Greg knelt down beside the body, concern etched on his face. He thought what I thought. He checked Harold Smythe’s pulse. Nothing. Greg bent low putting his ear near Mr. Smythe’s open mouth. Nothing.
“Someone call the police,” he said, “This man is really dead.”
“But this is a game,” blurted one not too smart female.
“Not anymore,” replied Greg.
Jackie whipped out her phone and dialed the cops.
I noticed Greg reach down and pluck something from Mr. Smythe’s neck. No one else seemed to notice though as news of the man really being murdered spread. Greg wrapped whatever he found in a napkin and stood up.
“So does this mean the party is over?” asked Rachel.
Chapter 3
It didn’t take long for the police to arrive. I’d say they got there in about ten minutes. When a murder happens, especially at a crowded party, they arrive quickly.
Sure enough, Detective Shorts was with them. He had brought about five cops with him and some paramedics. They examined the body, confirming that the man had died and carted it out.
“All right,” said Detective Shorts, “I must ask that everyone remain here. There are a lot of you that need to be questioned and no one may leave until I have finished here.”
“Why not?” one person demanded, “I have to work in the morning.”
“Because you are all suspects,” said Detective Shorts, “and the murderer is still here.”
I’m not sure why he thought the murderer was still in the house. Though the thought of someone in a costume fleeing down the highway would be noticed considering they would be the only one on the road. What better way to hide than to remain in costume at a party full of people dressed in costumes?
“So, I need you all to remain in this room,” continued Detective Shorts, “I will be questioning you one by one in the parlor.”
He spotted me and my friends. A disappointed look crossed his face. I just waved slightly.
“Starting with you,” Detective Shorts pointed at me. “The four of you, this way.”
Four of us? He actually saw Rachel?
Beaming at being noticed, Rachel skipped into the parlor after Detective Shorts. She settled herself in a plush chair. “It’s bouncy!” she said jumping up and down on it.
A part of me thought Rachel must have been going through a ghost’s version of a second childhood.
Detective Shorts gave her a questioning look. “Name?”
“Rachel,” said Rachel as though it should have been obvious.
Jackie, Greg, and I sat on the couch unsure of how to tell him that he was talking to a ghost.
“And, no, I didn’t see what happened,” said Rachel, “I’m afraid I had a bit too much of the champagne. That fountain was hard to resist. All those sparkling bubbles!”
I put my head in my hands as Rachel got all giggly again. What was in that champagne? It clearly had an after effect on her.
“Are you intoxicated?” asked Detective Shorts.
“Not anymore,” said Rachel. “That Mr. Smythe guy fixed me up good with some spicy tomato juice. I think there was a raw egg in there too, which is kind of nasty, but—oh well!”
“So you talked to the victim before he died?”
“Yeah. Mel did too.”
Jackie nudged me repeatedly indicating that I should say something. But what could I say? Rachel wouldn’t stop talking. I think she just liked being noticed for a change.
“Did you talk to him?” asked Detective Shorts.
“No, I was too busy feeling sick. However, I’m fine now.”
Detective Shorts eyed her. “I find that difficult to believe. If you were as intoxicated as you claim, how can you be completely sober now without a hang over?”
“Because ghosts may get drunk, but they don’t get hangovers,” said Rachel.
Detective Shorts gaped at her. “Ghosts?”
“Yeah,” said Rachel, “I’m a ghost. The one that Mel talks about all the time.”
Okay, that did it. The other cops in the room started to look at us weird.
“Detective Shorts,” I said, “might I have a moment? Alone?” I jerked my head at the other police officers in the room.
Getting my point, Detective Shorts closed his notepad. “Why don’t you all check on the guests. Make sure none of them try to leave.”
The other officers left. Some had some weird looks on their faces from Rachel’s statement.
“You want to try this from the top?” said Detective Shorts.
“It’s like she said,” I replied, “That is Rachel, the ghost. Except for some reason people are able to actually see her and interact with her tonight. And she somehow managed to get drunk. Though I haven’t been able to figure that part out.”
“Ghost?”
“She is Rachel,” I repeated, “The one Detective Reiss murdered.”
When I had first moved to Vermont, I learned about a college girl who was murdered, but the case was never solved. Turned out that the apartment Jackie and I moved into had been Rachel’s, and she was the one everyone talked about. It turned out that the detective in charge of the case, Detective Reiss, was the one who had murdered her to cover up a drug operation he ran; which Rachel had accidentally stumbled upon. Of course, ever since then Rachel popped in and out of my life whenever she chose. Apparently, she thought I need some excitement.
Detective Shorts snapped his pencil in half. Evidently, he was still incensed about the entire affair and how Reiss almost got away with it.
“I might as well scratch everything she just said,” he spoke in a low voice.
“Why?” demanded Rachel.
“Because I can’t very well put you on the witness stand,” said Detective Shorts, still a bit uneasy about actually speaking to a real ghost.
“Oh, yeah,” muttered Rachel. “Bummer.”
“You spoke to the victim?” the detective asked me.
“Yes,” I said, “When Rachel got a bit—uh, you know—he had me follow him to the kitchen where he made his cure all for intoxication. We talked some.”
“About?”
“Nothing in particular. He just said that the tomato juice he gave Rachel was his mother’s secret recipe. We may have made general comments about the party itself, but the entire conversation only lasted about five minutes.”
“Did he say anything of importance?” asked Detective Shorts.
“Nothing that would make me think that he’d turn up dead.”
“And you two?” he asked Greg and Jackie.
They shook their heads.
“We didn’t talk to him,” said Jackie.
“But I hear you checked the body,” said Detective Shorts to Greg.
“Yeah,” said Greg, “I did. Like Mel, I thought he looked too realistic in his portrayal. Something didn’t seem right, so I checked his pulse. That’s when I told her to call the cops.
“I did find this though,” Greg pulled out the napkin from his pocket and handed it to Detective Shorts.
The detective unwrapped it carefully. Inside was a dart. The design seemed odd as though it had been hand carved and belonged in a museum.
“It was in his neck,” said Greg. “It’s one of those poison darts that African tribes use. They don’t much anymore, but they used to before modernization.”
“The question is: who here would know anything about poison darts and know how to use one?” said Detective Shorts, “You have to be good at aiming at what you’re shooting at. I’ll get this analyzed. But I think it is clear that whatever poison was on this was one that could kill in seconds.
“You three be careful. I must ask you to remain here until I am finished questioning everyone. And with over a hundred guests that could take a while.”
“There are flowers on the ceiling,” said Rachel as she craned her neck so she could look up.
We all gawked at her. Her comment was so out of the blue.
“What?” she said when s
he noticed us staring at her.
“I must ask you to stay out of this,” said Detective Shorts to me, “Though I know that is asking for a lot.”
“But maybe we should investigate,” said Jackie. “While you’re busy questioning everyone, we could look around the house. Mingle with the other guests. Maybe pick up some information.”
I stared at her. This was the first time she had ever proposed getting involved in a murder investigation. Usually, she tried to talk me out of it. Jackie’s plan had merit though. People tend to be more open mouthed when not talking to the police.
“All right,” relented Detective Shorts, “See what you can pick up, but don’t get into too much trouble. If you find anything come to me immediately. Do I make myself clear?”
“Yes,” we chorused in unison.
“And you,” Detective Shorts pointed at Rachel, “keep them out of trouble.”
“Yes, sir, detective, sir,” Rachel snapped to attention.
He dismissed us and we went back to the main room and rejoined the party while the next person was called in.
“So,” said Greg, “where do we start?”
“I guess we start by trying to get people to talk,” I said. “Find out who knew the victim and if they have any juicy gossip as to why he might have been killed.”
We split up and each took a corner of the room, mingling with the various dressed up guests. In my efforts to get some info, I found many who were very tightlipped. Others just didn’t know anything. They had come because the party was an open invitation to everyone. So they were there for the food and entertainment.
I found one woman who looked like she had had a little too much to drink. Grabbing a filled glass of champagne, I went over to her. “Would you like a refill?”
The middle aged woman looked at me. When she saw the champagne her demeanor became friendlier. I knew I hit gold when she took the full glass.
“Here, I’ll take the empty one.” I placed the empty glass on a table.
“Thank you, dear,” said the woman. “These cops—this whole murder business gives me the shakes.”
“I can’t imagine that anyone is happy about it,” I said, trying to sound sympathetic.
“Absolutely not,” said the woman, “This was supposed to be a fun night. And now we are being kept here with a murderer on the loose. What if he tries to kill again?”
“I share your sentiments,” I said hoping to get on the woman’s good side.
“I knew you would,” the woman took a long sip from her glass. “That poor Harold. He didn’t deserve this.”
“What makes you say that?”
“Well, why wouldn’t I?”
Realizing I had just said that wrong thing, I immediately tried to recover. “Sorry, it’s just the tone implied that something might have happened in his past for which someone would hold a grudge. I didn’t mean—”
“Oh, no, of course you didn’t,” said the woman taking another gulp. “And grudge is right. Poor Mrs. Hamilton might just be thinking that Alice has returned.”
“Alice?”
“Oh, yes, dear. She’s Mrs. Hamilton’s sister. They’re twins—identical. Oh, she doesn’t talk about it much. Too many bad memories and it happened so long ago. Nearly thirty years now that I think about it.”
Now, my curiosity was piqued. “What happened?”
“SHHH—we don’t talk about it anymore.”
“That’s too bad,” I said, “It could help solve this case so that we can all go home.”
The woman took another gulp of the champagne. “There is a lot of bad blood between Mrs. Hamilton and her sister. They used to be close. Extremely close. Shared everything. But then one day, Alice fell in love with Mr. Hamilton. This would be before he married, you see.
“Anyway, she loved him. But he didn’t love her. Instead he wanted Mrs. Hamilton and she loved him as well. Though he told Alice many times, she would not accept it.
“At the wedding, you should have seen Alice’s face. She was livid. Then, their parents died and there was the matter of the inheritance. Oh, you wouldn’t believe the scandal!”
The woman drained her glass and I got her another one.
“Where was I? Oh, yes. When their father died, he left the property and the money to both of the girls. It was to be shared equally. But there was one provision in there, that if Alice got in trouble with the law again—she was a bit of a wild thing—well, if she got in trouble with the law again, then her half was to go to Mrs. Hamilton.
“Two weeks later, Alice got caught driving drunk and actually resulted in involuntary manslaughter. Alice got five years and lost her inheritance. She swore up and down that she didn’t drink that night and was set up.
“Well, she disappeared upon her release vowing some sort of revenge.”
That was a lot of juicy news that no one ever knew. Except maybe those who were alive back then. “What does Mr. Smythe have to do with all this?”
“Well, the rumor is that that he talked their father into putting that provision in there. But that was a long time ago and no one talks about it anymore. Especially Mrs. Hamilton. It hurt her deeply when Alice went to jail.”
I pondered over what had been said. That was a lot of skeletons in one closet. I never would have thought that Mrs. Hamilton would be a part of a scandal. She always did so much charity work and made all sorts of donations around town. A few months ago she made the paper for her generous donation to the fireman’s ball.
“Oh, dear, is there anymore?”
I looked at the woman who had emptied her second glass of champagne in the time I had been talking to her. “I’ll see what I can do.”
I left her standing there with no intention of bringing her another drink. To be honest, she had had enough and the first one was just to make her talk. I found Greg who didn’t have any luck getting people to talk. Rachel busied herself singing Row, Row, Row Your Boat with someone who looked as though he had been dropped in a vat of whiskey. I wasn’t counting on getting much from her.
“Mel,” Jackie pulled me aside. “I found some stuff out.”
“So did I,” I said. I relayed to her what I had learned.
“That is interesting,” said Jackie, “That’s pretty much what I heard. Only the older guests know anything about it, but they never want to talk about it. It caused a huge scandal and was in the papers for weeks. Poor Mrs. Hamilton.”
I didn’t share Jackie’s sentiments about poor Mrs. Hamilton. Though what I needed was information and I knew where to get it. I pulled out my phone.
“Who are you calling?” asked Jackie.
“Tiny.”
“I don’t think a biker gang can save you this time.”
“I need information,” I said, “Those newspaper articles would still be in the database and Greg’s cousin can look them up. But he needs a little persuasion.”
Jackie relented.
“Tiny, Mel,” I said.
“Whoa, hey, Mel! What’s up?”
“Well, I’m at a costume party and someone was murdered,” I said. There was no other way to explain what I wanted.
“We’ll be right over,” said Tiny.
“No—no, that’s not necessary. Detective Shorts is here. But I do need some information from Jack, Greg’s cousin. He works for the police station as one of their IT guys. I need you to find him and have him look up events from thirty years ago concerning Mrs. Hamilton and her sister Alice.
“I need to know everything about the involuntary manslaughter charge, their inheritance, and anything on the lawyer Harold Smythe.”
“Gotcha.”
He hung up and I quickly put my phone away before any of the cops noticed me. Technically, we were not supposed to making phone calls because Detective Shorts didn’t want news of the murder getting out just yet.
“So, find anything?” asked Greg. “I got nada.”
I told him what I learned and how Jackie had pretty much heard the same thing.
“Yeah, and I think I know who killed Mr. Smythe, but how do you prove that she is here?”
“Hold up,” said Greg, “You don’t even know if this Alice is here. So let’s not jump to conclusions.”
“You know what we should do?” said Jackie, “Search the place.”
That was actually a good idea. But how do we get away from the watchful eye of the cops?
“Hey,” said Rachel appearing beside me. “I got something.” She told us the same thing we had already learned.
“Sorry, Rachel, but we already heard the same from others.”
“Damn,” said Rachel, slumping in a chair.
“But we need to get upstairs,” I said, “And we need a distraction.”
Rachel’s eyes lit up. “I got just the thing.” She disappeared.
Shouts and laughter filled the room as the cops ran for the center of the banquet area. I looked up and saw Rachel swinging from the chandelier. She sang a loud, obnoxious song while swinging her feet wildly making sure that everyone watched her and not us.
Using this chance, the rest of us made a break for the stairs. We high tailed it to the second floor disappearing around a corner before anyone noticed us.
Chapter 4
We went into the first room we found closing the door quietly. The shouts from below told me that Rachel still had the room occupied.
I heard something outside the room. Carefully, I opened the door a crack and peeked out. Mrs. Hamilton shuffled down the hallway taking constant glances behind her as though making certain no one followed. Strange. It’s her house; why would she need to sneak around? The rustling of her skirt matched her movements. She turned in my direction. Quickly, I shut the door. After waiting several seconds, I opened it again just in time to see her go into another room.
“What is it?” asked Greg.
“Mrs. Hamilton is sneaking into a room,” I replied.
“Sneaking?”
“Yeah. She’s acting like she doesn’t want anyone to see her.”
“Seems odd,” said Greg. “Why would she need to sneak around her own home even if the cops are here?”
Janet McNulty - Mellow Summers 08 - Trick Or Treat Or Murder Page 2
