This was the first time Etonville had experimented with an indoor town event. Summer picnics in the park usually focused on softball games or movie nights. Getting a substantial number of citizens in one location dressed in Halloween costumes was no small feat. I was thrilled.
I drifted over to the makeshift bar where La Famiglia had set up drinks and food. I tried not to appear too interested, although the Halloween-themed tidbits looked delicious: meatball and marinara mummies, graveyard taco dip, cheesy pumpkin quesadillas. I circumvented the orange spiked punch in favor of a glass of chardonnay and mingled.
“Dodie, this is such fun!” It was the Banger sisters, dressed as two peas in a pod in green tights, green turtlenecks, and green tunics with large, stuffed peas around their midsections. They held hands.
“You ladies went all out!” I gulped my wine to keep from giggling.
“We think we might get the prize for most creative. Don’t you think so?”
“Absolutely.” Really?
The room was filling with outstanding getups as the actors wandered in. Theater folks knew how to dress up. Mildred and Vernon came as Robin Hood and Maid Marian, Romeo was a truly frightening zombie, and floating into the party at nine o’clock was Lola, sexy and queenly as Cleopatra accompanied by—surprise!—a stalwart Walter as Julius Caesar. I was shocked. Lola hadn’t even hinted that she and Walter had made plans together. Did this mean something? I hoped Jocelyn wouldn’t get her nose out of joint …
Pauli had come dressed as a 1940s’ newspaper reporter: baggy suit, goofy tie, pad and pen, and a sign in the hatband of his fedora that said “PRESS.” With his digital camera around his neck. Janice was a fairy with wings, a wand, and a flouncy ballerina outfit.
I wandered over to the pumpkin carving. Penny had gouged out teeth and a grin. “This is hard work, O’Dell.” She took her witch’s hat off her head.
“Hey, Act One was great tonight. Did you find the stake?” I asked.
She frowned. “We had to improvise. That’s the theater for you. You gotta be ready to follow your feet and think while you’re standing. Wherever they go.”
I coughed into my drink.
“Want my opinion?” Penny said seriously.
Did I have a choice?
“I think somebody’s trying to sabotage the show.”
“Other than the theater ghosts?” I joked, but I was curious. “Why would someone do that?”
“O’Dell,” she sighed. “The theater’s full of competition.”
Didn’t I know that. I’d spent Labor Day weekend witnessing the rivalries among New Jersey community theaters. “Who would stand to gain from interfering with Dracula? The actors want to see the show open without a hitch. So do Walter and Lola. That leaves crew members.”
“Or someone from outside.” She squinted at me. “Lots of outsiders in town lately.”
I assumed she meant Carlos and Bella. Or Gabriel, who played Renfield. “True but—”
“Keep your ears open and eyes on the ground, O’Dell.” Penny slapped her pointed hat on her head, hiked up her witch’s skirt, and trotted off to Bella’s cubicle to have her palm read.
Speaking of outsiders, I caught a glimpse of Renfield/Gabriel, dressed as a clown with an orange wig and a bulbous red nose, next to Romeo, their heads together, laughing mightily. Must be some good joke. I’d love to be a fly on the wall for that one.
Lola gestured from the bar, waggling a glass of wine.
“You look amazing,” I said to her and motioned to the bartender for a refill. A jeweled neckpiece and flimsy gown with side slits made my Wonder Woman look modest. “Queen of the Nile. Love the wig.” It was pitch black with straight bangs and a gold circlet.
“Chrystal helped me put it together.”
“Walter’s too?” I asked slyly and sipped my drink.
Lola grimaced. “He was at a loss and said he wasn’t coming because he couldn’t think of a costume, and in a moment of weakness I said why not Julius Caesar and blah, blah, blah. Next thing you know, we’re a couple. A costume couple. That’s all. For tonight,” she added hastily.
“Right.”
“This is an excellent turnout,” she said.
“I don’t see Carlos.”
“He’ll be here. Said he had his costume all ready.” She grasped my hand. “C’mon. Let’s get our palms read. I can’t wait to hear what’s in store for my future.”
Lola pulled me across the basement toward Bella’s stall, where a line of customers had formed. Clearly, the most popular entertainment of the night. At least that’s what I thought her palmistry was: a diversion. Pure and simple. I’d only had one previous experience with a psychic on the Jersey Shore boardwalk. When I was seventeen an old woman with a crystal ball told me I’d be married twice with four kids by the time I was thirty-three. That ship had definitely sailed.
In front of us, Mildred and Benny waited for Walter to finish with Bella. I scanned the crowd to see if Carlos had made an entrance. A Grim Reaper loitering by the candy corn jar at the entrance to the basement caught my attention. I hadn’t seen him before. His black hood and skeleton mask hid his identity, unlike most partygoers.
Walter emerged from the booth, dazed, his two hands in front of him, palms facing upward.
“What did she tell you?” Mildred asked cautiously.
Walter stared at his palms and stubby fingers. “My heart is broken easily and my life is filled with emotional trauma.”
I could have told him that without even peeking at his hands. His chill pills were blatant confirmation.
Lola rolled her eyes, which was hard to do with gobs of mascara on her lashes. “It’s only for fun. Nobody takes this stuff seriously.”
Walter did. “I’m going to the bar,” he sniffed. “Good thing I’m also creative, spontaneous, and down-to-earth, even if I can be manipulated by others.” He flipped his Julius Caesar robe over one shoulder and marched off.
As a member of the entertainment committee, I could cut the line to visit Bella. I smiled apologetically to Mildred and drew the muslin swag aside to reveal the psychic in full gypsy regalia: a bandanna covering her head, tons of necklaces and bracelets, a flowing, multicolored gown. I found her intriguing. Bella touched an extraordinary necklace at her throat. A multicolored, iridescent pendant surrounded by a thin gold band. Then she tucked it away into her shawl. As aloof and distant as her husband was, Bella, on the few occasions we had spoken, was approachable and friendly. She opened her hands and invited me to sit.
“No, thanks. I wanted to see if everything was fine.”
Bella tilted her head, her hands remaining extended in my direction. Her eyes probed my face.
Not wanting to offend, I sat. “Well…” I laughed awkwardly, and she took my hands in hers.
She turned them over, then back, then over again, staring into my palms. Releasing my left hand, Bella traced several lines in my right. “Heart line, head line, life line,” she said earnestly.
“Glad to see I have all three.” I attempted playfulness.
Bella was anything but playful. Was that a bad sign? Her bracelets jingled as she moved her fingers around my palm. She was a sturdy woman, her torso robust. Yet, at the moment, she appeared fragile. She shrank back into her seat. Was this part of the act?
“I see that you are not content with your love life and are looking for a change.” Her voice was barely above a whisper.
I leaned in. “I am?”
“You have an enthusiasm for life while you are confronting an emotional crisis. See these?”
Bella pointed to crosshatching on my palm. “Be careful. You are about to make momentous decisions.”
I tugged gently on my hand. “I’ll let the next person—”
She hung on. “This line? Your fate. Do you see where it joins with the life line? At this point, your inte
rests must be surrendered to those of others.”
I was speechless. In my head I had convinced myself that reading palms was a parlor game; in my heart, however, her talk of “discontent with my love life,” “momentous decisions,” and “surrendering my interests” brought me up short. Bill? In the midst of the excitement about my coming marriage, had I given enough thought to how my life might change? Permanently? And what was that “discontent” about? I resisted the thoughts. Another mental head slap. Calm down!
“Remember, your palm doesn’t control your fate. You do.” Bella’s concentration sharpened as she studied my expression.
I thanked her for donating her time, said folks were enjoying her readings, and scurried out.
“What took you so long?” asked Lola, lifting her empty glass. “Now I have to go back to the bar.” She floated away, Cleopatra on her barge, limping a little.
“I’m next,” Mildred said. She peeked around the curtains and tiptoed inside.
“Hey, what happened in there?” Benny flipped up his pirate’s eyepatch and gave me the once-over. “You’re white as a ghost.”
“Must be the fluorescent lights.” I pointed to Bella’s stall. “Have a good time.”
“Uh-huh.” Benny wasn’t fooled. He’d guessed something must have unnerved me. “It’s just a game.”
“Right.” I waved to Vernon, who was bobbing for apples and dripping water onto his Robin Hood outfit.
The atmosphere in the room shifted a bit. Heads turned to the entrance of the basement, the assembly inhaled a collective gasp. Not that there weren’t plenty of fantastic costumes in the room. But Carlos’s Phantom of the Opera was incredible. White tie and tails and black cape, the half mask and slouch hat covering his face. Though he was barely identifiable, the posture and presence could only be his. He held a single red rose. Everyone near him broke into spontaneous applause. There was an arrogance about him as he moved easily through the crowd, greeting people, bowing as his character until he stood a few feet away. Carlos approached and extended the rose. I was slightly embarrassed to be singled out.
“Thanks,” I said and smelled the flower. The perfume was pungent.
“You are most welcome.” He inspected the room. “A fine get-together.”
“Your wife is very popular. Everyone is enjoying having their palms read.”
“You?” he asked.
“Sure. Interesting having Bella dig into my life.”
He laughed. “I understand you have done a bit of digging yourself. Murder investigations.”
Had Etonville been talking about me? “I had a little input on a couple of cases.”
“Input? I think you are being modest. I hear your participation was much more than that.”
“I trust my instincts.” Why did I tell him that?
“Hmm. I’d like to talk to you about your instincts some time,” he said.
My little hairs danced. “Uh…okay.”
He bowed smoothly and drifted into the crowd.
What was that about?
* * * *
The throng was raucous, thoroughly enjoying the music—a mix of oldies and Motown and newer tunes—wiggling and bouncing, costumes flying. The La Famiglia menu was a rousing success, all of the food having been scarfed up. I assumed the incognito judges had made their decisions and would be announcing winners soon. I stifled a yawn. It had been a crazy-busy day. I was sorry Bill had not shown up in his modified Superman outfit, but I understood. This NJ Police Chiefs assignment was a significant appointment and I was proud of him.
My Wonder Woman spandex top was chafing my upper torso and the boots had worn out their welcome. I glimpsed the clock on the church basement wall. We had only an hour and a half to go; midnight was the witching hour. The temporary dance floor was clogged with partiers. Romeo danced with Lola, Mildred and Vernon waltzed to Motown, Pauli and Janice swayed slowly, and the Bangers held hands, bouncing their peapods off each other.
Carlos and Bella huddled together outside the palmistry booth. He had removed his hat and she had tied a shawl around her shoulders. Their body language was troubling. Unlike the folks on their feet, enjoying the merriment that pervaded the festivities, the Villariases were arguing. She firmly gesticulated, he shook his head opposing whatever she had suggested. Too bad they were fighting in the middle of the party. Bella pivoted abruptly and vanished.
As if in slow motion, Carlos swiveled his head and stared across the basement. The mass of bodies was too dense to pinpoint the focus of his attention until the dancers spread out, forming a large circle into which individuals leaped, shimmying and shaking.
Now I could see what had attracted his notice: the masked Grim Reaper I’d spotted earlier by the candy corn container was standing by the bar being served a cup of punch by a waiter from La Famiglia. The Reaper looked at Carlos, who in turn took a few steps toward the Reaper, then hesitated. He must have thought better of his plan because he replaced his hat and walked away. The Grim Reaper lifted his mask far enough to down the punch in one gulp, then headed to the entrance, where I lost sight of him. Some kind of drama?
I was about to seek out the rest of the entertainment committee to confirm the judges’ progress when I saw Gabriel behind Bella’s makeshift cubicle, holding his clown’s red nosepiece in one hand, a beer in the other. From that vantage point he could clearly see the at-a-distance silent communication between Carlos and the Grim Reaper. And he could see me watching the moment play out. Had the Bernridge actor observed me observing the others? Why? A chill ran down my spine. I stuffed my dread inside my Wonder Woman red, white, and blue and waved nonchalantly to Gabriel. He stuck the red ball back on his nose, melting into the boogying mob.
* * * *
“Fooled you all!” Edna cackled into a microphone set up on the small stage at the end of the room. “I’m doing a 10-61. For you civilians, that’s a ‘miscellaneous public service.”’
The assembled partygoers chuckled and applauded Edna, in a white sailor suit complete with a cap perched atop her graying bun, being a surprise costume judge, along with the mayor’s wife in a nurse’s uniform, a stethoscope around her neck.
“So if everybody will gather round, we’ll announce the winners. Cause I know some of you think this part of the night is a Code 2. That’s ‘urgent!’”
A murmur flitted through the gathering as the crowd bunched up, edging toward the stage. Edna and the mayor’s wife proceeded to acknowledge all the magnificent costumes before announcing the winners. Without further ado, they got to it: funniest went to husband-and-wife duo Abby and Jim as a pair of sneakers connected by oversize shoelaces; the most creative was awarded to the Banger sisters for their two-peas-in-a-pod getup; the most dramatic prize went to Lola for her regal and sexy Cleopatra. Without her Julius Caesar. The scariest was obvious: Romeo as a bloodcurdling zombie. The mayor’s wife handed out little gold trophies. The ELT was cleaning up in the awards category.
“And now for the final award of the night. The grand prize…” Edna made a fuss of opening an envelope as a hush fell over the room. She beamed as though taken aback, even though she’d been the one to choose the winner. “…goes to Carlos Villarias as the Phantom of the Opera!” She scanned the crowd. “Come on up!” She hefted a larger gold trophy.
The partyers clapped and cheered and hooted. And waited. And waited some more. Carlos was gone.
“Bella, do you want to claim the prize for him?” Edna asked, swinging her head back and forth like a searchlight.
Again clapping and cheering until it was obvious that there was no Bella either. They’d left. Too bad. They might have enjoyed being recognized by Etonville.
“Leaving the bash before it’s over is a 10-30,” Edna said mock-seriously.
“What’s that?” someone yelled good-naturedly from the audience.
“Doesn’t conform to regulations!�
��
The throng laughed heartily, then broke up, collecting their costume pieces, saying good night to one another, and heading out. It had been an astounding success. Now it was time for the cleanup crew to get to work. So grateful I was on entertainment… I would have liked to thank Bella for her palm reading tonight. Odd that the Villariases had cut out early. I inspected the gathering making their way to the exit. For that matter, where was the Grim Reaper?
4
It was midnight. The streets in Bill’s neighborhood were deserted. Trick or treaters had long since dragged their weary bodies and sacks of candy home. I pulled my MC into his driveway and switched off the ignition. The light from a streetlamp shimmered around the nearly bare branches of the weeping willow in Bill’s front yard. A gentle wind sent the limbs bending and swaying, throwing shadows on the ground below. In the distance, a car door slammed, a dog howled, a shout then laughter drifted into the clear air. The night had an eerie quality. I knew the first annual Etonville Halloween gathering had been a success—my feet were killing me.
Bill’s front door opened. “It’s about time,” he said.
I tromped delicately into the house. Bowlegged.
“Why are you walking like that?” he asked.
“Have you ever spent fifteen hours in go-go boots?” I bypassed the kitchen, resisting a late-night snack in favor of bed.
Bill shut the door and trailed behind, his mouth curving into a grin. “Can’t say I have.”
Upstairs, I stripped off my boots, miniskirt, red spandex top, and jumped into the shower. Oooh, the hot water was just what the post-party doctor ordered. I closed my eyes and let it roll off my back.
“How did it go?” Bill called out.
“People came in all kinds of costumes…” I toweled off. “No Superman, though.”
“Sorry about that. After the commission meeting a few of us had dinner in Trenton, and by the time I got home it was too late to come.”
“Right,” I said skeptically.
“Honest.” Bill raised a hand to swear an oath and I took the opportunity to grab the other hand.
Killing Time Page 4
