Trick or Treat Murder

by Leslie Meier

  Standing a few feet away, Bill also sympathized with Doug.

  "I'm sorry," he said, stepping up and clasping his hand. "Anything I can do?"

  Doug stared hollowly at the burned-out building that had been his livelihood, and gestured emptily with his hands. Blinking furiously, he turned away and headed down the street. Bill watched him go, then climbed in his truck.

  It was time to go home.

  When he pulled into his own driveway, however, he was surprised to see a police cruiser parked by the back door. Hurrying into the kitchen he was relieved to see it was only Barney, sitting at the kitchen table with a mug of coffee.

  "Hi," he said, pouring himself a cup, giving Lucy a peck on the cheek and joining them at the table. "Guess you guys were busy last night, hunh?"

  "You could say that," agreed Barney.

  "I saw Doug. He's taking it pretty hard."

  "I was just there the other day. I was thinking what a nice old place it is ... was," said Lucy.

  "I gotta finish this report, Lucy," Barney said, reluctantly drawing her attention to the form on the table in front of him.

  "There isn't much to tell," Lucy began. "The phone rang around ten. I picked it up. There was a breathing sound, then someone said, 'You can't stop me.' Then I heard the sirens."

  "When was this?" demanded Bill.

  "Last night."

  "Are you telling me the arsonist called here?" demanded Bill, looking at Barney.

  "We don't know who called," admitted Barney. "The timing could have been a coincidence."

  Bill turned to face Lucy. "How come you didn't call the police right away? Why'd you wait til now?"

  "Calm down," she said. "I called first thing this morning and Barney got here as soon as he could. I thought about calling last night, but I could hear the fire horn and I knew everybody'd be busy. It wasn't an emergency—it was just a phone call. A scary phone call. I figured it was a Halloween prank, like the paint on the car. Actually, I was more worried about the baby."

  "What's the matter with the baby?"

  "Ear infection. I took her to the doctor this morning. She'll be fine."

  "I hate this," said Bill, fingering his coffee mug. "I go away for one night and all hell breaks loose."

  "Not quite," said Lucy, patting his hand.

  "What did he say? It was a man?"

  "Definitely a man. He said, 'You can't stop me.' "

  "Have you made any enemies lately?" asked Barney. "Had an argument with someone, made anybody angry?"

  "It's the commission," said Bill, smacking his forehead with his hand. "I never should've agreed to join that thing. Doug's a member, and look what happened to him. All you do is make people mad. The couple with the green house, Andy Brown, Lenk— any one of them could be pissed off at me."

  "Not the couple," said Lucy.

  "Right. I voted for them."

  "People do take this stuff more seriously than I thought," said Lucy, thinking of the free pumpkin Andy Brown had offered her.

  "Sure they do," said Bill. "That commission is powerful. If I had to paint my house all over again, I might make an anonymous phone call or two myself. Maybe I'd even be mad enough to set a fire."

  "Hold your horses, Bill. You're kinda jumping to conclusions, here. We don't know who made the call," said Barney. "Most likely Lucy's right and it's a Halloween trick."

  "Arson and anonymous phone calls kind of go together," said Lucy, thinking of the description of the typical arsonist in the psychology book. She had been so sure that Krissy and Dr. Mayes were responsible for the fires, now she wasn't so certain. Maybe there was a pyromaniac loose in Tinker's Cove.

  Or, maybe that's exactly what Krissy and Dr. Mayes hoped everyone would think. Maybe this fire was carefully planned to divert attention away from Monica and bolster the theory that she was truly a hapless victim who was just in the wrong place at the wrong time.

  Or, thought Lucy, her mind racing, maybe the fire was supposed to send a message to Doug. Did he know something he shouldn't? Had he stumbled on some bit of evidence? Did they need to get him out of the way, too? Lucy's heart skipped a beat. What if they knew she suspected them and had been asking questions? Would they come after her next?

  "Are you okay?" Bill asked, interrupting her thought. "You're awfully quiet."

  "You look kinda pale, Lucy." Barney furrowed his brow in con- cern, looking a bit like a huge St. Bernard.

  "Maybe this is more serious than I thought," Lucy admitted. "The paint, the phone call—maybe somebody is trying to warn me off."

  "What do you mean, Lucy?" Bill asked. "Warn you off what?"

  Lucy held her breath, waiting for Bill to draw the inevitable conclusion.

  "Have you been investigating these fires?" Bill looked her right in the eye.

  Lucy looked at the salt and pepper shakers on the table. "Not really."

  "What does 'not really' mean?"

  "I think... I thought it might have been Dr. Mayes, especially after I learned about him and Krissy. I was asking some questions around the gym."

  "I wish you'd mind your own business, Lucy," said Bill.

  "You should leave this investigation to the police," advised Barney.

  United in agreement, Bill and Barney sat back and lifted their coffee mugs.

  "What about those Patriots?" began Bill.

  "I think I hear the baby," said Lucy, glad to escape the male chauvinists in the kitchen. But as she tended to the baby one fact became very clear to her. If the arsonist was threatening her there was only one thing she could do. She had to catch him before he had a chance to hurt her, or her family.

  As much as she liked Barney, she had to admit he didn't exactly inspire confidence in the investigative abilities of the Tinker's Cove Police Department. It was time to consult an expert. Fortunately, she had made the acquaintance of a state police detective a few years ago when she was working for the Country Cousins catalog store and found the body of the owner, Sam Miller, in the parking lot. She decided to give Detective Horowitz a call.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  Glancing around the kitchen the next afternoon, Lucy wondered how things had degenerated so fast. The sink and counter were littered with dirty dishes, the garbage bin was overflowing, the tablecloth was stained and full of crumbs. Was it just a few days ago that she had been congratulating herself on managing so well?

  It was the cupcakes, she decided. Twelve dozen cupcakes was the straw that broke the camel's back. If it wasn't for the damned cupcakes, she told herself as she reached for a bowl and box of cake mix, she would have time for everything else. At least she had reached the halfway mark—when these were done she would only have six dozen to go. Six dozen, three more days until Halloween, that was two dozen a day. No problem. The trick, of course, was to keep the kids from finding them. That's why she had to get this batch baked, cooled, iced, and hidden on the top shelf of the pantry before the school bus arrived. It was one o'clock—she had almost two hours, plenty of time as long as Zoe didn't wake up early from her nap.

  Hearing the crunch of tires on the gravel driveway, Lucy went to the window to see who it was. Seeing the familiar unmarked blue Ford, Lucy smiled. Detective Horowitz was as good as his word.

  "Hi," she said, opening the door for him. "It's good to see you—it's been a while."

  "That's right, Mrs. Stone." Horowitz was a serious, formal man with a long face and rabbit lips. He always looked tired.

  "Can I get you some coffee?"

  "No, thanks. If I have too much I can't sleep at night." He pulled out a chair to sit down, and picked up the large sneaker that was resting on it.

  Lucy took it from him, and tossed it in the corner next to its mate. "Toby—he's eleven."

  "Big feet," he said, sitting down heavily.

  "You detectives are so observant." Lucy took a seat at the table opposite him.

  "It's our job, ma'am," said Horowitz, with the slightest hint of a smile. "So what seems to be the troubl
e?"

  "You know about the fires? Are you working on them?"

  "Not directly, but I'm familiar with the case."

  "Well, I'm worried someone may be threatening me—but maybe it's just Halloween. There was paint on my car, I got a phone call, and I found this in my mailbox this morning." She slipped a small piece of paper across the table.

  Horowitz looked down at it, but didn't touch it. It was a piece of cheap, lined notepaper crudely ripped from a spiral pad. Little square bits of paper clung to the top, and the right corner was miss¬ing. A black marker pen had been used to write the brief message in childish block letters: MIND YOUR OWN BIZNESS OR BURN.

  "Have you been investigating the fires?" he asked, raising his pale eyes to meet hers.

  "A little bit here and there—I don't have much time. I have a new baby, you know." Lucy stood up. "Do you mind if I do some cooking? I have to bake some cupcakes for a Halloween party."

  "Not at all." Horowitz studied the note. "What are your thoughts on the fires, Mrs. Stone?"

  "I'm no expert," began Lucy, switching on the oven and setting paper liners in the cupcake pans. "I don't know anything about accelerants or stuff like that, but I can't help thinking Dr. Mayes had an awful lot to gain from burning down the Homestead." Lucy paused and began ripping open the box of cake mix.

  "Go on."

  "He got rid of his wife, no divorce, no alimony, and he'll get a big insurance settlement. You know about the girlfriend, right?"

  Horowitz nodded.

  "So you agree with me? He is a suspect then?"

  "Was. He couldn't have done it."

  "What about Krissy ? They're more than lovers, you know. He owns part of her business."

  Horowitz looked interested, in spite of himself.

  "You didn't know that, did you?" crowed Lucy.

  "I told you, I'm not directly involved in this case. But I hadn't heard that. Are you sure?"

  "Yup." Lucy cracked an egg on the side of the bowl. "She told me herself. I joined the gym, you know, to get back in shape after the baby." She switched on the mixer.

  "I'll pass it along," promised Horowitz. "Mind if I take the note?"

  "Please. I'll be glad to get rid of it."

  "Did you handle it much?" he asked, slipping it carefully into a plastic bag.

  "Probably. It was under the mail. I flipped through the letters and stuff before I even found it."

  "I don't think this note is connected with the fires," said Horowitz.

  "Why do you say that.7" asked Lucy carefully, pouring the batter into the cupcake pans. Then she slid the pans into the oven.

  "The only reason I'm telling you this is because I don't want you to worry. They're very close to making an arrest in this case. I'm no expert in accelerants either, but they tell me that the same accelerant was used in every fire. They're all the work of the same individual, they know that because he has certain signature behaviors. He doesn't write notes." Horowitz took a packet of photographs from his pocket. "These are between you and me and nobody else, okay?"

  Lucy nodded eagerly and leaned across the table.

  "Fire one, the theater." He spread out three or four photos.

  Lucy was shocked and fascinated by what she saw. A row of red plush theater seats with blackened, burned centers. A cot in a dressing room, covered by a neat plaid spread. Only the center was burned. The stage, completely ruined by flames.

  "You can see how he splashed accelerant around, but not enough to do the job. Real amateur. He did better with the bam."

  Horowitz handed her another photograph. This one showed the one remaining corner of the barn, the wood blistered and scarred by the fire.

  "This time he used enough accelerant. The conditions were in his favor. The wood was old and dry, there hadn't been rain for a couple of weeks. The barn was a total loss. Not the powder house. It was barely touched," he said, passing her another photo. "Too public, he probably got scared away. Then the Homestead, and Durning's place." He flipped down the photos as if he were dealing cards. "He's hit his stride. He knows what he's doing. Complete losses, both of them. He probably thinks there wasn't any evidence left, but there was. A lot of evidence. The lab guys are real happy with this one. I wouldn't worry if I were you. This guy doesn't write notes or make phone calls or anything like that. All he cares about is making a nice, big fire."

  "This is creepy," said Lucy, gathering up the pictures and handing them back to Horowitz. "He's crazy."

  "A sick puppy. But he's not Dr. Mayes, and he's not Dr. Mayes's girlfriend whatever her name is, and he's probably not even aware of your existence so don't worry anymore, okay?"

  "Okay," said Lucy, opening the door for him.

  "On the other hand, I wouldn't dismiss this note," he said, patting his pocket. "It's pretty good advice, if you ask me. Leave the investigating to the experts, Mrs. Stone." He paused and sniffed, wrinkling his nose. "Do I smell something burning?"

  "The cupcakes!" cried Lucy, dashing for the oven.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  "What happened to you?"

  Slipping into a seat beside Sue at the TCHDC hearing Thursday evening, Lucy couldn't help noticing the Band-Aids on her fingers.

  "I'm a victim of Corney Clarke."

  "Corney Clarke did that to you?"

  "Not directly. I did it to myself. I was overambitious. I reached for the stars. I wasn't happy to have a regular orange jack-o'-lantern like everybody else. Oh no. I had to have a white pumpkin, artistically carved to look like lace."

  "It was tougher than you thought."

  "I'll say. The damn thing was like cement. I used Sid's wood- carving tools, but I couldn't make a dent in it. I sure made a mess of my hands, though."

  "That's terrible," said Lucy, unable to control her laughter as she pictured Sue hacking away at the little white pumpkin.

  "It's not funny," Sue sniffed indignantly. "I could've bled to death or lost a finger."

  "I'm sorry," Lucy said, adopting a serious tone. "I guess the spirit of your gourd wasn't ready to be released yet."

  "You could say that gourd was not afraid to defend itself," Sue said. "It was one spirited squash. But I got it in the end."

  "You did?"

  "I ran over it."

  "With the car?" Lucy asked incredulously.

  Sue nodded her head proudly. "Yup."

  "Didn't that make an awful mess?"

  "Sure did. I'm not proud of it, but I did it. I squashed that squash."

  "This.hearing will now come to order," announced Miss Tilley with a bang of her gavel.

  Silence was not immediate. The hearing room was packed and it took a while for everyone to quiet down. In addition to Ted, the cable TV station had sent a crew, and several local radio station reporters were also present. Such extensive coverage wasn't really necessary; it seemed that everyone who was interested was already there.

  "This is a public hearing on the application of Randolph Lenk for a certificate of appropriateness for alterations to an existing structure in the Tinker's Cove Historic District. Mr. Lenk, I understand you have legal representation tonight?"

  "Whuh," said Lenk, arching an eyebrow. He hadn't gone to any trouble for the hearing. He was dressed in his usual grimy work clothes, and had a two-day stubble of beard.

  "I am representing Mr. Lenk," volunteered a tall young man dressed in a pin stripe suit. "I am Fred Carruthers from the legal department at Northstar. I would also like to introduce Dave Anderson, vice-president in charge of development, New England, Stan Lepke, head of our design department, and Cindy Josephs, from our public relations department."

  The three didn't need to stand. Their sober business suits and professional demeanor set them apart from everyone else in the room. Cindy smiled brightly, but it was clear that she was a strange fish in these waters, with her crisp navy suit, panty hose, heels, and perfectly coiffed hair.

  "Can you imagine dressing like thatr whispered Lucy, crossing her blue jean-clad legs.
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  "Only for a funeral," answered Sue, slipping out of her barn jacket.

  "I understand you have a presentation," Miss Tilley said, once again banging her gavel for order.

  "That's right," Carruthers answered. "First, we have a brief history on the development of the concept. Dave Anderson will handle that."