by Krista Davis
“Exactly.” Nina smiled smugly. “You see, Humphrey, you may think you’ve got this figured out, but what you’re saying makes no sense.”
Humphrey didn’t seem convinced. “Really? You tell me why the killer would go to those extremes.”
Nina answered testily. “Why would someone carve a mark in a victim’s skin or take a memento? Killers are nuts.”
“By definition, really,” said Humphrey. “However, I seriously doubt that we have a deranged vampire killer running through the streets of Old Town.”
June leaned toward me. “Even if it’s not a demented wild man, it’s someone very dangerous, and someone in our midst. I warned Mars to be careful because the killer is most likely on his guest list. I don’t know what possessed the murderer to go after Patrick, but he’s clearly a troubled person and not above doing it again. I certainly hope the police have better leads than a little boy.” She pushed back her platinum gray hair, checking her chignon with her fingers. “Sophie, dear, I had such fun going through Faye’s things this morning. She certainly knew how to have fun, especially on Halloween.”
I let out a sigh of relief and mentally thanked June for changing the subject.
“Those old pictures were cool,” said Jen.
Mars sputtered. “Aunt Faye scared me half to death when I was a little boy. She dressed some girl in a filmy white dress and made her walk across the stair landing. From the foyer, it looked like she was floating. For years I was convinced that the little girl ghost was in this house somewhere.”
June laughed so hard her shoulders shook. “We couldn’t convince you that it was pretend. I miss her parties.”
In a completely stilted voice, like she’d rehearsed what she was going to say, Jen piped up, “We should have a Fayestyle party here on Halloween for my birthday.”
“What a good idea, Jen!” exclaimed June. “Sophie, do you have anyone to hand out candy at your door while you’re at the haunted house on Halloween? I could do that for you and get things ready for the party.”
Their little conversation happened so fast that it was like watching a ping-pong game. We had planned to have a party. What were they up to? “If I didn’t know better, I would think you two were related. June, I would love for you to pass out candy to kids while we’re at the haunted house.”
June smiled like it was all settled. “Wonderful! Faye always set up a midnight buffet on Halloween. According to Wanda, that’s when the barrier between us and the spirit world is the weakest and they can communicate with us the best.”
It was a conspiracy. I looked around the table at the pleased expressions and wondered if I was the only one who hadn’t been in on this little plan. A midnight buffet wasn’t a big deal—well, maybe to Jen. It might seem exotically adult.
“Everyone can bring a dish, that way it won’t be so much work, and we’ll have a marvelous time!” June winked at Jen, as though she was thrilled they’d accomplished their little party scheme.
I had to admit that a midnight dinner sounded like fun. They could have just asked me. There had been no need for a grand conspiracy. I didn’t want to ruin their fun, though. They clearly thought they’d accomplished something special.
We finished off the Halloween cupcakes I’d baked, and everyone scattered to don their haunted house attire. Mars took Daisy for a walk while the girls changed clothes. I was cleaning up the kitchen when the phone rang.
I didn’t recognize the voice. The man blathered incoherently. Thinking he must have reached a wrong number, I almost hung up, but he managed to say, “It’s Dash. Maggie collapsed and we’re at the hospital.”
EIGHTEEN
Dear Natasha,
I’m supposed to make costumes for my daughter and son, but I can’t sew. I don’t even have a sewing machine and if I did, I wouldn’t know where to start. All the other mommies seem to have a sewing gene that I was born without. I’ve asked around, but it’s too expensive to hire a seamstress to make a costume that they’ll outgrow by next year.
—All Thumbs in Casper, Wyoming
Dear All Thumbs,
There’s no longer any excuse for those who don’t sew. Iron-on tape will accomplish almost anything you need to create a great costume. Begin with a hoodie and sweatpants or tights. You can create fabulous costumes by simply attaching felt. Add red felt wings with black felt dots to a black hoodie and tights and you have a ladybug. Cut a felt tunic to attach to a green hoodie and tights, add a faux sword, and your son will be a Knight of the Round Table. Or go with pink, and add a huge swirl of tulle and a few sparkles to dress your princess.
—Natasha
I finally managed to deduce that Dash needed a favor. He didn’t want Blake to see his mother in her current state. Would I pick him up at the hospital and take him to the haunted house? Of course I would. I rushed to change into my witch costume, and the second Mars returned with Daisy, I arranged for him to walk the girls to the haunted house.
When I arrived at the hospital, the first familiar face I saw belonged to Wolf. The sterile surroundings took on an ominous note. As fond as I was of Wolf, his presence signified death. I hoped Maggie hadn’t been killed. A quick check around the emergency waiting room sent shivers along my arms. No sign of Blake.
I drew closer to Wolf and Dash and realized that Wolf held a Living Dead Doll and that Frank Hart was with them.
Wolf didn’t bother greeting me. He held up the doll. “Maggie received one of these, too. Is this what yours looks like?”
“Similar. This one has red eyes with pupils. Ours has white eyeballs.”
“Maggie opened the front door and found it on the stoop,” said Frank. “She became so agitated that she couldn’t inhale. I went to get a paper bag for her to breathe into and when I returned, she had passed out.”
I was a little bit surprised that he admitted to being at Maggie’s house, not to mention the fact that he had come to the hospital, since he had a wife of his own. Was their affair public knowledge?
Wolf turned the doll. “Does yours have these little bite marks drawn on the neck?”
I nodded. “I guess that eliminates any possibility of coincidence. How is she?” I asked, holding my breath and hoping the answer would be positive.
Dash rubbed his jaw with his palm. “She’ll be fine. Maggie is . . . high-strung on her best days. Patrick’s murder sent her into a tailspin. I’d like to know what idiot left this doll for her. That was the last thing in the world she needed.”
“Where’s Blake?” I asked.
“I sent him to the car to get his duffel bag with the costume in it. He should be back any minute.”
“Would it be okay if I peeked in on Maggie and said hello?” Thank goodness she would be all right.
“Sure.” Dash pointed me in the direction of her ER room.
I followed the direction of his finger.
“Sophie! Wait.” I was reaching for the door handle when Dash jogged over to me.
He bent his head to whisper in my ear. “Maggie doesn’t know that Blake is dressing as a vampire this Halloween. She has an irrational fear of vampires. Stupid, I know, but it would be better if you didn’t mention it.”
I pulled back to face him but kept my voice low. “How could his mother not know about his Halloween costume?”
Dash tilted his head from side to side and exhaled. “It’s complicated. That’s why I’ve been picking him up. He leaves it at my place or in my car so she won’t know about it.”
“Do you realize that Patrick found vampire teeth in Blake’s bedroom?”
He whisked a hand through the air but spoke softly in spite of his aggravation. “Is there anyone who didn’t hear about that? Didn’t you have wax lips as a kid? Sheesh. The way Patrick carried on you would have thought they found heroin in Blake’s room.”
“I’ll try to steer clear of vampires,” I assured him.
He nodded and pushed the door open for me.
Maggie was sitting up, looking none the worse for
the wear. “Do you have a cigarette?”
“I’m sorry, I don’t smoke.”
She twisted in the bed restlessly. “They took mine away from me. You’d think they would understand that I need them to calm my nerves.” Her eyes narrowed. “You’re Mars’s friend.”
Close enough. “Yes. We spoke the other day about Blake when you dropped him off at the haunted house.”
“Could you hand me my purse?”
I hoped there weren’t cigarettes hidden in it but handed it to her anyway.
Maggie dug deep in the bag. “Here it is.” She withdrew a mirror, and with all the drama of an old vampire-slaying movie, she turned it toward me and leaned forward to look at my reflection.
I could see it, and I guessed she could, too.
She held it up and tried to examine her neck. Her voice broke when she said, “I can’t see. Do I have a bite?”
Fear welled up in me. What would I say if she had two bloody dots on her neck? Fortunately, she didn’t, and I realized that she had briefly sucked me into her hysteria.
She cupped her forehead in her palm. “I was so worried that I only had three days to live. Patrick didn’t even get that.”
What could I possibly say to ease her mind? “I received one of those dolls, too.”
She sat up in alarm. “When?”
“We found it yesterday morning.”
She reached for my hand with both of hers. “You have less than thirty-six hours left. You mustn’t be alone. Do you understand? I’ll call Mars and explain it to him. He has to protect you. I’m sure you have silver jewelry. Wear it all, especially necklaces and crucifixes.”
Very nice, Sophie. Not only did you fall right into the vampire trap, but you’ve managed to exacerbate the situation. I had no idea what to say. Would she become agitated if I told her I didn’t believe in vampires? I couldn’t take that chance. It was probably best if I humored her.
“Do you need anything?” I asked.
“Garlic. I don’t have any garlic.”
Were the grocers in Old Town experiencing an unprecedented run on garlic? I smiled and promised I would tell Dash.
She reached out and clutched my arm. “I’m sorry, Sophie. I’m so, so sorry. We could have been friends. I have to warn you, though—don’t come after me when you’re immortal and you need to drink blood. I’ll fight you with everything I have.”
With that unsettling notion, I backed out of the room and bumped into Dash, who must have been waiting outside the door.
“It’s called sanguivoriphobia,” he said. “Fear of vampires. She can’t help it. She’s seen countless shrinks, but she can’t let it go.”
“That’s why she has so many mirrors in her house?”
“She usually wears one on a chain, too.” He massaged the back of his neck. “Most of the time it doesn’t interfere with her life, not too much anyway. She coped very well until Patrick’s death. I suspect it was important to Blake to dress as a vampire to overcome the fears she tried to instill in him. He needed to prove to himself that nothing adverse would happen. That he could take the costume off, and it would never mean anything more than playing a character. That it was only pretend.”
“No wonder Patrick’s death threw her. Not only was she dealing with losing someone she loved, but . . .” I stopped talking as I put it all together. “. . . The marks on his neck. She’s afraid that Patrick is immortal and will return to her to bite her! Poor Maggie!”
“She’ll get over it once the vampire hullabaloo dies down again. Until then, she needs to be sheltered from inane rumors. I don’t know how this will all play out. Before Patrick’s death, Blake asked if he could live with me.” He tried to smile, but I could see sadness in his expression. “You must think we’re nuts. Most of the time, Maggie is functional, and we’re lucky to have such a great kid. Look, I’ve told Wolf about Maggie’s sanguivoriphobia, but other than that, only family and some close friends know about it. I’d appreciate it if you could keep it quiet. I can’t afford to be known as the vampire-fearing car dealer.”
Blake ran up to us carrying a large duffel bag. “Thanks for picking me up, Ms. Winston.”
“I’m glad to help. Are you ready to go?”
Dash flashed me a look that I interpreted to mean please get him out of here.
I waved at Wolf and hustled Blake to my car. We were pulling out of the parking garage when Blake leaned forward and twisted to get a better look at a car that had stopped for a parking voucher.
“Is that Heather and her dad?” I asked.
Blake’s mouth worked into a half smile. “Yeah.”
I wished I could see into his head and know if he and Heather had cooked up something. I didn’t want to overstep my boundaries by questioning Blake, but the news that someone had left a dead doll on Maggie’s doorstep changed everything. I had hoped Heather had left that chilling doll on our doorstep, but why would she leave one for Maggie? If she was chasing Blake, as the girls believed, and as she’d demonstrated through her attention to him, why would she want to scare his mother—or him, for that matter?
The appearance of that doll had shifted my theories. It connected us in some way to Maggie and Blake. The person who left it must have meant to scare or warn us. If it was intended as a warning, it didn’t make sense that the doll would land on Patrick and Maggie’s doorstep after Patrick’s death. If the killer left the dolls, wouldn’t he have sent his ominous message before Patrick’s death?
Unless I missed my guess, Dash, and maybe Dash’s lawyer, had told Blake not to talk about the night Patrick was murdered. I went with a broader question that didn’t point a finger at Blake. “Who do you think killed Patrick?”
He didn’t pause for a second. “Ray Barnett. The guy who runs that old junk shop.”
The car swerved a bit. I hadn’t expected to hear that. “Why would you think Ray killed him?”
“Patrick complained about him all the time. Not just regular griping. He accused Ray of stuff.”
“What kind of stuff?”
“Patrick blamed Ray for putting his candle shop out of business. My dad says that Patrick has a lousy head for financial matters, but Patrick claimed Ray charged too much rent and refused to repair the building. They were always fighting about it. Patrick got behind on the rent, so my mom paid it for a few months. I thought my dad would bust his guts over that. Man, was he mad. So then Mom quit paying Patrick’s rent, and Ray used to call the house all the time bugging Patrick for the money. Patrick said Ray cheated him and he wouldn’t pay Ray if his life depended on it.”
Maybe it had. Ray told me he had put out the word that no one should do business with Patrick. Had Patrick threatened Ray? Had their argument escalated to the point where Ray had done Patrick in?
I glanced over at Blake, who must have gotten a gene for calmness in the face of crisis from Dash. He certainly hadn’t received it from Maggie.
“Everybody hated Patrick. I don’t know why my mom kept him around. My dad didn’t like Patrick, either. He said Patrick was a moocher, a leach who would latch onto somebody and suck them dry.”
I guessed Dash’s ears must be ringing by now. Blake apparently had no filter regarding what he repeated.
He studied his hands. “Did you know that I’m a suspect?”
Yikes! I chose my words carefully. “You didn’t make your hatred of Patrick a secret.”
“You can hate a person without killing him. I hate a kid on the tennis team who thinks he’s better than the rest of us, but I wouldn’t kill him.” He snorted. “I might put itching powder in his shorts, but he wouldn’t be worth going to jail for.”
I hadn’t spent much time getting to know Blake. Maybe Jen and the others were right about him. For a young teen, he seemed fairly levelheaded.
I slowed as we cruised into Old Town and the number of pedestrians increased. We drove by Hart Wine, and I hit the brakes in shock.
NINETEEN
Dear Sophie,
After many
years of fun Halloween parties, my twin daughters have declared this year’s party a no-costume zone. They’re at the age where nothing is cool enough. I’m afraid this party will be a complete disaster. What can I do about this no-costume edict?
—Party Mom in Seven Devils, North Carolina
Dear Party Mom,
Don’t worry, they’ll outgrow the I’m-too-cool-for-a-costume stage. In the meantime, buy an assortment of hats at secondhand and thrift shops—enough for each guest to have one, plus a few extra. Provide a few pots of Halloween makeup in the powder room, and even your girls will get into the fun when their guests wear funky hats and makeup!
—Sophie
A life-sized vampire with a skull for a face stood in the show window of Hart Wine. Above him hung a banner that read “A Taste of Immortality.” Bottles of wine surrounded him, stacked on boxes. I had a hunch they were Vampire wines.
“Pretty cool, huh?” said Blake. “Everybody is talking about it.”
Blake might have been impressed, but to me it meant Frank had access to a vampire costume. “When did he put it up?”
“I don’t know. Around the beginning of the month, I think.”
The person in the car behind me honked. I had stopped traffic. Reluctantly, I pressed the gas pedal and my SUV rolled on, but Frank still dominated my thoughts. So many people had suggested that the killer left a vampire bite on Patrick’s neck for publicity. I’d thought it ridiculous. What kind of person would kill for publicity? Frank’s chilling Taste of Immortality promotion forced me to reconsider. Frank had attended the party, clearly placing him at the scene of the crime. Natasha or Leon would know if he’d dressed as a vampire.
I dropped Blake off in front of the haunted house. To my amazement, a line of eager people had already formed even though the scheduled opening time wasn’t for another forty-five minutes. When Blake was safely inside, I drove toward my own house, looking for a parking place on the street. Fortunately, I was able to find a spot close to home.
