well, I mean there would be—”

  “Never. It’s what you do, and you do it well—and you save lives,” she told him passionately.

  “But we’ll be smart—and safe. We’ll hang out at the shooting range, so you become a good markswoman—and can handle weapons safely. Too many guns on the streets. And, I’m willing to bet, you’re wicked with a can of pepper spray—and you do remember to carry it, right?”

  She nodded gravely. “Always.” She grinned. “Unless I’m on stage. Well, unless it’s a period Brown Bess or a flintlock musket or—”

  “I get the idea.” He smiled. “And, believe me, the crime scene techs are collecting that blood. Jackson is here, I’m here. We can’t do too much until we get an I.D. on our dead vampire girl, or someone else calls in with info or we get to the autopsy tomorrow. I’ll be here.”

  She jumped up and into his arms, careful not to crush her costume too badly. “And here, of course, there are always friends—and you—and your parents.”

  He laughed softly. “Ah, yes, my folks. They must be busy haunting one of my brothers.”

  He grinned, holding her tightly for a moment. Looking up into his eyes, she thought again of what strange twists and turns life—and death—could bring. She was so in love with him. She could remember being wary when he had informed her that yes, he saw the dead as well. He had been there for her when so much had gone so wrong.

  And he had also taught her to be strong when she’d been terrified.

  She was going to be strong now, she determined. He had just found a corpse; she had seen an entertainer in the street. She rose on her toes and kissed him, meaning it to be quick and light, but the kiss deepened, and she felt warmth growing within her…a memory of just how close they had become.

  She stepped back quickly. It was opening night and her call was any second.

  He smiled, a twisted grin on his face. They had both been thinking the same thing.

  It was far too easy to let their minds wander to a place where costumes were stripped away, where there was nothing but the feel of flesh against flesh, of…

  “All right, I’m heading out. I’ll be in here--somewhere. And Adam is coming in too, I believe—after all, the theater is truly his baby.” He winced. “If anything—”

  “And if you have to leave, you leave,” Kody said determinedly.

  He nodded and stepped out of her dressing room.

  She watched him go, smiling a little. She was anxious for the show.

  And just as anxious to go home.

  Dressed and ready, she decided to take her place in the wings. Clara would be ready with all the calls on the tech script, and she’d be near a friend and able to greet other members of the cast.

  The basement area was a bevy of activity. She greeted friends who worked in lighting and costumes, sets and props, and stopped to thank Ginny Granger, an attractive woman in her fifties, dark-eyed and whimsical; she liked to keep different streaks of color going through her white hair. Magenta one week, purple the next—and then, maybe green.

  There had been a small tear in her cape. Now, like magic, it was gone.

  “Ginny, you’re the best, and thank you,” she told the woman.

  “My pleasure—you’re the easiest woman I know to dress!” Ginny replied. She wrinkled her nose. “And trust me, I’ve worked with some whiners in my day.” She lowered her voice. “Now that Brent Myerson, playing the good doctor. Ooh, la, la!”

  “Brent? He’s not…friendly and easy to work with?” Kody asked, surprised. As an actor, Brent was wonderful. He knew his lines. He knew how not to step on someone else’s lines. He was great with blocking, with working with others—a true ensemble player.

  “Oh, no, I didn’t mean that at all. I meant he was just as nice—or nicer—than anyone could imagine. I know you’re not doing the next play, but I believe he’s got a co-starring role in The Harvest. I’ve just worked with some people who whine about everything. The kind of fabric, the style, or the cut—things the director has chosen to use. Not here so much, just…well, you never know. There are actors, and there are whiners. I like working with actors. I mean, the real Brent Myerson is the nicest man in the world, bar none!”

  “The real Brent Myerson?” Kody asked.

  Ginny was
quiet for a minute, glancing around. “He’s been great here. I…I mean, everyone deserves a second chance, right? I know he went into treatment. But…”

  “Please, Ginny—I’m opening out there with him tonight.”

  Ginny sighed, glancing around. “He had a drug problem a few years back. He was going to work for one of the summer Shakespeare companies. But like I said, I know he went into treatment. And I’m sure he’s fine. He did that soda commercial, and it’s a good commercial—he’s charming, when he’s himself, and I know he wanted treatment. He’s worked hard since then. I’ve seen how great he’s been. Please don’t say anything.”

  “No, no, I won’t,” Kody assured her. She smiled. Brent had been great. In his mid-thirties, he was handsome and charming, and had real gifts. Whether on stage or screen.

  The show had been running the entire month of October, and she hadn’t seen any sign whatsoever Brent might have gone back on drugs.

  Ginny smiled and hurried on, carrying an armful of the winter capes that were worn in Act II.

  Kody turned to head toward the stairs and was startled when she was nearly knocked over. She was just as quickly caught and steadied, and found herself staring at a very concerned Percy Ainsworth.

  “Sorry, sorry, sorry! We had a faulty bookcase and I’m on my way up. You lean against it in Act II—and if you went through…I wouldn’t just feel like a failure, I’d feel terrible!” he told her.

  Percy was a slim pile of energy. A man who loved the theater and took incredible pride in his work. He was rather ageless; he shaved his head, so he was bald. His eyes were a bright green that often seemed to shimmer with excitement. And he could manage just about any project quickly and easily, and understood what problems singers and dancers might encounter on stage as well as actors.

  “Thanks, and not to worry at all. I’m so glad you’re fixing the bookcase. Go, go, hurry!”

  He ran ahead of her.

  Kody started up the stairs then paused, having the strangest feeling that someone was behind her.

  Well, of course, someone was behind her—cast and crew were everywhere.

  But there wasn’t anyone behind her. A few of the chorus and ensemble members were milling together by a costume rack.