Howloween Murder

by Laurien Berenson

  We’d reached the wide stone steps. I hopped up and opened the front door. “Two days to go. How’s the Halloween party coming along?”

  “Cheryl and I have everything under control.” Harriet finished her espresso and she crumpled her empty coffee cup in her hand. “Cheryl’s great. She’s hardly left anything for me to do.”

  Faith trotted across the gravel driveway. She came up the steps and we entered the mansion together. When I glanced around the wide hall, I realized that the door to the headmaster’s office was open. It had been closed when we left. It was almost always closed.

  “Ahh, there you are.” Mr. Hanover appeared in his doorway. His gaze went straight to Harriet.

  She and I shared a look. The headmaster never arrived this early.

  “Yes, I’m here.” She quickly shrugged out of her coat and hung it in the closet. “Do you need something?”

  “I was going to ask you to locate Ms. Travis. But now I see that you’ve already done so. Truly, you are a marvel of efficiency.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  Harriet looked as baffled as I felt. This probably didn’t bode well.

  Mr. Hanover beckoned in my direction. “Ms. Travis, a word?”

  “Of course.” As I scrambled to obey, Harriet moved to intercept Faith. She cupped her hand around the Poodle’s muzzle, just as she’d seen me do.

  “Faith and I will return the lacrosse ball to the athletic department,” Harriet told me. “Then I’ll put her in your classroom.”

  “Thanks,” I whispered as I scooted through the doorway.

  I wondered what my infraction was this time. Using espresso to lure his assistant away from her post before the first bell? Not keeping a close enough eye on Eddie Mackelroy? Running around the mansion’s attic without permission? It seemed a shame there were so many possibilities to choose from.

  Mr. Hanover was already seated behind his desk. “Close the door behind you, please.”

  Sure. That made me feel better.

  “Have a seat.”

  A club chair had been positioned to face the headmaster’s desk. I sat.

  I folded my hands demurely in my lap. I waited while Mr. Hanover perused some papers on his blotter. I admired the man’s maroon-and-navy repp tie. Then I stared at the coffered ceiling for a few seconds.

  If Mr. Hanover meant to keep me waiting until I began to sweat, he’d already achieved his aim. Another minute of this and I’d be willing to confess to almost anything.

  Then the headmaster looked up. Our eyes met. I willed myself not to squirm in my seat. I was an adult. I could do this.

  “Am I correct in understanding that you and Detective Young have developed a cordial relationship?” he asked.

  Okay, I hadn’t expected that. Nor was I sure how to answer the question. Cordial implied that the detective and I were friends, which we most certainly were not. We had, however, managed to work together on an occasion or two in the past.

  “Umm . . . yes?” I replied.

  Mr. Hanover steepled his hands beneath his chin. “Good.”

  Good?

  “I’d like you to do something for me.”

  “Of course.”

  The headmaster smiled. “Don’t you want to hear my request first?”

  Maybe the man didn’t understand the parameters of our power dynamic. To me, they seemed simple. He asked. I acquiesced.

  “If you need me to do something, I’m sure there’s a good reason for it,” I said primly.

  “Indeed. I believe you are acquainted with the full extent of Harriet’s present problem?”

  “I am, but—”

  Mr. Hanover held up a hand. Immediately I stopped speaking. Pavlov would have been proud.

  “Whatever the capacity in which you may have become involved in that situation, it’s better if I don’t know the details,” he said.

  I got it. He wanted plausible deniability. I nodded. Then I spoke up anyway.

  “I only wanted to say that any poking around I might or might not be doing is taking place on my own time. And well away from school grounds.”

  That hadn’t always been the case in the past. This time, I wanted to make sure he and I understood each other.

  “As it should be,” the headmaster concurred. “I would like to see this business with Harriet wrapped up as soon as possible. I got the impression from Detective Young that the police view Harriet as a very viable suspect. Two days have passed since that time. The authorities are obviously under no obligation to keep us apprised about their investigation. Nevertheless, I would like to know if any further progress has been made.”

  Mr. Hanover paused. It felt like he was waiting for me to speak. Unfortunately I had no idea what he wanted me to say.

  “Perhaps you could find out?” he prompted.

  I swallowed. “You want me to ask Detective Young about his investigation?”

  “Indeed.”

  “Wouldn’t that . . .” I cleared my throat and started again. “Wouldn’t that be something for Harriet’s lawyer to do?”

  “I don’t believe it’s in our best interests to make an official inquiry. I thought perhaps you could approach him as a friend.”

  That might have been possible—if the detective and I had actually been friends. That inconvenient fact had no bearing on my answer, however. Because, you know, power dynamic.

  “I could try,” I said.

  “Excellent. Do so.”

  Mr. Hanover rose from his seat and walked around the desk. By the time he reached me, I was standing too. He escorted me to the office door and opened it.

  “I’m glad we’re on the same page, Ms. Travis. I look forward to hearing from you.”

  Harriet looked at me and raised a brow. As soon as Mr. Hanover’s back was turned, I gave her a small shrug.

  Same page? Mr. Hanover and I were barely in the same library.

  Now I had another assignment to pencil into my busy schedule.

  Chapter Eleven

  That morning, I’d planned ahead and arranged for Sam to pick up Kevin when his kindergarten class was dismissed at one o’clock. Faith would go home with them too. That left me free to go straight back to Glenville. This time, I’d have the whole afternoon to spend talking to Harriet’s other neighbors.

  The next address on my list belonged to Kent and Judy Upchurch. The couple lived several doors down from John Vidal. I parked on the street in front of Harriet’s house.

  When I got out of the Volvo, I saw that someone was outside in front of the Upchurches’ home. A man dressed in worn jeans and a checked flannel jacket was brushing debris off the front walk. I strolled over to say hello.

  A low picket fence bordered the small yard. Three giant rubber spiders with ghoulish faces were arranged across the top of the gate. Just looking at the trio made me shudder.

  I stopped well clear of the arachnids and said, “Excuse me, I’m looking for Kent Upchurch?”

  The man stopped working. He set his broom upright and folded his hands on top of the handle. Up close, he was older than I’d thought. His skin had been weathered by the years and tufts of gray hair stuck out from beneath his Yankees ball cap.

  “Could be you’ve found him. Who’re you?”

  “Melanie Travis. I’m a friend of the Bloom sisters.”

  “You probably mean Harriet.” He nodded. “I was expecting someone to show up and ask more questions. We heard all about what happened from Becky. She’s probably told half of Glenville by now. I guess you want those marshmallow puffs back? Damn shame about that.”

  I wasn’t sure whether he was referring to the loss of the puffs or Harriet’s problems, but it was easy enough to agree to both.

  “It is a shame. And, yes, I do want the puffs back. Harriet thinks that’s safer.”

  Kent snorted. “Safety and liability. Seems like that’s all anyone worries about these days. Judy and I have been handing out those treats on Halloween for nearly twenty years. They’re kind of famous around
here. Trick-or-treaters come down this street on purpose just to get them.”

  “They’re famous at Harriet’s place of work too,” I told him.

  “Howard Academy, right?”

  “Yes.”

  “And you work there too?”

  I almost laughed. Gossip traveled fast around here.

  “I do,” I confirmed.

  “Good for you. Education is important. Best thing parents can do to invest in their children’s future.”

  “Do you have children?”

  “Two. But they’re grown up and gone now. One’s in Boston and the other is based in London. Got a call just the other day asking if our supply of marshmallow treats had arrived yet.” Kent smiled thinking about it. Then abruptly his smile faded. “Sure seems odd to me. I can’t imagine why Harriet wanted to kill Ralph. The old guy wasn’t that much trouble.”

  I stared at him, surprised. “What makes you think she did?”

  “That’s what Becky told me. Said she’d heard the news from a good source.”

  I frowned. “Did she say who that was?”

  “Nope. Just that she did it by feeding him a poisoned puff.”

  “She didn’t,” I told him firmly. “Harriet didn’t kill Ralph that way or any other way. She’s innocent.”

  He squinted at me across the yard. “You think so?”

  “I do.”

  “And yet here you are, wanting to grab back our treats anyway. That doesn’t sound to me like you believe what you’re saying.”

  I gritted my teeth, managing to make it look like a smile. “Maybe you could go inside and get your marshmallow puffs for me? I’ll wait right here until you come back.”

  “Won’t do you much good,” Kent informed me. “We don’t have ’em anymore. The whole batch is gone.”

  “Gone where?”

  “After Becky called around with the news yesterday, Judy packed up our bin and took it to the dump. She wouldn’t let me try a single puff. Even when I asked nicely.” He slipped me a wink. “I told her I figured our batch must be safe enough. After all, it wasn’t as though we’d done anything lately to tick off those Bloom sisters.”

  He laughed under his breath, like that was a pretty good joke. Then he picked up his broom and resumed sweeping.

  I thought about what Kent Upchurch had just said. “Wait a minute. Had Ralph Penders done something that Harriet or Bernadette was upset about?”

  I knew he must have heard the question, but Kent didn’t respond. When I asked a second time, he angled his body away so that his back was facing me. He continued sweeping without missing a beat. That dismissal was clear enough.

  “Hellooo!”

  A young woman waved to me from the other side of the road. Dressed in a red tracksuit and sneakers, she was standing on the sidewalk behind a stroller whose occupant was bundled up from head to toe. I crossed the street to see what she wanted.

  “Hey, are you Melanie?” The woman smiled. Her fingers were resting on the stroller’s handlebar; her nails were bitten down to the quick. “I’m Trixie Dent. I live next door to the Blooms.”

  “Nice to meet you. I stopped by your house yesterday afternoon, but no one was home.”

  “Yeah, my husband was at work and I was probably out running around with this guy.”

  She reached around the stroller’s canopy and flipped back a blue blanket. A baby who looked to be about six months old gave me a gummy grin.

  “That’s Wyatt. If we sit in the house, he won’t sleep. As soon as I get him moving, he’s out like a light.”

  “Hi, Wyatt.”

  The baby was chewing happily on a set of rubber keys. I gave him a wave, which he ignored. Trixie quickly tucked the blanket in again.

  “I heard you’re talking to everyone,” she said. “Do you want to walk with me? It’s less than a mile around the block. If we keep moving, it should take about ten minutes.”

  “Sure, let’s go.” I fell into step beside her. “I guess you heard about me from Becky Gruber?”

  “No, actually from Bernadette. Our backyards share a fence. We were both outside last evening and we got to talking. She told me about the police being on Harriet’s case because of her marshmallow puffs. Wyatt keeps me pretty busy, so that was the first I’d heard about Ralph dying from anything other than natural causes. It’s crazy that the police suspect Harriet.”

  “I agree. It would help to clear her if the police had someone else to focus on. Do you know why anyone might have wanted to harm Ralph?”

  “That’s a tough one.” Trixie steered the stroller carefully around a break in the sidewalk. “I didn’t know him very well. Mostly because we weren’t living here before . . . you know.”

  “Before he got dementia?”

  She nodded. “Apparently he was an interesting guy when he was younger. A chemist working in pharmaceutical research. But he’d been retired for a while. Mostly he just hung around his house.”

  “Or the neighborhood?” I asked.

  “That too. It was better when he was inside his home, because Ralph was apt to lose his way when he came out here.” Her hand gesture encompassed the block. “Also, he seemed to have forgotten how to look out for traffic. I was always afraid that someday he’d really get hurt.”

  And then he had, I thought.

  “It sounds as though Ralph shouldn’t have been living on his own,” I said. “Did he have a home care nurse?”

  “No, nothing like that.” Trixie frowned. “I don’t think there was enough money for that kind of supervision. Ralph had a daughter, Madison. She was supposed to stop in and check on him every day.”

  “Supposed to?”

  “I hate to complain, but truthfully? I don’t think she was nearly as diligent as she should have been. I mean, we’ve been living here more than a year and Ralph was right next door, so I couldn’t help but pay attention. It seemed like most weeks, Madison stopped by once or twice at best.”

  “That doesn’t sound like much oversight for a man in his condition.”

  “It wasn’t nearly enough,” she agreed. “Although I’m sure the situation was hard on her too. Even when Madison was around, things weren’t always rosy. Last summer, when our windows were open, there were times when I’d hear him yelling at her. I mean, really berating her, you know?”

  I nodded.

  “I’m not sure she’d even done anything wrong. It just sounded like he was frustrated. Or bitter about his situation. It was almost as if he blamed her for his condition.”

  For the second time, we reached the end of a block, and turned right. We were halfway back to where we’d started.

  “I was just talking to your neighbor across the road,” I said.

  “Kent?” Trixie laughed. “Yeah, he’s a character.”

  “He implied that something had happened between Ralph and the Bloom sisters. Something that might have made Harriet angry. Do you know anything about that?”

  She thought briefly, then shook her head. “Nope. I don’t have any idea. Aside from his daughter, Ralph didn’t fight with anyone else. Most of the time, I don’t think he really remembered who the rest of us were.”

  We kept strolling. I let her think some more.

  “Madison, though,” Trixie said after a few minutes. “She and Harriet didn’t get along.”

  If I had been a Poodle, I’d have pricked my ears. “How come?”

  “Harriet thought that Madison should be doing more for her father. I mean, we all thought that. But Harriet was the only one who stood up and told her so.”

  “Did it make a difference?”

  “No, unfortunately. Not one that I saw anyway. Madison told Harriet to mind her own business. She was pissed. But Harriet was too. After that, it seemed to me like the two of them had a standoff going on. Neither one was ever going to admit that she was wrong.”

  We made another turn. Now we were back on the road where we’d started originally. I pulled out my list and looked for the next address. Trixie
leaned over and had a look, too. Her finger stabbed at one couple’s names.

  “You can cross off the Jennings,” she said. “They’re away on a two-week cruise through Scandinavia. They won’t be back until after Halloween.”

  That meant there was just one name remaining: Cynthia Lewis. I’d hoped that talking to Harriet’s neighbors would help me learn more about Ralph—and point me toward figuring out who’d wanted to kill him. But right now, things didn’t seem any clearer to me than they had in the beginning.

  “You’ll like Cynthia,” Trixie told me. “Although I should warn you, she’s a fanatic when it comes to Harriet’s marshmallow puffs. If you want to get hers back, you might have to wrestle them away from her. Every year, Cynthia says she’s going to hand those things out to trick-or-treaters. And every year, they’re gone by the time the holiday arrives because she’s already eaten them all herself.”

  “I hope she hasn’t eaten this batch,” I said. “Speaking of which, I need yours back too.”

  “Don’t worry about that. I already took care of them. I handed them over the fence to Bernadette last night. I’m not as much of a fanatic as Cynthia, but you better believe I was sorry to see them go.”

  Trixie pointed out Cynthia Lewis’s house. Then she and Wyatt continued on their walk. I stood on a small front porch beside a festive display of pumpkins, squash, and colored corn, and rang the doorbell. When Cynthia answered, she didn’t look surprised to see a strange woman standing outside her door. By now, the whole neighborhood must have known what I was up to.

  Cynthia invited me in and we conducted our short conversation standing in her front hall. As Trixie had predicted, I did like her. Cynthia was warm and funny, and used lots of big gestures when she spoke. Having been an off-Broadway actress in her younger years, Cynthia now did voice-over work for commercials and cartoons.

  “It pays the bills beautifully,” she said with a laugh. “But imagine having to figure out what a talking toilet brush should sound like. Or a hungry cat. I bet you’ve seen the singing popcorn ball? That’s me too.”

  Unfortunately for my purposes, Cynthia hadn’t known Ralph well. She didn’t have any ideas to share regarding possible motives for his death. I waited while she retrieved a parcel of marshmallow puffs from her freezer.