“FYI, Dracula is a fake person. This guy was real,” said Penny with great authority. “Too bad it had to happen on opening night.”
The table fell silent, its occupants pondering the fate of Dracula now that the murder had been made public. I needed to change the subject. “Loved that costume, Abby. You and Jim as a pair of sneakers? You deserved your prize.” I beamed.
“I guess,” she conceded.
“It was a spectacular night, Dodie. Especially the palm reading.” Mildred tossed her head at her husband, who chewed his grilled cheese perfunctorily. “Vernon doesn’t believe in psychics. Bella told me I freely express my emotions and love adventure. That I should take advantage of my wanderlust. I’m thinking of a Caribbean cruise this winter.”
“Hmph,” said Vernon.
Mildred swatted his arm. “You’re upset because Bella said you have a short attention span and are tired all the time.”
“I’m tired of talking about hands.” Vernon was grumpy. Too much Robin Hood.
Penny opened her hand. “I’ve got a square palm and short fingers. Means I’m bold, instinctive, and insensitive. I’d make a great leader,” she said smugly.
Geez.
“Did any of you see someone in a Grim Reaper costume at the party last night?” I asked.
“You mean like the murder victim?” Abby asked darkly.
“Yes,” I said.
“Maybe.” Abby.
“I’m not sure.” Mildred.
“Nope.” Penny.
Vernon shook his head.
Abby stared at me. “What did you do to your hair?”
* * * *
The next couple of hours zoomed by. Patrons coming and going, rumor and innuendo about the murder whizzing around the dining room. Speculation on its relationship to Dracula’s opening was prime material. What was Bill up to in the Etonville Police Department? He could be with the coroner, or interviewing the teenagers who’d been playing target practice with a six-pack, or coordinating with the state police lab, or creating a list of potential suspects who would require interrogation, or…I paused. Who could possibly be listed as a suspect at this point? So far, no one I’d spoken to had remembered positively seeing a Grim Reaper. Was I hallucinating? No, I was certain that, for a brief moment last night, Death had paid a visit to the Etonville Halloween bash. And had seemed to disturb Carlos Villarias…
I was behind the cash register when the phone rang. It was Edna, calling in an order for Bill, Suki, and two out-of-town police officers.
“Make that two special burgers…the chief loves ’em,” Edna said.
Didn’t I know that!
“A chicken noodle soup, a grilled cheese…” Silence on the line as Edna crossed items off a list. “And a Caesar salad for Suki. I’ll be by in half an hour?”
“I’ll deliver it,” I said. Breathing some fresh air would be good.
“Thanks, Dodie.”
“Wait a minute.” I turned my back on the dining room and cupped the receiver in my hand. “How’s it going over there?”
Edna lowered her voice as well. “Crazy. Got a 10-12 from Bernridge PD, two officers from the state police with the chief, bunch of kids cooling their heels in the outer office. With parents in tow,” she added.
I could imagine her eyebrows inching upward knowingly.
“Wouldn’t want to be in those kids’ shoes,” I said.
“In addition to underage drinking, the chief’s got them on a 594 and a 604.”
I recognized malicious mischief. “What’s a 604?”
“Throwing missiles.”
That made sense. I got a sudden urge. “Did you happen to hear any talk about time of death?”
“You didn’t get this from me, but…the coroner called and I happened to be on the line.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Sometime between eleven p.m. and one a.m.,” Edna whispered. Then, as if Bill had walked into the dispatch room, Edna called out, “Copy that, Chief.”
“Talk later,” I said.
“10-4.”
5
Between eleven p.m. and one a.m.. About the time I arrived at Bill’s place. I walked briskly up Main Street and down Amber. Last night, while I was washing off the grunge of my day as Wonder Woman, a body lay dead in the Etonville cemetery. Above ground. On a brisk, sunny, fall afternoon like this one, it was difficult to imagine a man, as yet unidentified, stabbed in the dark with a metal spike.
I opened the door to the Municipal Building and immediately faced its ego wall of mementos and trophies celebrating the town’s law enforcement and athletic successes. There was an Etonville Standard article about Bill’s involvement with the New Jersey State car theft unit last summer and a photo of him in uniform. Excellent! I took the hallway to the right, stopping at Edna’s dispatch window. I lifted the brown bag. “Lunch.”
Edna raised a finger, indicating I should hang on, then spoke into her headset. “Mrs. Parker, we cannot call animal control to catch a bat you saw flying in the park. There’s no law being broken.” Edna listened, did an eye roll. “It doesn’t matter if you think it’s actually Dracula. Now, you have a good day.” She ripped off her headset. “That woman is three sandwiches short of a picnic.” Edna leaned through the window. “Want me to take that?”
“I’ll deliver it,” I said.
Edna winked. Her phone lit up. “Ralph? Where are you? The chief’s been trying to reach you. There’s an 11-66 over on Anderson and traffic’s backed up in front of Georgette’s Bakery. You’d better get a move on.” She listened. “Forget the Donut Hole. 10-4.”
Everyday mayhem in Etonville.
Suki was at her desk in the outer office, her head bent over a file, her straight black hair swinging forward to cover her face.
I stopped. “I think the Caesar salad belongs to you?”
Suki smiled enigmatically, as usual. “Personal service,” she said.
“The walk felt good.”
“Yes. It’s a nice day.” Her expression neutral, expectant. What else did I want?
“Should I deliver this to the chief’s office?”
Suki rose and accepted the sandwiches for the two state police officers in a conference room farther down the hallway. She buzzed Bill to let him know I was coming in.
I knocked softly.
“Enter,” a tired voice said brusquely.
I stood in the doorframe and took in his office. Whoa. This was a change. Bill’s normally tidy desk was littered with loose papers and files. One guest chair had a stack of yellowed folders that looked as if they’d been resurrected from dusty archives. He still wore the shirt he’d pulled on at three a.m. this morning, tie undone, sleeves rolled up. He rubbed the blond stubble on his chin. “I’m famished. Nothing but coffee since last night.”
He fell on his lunch like a starving man, not pausing until he’d devoured most of it. “Are you making any progress on IDing the victim?” I asked tentatively.
“Working on it. Got the state police from the forensics lab digging into his ID. Fingerprints. Facial recognition.”
“I noticed the kids and their parents are gone.”
“Edna,” Bill said wryly. “I knew word would get out about them.”
“There was a mention in the Etonville Standard.”
“Newshounds! They were sniffing around the cemetery before I even got there. We let the four teenagers go. They didn’t have much to say. They thought the guy was drunk and passed out at first. This black hood thing was draped over his head. His face was covered with a Halloween mask.”
The Grim Reaper costume.
“They got scared and ran. Then one of them, the smart one, insisted they call the police.”
“Didn’t they question the stake in the man’s chest?”
“They claimed, each of them separately, that they didn’t s
ee any stake,” he said.
“Oh?”
Bill stared at the wall opposite his desk. Possibly contemplating this bizarre turn of events or else so exhausted he was distracted by paraphernalia from his NFL days playing for the Cleveland Browns and Buffalo Bills. Caps, banners, and trophies filled bookshelves.
“If they are reliable witnesses,” he added.
I had to tread lightly. My history of helping to solve murder cases in Etonville was a double-edged sword. Bill had come to appreciate my instincts, at the same time he bristled when I pushed too hard or crossed the investigative line. “Do you believe them?”
He sighed. “We’ll see.”
“But the stake was there when you arrived? I was wondering—”
Bill raised a hand like a crossing guard. “Please. It’s early in the investigation. Too early for hunches,” he said wearily. It was a pointed comment on my intuition. He focused on his messy desk.
“Right.” My plate was full and I had no intention of sticking my nose into another murder inquiry. Besides, we needed a wedding site. Bill and I had a lot to discuss… Still, I couldn’t help one niggling thought. “I saw a Grim Reaper at the Halloween party.”
Bill jerked up his head.
“At least I’m pretty sure I did,” I continued in a rush. “I asked a few other folks and nobody else admitted having seen him, but there was one point, about an hour before the awards presentation, when I saw him hanging by the candy corn count and then he…” I stopped and caught my breath.
“He what?” Bill asked sharply, all business.
“He had a…moment with Carlos Villarias.”
Bill leaned back in his chair, showing more interest. “The guy playing Dracula? What do you mean ‘a moment’? They spoke?”
“No. In fact, they were across the room from each other. But it felt like they were…” How to describe the interaction? “Communicating.”
“Communicating?”
“They stared at each other.”
He tapped a pencil on his desk blotter. “What did this Grim Reaper look like?”
“I don’t know. He had the hood over his head. Like the victim,” I finished.
“I’ll make a note of it. Probably going to have to interview half of Etonville, because the vic wore a costume and it was Halloween night and people were out and about,” he grumbled, and ran a hand through his scruffy brush cut. “How many other Grim Reapers were there?”
“None as far as I could tell. See you tonight?” I asked softly.
“I’ll text later. Thanks for lunch.” He shifted his attention back to his desk, then looked up. “Did you do something to your hair?”
I took a chance. “Like it?”
“Cute.”
Yes!
* * * *
I was having mixed feelings about my garlic-themed food. Henry had done a fantastic job with last night’s specials and tonight should be no different: garlic-roasted baked brie for an appetizer and pork chops with sweet garlic relish for the entrée. Could the palates of Etonville take this much garlic? As I wandered the dining room as inconspicuously as possible, I overheard diners’ remarks:
“Garlic again?”
“What else is on the menu?”
“Think I’ll pass tonight.”
“Too bad the murder victim didn’t eat here last night….”
I smiled as politely as I could and whisked dishes off tables, helping Gillian and Enrico’s wife, Carmen, who lent a hand in the dining room on weekends. Murder fever was not going to die down until Bill and his crew determined the identities of the victim and the perpetrator. He didn’t have much to go on.
I dropped onto the bench of my back booth with baked brie on a hunk of bread and a seltzer. I intended to work until the dinner rush ended and then catch the third act of Dracula. I was curious about the stake-stabbing scene and—
“Thought I’d find you here.” Lola slid onto the bench opposite me, dressed for tonight’s opening: a black, silky pantsuit, her hair in an updo.
“Hey! Nice outfit. How did it go today? Walter in control?” I asked, savoring the warm brie. It was delicious.
Lola brushed the lapels of her jacket. “He’s surprisingly calm. No cancellations at the box office. The murder hasn’t dampened enthusiasm for the show.”
“You know Etonville…nothing perks this town up like a good, old-fashioned homicide.”
“You got that right.”
Benny appeared at my back. “Anything to drink, Lola?”
“Or eat? This brie is terrific. Not to mention the pork chops. I think there’s some soup left from lunch.”
Lola waved off my suggestions. “Just water. I’m not hungry.”
Benny ambled off. Something was up. It wasn’t like Lola to skip dinner on opening night. In fact, she usually fortified herself with both food and alcohol. “Want to talk about it?”
She tugged on an earring. “It’s nothing. Well, actually, it is something, but I’m not sure exactly what.” She hesitated. “Maybe I’ll have a half glass of chardonnay.”
I motioned to Benny, pointed to Lola, and mimicked drinking. “So…this ‘something’ that has you in a twist; what’s it about?”
“I saw something that might be important, or might not be. I’m not sure whether to say something and get someone in trouble or let it alone and see where the chips fall. Know what I mean?”
I hadn’t a clue.
Benny set her wine and water on the table and Lola sipped each one in turn. “Should I go to the police?” she asked.
“Let’s start at the beginning.” It was six o’clock. Lola could afford to lollygag in the Windjammer for at least another half hour.
“When I got to the party last night, I noticed my left heel was a little wobbly. I wanted to go back home and change shoes and told Walter to go in without me. But you know Walter. He insisted that we had to make a grand entrance together. It would be more dramatic, give us an edge for the grand prize, which I didn’t care about anyway, blah, blah, blah.”
I was familiar with Walter’s inclination to play a starring role in most situations. Lola must have given in, because they appeared at the door of the church basement together.
“As the night wore on, the heel got worse and I turned my ankle once.”
“Wow. I saw you limping.”
“I made it through most of the night but at eleven, I gave up. I had a pair of flats in my car, so I hobbled out to the parking lot to change shoes. The parking lot was lit by the security lights and I had my cell phone flashlight.”
I took another bite of the brie.
“I got into my car and found my flats in the back seat. When I looked up I saw Carlos…that Phantom costume was so distinctive…walking toward me. I wanted to get out to say hello, but he passed by as if he didn’t see me. He cut across a row of cars and then stopped. And somebody else was…just there. Like out of nowhere.” Lola murmured, “The other person had a long black robe and hood and a hideous white skeleton mask.”
“The Grim Reaper. Like the costume on the murder victim.”
“Yes!” Lola said, agitated. “And the two of them were very…animated. Like maybe they were having an argument.”
Yikes! Carlos and the Reaper had done more than communicate across a crowded room.
“Could you hear what they were saying?”
“No, and they must have realized they could be seen because the other person pulled Carlos away and they sort of…vanished. Into thin air.”
Or, more likely, into a car. They would have been pretty conspicuous in those getups on a street in Etonville. “I’m torn. What if Carlos was talking to the victim? If I say something to the police, it might take him out of the show. I have trouble believing that Carlos is a criminal. Despite some thinking that he’s a…a…you know.”
“Vampire?”
“Or at least something paranormal.” She gulped her wine. “What should we do?”
We?
“I know you said no more murder investigations, that you had enough to do organizing your wedding, which I know we should be talking about, but we need to clear Carlos of any suspicion so that there’s no interruption in Dracula. I couldn’t handle another canceled production.”
“How do you propose to do that?”
“You know how good you are at digging into people’s backgrounds—”
“Lola, I’m afraid—”
“—and using your instincts to figure out motives and—”
“I can’t get involved. I told Bill that I was done with investigating—”
“—freeing innocent suspects and finding the guilty parties.”
She paused. “If you could only talk with him? Maybe nose around in his background? Find something that might explain why he’d be talking to the dead man.”
“Lola…”
“That’s what best friends are for.” She reached across the table and clasped my hand.
I hated to turn her down. How would I explain this to Bill? Wouldn’t it be simpler for Lola to relate her story, let him have a few words with Carlos, and put the whole event to bed? “Talk to Bill and explain everything.”
As if she hadn’t heard me, Lola continued. “What if you never poke around a murder again?”
“First, I hope that’s true. That there are no more homicides in Etonville…and second, why wouldn’t I ever investigate again?”
Lola shrugged. “After you’re married, it might be awkward for Bill’s wife to be involved in police matters.”
I leaned back in my seat and studied Lola. Was she using a tactic to entangle me in the Carlos situation? Or was she right? Would I have such a different identity in the future that I wouldn’t be free to follow my instincts? I felt a chunk of tension in my stomach that had nothing to do with bread and brie. “Let’s say I agree to talk to…dig around a little…”
“Thank you, Dodie! You can’t believe how much better I feel.” She downed the rest of her wine with a water chaser.
“I’m only agreeing to dabble—”
Killing Time Page 6
