Howloween Murder

by Laurien Berenson

  “Do you have any idea why someone would have wanted to poison him?” I asked.

  “No,” Bernadette replied firmly. “None whatsoever.”

  Hugh shook his head too. “It’s terrible to have something like that happen in a place where you should be able to feel safe. Ever since the police were here, Bernie’s been on edge just thinking about it. That’s why I stopped by today. I want my sweetie to know that I’m keeping a close eye on her.”

  The two of them reached across the table to twine their hands together. When Hugh squeezed Bernadette’s fingers, a blush rose on her cheeks. Her lashes fluttered and Hugh smirked. Despite their ages, the pair looked like a couple of teenagers experiencing their first love.

  It was definitely time for Faith and me to go.

  “I’m glad you have someone looking out for you,” I told Bernadette as I rose to my feet. “And Harriet too.”

  “Sure, Harriet too.” Hugh’s reply was perfunctory. He was barely listening to me.

  Faith and I left the kitchen and let ourselves out the front door. I wondered how long it took them to notice that we were gone.

  Chapter Eight

  I walked out to the sidewalk and looked up and down both sides of the street. All the houses were on small lots. The entire neighborhood was within easy walking distance. Assuming the people on Harriet’s list were home, I should have time to talk to several of them.

  Faith merely sighed when I took her back to the Volvo and locked her inside. She turned a small circle on the backseat and lay down, but not before giving me that look. You know the one. Without saying a single word, the big Poodle was able to clearly convey her disappointment in my dog-care skills.

  I couldn’t help it, I had work to do.

  The name at the top of Harriet’s list belonged to Trixie Dent. According to the number on the mailbox, her house was right next door. The sight of her front yard made me smile. Trixie had gone all out on her Halloween decorations.

  On one side of the small lawn was a straw-stuffed scarecrow, its lower limbs resting on a row of pumpkins. Near the house, two life-size skeletons peeped out from behind the trunk of a sturdy tree. A cardboard cutout of a witch riding a broomstick was affixed to the front door.

  The sidewalk between the two homes was covered with a blanket of autumn leaves. As they crunched beneath my feet, the sound abruptly transported me back to my childhood. My younger brother and I used to spend all day raking fallen leaves, only to undo our hard work by jumping in the pile and scattering them again.

  Now it occurred to me that I hadn’t raked even a single leaf in years. Not since Davey was little. And Kevin had never taken part in that autumn tradition. Suddenly that seemed like a shame.

  People grew up. They got busy. Lives evolved. Sam was a man who loved his gadgets. He took care of our leaves with his blower. That was progress—but sadly, it felt like we’d lost something too.

  I knocked on Trixie’s door twice, but there was no answer. Midafternoon she could be anywhere. I made a note to try again tomorrow. Hopefully, the marshmallow puffs Harriet had given Trixie were still sitting, safely uneaten, in her freezer.

  The next person on Harriet’s list lived across the street. John Vidal wasn’t into holiday decorations, but his front walk was neatly swept and his small yard was bordered by a flower bed with precise brick edging. Even better, a car was parked in his driveway. I hoped that meant I’d have more success here.

  The man who opened the door in response to my knock had narrow shoulders and hips, and was as skinny as a sight hound. His T-shirt was tucked into jeans that rode low on his hips, and he was wearing flip-flops. In October. He barely looked old enough to drive, much less own his own home.

  “Hi,” I said brightly. “I’m looking for John Vidal.”

  “That’s me.”

  “Oh, umm . . . okay.” I’d assumed I was looking at John Vidal’s son.

  He crossed his arms over his chest and leaned sideways against the door frame. “Something wrong with that?”

  “No. I was just expecting someone older.”

  He pondered that briefly. “How come?”

  Good question.

  “You look like you should be in school,” I said honestly.

  John Vidal shook his head. He seemed to be enjoying himself. “Nope. I’m done with school.”

  “Work?”

  “My job’s remote. I work from home, at least when I’m here. When I’m not, I work from somewhere else. I can make a computer do things most people can’t even conceive of.”

  “I’ll bet,” I muttered. Technology wasn’t my forte. A first grader could probably outprogram me.

  “So, are you selling something?” he asked. “Cookies? Magazine subscriptions? Bibles?”

  “I’m not selling anything. I’m a friend of Harriet Bloom’s. I was hoping you’d have a few minutes to talk to me?”

  He looked down at his watch. Not only wasn’t it a smartwatch, it was analog, not digital. John Vidal was one surprise after another. “I guess I can spare five minutes. Unless what you have to say turns out to be interesting.”

  “Then what?” I asked as he stepped back from the doorway and I followed him inside.

  He shrugged. “Then I might give you ten.”

  Bernadette had offered me coffee. John just waved vaguely in the direction of a couch, which was pushed up against a wall. When I sat down, he remained standing. His arms were still crossed. He already looked bored. I figured I’d better start with something good. Otherwise I might find myself back outside in a hurry.

  “Harriet Bloom didn’t kill Ralph Penders.”

  “Whoa!” That got John’s attention in a hurry. “Who said she did? I thought the old guy just collapsed in his home. Didn’t he die in a hospital?”

  “That’s right. But it turns out that he was poisoned. He died after eating one of Harriet’s marshmallow puffs.”

  “No way!” He was grinning now. “Like for real?”

  “Yes, for real. And it’s not funny.”

  “Obviously not for Ms. Bloom,” he said. “But for me? Sure. Let’s just say, that news brightens up an otherwise mundane day.”

  “I didn’t come here to entertain you,” I snapped.

  “Well, how would I know that? I’m still waiting to find out what you’re doing in my house. So far, you haven’t given me a clue.”

  He had a point.

  “For starters, I need to retrieve the marshmallow puffs that Harriet gave you.”

  “Whoa,” John said again. It was obviously his exclamation of choice. “Like they might be poisoned too?”

  “Probably not,” I told him. “This is more of a precautionary measure.”

  “Good thing. Because I ate half a dozen before I chucked the rest in the freezer to save for Halloween.”

  “You already ate some?” I stared at him in shock.

  “Of course I did. Have you ever tasted those things? They’re wicked good. If you ask me, they’re wasted on trick-or-treaters.”

  I stood up and peered at him closely. The guy could stand to gain some weight, but other than that he looked healthy enough. “How long ago did you eat them?”

  “I dunno. Three days ago? Maybe more?” He paused and frowned. “What do you think—would I already be dead if mine were poisoned too?”

  “I’m not sure,” I said. “I don’t know much about cyanide.”

  “I can fix that.” There was a computer on a nearby desk. John opened it and leaned down to hover over the keyboard. His fingers typed madly for a minute; then he squinted at the results.

  “Yup,” he said. “It’s a fast-acting poison. If I was going to keel over, I’d have already done it.”

  “Good to know.” I nodded. “I’m glad you’re not going to die.”

  “Me too.” John didn’t seem unduly upset about his possible close call. “Now that we’ve gotten that out of the way, what else can I do for you?”

  “Someone killed your neighbor,” I said. “
Did you know Ralph Penders?”

  He stared at me. “What’s it to you?”

  “I’m trying to help Harriet. Like I said, she’s my friend. We work together at Howard Academy.”

  John grimaced slightly when I said the school’s name.

  “What?”

  “Nothing.” He folded his skinny arms over his chest again. Anyone could recognize that sign of resistance. “Go on.”

  “Not until you tell me what’s the matter.”

  “It’s no big deal. Howard Academy isn’t my favorite place.”

  “How come?”

  He shrugged.

  I waited. I was a teacher. I could play this game all day.

  “Did you go to HA?” I asked after a pause.

  “No way.”

  “Do you know people who went there?”

  “How would that happen if I didn’t go to school there myself?” Now he sounded defensive. That pointed me in the right direction.

  “Did you want to attend school at Howard Academy?”

  John shrugged again. He was a man with a limited repertoire of gestures. “I didn’t care. But my parents wanted me to go there. They thought the school would put me on some path to success later in life.”

  His parents weren’t wrong, I thought. It was what we at Howard Academy strived to do. “What happened?”

  “Nothing. I went to Glenville Elementary instead.”

  “How come?”

  “Lady, you ask a lot of nosey questions.”

  “Yes,” I replied mildly. I sat back down and made myself comfortable. So he’d know I wasn’t going anywhere until I got some answers.

  John eyed my new position. His gaze narrowed. He’d gotten the message. “I needed a scholarship, okay? And I didn’t get one.”

  “I’m sorry,” I said.

  “Don’t be. Not going to Howard Academy didn’t stop me from getting into MIT when I was sixteen. And graduating before I turned twenty.”

  I was impressed. As I was sure I was meant to be.

  “Well done,” I said. “Missing out on you was clearly Howard Academy’s loss. And their mistake. It sounds as though you would have been an exemplary student.”

  Unexpectedly, John laughed. “I wouldn’t say that. Not even close. Look, your time’s running out. I offered you five minutes and we’ve already blown through that.”

  “You offered me ten if I was interesting,” I pointed out. “Making you reconsider your own mortality for a minute or two probably qualifies.”

  “Fair enough,” he conceded. “But you’re still using up my day. Can we get to the point?”

  “Sure. Back to Ralph Penders. How well did you know him?”

  “Hardly at all, really. I mean, yes, he was a neighbor. But it’s not like we had anything in common, you know?”

  I nodded.

  “Sometimes when it snowed in the winter, I’d go over and shovel his walk. He was an old guy, but he liked to wander around some. Ralph was healthy enough physically, but he could be kind of confused upstairs.” John pointed to his head, in case I hadn’t understood what he meant.

  “Do you know any reason why someone would have wanted to kill him?”

  “Nope. None.” His reply was definite. “Ralph was harmless. He didn’t look like he could hurt a fly.”

  I stood up to leave. “Would you get your marshmallow puffs for me so I can return them to Harriet?”

  “I don’t think so,” John replied, but he was smiling.

  “What if they’re tainted?” I asked. “Harriet’s just trying to ensure that no one else gets hurt.”

  “I thought we covered that,” he said as he walked me to the door. “If I was going to die, it would have already happened. So why give up hours of eating pleasure on the off chance . . .”

  “That you got lucky with the first few?”

  “Something like that. Besides”—he grinned—“I like living dangerously.”

  In his world, that probably meant playing video games with gun battles and explosions.

  “You can keep the marshmallow puffs on one condition,” I said.

  “What’s that?”

  “You know the risk you’re taking, but other people don’t. Promise me that you won’t give any of those treats away, especially not to children who come to your house on Halloween.”

  John laid his hand solemnly over his heart. “I promise.”

  He pointed me in the direction of Bill and Becky Gruber’s house—the next names on my list—and sent me on my way. There weren’t any cars parked in the Grubers’ driveway, but a woman opened the door before the melodious chimes of her doorbell had even finished ringing. She was dressed in a shapeless flowered garment that looked like a muumuu, and her face was pinched in a scowl. Judging by the deep creases in her cheeks, I figured it was probably a habitual expression.

  Becky Gruber, I presumed. She stared at me suspiciously through the storm door, which was still closed between us, and said, “Yes?”

  “I’m a friend of Harriet Bloom’s,” I told her. “Can we talk for a minute?”

  “About what?”

  “The marshmallow puffs she gave you.”

  “What about them?”

  “Maybe I could come inside?”

  “Why?”

  It was chilly standing on the front step and I had to yell to make myself heard through the glass door. I thought that was reason enough, but apparently not.

  “Because I have some information that you’re going to want to hear.”

  Becky shifted her weight from one slipper-clad foot to the other. She looked like she could stand there all day. A television was on in the living room behind her. Apparently I’d interrupted her soap opera.

  “Why should I believe you?” she demanded. “How do I know this isn’t a trick?”

  I didn’t really have an answer for that. At that point, I was sorely tempted to give up. Then I thought about the possibility that her marshmallow puffs might be contaminated—and the promise I’d made to Harriet to get them all back—and decided to give it one more try.

  “Your neighbor, Harriet, is in big trouble,” I said. “I need to talk to you about it.”

  The door rattled as Becky shoved it open. “Well, why didn’t you say so in the first place?”

  Chapter Nine

  A blast of warm air enveloped me as I stepped into the living room. “You must be Becky Gruber,” I said. “I’m Melanie Travis.”

  The woman ignored my greeting. She was looking around the room for something. After a few seconds, she found it: the remote control for the television. She didn’t turn the TV off, but she did mute the sound. I supposed that was better than nothing.

  “Is your husband, Bill, at home?” I asked brightly. “I’d like to speak with him too.”

  “He’s at work.” Becky rolled her eyes as if I should have known. “Whatever you have to say about Harriet, you can tell me.”

  She glanced back at the TV screen, where two characters were kissing. I could guess what she was thinking. Whatever I had to say had better be good, because I was making her miss her soap.

  “It’s about Ralph Penders’s death.”

  A smile twitched briefly around the corners of Becky’s thin lips. Now she was interested. She gestured toward a pair of squat, upholstered chairs. “Have a seat. Did Harriet do it?”

  I perched on the edge of a plump cushion that felt like it wanted to swallow me whole. “No.”

  Becky peered at me closely. “You sure?”

  “Pretty sure. Why? Do you think she did it?”

  “Always a chance. That Harriet, she’s smart. She could pull something like that off, and no one would be the wiser.”

  I agreed with Becky about that. Not that I had any intention of saying so out loud.

  “What reason would Harriet have had for wanting your neighbor dead?” I asked instead.

  “The same one we all had, I guess.”

  I tried not to look too curious. “What’s that?”
>
  “The man’s a nuisance, has been for years. He was always storming around the neighborhood, muttering under his breath. Or walking down the middle of the road, wearing his pajamas outside in the winter, like he didn’t even feel the cold. It’s just not natural. Most of the time, he didn’t have a clue what he was doing.”

  “As I understand it, Mr. Penders had dementia,” I said.

  “As if that’s an excuse,” Becky sniffed. “Man like that should have been locked away somewhere, not allowed to run around loose in the real world, terrorizing innocent people.”

  Terrorizing seemed like a strong word. “Who did he terrorize?”

  “Everyone!” Becky threw her hands in the air for emphasis. “Whoever he came in contact with. And don’t even get me started on that daughter of his.”

  “What was the matter with her?”

  “You ever meet her?”

  I shook my head. I’d never met Ralph Penders either.

  “Madison, that’s her name. I asked her once if she was named after that fish in the movie with Daryl Hannah. She told me it wasn’t a fish, it was a mermaid. Like I would care about the difference.” She cackled under her breath. “Who would name a kid after a fish anyway?”

  Becky didn’t appear to want an answer, so I didn’t offer one. Which was good. Because I would have told her that Ralph Penders was obviously the kind of person who would do such a thing. And that Madison was a mermaid.

  “So Ralph was a problem, and you don’t like Madison either,” I said to recap.

  “Now you’re just making me sound bad.” Becky frowned. “It’s not my fault that the two of them were trouble.”

  “Both of them?”

  “Madison was supposed to be watching out for her father because he wasn’t fit to be living alone. Huh! Like that ever happened. Maybe she cooked him a meal sometimes, but most days she was nowhere to be found.”

  “Maybe she has a job,” I said.

  “Her job should have been taking care of her father,” Becky retorted. “One day, Ralph came wandering over here and tripped on a rake Bill left sitting out in the yard. Ralph skinned his knee pretty bad. Madison had to rush back in the middle of the day and take him to Urgent Care. When they got home, she came flying over here like the whole thing was our fault.”