The middle girl, Regina, was six. Looking much like a gypsy, she’d apparently raided her mother’s collection of costume jewelry and scarves. She wore too much rouge and lipstick, seemingly applied with her own hands, since the circles she’d drawn on her cheeks were lopsided. Her younger sister, Katrina, was Johnny’s age. She held Regina’s hand and wore a padded pumpkin costume with bright green tights. Her thin legs shook in the frigid air.
I waved to their father, who chatted through the open car window with Siegfried, and then beckoned the girls inside. Mrs. Pierce brought over the bowl of miniature chocolate bars. Elise carefully took only one candy bar, choosing an Almond Joy. Regina looked at her sister and did the same. Katrina, on the other hand, reached in and grabbed as many candy bars as she could fit in her chubby fist. Before Elise could stop her, she’d dumped them in her bag. Johnny crawled over to them and began growling at their feet while the two sisters struggled over the candy.
“It’s not polite, Trina. You took too much.”
Mrs. Pierce intervened when Elise tried to grab the candy from the obstinate little pumpkin. “It’s okay, girls. We wanted you to take as much as you like. You know you’re the only little ones we get on Halloween, anyway. Come now, Elise, Regina, please take some more. Help yourself.”
The girls dug into the bowl. “Thank you!” They ran down the steps to their father’s waiting car.
Freddie released Max, although he’d been furiously wagging his tail once he realized they were friends. I knew he’d wanted to lick the girls to death. He watched them drive away, still wiggling with excitement.
I walked to the mudroom to get my coat. I’d promised to chaperone the Drama Club Halloween party with Camille. Freddie planned to bring Johnny to “trick-or-treat” at Siegfried’s apartment in the carriage house and then they were both going to take Johnny to visit Oscar and Millie Stone down in Goodland Station at the bottom of the hill.
“I don’t know how long this party is supposed to last, ladies, but it probably won’t go past eleven. ”
Mrs. Pierce looked at the clock. “Well, we’ll be fast asleep by then, Professor. That’s for sure. Just be sure to lock up when you come in.”
“You bet. Happy Halloween.”
Johnny wrapped himself around my legs when I headed for the door. I picked him up and hugged him close, careful not to disturb his makeup. “I’ll bring you something good, okay, buddy?”
He looked at me, smiled, and nodded in excitement. “Grrr!” He raced around the table again when I put him down.
I jogged to the car and drove to Camille’s place, watchful of goblins and ghouls on the sides of the road.
Chapter Fifty-Tw o
C amille emerged from her front door and hurried to my car. Beneath her winter parka, she wore a cream brocade gown that fell to the ground in graceful swirls. My mouth dropped open when she slid onto the front seat. She drew back her hood and revealed a fancy up-do, complete with banana curls and tiara. She wore mascara, blush, lipstick, and glittery, silver eye shadow. It was the first time I’d seen her in makeup.
I stared at her, speechless.
She smiled, and my heart thumped harder.
“Meet Glinda, Good Witch of the North. Welcome to Munchkin land.”
I took her hand. “You look gorgeous, Camille.”
She laughed with a self-deprecating chuckle, leaned in to press her soft lips to my mouth, and poked a finger at my chest. “And where’s your costume, Professor LeGarde?”
I looked at her blankly. “I didn’t know we were—”
She laid a finger on my lips, stopping my excuse midstream. Smiling forgiveness, she motioned for me to drive to the school. “It’s okay. We’ll find you something to wear when we get there.”
When we arrived, the parking lot was full of life.
Although it was only forty-five degrees outside, Maurice Potter ran down the sidewalk in an oversized diaper, tee shirt, and baby bonnet. He chased a tall boy dressed as a vampire who waved a giant pacifier above his head. “Give me back my binky!” Maurice shouted.
The party was open to the entire high school. Cars jammed the parking lot and teens streamed into the lobby. Camille shepherded Maurice and the vampire inside and we headed for the cafeteria .
George Bigelow sat behind a school desk at the cafeteria entrance. Dressed as a clown, he sported blue hair, a wide ruffled collar, and a red nose. White face paint with green diamonds above and below his eyes completed his ensemble. “Two? That’ll be eight dollars, please.”
I fished a ten out of my wallet and handed it over to George who returned two wrinkled dollar bills, chuckling. “Nice costume, Gus. What are you supposed to be, a college professor?”
I rolled my eyes. “I suppose I should go look in the prop room, huh?”
Camille and George answered in unison. “Uh huh.”
I pocketed my ticket, gave Camille hers, and wandered through crowds of ghosts, witches, and hobos toward the backstage.
I searched through racks of costumes. After a few minutes, Jonesy pushed a mop and bucket into the room. He looked up in surprise, his owl eyes peering through thick glasses. He grunted a greeting in response to my hello, hummed a tune from the show, and continued mopping while I looked for something to wear. After a few half-hearted swipes with the mop, he backed out and started down the back hallway.
I finally found a costume that fit. The black pants were a little short, but when covered with long black riding boots, they worked just fine. I put on a frilly white shirt, short black jacket, and black cape. Finally, I donned the black half-mask and hat and looked in the mirror at Zorro. I laughed at myself, grabbed a fake fencing sword, thankfully without a snake attached to it, and walked back through the crowds of teens who raced along the hallways and spilled in and out of the cafeteria.
Chapter Fifty-Thre e
T winkling orange pumpkin lights dangled across doorways and over windows throughout the darkened room. The lunchroom tables and chairs were pushed against one wall. Fake spider webs formed filmy threads along the walls and across the ceiling. Tissue paper ghosts hung from the strings of lights at regular intervals. Hand-carved Jack-o'-lanterns flickered from tables lining one side of the room. They would be judged at the end of the party, along with the best costume.
Agnes Bigelow served punch and cookies, dressed as a jaded Dorothy from the Wizard of Oz. She wore a short blue-and-white-checkered dress with a square white apron. Her braided hair hung in shiny blue ribbons, and on her feet were ruby red slippers with short white socks. Her face was excessively made up with garish red lipstick and dark blue eye shadow. Her eyebrows were drawn in far too high so that she exuded an unpleasant image unlike Dorothy and more like the astonished hooker from Oz.
I avoided looking at her and switched my gaze to Lou Marshall, who stood at one end of the room under a spotlighted disk jockey station, inviting the kids to dance. He wore a snug ringmaster costume and seemed to be having a wonderful time grabbing the mike, snapping his whip, and joking with the audience. A gangly boy with a bad case of acne played the CDs and announced each selection in a surprising baritone.
I found Camille over by the windows, chatting with Takeema and Nelson.
“Well, look at you,” Camille said, curtsying before me.
I couldn’t resist. I swept off my hat and bowed. “M’lady.”
Takeema and Nelson giggled and hung on each other, watching us flirt. Takeema’s cat costume included a tight black leotard, furry pointed ears, and a long tail. Her face was painted purple with yellow, white, and orange whiskers. The fur lines and cat-shaped eyes were drawn with delicate precision.
Nelson came as a circus acrobat. He wore a shiny, lavender body suit and black silk slippers. His slicked back hair emphasized the white makeup on his face. His eyes, eyebrows, and lips were highlighted in various colors. He carried fluorescent orange juggling rings and wore silver chains around his neck. A small silver ring sparkled from his right ear.
Th
e music blared again. Takeema grabbed Nelson and tossed his juggling rings onto a chair. They danced across the room, parodying a polka. Whirling and twirling around the room, they pitched from side to side in perfect unison. The crowd applauded and made room for them in the center of the dance floor.
I glanced around the cafeteria and tried to recognize the drama kids. Two of the seventh grade girls, featured in the hippie chorus, were off to the side, dancing by themselves. They were dressed as a nurse and a scarecrow. Gene and Nathan, who had dressed up as Godzilla and Frankenstein, hung around the snack table.
Lisa Bigelow wore a long black wig, swirling crimson skirt, lacey black blouse, and sparkling black shoes. She clicked her castanets, laughed happily, and threw her head back, dancing around Maurice Potter in his diaper. The admiration of a boy two years her junior had clearly bolstered her confidence. She glowed, stepping in circles around Maurice, who returned her gaze and appeared completely captivated.
Candy Price ran from person-to-person, snapping photographs. Her short red curls bobbed and she laughed constantly, catching her friends by surprise. She followed Lisa and Maurice for a while, flashing the camera several times. Finally, she ran up to us, breathless and laughing. “C’mon Miss Coté. It’s your turn. You and Professor LeGarde.”
We stood stiffly beside each other, our shoulders barely touching .
Candy let the camera hang around her neck. She put her hands on her hips and rolled her eyes. “C’mon, now, can’t you get in a little closer?”
I obliged, slipping my arm around Camille’s soft shoulders. On sudden impulse, I leaned over and kissed her cheek. The camera flashed. Candy laughed gleefully, thrilled to have caught us in such a position, and then raced off after Takeema and Nelson.
Camille whacked me on the arm, laughing. “Gus! You shouldn’t have!”
I shrugged. “Sorry. Must be that costume, Glinda .”
Chapter Fifty-Four
T he party had been in full swing for an hour when Molly Frost and Randy Sherman made their grand entrance. Molly wore a clingy, scarlet dress with a slit on the side revealing one long, black-stockinged leg. The back was cut low and she wore a black silk scarf knotted at her neck. Her hair—parted on the side—was plastered to her head, pulled back in a low bun. Thin straps on her black high-heels wrapped her ankles. A new, flesh-colored cast was on her arm, but she seemed to barely notice it. All that was missing was the long-stemmed rose that should have been clamped between her teeth.
She trotted into the room with Randy, who wore a white tuxedo and black bow tie. They darted to the young boy at the DJ stand, handing him a disk. He obliged, slid it into the player, and turned up the volume.
The crowd parted, and Molly and Randy began to tango, gliding across the room to perform the sensual dance. I’d heard they were taking dance lessons. Randy held his arms up, squarely positioned, and Molly did the same. They looked deeply into one another’s eyes, snapping their heads from side to side and moving gracefully across the floor. Randy twirled Molly away from him, but didn’t let go of her hand. Next, he pulled her back, raised her left arm up high, and gently ran the backs of his fingers down her arm and side. She sighed, looked lovingly into his eyes, and spun away from him again.
He danced around her and pulled her back, flush to his chest. She wrapped one long leg around his waist and let the other trail on the floor as he dragged her across the room. They teased each other with their movements, working their way down the length of the room.
When they reached the windows, Randy snapped Molly to his side, and slid his left arm around her waist. She placed her hand on his shoulder, and they both turned to the side, cheeks together. The music swelled, and Randy grabbed Molly’s hand with his, raised them high in the air, and strutted with her across the floor in the traditional well-known signature move of the tango.
Lou Marshall drifted over to us. “Do you tango, Miss Coté?” he asked with a shy smile.
She looked up at him with a smile. “Why, yes, Mr. Marshall, I do.”
He looked at me like a little boy asking for ice cream before dinner. “Do you mind if I borrow her, Gus?”
I nodded, but a jealous itch wiggled beneath my polite smile. He led her to the dance floor and moved in beside Molly and Randy, performing a more sedate version of the piece.
I lounged against the wall, wishing I’d taken the dance lessons Camille had suggested in July. I could manage a reasonable slow dance, but not much more.
Camille startled me with her graceful, sensual steps, and Lou Marshall was surprisingly light on his feet. The green demon knocked again, louder this time. I shoved the feelings back down and scolded myself.
Stop it. She’s marrying you, not him.
Nelson and Takeema watched their teacher in awe.
“Wow!” said Takeema. “She really does know how to move, doesn’t she?”
I nodded and sighed. Nelson dragged Takeema out to the floor. They mimicked Randy and Molly's movements. Several other teens started to copy them. Before long, a large group of dancers huddled around them, trying to tango.
I poured myself a cup of punch and took a sip, watching the crowd. A tall student, dressed as either a bunch of grapes or a Fruit-of-the-Loom guy, leaned against the far wall with a sullen expression and his arms crossed. Something about him seemed familiar. I tried to place him, but couldn’t. Purple makeup covered his face and he wore a body suit to match with a tight hood that hid his hair .
When Randy and Molly twirled past him, he pushed off from the wall and flung himself toward them.
Chapter Fifty-five
T he boy in purple tugged Molly away from Randy. She shrieked and fell into a heap at his feet. With one fluid motion, he spun to attack Randy, shoving him to the ground. He straddled Randy’s waist and pummeled him. He seemed to be yelling at him, but the deafening music obliterated the words.
I raced toward them. On the way, I stopped Lou and Camille and pointed toward the brawling boys. “Get the lights and turn off the music. I’ll break it up.”
Marshall trotted to the DJ stand and I dashed toward the fight. Something told me the boy in purple had to be Armand Lugio.
By the time I reached them, Randy’s lower lip was split and bleeding. His right eye had already puffed up, and blood covered the front of his tuxedo.
Molly was trying to separate them, but she hadn’t managed to make any progress. “Armand, get off him!” She grabbed Armand’s shirt from behind, yanking at it. Her hair had come undone and she’d lost one shoe. The tango music still blasted in the background. She stepped aside when she saw me. “Help him!”
“Come on. Break it up.” I leaned toward Armand to pull him off Randy.
In a flash he raised a knife in the air, ready to thrust it into Randy’s neck.
I lunged forward and locked my fingers around Armand’s wrist, twisting it sideways.
Armand struggled and turned to me, eyes burning. Jerking the Zorro mask down over my eyes, he knocked me back, sitting astride me this time and screaming words in his native language. I still held his wrist, but with my free hand, I ripped the mask off of my face .
The knife swept back and forth, inches from my eyes. I flipped over and knocked him off, rolling sideways to my knees. I lost hold of him, and he rushed at me with the knife extended.
I jumped up and feinted to the left, avoiding the sharp blade. With a stroke of luck, I caught hold of his arm, spun him around, and shouted his name. “Armand!” I yelled. “Armand, stop.”
He jerked out of my grip and came at me again, his eyes sparking hatred.
I avoided a few thrusts of the knife, and tried to catch him again, but I missed. I was just starting to tire when Gene and Nathan galloped toward us. With one swift motion, they pinned his arms behind his back and slammed him to the floor.
In spite of their lowbrow mentality when it came to Nelson the other day, there definitely was something to be said for their brawn.
The music finally stopped and
the lights came up. Nathan took the knife and cautiously placed it on the table. Gene sat on Armand’s back with his full two hundred and fifty pounds. He held the crazed boy in a vice-like grip and slammed him to the floor each time he tried to get up.
Finally, when he realized escape was impossible, Armand began to cry.
I looked away, suddenly feeling drained. Molly applied a wet paper towel to Randy’s bleeding lip. Tears streamed through her black mascara. “I’m so sorry, Randy. I should have known. I’m so sorry.”
Adam Knapp arrived with a fellow officer and snapped handcuffs on Armand, who had finally slumped into a purple defenseless lump, disconnected from the world. He didn’t respond to Adam’s questions, but looked straight ahead, his eyes unfocused and his mouth slack. The paint on his face ran down his cheeks in streams of tears. Adam tugged the hood off of his head, revealing curly black hair plastered to his scalp.
I spoke quietly with Adam for a few moments before he walked the lamb-like Armand out to the patrol car .
The boy would need some earnest attention, and would probably end up in an institution for a while.
Camille rushed to my side, concern flashing across her face. “Are you okay, sweetheart?” She stood breathless beside me, her warm brown eyes searching mine.
After a long embrace, she looked me over, inspecting for wounds. She cried out when she noticed a cut on my forearm where the knife had sliced through my jacket and shirt. “Gus, oh my gosh. You’re bleeding.”
I pulled off the jacket and rolled up the shirtsleeves. It wasn’t bad, and had already begun to bead over with congealed blood.
“I’m fine, honey. It’s nothing.”
I rolled down the shirt and rubbed my right shoulder where I’d wrenched it during the fight, realizing I’d been very lucky to escape with such minor injuries. I’d have to remember to thank our two football gorillas for their bravery.
I managed to reassure Camille, and then draped my arm over her shoulders. Glancing at my watch, I was surprised to see it was only nine.
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