Small Town Spooky (Cozy Mystery Anthology)

by Anisa Claire West

  Warily, I snatched the sheet of paper up and read a message printed in the same black Magic Marker as the poem:

  Try this number, go ahead, dial it right now…

  976-9393

  Have fun!

  Chapter 7

  Frightened but curious, I picked up my desk phone and dialed the number. A recorded male voice emerged on the line speaking in a seductive baritone:

  “Hey there hot lady, glad you called. You won’t be sorry because you’ve reached the sexiest studs your pretty little head can imagine…”

  Offended, I slammed the phone down and gritted my teeth. Someone was definitely playing games with me and I wasn’t amused. This latest antagonistic episode seemed more like a childish prank than the first two had. Suddenly, I wasn’t scared anymore. I was fuming mad. Marching the sheet of paper over to Raina’s desk, I demanded, “Who put this on my desk? You must have seen someone this time! Who put this on my desk while I was in the mailroom?”

  With doe-eyed innocence, Raina shrugged and replied, “Sorry Beatrice, but I don’t know. I stepped out to get a snack from the vending machine.” She gestured to a half empty pack of Reese’s Pieces on her desk.

  “That’s just great,” I muttered.

  “Why? What’s on that paper that’s got you so mad?”

  “Forget it!” I snapped. “Just do me a favor, okay? If you see anyone snooping around my desk, tell me right away. And if you see anyone in here who looks like they don’t belong, tell me!”

  “I will, but I wish you would just tell me what’s going on…”

  “I said forget it. Let’s get back to work.” I turned on my heel and walked mechanically to my desk.

  Sitting stiffly in my chair, I mentally shut out all the thoughts that were persistently racing through my mind and finally started the day’s work in earnest. The last thing I needed was to get fired for slacking off. Dr. Haggart wouldn’t understand my predicament and he wouldn’t care either. He would be only too happy to hire someone fifteen years younger and pay the person a lower salary. Anything to adhere to the tight school budget. The man didn’t even care about the purpose of the Grand Hotel gala. He wanted to schmooze and guzzle expensive champagne; saving the art and music programs was merely a sidebar.

  Indignation fueled my energy for the remainder of the morning as I accomplished all the most pertinent tasks. My thoughts drifted to Hunter as the bell rang to announce lunchtime. He had no idea how upset his mother had been the past 24 hours and I intended to keep it that way. Already traumatized by his father’s abandonment, Hunter needed to stay focused on his studies. As I was reflecting on my little boy, the sound of miniature footsteps echoed through the hallway.

  “Hi Mom!” Hunter exclaimed, popping his head into the office.

  “Hi sweetie!” I smiled as a wave of tension instantly washed away at the sight of my son.

  “Can Danny and me go to the deli for lunch?” He asked hopefully.

  “Didn’t I pack you a nice turkey sandwich for lunch today?”

  “Yeah, but…”

  “No buts,” I said sternly. “You can get a bag of chips at the deli, but I’m not giving you money for lunch.” I handed a dollar to my son as he said, “thanks, Mom,” grinned and raced out the door.

  Wistfully, I stared after my son, trying to absorb some of his innocent jubilance. An unexpected image of Robert in a sleek tuxedo bounced through my mind. And I let it bounce right out. The gala was just business, much like Robert and me. Just business.

  Licking my lips pensively, I reached for an envelope and inserted the papers with the stud hotline and the sick poem. The threats needed to be gathered together in one place for easy access. Soon I might need them as evidence. I swallowed hard as the word “evidence” penetrated my consciousness. In my gut, I felt like the word was appropriate and that some crime was going to be committed against me. Was Chip right? Should I go to the police? Maybe, but I didn’t need to look like a clown showing up with such weak, borderline humorous threats. I was being harassed; that was certain. But was I really being threatened? As desperately as I wanted to answer that question, I knew that I could be in for a long, painful wait.

  Chapter 8

  The next week chugged along like an old Volkswagon Beetle in a snowstorm. Every morning I awoke anticipating a new threat, but each day surprisingly brought a reprieve as I wondered whether the prankster had given up.

  Robert was still making less than subtle overtures and I was still rigidly turning him down. As the gala night approached, I searched for a trustworthy babysitter for Hunter. Most of the people in my life would be at the gala, so it was no easy task to find a babysitter. Finally, I had to risk embarrassing my son and call Kerri Lorenson. Her little girl Stella was the object of my son’s affection at the moment and he would be mortified to spend the evening in her company. But Kerri was my only option.

  Kerri readily agreed to let Hunter spend the night at her house since she and her husband had opted not to pay the hefty price tag to attend the gala. As one of the primary organizers, AKA Dr. Haggart’s chief gopher, I had received a comp ticket. Otherwise, it would be just another Saturday night at home munching on popcorn and watching Under the Tuscan Sun for the hundredth time.

  On Saturday afternoon, I walked Hunter over to Kerri’s house. Once Hunter was out of earshot, she grilled me about the bake sale incident and whether I had unveiled the culprit yet. Shrugging with feigned nonchalance, I told Kerri that the dessert destroyer’s identity was still a complete mystery.

  Walking home, I tried to shove the busybody’s questions out of my head. After all, I had more pressing issues to deal with, such as: what was I going to wear to the gala? As I perused the bland clothes in my closet, I felt like Cinderella in her rags. But there would be no fairy godmother to rescue me and magically produce a shimmering ball gown with the wave of a wand.

  I scowled as my eyes caressed a sequined black cocktail dress near the back of the closet. I had only worn the frock once for a fifth wedding anniversary dinner with the ex. Definitely not the dress. Pushing the sassy little number further into the depths of the closet, I scanned the hangers for anything remotely glamorous. Countless pairs of jeans and cotton tops stared back at me mockingly. It was as if my clothes were cackling at me: “Who are you kidding? You’re nothing but a boring old soccer mom. That’s why your husband left you…”

  Consciously releasing the self-destructive thoughts, I reached into another section of the closet and breathed a sigh of relief. “It’s perfect,” I whispered as I held the scoop necked satin turquoise blouse against my chest. Matched with a black pencil skirt and dressed up with a few pieces of silver jewelry, the blouse would be a classy stand-out. In a dark sea of little black dresses, I would be a sunlit wave.

  An hour later, after much primping and fussing, I was ready to go. Stepping out the door with my silky evening bag slung over my shoulder, I felt confident and excited about the night ahead. Even though I didn’t have a partner to go with, I would have the opportunity to mingle and maybe even get to know some new people.

  Crossing the front stoop into my garden, I squealed as I tripped over a hard object. “Huh?” I muttered as I squinted in the twilight to see the object.

  Solid and pointy, at first glance it looked like some sort of weapon. Gulping nervously, I picked up the metal object and narrowed my eyes in bafflement. It was a protractor, the tool that kids use in math class. Exhaling with relief, I figured that the protractor must belong to Hunter. The thing probably dropped out of his book bag and he hadn’t noticed. But as I took another glance at the grass, I saw something else. A sheet of paper. I quickly deduced that the protractor had been used as a paperweight to hold the sheet down. With my heart in my throat, I struggled to read the message by moonlight:

  Going to the ball, princess? You shouldn’t walk alone after dark…

  Chapter 9

  In that chilling moment, I wished for the first time in my life that I lived in a big city
like New York. How sublime it would be to roam the streets anonymously and not be hounded by some cowardly stalker! Imagine the luxury of sliding into a taxi cab and being whisked away to the ball like Cinderella in her coach. But I wasn’t a fairy tale princess and I didn’t want to be. I just wanted to be Beatrice, Hunter’s hard working mom, attending a fundraiser for the worthy cause of art and music curriculum.

  But I couldn’t shake the fear that crawled up my spine like a furry caterpillar. I longed for the caterpillar to morph into a butterfly, but it wasn’t that simple. Whereas the stud hotline had been laughable, this latest threat was deathly serious.

  Suspiciously, I looked around me, fearing that my stalker was lurking in the evening shadows. I nearly leapt out of my skin as the wind kissed my neck. Goose bumps rose all along my flesh as I contemplated turning around and dead bolting myself inside the house. But then I would be giving victory to the stalker and I couldn’t do that. My ex-husband hadn’t shattered me and neither would this despicable prankster. Holding my head an inch higher, I stuffed the letter into my purse while letting the protractor fall to the earth.

  Boldly, I walked out of the garden in the direction of the Grand Hotel. In the back of my mind, I knew I was potentially risking my life and someone could be hawking my every move. Still, I refused to back down. Intermittent street globes glowed along my path as I resisted the constant urge to look over my shoulder. The night hadn’t even fully fallen, but darkness was already enshrouding nearly everything on the island. I shuddered to think how I would get home later when it was pitch black, but I couldn’t dwell on that right now. All I could do was put one foot in front of the other. One step at a time. It’s the simple way I lived my life and the essential way I coped through that moment.

  In the distance, the Grand Hotel shone like a beacon, its hundreds of windows alight with warmth and activity. I admired the stately architecture and the white pillars that made the hotel look like Michigan’s version of the White House. But unlike the White House’s neoclassical Federalist style, the Grand Hotel boasted an elegant British Queen Anne architecture characterized by a rounded exterior and long prominent porch.

  Guests stepped regally out of their appointed chariots and glided across the lawn. The party’s cocktail hour had already begun as the sound of clinking glasses echoed through the night air. Breathing out slowly, I whispered to myself, “You made it, Beatrice. You’re here.” Yes, I was there, and the boogie man hadn’t kidnapped me.

  Spotting Dr. Haggart with his lips wrapped around a salt-rimmed martini glass, I took off in the other direction, ready to mingle with anyone but my boss. Shyly, I approached a bartender and requested a glass of Pinot Grigio. The splash of white wine would mark the first time in months that I had indulged with a drink. Browsing the buffet tables, I selected an hors d’oeuvres plate and filled it with Greek olives, Italian bread, and French cheese. “A little taste of Europe,” I giggled to myself, feeling invigorated simply to be outdoors and attending a party.

  “There you are!” Melody rushed over and gave me a noisy kiss on the cheek.

  “Hi Melody!” I greeted with a smile. “Where’s Carl?”

  “Trying to find a beer, I think.” She rolled her eyes. “I told him this is a black tie event, but he’s not happy unless he’s got his Budweiser. But you know what I mean. Didn’t…”

  “Don’t say his name,” I urged, anticipating what she was about to say. “Yes, he drank too much beer.”

  “Oh honey Bea, I’m sorry! I didn’t know you were still in that stage,” Melody placated as I bristled.

  “What stage?” I could hear the denial in my own voice. Maybe it was a stage. And I needed to get past it. Fast!

  “Never mind. I don’t want to upset you. Oh look, there’s Raina, from your office!” Melody enthusiastically waved to the girl as Raina turned the other way. “That was rude! Why is she ignoring me?”

  “Maybe she didn’t see you,” I suggested. “Or maybe she doesn’t want to spend her evening with a bunch of forty year olds.”

  “Then she’s come to the wrong place!” Melody sniffed. “Anyway, let me not monopolize you. Put on your flirting face and have fun!”

  “I’m not here to flirt,” I said as my face crumpled with despair.

  “What’s wrong?” Melody sounded alarmed and I couldn’t blame her. My face probably looked like a sad pinched apricot.

  “Look at this,” I said forlornly, shoving the latest threat at her.

  “Oh my goodness! Where did you find this?” Melody was aghast.

  “In the garden.”

  “Here? In the Tea Garden?” Melody asked.

  “No, I mean at home. It was pinned to the grass underneath a protractor. This is getting really scary, Melody. What do you think I should do?”

  “Dance!” She exclaimed jubilantly.

  “Huh?”

  Melody pointed to the stage where a jazz band was setting up to play. “That’s all you can do right now, honey Bea. Forget your troubles for one evening. Dance. Live a little.”

  “You’re right Mel. I didn’t come here to sulk and stand around like a big baby. I came to have a good time!” I asserted as she nodded fervently.

  “That’s the spirit! Let me see if I can go grab Carl before he goes for a second round of drinks. When he’s not drowning in beer bubbles, he doesn’t make a half bad dance partner!”

  I giggled despite my worries as Melody scampered off in search of her husband. As the band’s guitarist tested the microphone with a husky “1-2-3,” I sipped my wine and allowed myself to relish the rare peaceful moment. Soon, the band was immersed in a rousing rendition of a Glenn Miller swing classic that got the whole crowd on their feet. Tapping my feet to the tune, I resisted my natural instinct to recede to the sidelines. Instead, I stayed brazenly visible on the front lawn, defying my stalker to torment me in such a public setting. But my confidence was short-lived as I felt an unfamiliar body brush up against mine. All the muscles in my body clenched as I forced myself to look up at the man whose breath I could feel steaming the back of my neck.

  Chapter 10

  Gasping, I lurched away from the intrusive stranger only to realize that he was not a stranger. “Robert!” I exclaimed.

  “Sorry. I didn’t mean to breathe down your neck. Literally,” he chuckled nervously and wrung out his hands in a way that made me uncomfortable.

  “What are you doing?” I asked suspiciously. I didn’t want to become a neurotic basketcase, but everyone was tempting my fears lately.

  “I was trying to smoothly approach you and ask you to dance. But clearly, the smooth part went out the window somewhere along the line,” he joked in a self-deprecating manner as I smiled slightly.

  “You’re very persistent,” I observed.

  “And you’re very resistant,” he countered. “Come on, Beatrice. It’s not even a slow dance. But that’s not to say I’ll let you off the hook with just one dance…”

  Smirking, I let the unrelenting man lead me across the lawn close to the stage. Without making any physical contact, we moved in time to the brass horns and the thumping drums. When he tried to twirl me around, I let him, laughing and spinning in a dizzying circle.

  “Hey girl!” I called out to Melody who was dancing with her husband a few steps away.

  “Hey there!” She shouted over the music as Carl gestured in my direction.

  “Should we switch?” Carl asked. “Square dance style?”

  Melody jabbed him playfully in the chest and scolded, “We’re not at a barnyard ice cream social! This is the Grand Hotel. Tsk, square dance style!”

  Robert and I laughed together as he hollered good-naturedly at Carl, “I’m keeping my partner! Sorry buddy!”

  As the song boomed to a finish, I caught my breath and felt sober again. “I think I’ll sit out the next one,” I said.

  “Oh come on, we’re just getting started!” Robert protested.

  “Maybe I’ll save a slow dance for you,” I tea
sed feeling slightly shaky on my feet. Was it the wine causing my unsteadiness? Or all the dancing? Or was it all the Robert?

  “I’ll be holding you to that,” Robert vowed as I sauntered away.

  The hotel’s magnificent swimming pool was situated directly across from the stage. In a daze, I wandered towards the pool, gazing at the crystal blue waters that looked almost violet in the moonlight. My heels clicked on the concrete as I walked along the pool’s edge towards the deep end. Suddenly, my shoe caught on an object and I screamed as my body fell forward into the swimming pool.

  Shocked, I flailed around wildly to rise to the surface and then doggie paddled desperately to stay afloat as my clothes weighed me down. The water was bitingly cold, but the flames of humiliation were burning so hot through my system that I didn’t feel the chill. Demoralized tears appeared in my eyes as I struggled to wade to the pool’s staircase and climb out.

  “Beatrice!” Robert shouted frantically as he ran towards me.

  A sizable crowd of onlookers followed Robert and gathered around the pool. Mustering as much dignity as I could, I climbed the ladder out of the pool, sputtering for air as I stood on the concrete. My dressy shoes were ruined and floating at the top of the pool. I stood in place paralyzed with tremors rocking my body. My hair clung in thick sopping wet pieces around my tear-streaked face.

  “Oh Beatrice, are you okay? What happened?” Robert asked, swiftly taking off his jacket and wrapping it around me.

  “I-I-uh-I tripped over something,” I stuttered.

  “Tripped over what?” Robert asked in confusion as he looked down at the ground.