Hallow Be the Haunt

by Heather Graham

  “He’s terrified. Won’t go home. I’ve arranged to detain him for a few days, pending charges. He’ll admit to having done anything right now—he doesn’t want to go back out on the streets. Not until Halloween is over, at least. And then again, maybe never. He thinks,” Parks added, “the prison guards will be able to stop the witches before they can get to him.”

  Other officers greeted Parks respectfully and looked curiously at Jake as they walked down the hallway to the interview room. The officer guarding the door nodded and opened it for them.

  David Henderson sat at a table, twitching nervously, staring down at his lap. There were two chairs across from him and his head jerked up as Jake and Parks took them, even though he hadn’t moved when they’d entered the room.

  “This is Special Agent Mallory. He’s from the area, David. He’s going to help us look into the murder of Tink. I need you to tell him everything that you’ve told me.”

  “Witches man, they’re real,” David Henderson said. He was probably in his mid-thirties, and appeared haggard—like a man who wasn’t in withdrawal, but one who did spend at least some time with recreational drugs. He stopped twitching as he looked at Jake, but began nervously working his hands. He wasn’t cuffed, but then again, he wasn’t really under arrest. Yet.

  Jake nodded. “Could you give me some more detail?”

  “I admit it—we were meeting to rob a house. You gotta understand Tink. He was mammoth. You’re a big guy, Mr. Special Agent, but Tink… He was huge. He could scare anyone. And when he walked up to those witches, they knew… They knew he was about to belt one of them, and… The lead one, she stepped out. I never saw what she hit him with, but…he turned. And it was like a frickin’ geyser, man. Blood everywhere. She just slashed him…so hard and so fast. And he was down.”

  “They were all alike? All three of them?” Jake asked.

  Henderson nodded. “Noses, man, they had big noses.”

  “But height, size?” Jake pressed.

  That produced a pause. “No… The main one, she was taller. I mean, I was at a distance, but… Yeah. The one on her left was heavier, and maybe a few inches shorter. And the other one was shorter than that…and skinny, I think. But they were all witches. Wiccans, or whatever.”

  “Wicca is actually a religion, and real wiccans believe in doing no harm,” Jake said. “Halloween witches—let’s go with that.”

  But Henderson shook his head. “No, man, they were real. You look at them, and you know—they were real. Okay, so they weren’t Wicca people, or whatever that is. Maybe they were voodoo witches. This is New Orleans.”

  “Voodoo is a religion, too. No human sacrifices on the street,” Jake told him, trying to be patient. “Not from people really practicing.”

  “Hey, man, you a voodoo priest or a witch yourself?” Henderson asked.

  “No.”

  “Vampire?”

  “No.”

  The man was clearly terrified. Truly convinced there were real witches at work in the city of New Orleans.

  “David, these were people dressed up. In really good makeup and costumes, I’d guess. Did you see the weapon they used?”

  He shook his head. “I’ll bet she used a fingernail. Don’t witches have mile-long nails?”

  “No fingernail made a clean gash like that on a man’s throat,” Detective Parks said quietly.

  “Maybe she keeps a blade attached to it,” Henderson suggested.

  “Where did they go after Tink—dropped?” Jake asked.

  “I don’t know. I ran—I ran like hell. I ran to Frenchmen Street where there were people. I found a cop. After that… I don’t know.”

  “Okay. Thank you, David,” Jake said.

  The man looked at Parks with anguish in his eyes. “You’re not going to throw me out on the street now, are you?”

  “No, David,” Parks assured him.

  When they were out of the room, Parks asked Jake, “Do you need to see the bodies?”

  “Maybe. But right now I want to visit that shop on Magazine Street.”

  Parks nodded gravely. “Her coworkers were her closest friends, I think. She was something of an artist herself. I saw some of her work. She might have been really good in time.”

  Parks actually seemed sad. Detectives had to learn not to take death to heart. But maybe, this time, Parks just hadn’t been able to manage it.

  “Do you have a plan after you go to the shop?” Parks asked.

  “Yep.”

  “What’s that?”

  “A lot of walking—through the Quarter and beyond.”

  * * * *

  Lavinia Carole was an attractive, lithe young woman with pink and blue streaks in her short brown hair. She was happy to meet Ashley and quick to tell her how much she was loving the job at Donegal.

  Beth next introduced Ashley to Jonathan Starling—the man who worked in the smokehouse. Appearing to be in his late twenties, he was about six-feet tall and built, but not muscle-bound.

  “You thought I’d be bigger, eh?” he teased after shaking her hand. “I make up for it with my menacing grin.”

  Ashley laughed. “You’re not small, my friend.”

  “Just not a giant,” he said.

  Next she met Artie Lane, Trina DeMoine, Harold Corn, and Sandy Patterson, the “ghosts” who appeared on the haunted hayride. Then Alex Maple, Bill Davis, and Jerry Harte, costumed actors who led the groups around. And then Valerie Deering and Rhonda Blackstone, the “sister witches” who worked with Lavinia Carole.

  “We have another ten people on payroll for this,” Beth told her. “They aren’t in costume—they’re from Garrison Event Security—we’ve worked with them every year.”

  “Yes, I remember. They’re great.” And they were. The company did background checks on their people and hired only those who knew how to handle crowd management. They escorted out anyone creating problems, and ushered people along the right way. There were also two cops on duty at the plantation every time they held such an event.

  “So,” Beth said. “Get comfortable. Halloween occurs next Tuesday. That will be our last night, but it will be a big night, as you all can imagine.”

  “I came here last Halloween as an attendee,” Lavinia said. “It was great—but working here is even better.”

  The others agreed. Echoes went around the room—they were all new actors this year, but it seemed several had attended in the past. Ashley hadn’t met any of them before, but then, when she had been here for the event, she’d been busy. Faces became a blur.

  “We’d like to know if anything is bothering any of you, if there are any trouble spots. If there’s anything you may need or think we might handle better,” Beth said.

  “I had a bit of a problem the other night,” Rhonda Blackstone said. She, like Lavinia Carole, seemed to be in her mid- to late- twenties. She was thin and blonde, not particularly beautiful, but cute and energetic.

  “What happened?” Ashley asked. She’d meant to keep silent because Beth managed this, but she was curious. And Beth would have asked the same question.

  “A kid kept trying to grab at me,” Rhonda said. “He was obnoxious.”

  “Okay. Next time, motion to the security man or woman who’s assigned to be with you,” Beth said.

  “We keep the rules posted,” Ashley added. “The actors won’t touch the visitors, and the visitors aren’t allowed to touch the actors. We have that in every advertisement that goes out—and posted on the porch. Beth is right—we hate to be mean, but if anyone goes after you, we state clearly we have the right to escort them out.”

  “That’s good,” Valerie Deering said. “Rhonda’s guy was about thirteen—a snot-nosed kid. I had an older man who kept asking me if I wanted to stir up something of a witch’s brew with him later. And I swear he was trying to cop a feel.”

  “Don’t let me see this guy,” Jonathan said. “Sorry,” he added quickly. “I wouldn’t bash him or anything—I’d just see he was put outside the
Donegal gates right fast.”

  “That’s why we hire security,” Ashley assured him.

  “I didn’t want to cause trouble,” Rhonda said hastily.

  “Nor me,” Valerie added.

  “You won’t be causing trouble. And trust me,” Ashley said, “we want Halloween to go smoothly for everyone. You all included.”

  Beth glanced at her notes. “I also wanted to assure you there will still be no more than twenty in each group through the kitchen and the smokehouse. Ghosts—don’t you take any guff from anyone either, all right?”

  Trina laughed. She was older than the others—possibly forty or so. She appeared to be the athletic type, wiry and fit, with short blonde hair and sparkling green eyes.

  “We ghosts keep our distance,” she assured Ashley. “Four- to six-feet from the hay wagon at all times. We haven’t had any trouble, and we’re not expecting any on Halloween either. We’re careful. Your grandfather gave us a speech about how he doesn’t want any of us hurt.” She hesitated. “He also told us we have to stay a good fifty feet away from the cemetery at all times. That’s cool. Though it would be fun to come from that direction.”

  She said the last with hope.

  “Sorry. My grandfather is too respectful of the dead, I’m afraid. I can’t change that ruling,” Ashley told her.

  “People don’t mess with me or Harold,” Artie said. “I’m the ghost who walks around with an ax in my head and Harold has a pirate sword. They see us and shrink into each other on the wagon. Hey, what’s the rule with costumes this year?”

  “No costumes for the visitors, only the actors. We offer them a place to dress up after, if they want,” Beth said. “It will be no different on Halloween.”

  There were a few more general questions, and then the meeting broke.

  Lavinia Carole lingered a moment, pausing to ask Ashley if she would be there that night.

  “I—“ She started to say yes, but didn’t get the chance.

  Her phone rang. And she saw that it was Jake.

  “Excuse me,” she murmured, and turned away to answer it.

  “Dinner?” Jake asked her.

  She frowned. “Yes, we usually do eat it.”

  “In the Quarter. With me.”

  “Romantic—or on the case?”

  “Unfortunately, on the case. But we’ll still have a nice dinner. I promise.”

  “Sure. Are you driving back for me, or…?”

  “Can you come in? Get a lift if you can. We’ll only have one car that way.”

  “Okay.”

  “And one more thing.”

  “What?”

  “If you see a trio of witches, get the hell away.”

  “Funny.”

  “No. Not funny. Promise, if you should see witches, get the hell away.”

  “Okay. I promise.”

  She looked up. Lavinia Carole was waiting politely for her answer.

  Well, at least she was no longer with a “trio” of witches.

  She was with just one.

  She smiled, shaking her head mentally. Donegal Plantation witches could have nothing to do with other witches.

  “Lavinia, I won’t make it tonight. But I will be here tomorrow.”

  “Oh, good. I hope you’ll like what we do.”

  “I’m sure I will,” Ashley said. “I hear the good guys always win.”

  Chapter 3

  Heading toward Magazine Street and searching for a place to park, Jake wondered at his wisdom in asking Ashley to join him in the Quarter. He should have wandered the streets alone. But he wasn’t sure what he expected. He didn’t think the three killer “witches” would be calmly walking down Bourbon Street. They had to know they’d been witnessed.

  Then again, there were costume parties going on all over the city this week. Halloween would fall on Tuesday—and it was Wednesday now.

  Just six days to go.

  What was frightening was the fact the body count could rise in those few days. People blithely walking around, in and out of costume, thinking nothing of seeing witches. Parks had told him they were putting out a newscast so people would be on the lookout. But…

  It was Halloween.

  Which witch was which?

  He found parking and looked down the street. Shops were outfitted for the season. Spiders, ghosts, goblins—and witches—were set in window displays.

  They were everywhere.

  He found the art shop—“Picture This”—right next to one of his favorite donut shops. A little bell tinkled over his head as he entered.

  Inside, he found a good-sized showroom with a few fake walls set up to allow more space for paintings.

  He saw many of the usual images found in this kind of NOLA shop—artists’ visions of Jackson Square, the Cathedral, Bourbon Street, the river… Steamboats, musicians on the street. Day-to-day life in the Big Easy. Some renderings were realistic, some had a touch of fantasy.

  There were other paintings as well. One wall, dedicated to Halloween, had a painting of a laughing bevy of ghosts. Another showed the torment in a man’s eyes as he went from being a man to a werewolf. Another showed a beautiful witch in a pointed hat, staring sadly at the moon as if she, too, would turn into something evil once it rose higher in the night sky.

  “Hello?”

  A woman came from a doorway in the back—there was an office to the rear, Jake assumed.

  She was middle-aged, of medium height, with short, curly red hair and a pleasant manner. She wore jeans and an attractive tailored shirt and jacket.

  “Welcome.” She smiled. “May I help you? All of our work is done by local artists. Yes, sometimes you can find them working down at Jackson Square. But we love having a real home for our local talent, and this is it.”

  “Nice,” Jake said, offering his hand. “I have to admit right off that I’m afraid I’m not here to shop. I’ve come to ask you about Shelley Broussard.”

  “Oh,” she said softly. Her eyes appeared to water and her smile faded. “Shelley,” she whispered, turning toward the door as if the girl might be coming through it at any moment.

  “I’m sorry to cause you distress. But we’re determined to find her killer.” He produced his badge and credentials. “Jake Mallory, ma’am. I understand she left work here, and that’s the last time she was seen.”

  The woman nodded.

  “Are you the owner?” he asked.

  She nodded again. “Myself and my husband, Nick. I’m Marty—Marty Nicholson. We—we loved Shelley. That’s some of her work over there. Her mother hasn’t come and we’re thinking we may need funds for her funeral. She’ll be buried up in the Garden District. She loved Lafayette Cemetery. She has some family there so she’ll go in with them.”

  “I’m so sorry,” Jake said. “Can I ask you some questions? Detective Parks believed her closest friends were here.”

  “Yes. My husband and I… We were very fond of her. And our other girls as well. They were all best friends.”

  “Your other girls?”

  “Samantha and Emily. We met Shelley on Jackson Square. We’re not local—not originally. We’re from Texas. Anyway, Nick saw Shelley’s work one day when we were just out walking in the Quarter. She had such talent. Nick was very taken with her paintings from the get-go—and she was asking practically nothing for them. So, Nick being the good businessman he is, conceived the idea of the store here. He found the place to rent and got it up and going in less than a week. We found some other locals who were working for a fraction of what they were worth—and we offered them a venue. Each artist works in the store a few hours per week.”

  “That was very kind of you and your husband.”

  “I told you he’s a good businessman,” she said dryly. “We’re doing quite well.”

  “That’s great to hear. Can you tell me anything about the day Shelley was last seen?”

  “It was like any other day. She and Samantha Perkins were working the floor. Oh, Emily Dupont was here as well—
she had just brought in that gorgeous painting of the riverboat over there. They were laughing together, and talking about meeting up that night. It’s ironic—Nick was telling them all to be careful. We’ve had a rash of crime going on.”

  Jake nodded but didn’t interrupt her train of thought.

  “They were going to meet at Lafitte’s.” She paused, swallowing. “Emily and Samantha went out as planned, but Shelley didn’t show. It was the next day—Sunday—when they…when they found her.”

  “You saw her leave the shop?”

  “Yes. She headed out and down the street. She was on foot. Shelley didn’t have a car.”

  “If she had just gotten off work, why didn’t she go up to her room?”

  “She had shopping to do, she told us. She wanted to buy a costume for Halloween. There are all kinds of balls in the city. One that honors Anne Rice. One that’s just huge and run by a guy who does vampire balls all over the world. And more—and more and more—every year.”

  “She just left, walking down Magazine. And none of you saw her again?”

  “No,” she whispered.

  “May I see her room?”

  “Sure.”

  Marty Nicholson locked the front door and switched the Open sign to Closed.

  She led him into the back, where there were canvases and easels, rows of paints and brushes and other paraphernalia.

  “Stairs are here. And right in back, there’s a set that leads down to the street too.”

  “Kind of you to give the girls a place to live.”

  “Kind—and good business,” Marty said. “This way, there’s most often someone on the property. We have an alarm system, but if people know someone is almost always here, that will deter most petty crooks.”

  “Good thinking.”

  He followed her up the stairway. At the top was a small landing. There were three doors, all of them open. One was to a bathroom, one to a compact kitchen, and one to a dorm-like room.

  No one was present.

  The dorm room offered three beds, each with a nightstand by it. There was a closet and a large dresser. The drawers were labeled Emily, Samantha, and Shelley.

  “I haven’t had the heart to clear out her things yet,” Marty murmured. “I need to do that.”