The Diva Haunts the House

by Krista Davis

  Ray’s eyes took on the appearance of a trapped animal’s and his mouth worked itself around in a full circle when he realized he’d been caught. His turkey neck wobbled. “Hold it, I’m not going anywhere. I haven’t done anything more than play an entertaining Halloween prank on the kids. It was all just in good fun. Though I have to say that I scared Frank Hart more than any of the children.” His eyes opened wide, as though he’d just realized he’d incriminated himself. “I mean days ago. I scared Frank so good he wouldn’t even go back in there.” His face wrinkled, and his bushy eyebrows nearly met over his nose. “Hold everything! If Frank was afraid to go back inside—what was he doing in there today?”

  He gave such an innocent impression that I almost believed him. Questioning people was hard. How did Wolf know if they were lying?

  Jen marched up and stood beside me, her hands planted on her hips in bossy mode. “You’re the one who opened the window every night!” Her eyes narrowed with suspicion and she shook a finger at him. “Did you plant the cigarette case with Viktor’s initials?”

  Ray guffawed. “You’re one smart filly. I have an old engraving machine in the back and carved VL on it. Thought that added a spooky touch!” He beamed, clearly proud of himself.

  Vegas joined us. “How did you make those little whooshes of air that flew over our heads?”

  Ray ran his thumb and forefinger along the edges of his mouth and focused on me. “I thought those were one of your tricks.”

  Crafty old coot. Was he denying responsibility so the kids would still be spooked about something? I just shook my head at him.

  Wolf held out his arm as though he meant to steer Ray. “Come on. I have some questions for you.”

  They walked away, and Lilly chirped, “Now I can stay for the party! The cops have the killer, Mom!”

  Mrs. Ferguson sighed. “Lilly Michelle Ferguson, you are to call me every fifteen minutes.”

  Lilly grabbed her mom in a bear hug. “Thanks, Mom! I promise I’ll call to let you know I’m okay.”

  Mrs. Ferguson kissed her daughter and walked by me. She paused, ever so briefly, and hissed, “Jen’s mother is going to hear about this!”

  I forced a smile that probably didn’t appear sincere. What else could I do? Jen’s mother would hear about it all right—from me! It wasn’t as though I’d planned a murder for Jen’s visit.

  With the cops swarming our beloved haunted house, there wasn’t anything to do except head home. Humphrey and Bernie promised Jen they would be at her party before they turned down King Street. We walked in the other direction, encountering goblins and ghosts, both small and tall.

  On my block, twinkling orange lights illuminated houses and bushes as dusk filtered in. Evil pumpkins grimaced at us, and eerie music could be heard all the way to the sidewalk.

  When we reached my house, Jen and her girlfriends tore up the stairs to change clothes, chattering nonstop. The door knocker sounded ten minutes later. I grabbed a bag of miniature Reese’s peanut butter cups to rip open. I hadn’t anticipated trick-or-treaters quite so soon.

  But it was June who waited on the stoop wearing her Mochie cat costume. She sailed past me into the house. “Jen called me. She, Lilly, and Vegas need a little bit of help getting ready for the party.”

  Why did I feel left out? Even though I was delighted by the budding relationship between Jen and her Gramma June, I had a funny feeling they were up to something.

  I located the orange bowl with a gnarled green witch hand that automatically cackled and grabbed hands when they reached for candy. In a gravelly voice it asked, “Want some candyyyy?” I filled it until a variety of sweets threatened to spill out of it, and I set it on the console in the foyer, so it would be ready when kids came by.

  Since it would be a very late night, I made a pot of strong coffee and went upstairs to change clothes. As much as I loved my witch costume, I’d grown tired of it and donned a Wilma Flintstone dress I’d worn once to an event. I fastened chunky rock beads around my neck and fixed a faux bone in my hair. Best of all, I slid my feet into comfortable, barely there sandals.

  The girls dodged me so I wouldn’t see them when I went downstairs. I poured myself a mug of coffee and retreated to my tiny den all alone to make phone calls about the haunted house being closed. From the den, I could hear footsteps dashing up and down stairs. Even my loyal buddies, Mochie and Daisy, had forsaken me for the excitement upstairs. At least they were having fun.

  I chose my words carefully when I made my calls because I didn’t want to start unfounded rumors. Trying hard to keep Frank’s and Ray’s names out of it, I simply told most of the people that we’d found something there that caused the police to rope it off for further examination. I assured all the volunteers and their parents that our party was still on.

  By the time I emerged, the world outside had grown dark. The door knocker sounded, and I could hear faint voices whispering on the other side of the door. I opened it to Harry Potter and his friends. No older than seven, they shrieked with delight when the witch hand in the candy bowl moved and the scary voice spoke to them. Over and over, they stuck their hands in to set it off, staring in awe. I waved at their moms and dads and closed the door.

  When I turned around, June stood at the bottom of the stairs.

  “Introducing the Be Witched Sisters!” June hit a button on a small gadget in her hand and lively 1920s music played. Jen, Vegas, and Lilly appeared at the top of the stairs in flapper outfits and, one by one, strutted down to the music.

  “Aren’t they wonderful dresses?” exclaimed Jen. “We found them today for seventy-five percent off.”

  A light knock at the door reminded me all too much of the night Patrick died.

  Jen checked the peephole. “I don’t see anybody. Do you think it could be Gabriel?”

  She opened the door, and little Gabriel, wearing his cute devil costume, solemnly held out a bag.

  “I’m surprised his mother let him come here,” I whispered. “Hi, Gabriel!”

  “It’s not his mother.” Vegas stared past him at the sidewalk. “Heather the Horrid brought him.”

  June, Lilly, and I crowded closer for a better look.

  “I bet she came to spy.” It hadn’t taken Lilly long to join the we-hate-Heather team.

  “She must be freezing!” June said.

  “She couldn’t have found a more revealing costume unless she wore a bikini as Malibu Barbie,” said Vegas.

  The girls might not be old enough to recognize Heather’s costume, but the long blond ponytail gathered in a little tube at the top of her head, bare midriff, and see-through pants that blew in the breeze screamed I Dream of Jeannie.

  Heather made a forty-five degree turn, snaked her arms out to the sides, and writhed more like an inept pole dancer than a graceful belly dancer.

  “What does she think she’s doing?” June snorted. “I could shake my booty better than that. Oh, my word! What is that?”

  In the distance, a headless skeleton walked toward Heather, its bones gleaming through the dark night. A moment later, the silhouettes of other people with the skeleton took shape. “Is that the boys coming down the street?” I asked.

  Tittering and primping commenced around us. June shook her head. “Were we like that at their age?”

  “Worse!” No sooner had I spoken than the girls shot out to the sidewalk. Gabriel had beat them there, but Heather was so entranced by dancing for the approaching skeleton that she didn’t notice Gabriel stepping off the curb into the street.

  I ran out the door, but by the time I reached them, Jen had already grabbed Gabriel and held him in her arms. Between Jen yammering at Heather about Gabriel and Vegas yelling at Heather about Blake, not to mention Heather shouting at both of them, it was utter teen chaos. Why wasn’t I one of those people who could stick two fingers in my mouth and whistle?

  I reached for Gabriel, who gawked at the skeleton. Fortunately, I knew the boy behind the bones. Blake must have had enough o
f being a vampire. “Jen, would you take your friends into the house, please?”

  Three other kids whom I’d seen visiting the haunted house followed them. With my agreement, Jen’s mom had invited a total of seven kids to help her celebrate. Vegas remained behind, her hip cocked and her arms folded over her chest.

  Holding Gabriel out to Heather, I hoped she would be responsible enough to care for him. His mother must have entrusted Gabriel to her niece again. I took a deep breath. I had enough going on. If Gabriel’s mother had confidence in Heather, it was none of my business. Was it? I hated to hand the little guy over to her. “Maybe you should wind up the trick-or-treating. It’s getting dark for someone Gabriel’s age.”

  She grabbed Gabriel. “I hear you’re having a party.”

  I couldn’t believe it, but the wistfulness in her voice made me feel sorry for her. For fleeting seconds, I wanted to invite her to join us. The poor girl had virtually been abandoned by her mother. Every bad call she made seemed to be a cry for attention. Was that why she had fixated on Blake? Was she seeking the attention she couldn’t get from her parents?

  “That’s right. And you’re not invited.” Glee rang in Vegas’s words.

  Ouch! I had a feeling that might be retribution for Heather’s crack about Vegas’s mom.

  Heather leveled a glare at Vegas that could only come from a reality show contestant or an overly confident teenage girl. “Stay away from Blake.”

  “And if I don’t?”

  “Consider yourself warned.”

  “Enough of that! In the house. Now!” I gave Vegas a gentle shove to get her moving. No wonder they called it in loco parentis. Teens would drive anyone loco.

  Relieved when Vegas was inside, I shut the door behind us and reminded myself that in less than twenty-four hours, Vegas, Blake, and Heather would no longer be my responsibility.

  Vegas joined the other kids, and I hustled to the kitchen to make punch. Mars slouched comfortably in one of the fireside chairs with Mochie rubbing his head against Mars’s chin. Halloween candles glowed; the fire crackled, throwing shadows on the wall; and tiny orange lights illuminated the work areas. In spite of the spooky decor, my kitchen oozed warmth and comfort.

  “Where did you come from?”

  “I avoided the teen angst scene out front and came through the service alley.” Daisy sidled up to his chair for petting.

  June bustled in with Jesse, Blake, and Humphrey right behind her. She stopped dead when she saw Mars. “I didn’t know you were here. You look so . . . content.”

  “I am. Even in this Gomez Addams getup.”

  “I thought you were handing out candy at your house. Where’s the dry ice, Sophie?”

  I pointed June toward the cooler where I’d stashed it.

  Mars sighed. “They fired me because I wasn’t doling out the candy right.”

  If he’d said that about anyone other than Natasha, I wouldn’t have believed it. I noticed I wasn’t the only one stifling a laugh. How could anyone not pass out candy correctly? I poured equal amounts of apple cider and orange juice into the punch bowl and added ginger ale for a touch of sparkle and sweetness.

  June handed me a black kettle in which she had placed dry ice. “I love this stuff. We never used it creatively when I was young. Honestly, I was always a little bit afraid of it.”

  “For good reason. Just be sure you don’t burn yourself. Terrific costume, Blake.” Up close, I could see that the skeleton bones covered a black T-shirt, trousers, gloves, and shoe covers. “Tired of being a vampire?”

  “No. But my mom will be here later. She, uh, doesn’t like vampires.”

  “How’s she doing?”

  Blake followed me to the sink and whispered, “She’s talking about Dad a lot.” His eyes twinkled and he wiggled his eyebrows.

  The door opened and a gust of wind blew into the kitchen. Bernie, dressed as Cyrano de Bergerac with a frighteningly long nose, swept in with panache. “Gomez Addams!” Bernie withdrew a play sword from a sheath on his hip. “I challenge you to a duel for the hand of our fair lady.”

  Mars leaped to his feet, dodged behind the island, located my two-foot-long knife-sharpening honing steel, and wielded it like a sword. He and Bernie danced in a mock sword fight, alarming Daisy, who barked at them both.

  Fortunately, Wong arrived, looking so elegant that the guys ceased their battle to bow to her. She wore a low-cut bright yellow dress adorned with pearls and sequins. She’d styled her hair in a pouffy pageboy and wore a tiara atop her head.

  Humphrey could hardly take his eyes off Wong’s ample cleavage. “Who are you supposed to be?”

  Wong sashayed over to him. “Oprah, silly! Tonight, I am the queen of the world.”

  I knew the dreamy look that clouded Humphrey’s eyes.

  Apparently Wong recognized it, too. “Down, fella. I already married the Wong man once.”

  Bernie and I burst into laughter.

  Humphrey, never one to pick up on humor very fast, said, “Is that how you got your name?”

  “You betcha! I got the name, the cat, a vintage convertible that lives in the repair shop, and half of his pension.”

  Humphrey’s cell phone jingled a spooky tune. He excused himself to answer it but soon returned, his pale face flushed. “The medical examiner confirmed that the marks on Patrick’s neck were made by leaches. They secrete a blood thinner that was present in both Patrick’s and Frank’s wounds.”

  Wong glowered at Humphrey. “That’s privileged information. You’re not supposed to know that.”

  Humphrey smiled at her like a bad boy, pleased to have gained her attention. “I have connections.”

  “Gross! I think I’d rather be bitten by a vampire,” said Blake.

  “Leaches.” Bernie scratched his head. “Where would Ray get leaches?”

  “They’re still in use. Leach saliva contains a compound that prohibits blood clotting. It’s called leach therapy.” Trust Humphrey to know about a disgusting practice.

  Wong gave him an evil eye. “Who told you that?”

  Humphrey regarded her oddly. “Isn’t it general knowledge?”

  My mouth puckered at the thought. I’d come very close to some of that therapy. “You’re saying the leaches didn’t kill Patrick.”

  “Not in that small amount,” said Humphrey. “Besides, they already determined that Patrick died from asphyxiation.”

  “It can’t be hard to confirm Ray as the killer then,” I said. “It’s not like he could walk into Leaches R Us and buy half a dozen. That should narrow things down for the police considerably.”

  Wong sighed. “Probably not. Aside from collecting them yourself in shallow waters where they live, it seems one can buy them online. They’re not even expensive.”

  “Hey, Blake!” Jesse snapped the hair out of his eyes. It fell back immediately but looked adorable above the doggie snout he wore. “It’s dry ice like that guy had on the video we watched. I dare you to touch it.”

  Blake regarded him with the boredom of an old man who had seen it all. “Don’t mess with that.”

  Bernie and Mars ceased their mock fight and looked over Jesse’s shoulder.

  “Fraidy cat,” sneered Jesse. “This stuff is harmless. They just put all those warnings on there for little kids. Watch. I’ll eat a piece and nothing will happen.” He reached for the dry ice.

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  Dear Sophie,

  My children want to carve a pumpkin, but they’re too little, and I’m afraid they’ll be hurt with the sharp tools. Is there a way to soften pumpkins?

  —Mona Blunt in Tenkiller Lake, Oklahoma

  Dear Mona,

  Skip the carving altogether and let your little ones paint scary faces on pumpkins with glow-in-the-dark paint!

  —Sophie

  “No!” I lunged at Jesse and inserted my hand between his hand and the ice. “That will burn you.”

  He laughed. “How can ice burn you? It’s just frozen water.”

>   Frank’s ankle! Why hadn’t I thought of that before? “Dry ice burns bare skin. It’s not hot, but it can burn you like frostbite.”

  Bernie nodded. “It’s not water, Jesse, it’s carbon dioxide. We use it sometimes in the restaurant. Can’t keep it in a sealed container, though”—he grabbed my arm—“because it displaces the oxygen.”

  “The killer didn’t know about the hole in the casket!” Bernie and I said it in unison.

  I dashed to the phone to call Wolf. As I dialed, I asked, “Is it possible that the murderer suffocated Patrick with dry ice? When he attacked me, he held something over my nose, and I couldn’t breathe.”

  “Was he wearing gloves when he murdered Patrick?” Bernie looked to me for an answer.

  I tried to remember details. The cape and the mask seemed so vivid to me. “He might have. I’m not sure. He seemed like a mannequin. Gloves would have fit that image. I might have noticed he was real if he hadn’t worn gloves.”

  “A bit sick if you ask me,” said Bernie, “but technically I suppose it could work. If he placed the dry ice in a loosely woven cloth, cotton perhaps, and held it over the victim’s nose and mouth—”

  Humphrey interrupted Bernie with all the excitement of a schoolboy. “It would be a double whammy. The victim would exhale carbon dioxide, then inhale the additional carbon dioxide wafting from the dry ice and suffocate.”

  I shuddered, realizing that I had been only breaths away from that fate.

  Wolf answered his phone and I jumped right into our theory.

  “We were talking about Frank in the coffin, and it dawned on us that the killer might be using dry ice to kill people. He could have placed it in the coffin around Frank’s feet. If the hole hadn’t been there, the carbon dioxide would have suffocated Frank. Plus, if he set the dry ice around Frank’s ankles, it would have burned his bare skin.”

  “Why were the ends of his pants wet?” asked Wolf. “I thought dry ice went straight from a frozen form to a gas form.”