Death by Pumpkin Spice

by Alex Erickson

  And then she fainted dead away.

  5

  “Everyone, stay back!”

  Paul knelt by the fainted woman and gently shook her. Her eyes fluttered open and she jerked away, as if she thought he might attack her.

  “It’s okay,” he said. “I’m with the police.”

  “Oh, God!” She grabbed him by the arms hard enough that it had to hurt. “I found her. She’s dead!”

  “What’s your name?” Paul asked, gently.

  The woman looked surprised by the question, but when she answered she was somewhat calmer. “Isabella Ortega.”

  “Okay, Isabella, can you tell me who you found?”

  The woman shook her head, unwilling or unable to answer.

  “Can you show me where you found her?” he asked.

  She bit her lip and then nodded.

  Paul helped her to her feet and kept a hand on her elbow as they turned toward the doorway. “Everyone stay here,” he said, before letting Isabella lead him down the hall.

  There was a moment where no one moved and then everyone in the ballroom started forward after Paul and Isabella. I glanced at Will, who shrugged, and we hurried after.

  “There!” Isabella said, pointing. She’d stopped halfway down the hall and refused to go any farther. The room she indicated was two doors down.

  “Okay,” Paul said. “Remain here until I check it out. Can you do that for me?”

  Isabella nodded.

  He cast an annoyed glance over his shoulder before walking toward the door. The crowd who had gathered moved with him, and I don’t think he could have said anything to keep them at bay. I went along with everyone else, curiosity winning out.

  The door to the room was open. Pumpkins were laid out as if the room was meant to be a pumpkin patch straight out of someone’s nightmares. Some of the pumpkins were carved so that they looked sinister. There were no friendly smiles on these jack-o’-lanterns. The walls of the room were painted in shades of dark orange and blue that were reminiscent of dusk. Guarding the pumpkins was a trio of scarecrows, their jack-o’-lantern faces grinning evilly down at where the body of Marilyn Monroe lay.

  Gasps echoed through the crowd, and I heard Margaret Yarborough’s name whispered more than once. I’d eased my way to the front with Will, so I could see that it wasn’t the older woman’s body, but rather one of the younger Monroes I’d seen earlier. Her head was turned at an unnatural angle and smashed through a pumpkin, so it was hard to tell which one without getting down on my knees to check—something I wasn’t too keen on doing. I’d leave that job up to Paul.

  “Is she really dead?” a man wearing a monocle asked.

  “Move so I can see better!” a woman whined.

  Will took my hand and squeezed. Our eyes met and I saw a deep sadness there.

  “Did the scarecrows do it?” a man called. This was met with a round of nervous laughter.

  “All right.” Paul stood, clearly not amused. “Everyone get back into the ballroom. Now!”

  Surprisingly, the crowd complied. I’d expected most of them to argue, maybe snap a few pictures, but they turned and started back the way they’d come. I took one more look at the dead woman, said a silent prayer for her, and then headed back to the ballroom.

  The room was buzzing with excited conversation. No one seemed too broken up over the dead girl, which put a bad taste in my mouth. I knew many of these people thought themselves above everyone else, but someone had died! Money was no excuse for a lack of compassion.

  Paul stopped just inside the ballroom. He had a look of deep concentration on his face as he removed his cell phone from a pocket, punched in a number, and held it up to his ear.

  “Was that the girl who stormed out of here?” Vicki asked, coming up beside me.

  “Jessica? I’m not sure.” But now that I thought about it, I did remember catching a glimpse of an expensive-looking necklace around the neck of the victim. Unless there was a fourth Monroe running around the place, I was pretty sure our victim was indeed Jessica Fairweather.

  “I don’t see the boyfriend,” Will said, eyes scanning the crowd. “What was his name again?”

  “Quentin,” I supplied.

  “You really don’t think he would kill her just because she turned him down, do you?” Vicki asked, aghast.

  Will shrugged. “You saw what happened. She didn’t just turn him down, she humiliated him in front of all these people. People have killed for less.”

  “I don’t see the hostess, either,” Mason said with a frown.

  I did a quick scan, though I couldn’t see over anyone’s head. Sometimes being short sucked. “None of the Marilyn Monroes are here.” A surge of worry worked through me. Did we have a Marilyn murderer on our hands here? It didn’t seem likely, not unless someone had some serious issues with the deceased star that was brought to the fore when he was surrounded by them.

  Paul shoved his phone into his pocket and then raised his voice above the murmur of the crowd. “Okay, everyone, the police are on their way.”

  This was met with jeers and a few snotty remarks that caused his frown to deepen.

  “No one is to go back into the pumpkin room for any reason. In fact, I want everyone to stay right here until we can get this thing sorted out.” He looked around the room, almost as if doing a quick head count. “Do we have a list of guests?”

  No one leapt forward to provide him with one, which wasn’t much of a surprise. I was pretty sure many of the guests still thought this was some sort of sick joke. If it was, it was in pretty bad taste. I don’t think this was what Margaret Yarborough meant when she said Howard had surprises waiting for us.

  Paul heaved a sigh and caught my eye. He stood there staring at me long enough, I started to get nervous, before he motioned me over.

  I glanced at Will, who released my hand and took a step back. “Go ahead,” he said. “I’m going to go grab a drink.” He looked pale and a little shaky. I was guessing he’d be hitting the alcoholic beverages rather than the punch.

  “This should take only a minute,” I told him, which earned me a strained smile before he walked away.

  I took a deep breath and then headed over to where Paul waited. He looked as agitated as I’d ever seen him, which was saying something. The man was a police officer, so he’d seen his share of horrible things. When I neared, he stepped into the hallway a bit, presumably so we couldn’t be overheard.

  “Is that the girl, Jessica?” I asked.

  He nodded. “I think so.”

  “Poor thing.” She might have been cruel, but no one deserved to die like that.

  “Buchannan is on the way,” he said. “But I’m worried he might not make it up the driveway. It’s raining pretty hard now, apparently, and some of the roads are washed out. The driveway here was pretty treacherous when I’d driven up it earlier, so it has to be a muddy soup by now.” His frown deepened. “Until he makes it here, I’m all there is to keep order.”

  “You’ll be fine.” It felt good to be the one saying that for a change.

  Paul rewarded me with a smile that revealed those dimples of his before his frown returned. “I wish I felt fine. This is a mess.” He rubbed at his forehead and closed his eyes.

  I gave him a moment before asking, “What do you need with me?”

  Paul tugged at his ear and glanced past me, into the ballroom where many of the guests were peering out at us. “I can’t do this on my own.” Another heavy sigh. “I can’t control these people, either. I’ve already lost track of our hostess.”

  “Margaret Yarborough,” I provided, in case he didn’t know her name.

  “And there are a few other faces I haven’t seen since the body has been found.”

  “Like the boyfriend.”

  He nodded, distracted. “Until Buchannan gets here, I don’t know how I am going to keep everyone in check.”

  I stood there and waited for him to go on, unsure why he wanted to tell me his doubts. It didn’t
make me feel any better that the only cop on hand was worried about keeping control. While it didn’t look like anyone was panicking yet, that didn’t mean it wouldn’t eventually start. And once one person flipped out, it was only a matter of time before half the crowd started in.

  Finally, Paul rubbed at his face and then leveled his gaze on me. “Did you notice anything out of the ordinary before . . . this?”

  I gestured around me, indicating the Halloween decorations and costumes. “It’s all out of the ordinary,” I said.

  That earned me a slight smile. “Well, if you notice anything especially out of place, let me know.”

  My eyes brightened. “Why, Paul Dalton, are you asking me to assist you on this?”

  He looked annoyed, but nodded. “I’m going by the assumption that the boyfriend is our culprit, but I’m not going to rule anyone else out. There could be quite a lot of people who would want our victim dead.”

  “She didn’t seem very nice, did she?” I hated saying it since she was dead and all, but it was true.

  “No, she didn’t,” Paul agreed. “Did you see her talk with anyone else before the big scene?”

  I shook my head. “I didn’t even see her until that moment.”

  “What about after? I didn’t pay close enough attention to see if anyone other than the boyfriend followed her out.”

  I thought back, but I hadn’t really watched too closely, either. “I’m sorry,” I said. “I don’t think I saw anyone.” And if I did, how was I to know at the time that it might be important? I would never in a million years have thought someone would have gotten murdered at a party.

  Then again, this was my life we were talking about. Trouble followed me everywhere I went.

  “All right. Okay.” Paul ran his fingers through his hair. “I need to find something to block off the room so that no one goes poking around.”

  “Good idea.”

  “I . . .” He trailed off and frowned. It was obvious he was having a hard time asking me for help. He’d spent so much time warning me off his investigations, he didn’t know how to handle it now that he wanted my assistance. “I need you to do something for me.”

  “Yes?” I asked, sweet as could be.

  A flicker of annoyance passed over his features but cleared quickly. “Can you keep an eye on things for me while I’m gone? Until Buchannan gets here, I’m going to have my hands full. I need you to watch and see if the boyfriend—”

  “Quentin,” I said.

  “Quentin,” he agreed. “If you see him, don’t try to detain him, but call me instead.” He paused, uncertain. “Do you still have my number?”

  I nodded. I might have given up on Paul and I ever dating, but that didn’t mean I was going to excise him from my life entirely. We could work very well as friends, I was sure. I just needed to get over my crush and move on. Both of us deserved to be happy, even if it wasn’t with each other.

  “Okay. Good.” He looked past me again, eyes roaming over the milling guests, who’d apparently lost interest in us. “If you see him, find me or call me. The same goes for Mrs. Yarborough.”

  I nodded, excited to be of some use, even if it wasn’t a part of the actual investigation.

  Paul’s face grew serious. “I want you to be careful. We don’t know for sure if the boyfriend did it or if the killer is planning to strike again. I don’t want you wandering around, asking questions, okay?”

  I winced, hating how well he knew me, but nodded anyway. “Is it okay to ask if anyone knows where Quentin and Margaret have gone?” Not to mention the other Marilyn Monroe.

  Paul thought about it briefly. “That should be okay. If you find anything out, tell me immediately. Don’t go looking for them yourself. Understood?”

  I plastered on a smile. “Of course.”

  “Good.”

  “Can you tell me how she died?” I asked. I wasn’t sure I was prepared to hear the answer, but thought it better to find out now, rather than later. If the killer was running around with a gun or knife, I wanted to know, just in case I bumped into him.

  “I can’t say for sure, but from the look of things, I’d say she was strangled.” He looked sick to his stomach.

  “That’s horrible.” Strangulation was the kind of death often doled out by a jealous or angry lover, not a trained killer. It looked like we very well might be looking at the boyfriend, after all.

  “Yeah, it is.” Paul started to walk away, but then stopped. He turned back to me and gave me a smile that was somehow sad. “And, Krissy . . . you look good.”

  I floated back to the ballroom, feeling inordinately pleased, despite our main topic of conversation. Paul might not be my boyfriend, or even a suitor anymore, but his approval still felt darn good.

  Will was waiting for me as I returned, putting a damper on my good mood; not because I didn’t like him, but because I felt guilty. And I hadn’t even done anything!

  “Here,” he said, handing me a cup filled with red punch. “I tested it to make sure it wasn’t spiked.” He looked almost disappointed.

  “Thanks.” I took a sip and winced. It might not be spiked, but it wasn’t great, either. It tasted like one of those expensive health drinks made from acai berries and pomegranate, which were two of my least favorite flavors.

  I took a moment to look over the crowd in the hope that I’d catch a glimpse of either Margaret or Quentin, but with all of the masks and costumes, I wasn’t having much luck. There were more white dresses in the room than I’d first realized, and while most of them weren’t the same as the Monroe dress, they did make the search more difficult. Quentin’s gray suit would also blend in, just as long as I didn’t see the silly red bow tie.

  In a way, I felt bad for the guy. He might be our killer, yet he had been belittled in front of his peers by the girl he thought loved him. That had to be hard on anyone. I didn’t condone the murder, of course, but I could see where it might cause even the most rational of people to overreact.

  “You still like him, don’t you?” Will asked suddenly. When I looked at him, he smiled, though it was strained.

  “Who?” I asked, playing dumb.

  “The cop. Paul.”

  There was no use denying it. I was never a great liar, and since Paul had just complimented me, I knew my face would betray me if I tried. I’m an admitted chronic blusher.

  “I suppose,” I said. “But we’re just friends now.”

  “And before?”

  I shrugged, not really sure how to answer. What had we been? “We went on one date,” I said. As they say, honesty is the best policy. “That’s as far as it went.”

  A strange look came into Will’s eyes then. I couldn’t place whether it was anger or jealousy or simply mild curiosity. “Just one date?” he asked.

  For some reason, the question ruffled my feathers. “Yeah, just the one.” It came out harsher than I’d intended.

  Will flinched, but his strained smile remained. “Okay.” His gaze flickered over my shoulder. “Darrin’s here. I’m going to run over and talk to him a few minutes.” He walked away. He didn’t ask if I wanted to come, which I suppose I deserved.

  “Smooth, Krissy,” I muttered, feeling like a dope. I was becoming a pro at ruining relationships before they ever got started. The guy had been curious, that’s all, and I had to go and snap at him needlessly. The stress was really starting to get to me, I guess.

  “It’ll work out.”

  I jumped, startled, and turned to find Vicki standing behind me. I had a feeling she’d heard most, if not all, of our conversation.

  “If you say so.”

  She winked. “Don’t worry about it. He likes you. Guys are, well, guys. He’ll get over it.”

  That brought a ghost of a smile to my lips. “I hope so. I really don’t want to scare him off.”

  “You won’t.” Vicki put an arm around me and squeezed. “Just be you. That’s all you can do. And if he doesn’t appreciate you for it, well, then, he isn’t the right m
an.”

  “And what if Mr. Right never comes along?”

  She laughed, but didn’t answer. “I’d better go find Mason. He’s pretty upset after what happened.”

  “Go,” I said, extracting myself from her grip. Just because I was terrible with men and on the verge of ruining my chance with Will, didn’t mean Vicki needed to do the same with her man.

  As she made her way to Mason, I turned back to the crowd and sighed. It was time to see if I could find one of our missing guests. If working on my relationship wasn’t in the cards, I could at least start snooping around.

  And sticking my nose where it didn’t belong was the one thing I was actually good at.

  6

  Not surprisingly, no one seemed to know where the missing guests had gone, and it was quite obvious, no one even cared. When I wasn’t met with indifference, I slammed up against an impenetrable wall of annoyance. These people didn’t know me, and sure as heck didn’t want to talk to me. They were far more interested in the lives of the people around them who they thought mattered.

  “This is a disaster,” I muttered as I walked away from a small group of women who’d only sniffed at me and turned away when I’d asked about Margaret Yarborough’s whereabouts. While they had no intention of talking to me about it, I heard one of the women whisper Margaret’s name the moment my back was turned. If nothing else, I was setting the gossip train rolling.

  One of the waitresses who was working the party caught my eye. I hurried over to her. “Hi! Do you know where Mrs. Yarborough has gone?”

  The waitress looked surprised, before shrugging. “I haven’t seen her. I’m just serving drinks.”

  “Oh, thanks. If you see her, let me know.”

  She nodded, but I could see it in her eyes that she had no intention of seeking me out if Margaret were to show up.

  I removed my deerstalker cap and wiped my brow with the back of my arm. It was getting hot in the large room, especially around the small clusters of guests. I noticed a good portion of them weren’t heeding Paul’s command and were wandering off to explore the house. Finding anyone in this mess was going to be next to impossible.