All Hallow's Eve: The One Day It's BAD to Be Good

by Carolyn McCray

  “If we get found out? My mom. Your uncle. Death. Slow and painful, dude.”

  “I’m not staying here,” Jeremy snapped, but then recovered. With more cajoling, Jeremy continued, “I mean, I am going, and I really want you to go, too.”

  Jeremy couldn’t risk scaring Evan too much—not if he wanted his friend to join in what Jeremy really had planned for the night. And sure, he could do it himself—he’d done it before. But tonight, he wanted an audience for his adventure.

  “Come on, Evan, this is a once-in-a-lifetime event.” Jeremy grabbed his backpack—filled with everything they would need tonight—and headed for the window. “You in?”

  “We head home at midnight, though, right?” His friend asked as he inched closer to the window. “I can’t break curfew.”

  “Sure,” Jeremy reassured Evan. However, it was a complete and total lie. Midnight was when all the action began. But his friend did not need to know that.

  With a sigh, Evan followed Jeremy through the window.

  “You know, I really should have listened to Mom and hung out with the chess club.”

  “Yes, dude. You probably should have,” Jeremy chuckled, as they slid down the roof shingles.

  * * *

  Cecilia pulled the last glass from the dishwasher. Finally, the dishes were done. Okay, so she had thrown out the pan with the charred chicken. But besides that, the kitchen was back in shape.

  As she washed her hands, she caught sight of the neighbor kids running out their front door, in full costume. One was a ballerina, while the younger boy appeared to be a pirate, with a zombie face. Kids.

  Kids so like she and Jeremy used to be. Cecilia could still remember her dad carrying her in his arms when she grew too tired to walk home. Halloween was the family’s favorite holiday. For her parents, it seemed to be for all the pictures they took, but for Jeremy and her, it rained chocolate candy.

  As the sun began to set, it seemed everyone had someplace to go. Down the street, the Levarti twins were piling into their car with a bunch of their friends. The costumes? Well, as low cut and high hemmed as they were, they definitely would not meet the Our Lady of Sorrows dress code.

  Speaking of which, she had better go turn over the laundry before her shirt got too wrinkled for the dryer to “press” it out. As she turned toward the laundry room, the back door burst open, and her two friends rushed in. Dressed in black, with heavy eyeliner, they looked ready to party.

  “Ta-da!” Helen announced. “The cavalry has arrived!”

  Francesca grabbed Cecilia by the wrist and tugged her toward the stairs. “Get out of those tired clothes! We are going to a party.”

  But Cecilia balked. “You guys, I can’t.”

  “Bull-pucky,” Helen announced and grabbed her other wrist. “You can and you will.”

  Cecilia dug her heels in, though. “I am not going to that stupid concert!”

  “Who said anything about that?” Helen retorted. “We’re heading over to Paula’s.”

  “Paula’s?” Cecilia asked.

  Francesca nodded vigorously. “Yeah. Her parents are letting her throw a party, with a live DJ and everything.”

  “Paula?” Cecilia asked again. “The queen of frump is having a party? And we’re invited?”

  Helen tugged on her wrist again. “Yes. Will miracles never cease? Now let’s get you cleaned up.”

  “Guys, I can’t.”

  Unfortunately, Cecilia’s mom chose that moment to come out of her room. “Cecilia, did I hear voices?”

  “Yes, Mom. It’s just Helen and Francesca.”

  “Oh,” she said, pulling the collar of her robe tighter around her neck. “I didn’t know we were expecting company.”

  With a look at Helen, Cecilia answered, “We weren’t. They were just leaving.”

  But Helen only took up the challenge. “Mrs. Knight, we are trying to drag Cecilia out to a party. Can you help us convince her?”

  “Please?” Francesca begged. “She deserves a night out.”

  To Cecilia’s surprise, her mother nodded. “You should go, Cec.”

  “Mom, look, just go back to your room and give me and the girls a few minutes, okay?”

  “No,” her mom said, sounding like she used to. “Go with Helen and Francesca. You do need a night out…away from here.”

  Great. Now it was three to one. Not the odds Cecilia liked. Why could no one but she see the situation clearly? She didn’t need to go out, but she needed everyone to help her clean. Plus, she still had to deal with her little brother’s delinquency issue.

  “I would love to—I really would,” Cecilia said, not exactly meaning it. “But I’ve got Jeremy upstairs cooling down and—”

  Her mother shook her head. “No, he just texted me. He’s gone over to Evan’s for the night.”

  “No, no, no,” Cecilia said. “Jeremy can’t just ditch everything, and then go have—”

  “Cecilia,” her mom said firmly, and then smiled to soften her tone. “Whatever he’s done, we can deal with tomorrow.”

  Ugh! So many things were wrong with that statement. First of all, who knew if her mother would even remember this conversation, or even be sober enough to have it tomorrow? Way too much of Jeremy’s crappy behavior just kept getting swept under the rug. But no one in the room wanted to talk about that. Cecilia almost felt sorry for her two friends, stuck watching this spectacle. She needed this conversation to be over, so she tried a different tack.

  “Even so,” Cecilia said trying to reason with the estrogen in the room. “I’ve still got laundry to do, and I have to make dinner.”

  Her mom put her hands on Cecilia’s shoulders. “I can order a pizza.”

  Cecilia groaned. “But, Mom, we don’t have the money.”

  “My disability check posted. We have the seven dollars.” Her mom smiled, like she used to. “Would you please, for just one night, be a completely obnoxious, self-centered, and irresponsible teenager? For me? Please?”

  How could Cecilia say no? Not to the woman who used to sing her lullabies.

  “You’ll use the coupon on the fridge?” Her mother nodded. Cecilia really could not think of anything else to use as an excuse. “Okay, fine. I’ll go.”

  Her mother mouthed “thank you,” as Helen and Francesca whooped, dragging her out of the kitchen and up the stairs. They were in her room within seconds.

  Helen became the fashion slave driver. “Cecilia, get that dreck-a-tude of a dress off. Francesca, get the makeup ready, and I will—”

  “Hold on,” Cecilia said. “I don’t need a bunch of eyeliner and mascara.”

  “Um,” Helen said as she brought up an expensive-looking shopping bag. “You are going to need it and want it when you see what we brought you.”

  Helen pulled out the most gorgeous crushed velvet dress that Cecilia had ever seen. It was midnight black, with the tiniest golden symbols sewn into the fabric. It was as though a fanciful dream was given physical form.

  “Wow! How could you guys afford this?”

  Francesca carefully smoothed the fabric. “Let’s just say you need to keep the tag tucked in, and do not spill anything on it.”

  Cecilia backed away. “Oh, no! You mean, you are going to try to return it?”

  “Heck, yeah. All three of our dresses.” Helen snorted. “And before my dad figures out that I borrowed his plastic.”

  “No,” Cecilia stated. She did not want that kind of responsibility. If anything happened to that dress, and Helen got into trouble… Cecilia couldn’t bear it. “I can’t.”

  But Helen shook a finger at her. “Don’t start, or I will drag your mother back into this.”

  Oh, if her mother saw this dress, she would insist that Cecilia put it on. There’s no way that her mom would be on her side in this argument. When Cecilia didn’t fuss anymore, Helen shoved her toward the bathroom.

  “Well, then, sit in that chair so that Francesca can give you one of her ‘speed’ makeovers, and I will wrestle
that hair of yours into submission.”

  Cecilia did not bother to resist as Helen pushed her down into a chair. Immediately. Francesca began tweezing and plucking and exfoliating—sometimes at the same time. “Speed makeover” was right. And Helen never met a can of hair spray she did not like. As her friends worked, Cecilia began to worry that maybe she was being punked—that after all of this primping she was actually going to look like a clown.

  But after another few short minutes, Helen patted Cecilia’s hair. “Perfect. Francesca, is her beauty ready to be let out into the unsuspecting world?”

  Francesca plucked one more especially stubborn eyebrow hair and nodded. “Yes, Helen, I believe the world is ready.”

  Cecilia tried to swivel around to see herself in the mirror, but Helen blocked her. “Oh, no. No premature looking. You have got to see the whole thing together.”

  Francesca held out the dress. “Helen’s right.”

  “Fine,” Cecilia said, waving them off. “You guys turn around.”

  After her friends complied, Cecilia pulled the sundress over her head and tugged on the velvet dress. It felt like cream was being poured over her skin. The fabric hugged her hips, and even though the hem was above her knee, Cecilia didn’t mind.

  “Okay. You can turn around.”

  Francesca’s mouth just opened, and stayed open, without a word coming out. Even Helen seemed stunned into silence. Was that a bad thing, or a good thing?

  The two girls parted so that Cecilia could see herself in the mirror. A completely new girl stared back at her. Francesca’s makeup job had actually hidden all those dark circles. Cecilia looked fresh and alive. But she wasn’t the girl who had worn the sundress last year. The smoky eyeliner and dark red lipstick made her look every bit the woman. And the dress clinging to every curve only added to the impression.

  Helen finally found her voice again. “I. Am. So. Jealous.”

  “Oh, Cecilia, you look so J. Lo,” Francesca said, then rushed on. “You know, for a white girl.”

  Her two friends descended into a laughing fit as they hugged her. Even Cecilia couldn’t help but join in. She, too, was a bit giddy.

  “All right. I’m ready for Paula’s,” Cecilia announced, which made her friends hug her again.

  “Yes! Let’s go!” Helen said, picking up Cecilia’s hand and urging her out the bedroom door and down the stairs.

  They found Cecilia’s mom in the living room watching a show. She, too, looked stunned when she saw Cecilia. When she recovered, she began searching for her purse. “I need to find my phone so we can take pictures.”

  Helen did not even stop as she replied. “No worries, Mrs. Knight. We are going to strobe all night. You can watch my Facebook page for status updates!”

  Her mom seemed confused, so Cecilia clarified. “They promise to take a lot of pictures that I will show you when I get home.”

  “Ta-ta!” Helen waved good-bye as she dragged Cecilia out the front door. Francesca wasn’t far behind. It was all so fun and light and delightful—until they got to the end of the driveway. Where Francesca’s mom’s minivan should have been was Michael’s car.

  Cecilia skidded to a halt. “No. You two lying, hair spray-sniffing addicts…”

  “Keep it down,” Helen whispered as she tried to pull Cecilia along. “It was all three of us, or Michael wasn’t going to take us.”

  Francesca, too, painted on a happy smile, urging Cecilia forward. “Just look at Connor in the back. Do you see those blond frosted tips?”

  “For me, I like a guy with a bit more meat on his bones,” Helen said, as she nodded at the huskier of the boys, Quentin.

  Michael hopped out of the SUV. “Ladies.”

  “I’m sorry. There has been a horrible misunderstanding,” Cecilia said, trying to pry herself out of Helen’s viselike grip.

  Michael’s face clouded. “Helen said that you changed your mind. That you were looking forward to coming?”

  Cecilia stepped on Helen’s foot. Her friend just smiled, though. “Yep, she sure is. Cecilia just wanted to make sure that she rode in front with you.

  Before Cecilia could argue, Francesca whispered into Cecilia’s ear, “Before you answer, look behind you.” Reluctantly, Cecilia glanced over her shoulder. Her mother was in the kitchen window, beaming and taking pictures. Francesca continued, “Don’t make us disappoint her.”

  Sighing, Cecilia turned back to the car. In truth, a stupid goth concert did actually sound better than staying home tonight. That was how low her life had sunk.

  “Okay, but I need to be home early. I have a lot of homework.”

  Helen clapped. “Yes, yes, yes.”

  “Here you go,” Michael said, as he opened the door for her. Who knew goths had manners?

  * * *

  Paxton lifted the crime scene tape for Ruth as they entered the YMCA’s locker room. Time did not improve the odor. If anything, it smelled even more like athlete’s foot and ass. The place was far less cluttered, however, than the last time he was here. All the CSIs and uniforms had gone home. Except for the guard posted at the door, the place was deserted.

  “All right, Wonder Woman, do your stuff.”

  “You could help.”

  “What? I already did.”

  When Ruth raised an eyebrow, Paxton clarified. “I cuffed the perp.”

  His partner sighed as she started her search. As Ruth searched, pointing her flashlight in every nook and cranny, Paxton found a nice bench and sat down. Leaning back against the wall, he positioned himself just right. With his legs outstretched, he might be able to get in a good nap. And no Darby to interrupt it.

  It had been a long-ass day. Make that two days.

  Closing his eyes, he imagined a nice, juicy porterhouse steak with a double-baked potato, and maybe corn on the cob on the side. Now that was how he wanted his evening to go. Which reminded him—he really needed to feed that cockatiel.

  Intruding on his thoughts, Ruth asked, “Darby was barefoot, wasn’t he?”

  “And going commando, I might add,” Paxton responded, without even opening his eyes. But his ruse would not last long. He heard his partner walk across the tile floor.

  “But look at this …”

  Very reluctantly, Paxton opened his eyes to find Ruth’s cell phone in front of his face. “They found a bloody shoe print in the blood.”

  Paxton shrugged. “Probably one of the beat cops.”

  “No, this print was made while the blood was still wet.”

  Paxton raised an eyebrow. “With the humidity in there, that blood would have remained sticky for hours.”

  It was Ruth’s turn to look a bit contrite. “You’re right.” But then, she chewed at her bottom lip as she enlarged the image on the screen. “That doesn’t look like a duty boot, though. The imprint looks like a…a…tennis shoe.”

  Her face brightened. “A ‘Speed Demon’ tennis shoe, to be exact.”

  “Speed Demon?”

  Ruth sat down next to him, typing into her browser. “You know, the hottest tennis shoes. You bought Jeremy a pair, so then I had to buy Evan a pair?”

  Paxton looked down at the scene. Oh, yeah, those two-hundred-dollar tennis shoes. He hated to tell his nephew, but the shoes were not what made Kobe Bryant jump higher. But try telling that to a teen.

  “Hey, uncles are supposed to spoil nephews and nieces. Besides, every student at Our Lady of Sorrows has them. Hell, every kid in every high school and half the weekend warriors across the country have got them, too.”

  Ruth sighed beside him and leaned back as well. “And a men’s size 10 is not going to help narrow the search, either.”

  Paxton followed Ruth’s logic forward. “So let me sum up your current theory. A knife-wielding, cape-wearing, tennis shoe-clad perp killed our guy?”

  “Well, when you say it that way…”

  They both stayed there for a few heartbeats. Her strawberry shampoo overcame even this locker room’s stale air. She smelled like happi
ness, or dessert. Paxton couldn’t decide which one.

  Ruth was all about the case, though. “I know that it was chaos when we came in, but I think we would have noticed a guy in a cape escaping.”

  “My point exactly,” Paxton replied, glad that Ruth was finally catching on.

  “No, actually, it is my point.” His partner sat upright. “It means that he stashed the cape somewhere.”

  Paxton closed his eyes again. “You get to make the call to search all of these lockers on a fishing expedition.”

  “Don’t need one.”

  He looked up to find Ruth smiling. Why, he did not know, though. “Um, unless the laws regarding search and seizure have suddenly changed, you most certainly do need a warrant.”

  But Ruth just opened an empty locker. “Not if the locker is unsecured. No lock, no warrant. Someone can’t have an expectation of privacy on a locker he does not legally occupy.”

  Damned if she wasn’t right. “Knock yourself out.”

  “We will get out of here a lot faster if you helped.”

  Normally, he would grumble. But he really was hungry and tired, and the sooner he could get to that porterhouse, the better. With a groan, he rose. Most of the lockers were secured. This really shouldn’t take long. Then, once he proved that there was no caped menace, he would talk Ruth into doing the final paperwork so he could head to the steak house before it closed.