by Dee Ernst
A Killer Halloween
A Mt. Abrams Mystery
Dee Ernst
Contents
Copyright
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Also by Dee Ernst
Copyright © 2016 by Dee Ernst
All rights reserved.
All the characters in this book are the product of an overactive imagination. Any resemblance to a real person, living or dead, is a tremendous coincidence.
If you’d like to learn more about Mt. Abrams, including other books in the series, please visit
https://mtabrams.com
To find more of other Dee’s books, go to
www.deeernst.com
Comments? Questions? An uncontrollable desire to just chat? You can reach me at
[email protected]
ISBN: 978-0-9970514-4-5
Created with Vellum
Chapter 1
I did not like Halloween.
I hadn’t liked it since I was nine years old, and my brother and I went trick-or-treating, and the Coopersmiths gave us mealy apples, and all the other kids in the neighborhood told us they were poisoned apples. Even though my mother insisted they were not poisoned, I didn’t see her offering to take a bite to prove her point, so I was convinced from that evening on that Halloween was just a giant ploy to kill off small children.
I know. That was over forty years ago. You’d have thought I’d have gotten over it by now.
But I never did.
When Halloween rolled around in Mt. Abrams, where everyone knew everyone else, where kids felt safe to run up and down the streets and ride bikes to the lake unsupervised, the entire community became involved. There was dunking for apples and a few spooky-themed games and a haunted house. There was a Best Costume contest at the old firehouse. People decorated with pumpkins and ghosts and witches, and for days, the air rang with spooky sounds coming from hidden speakers.
Normally, I loved my community. I was involved. I had even joined the Garden Club earlier in the year, partially as a favor to Lynn Fahey to disrupt Mary Rose Reed’s evil plan to kill of the hydrangeas in front of the library. But eventually I found that I liked the Garden Club and was actually learning a few things that might keep my so-called garden alive.
Then Halloween reared its ugly head, and Mary Rose Reed, Garden Club president and Mt. Abrams organizer extraordinaire, got the great idea of holding a scavenger hunt this year, instead of the usual hanging out by the clubhouse, playing a few games, and generally letting the costumed segment of the population run wild.
As I said, it was a great idea. But then she had to start telling us more details, and the idea went from great to awful. Obviously she had never been involved in a real scavenger hunt. Those poor kids would be bored to tears.
So, I raised my hand. And opened my mouth.
I should have known better. One reason I normally don’t join community groups is not because I don’t play well with others, but rather, I think I can do a much better job all by myself, without all the hand raising and discussion and voting on things.
By the end of the meeting, I was in charge of the scavenger hunt.
Now, that wouldn’t have been all that bad, but Mary Rose was never one to cede power gracefully, so while I was in charge of planning the hunt, she would be responsible for hiring the entertainment. Specifically, Mr. Scarecrow, a professional clown and juggler that she insisted would be a perfect addition to the festivities.
After what happened to Mr. Scarecrow, you’d better believe I never raised my hand at another meeting again. Ever.
My best friend, Shelly Goodwin, got quite a kick out of the whole situation.
“Tell me again?” she asked. It was the morning after the Garden Club meeting. We were walking up Carver Road, where we walked every morning after the school bus picked up the kids. My daughter, Tessa, was now eleven. Seemingly overnight, my being on the same planet with her was cause for embarrassment. So she walked to the bus stop alone. I had a second cup of coffee to fill in the time usually spent with her while I silently argued with myself the pros and cons of an expensive boarding school. Shelly would text me, and I’d be off down the hill, meeting her and Maggie Turner and Carol Anderson for a quick turn around the neighborhood.
Shelly’s son was the same age as my daughter, and he didn’t feel it was a crime to be seen with his mother, but that was one of the many differences between boys and girls. Having already raised one girl to complete womanhood, I knew that Tessa would eventually see me as a human being once again, but it would take a while.
My cocker spaniel, Boot, was seriously investigating a possible chipmunk infestation under a fallen log. We stopped walking and watched her sniffing furiously. Shelly’s dog seemed totally unconcerned.
“Mary Rose had these really terrible ideas,” I explained. “She wanted the kids to find, like, thirty different items, stuff like, an acorn or a red leaf. What kind of crap is that?” I looked at Shelly accusingly. “If you had been there, you could have stopped me.”
Maggie had recently dyed the unshaved portion of her hair a bright blue. “I doubt that,” she giggled. “I’ve seen you in action, Ellie. Once you’ve gotten something between your teeth, you don’t let go.”
Carol, tall, graceful, older, and infinitely wiser, smiled. “When all else fails, try Pinterest. What have you got so far?”
Boot had moved past chipmunks and was now nosing the ants, so I tugged on her leash, and we went on up the hill. “Well, teams. We can’t have all those kids just running around by themselves. So, teams of three or four, with an accompanying adult.”
Shelly turned around and walked backward. She ran marathons in her spare time and wasn’t above a little showing off. “Teams? That’s good. But you know that no matter how successful you are, Mary Rose will find a major problem somewhere. And don’t you hate Halloween?”
“Yes, you know I hate Halloween. And you’re right. Mary Rose will tear me to shreds over something. She’s still involved, of course. She’s hiring a scarecrow.”
We turned onto my street at the top of the hill.
As always, the lake looked beautiful. Lake Abrams wasn’t very big, but it was wide and quite lovely, and the vivid fall colors on the small mountain behind it reflected on the still water. I saw this view several times a day, and it never failed to make me grateful to be alive.
“What do we need a scarecrow for?” Maggie asked.
“Good question,” I said as we started around the lake. “She says he’s going to be entertainment.”
Carol made a rude noise. “That’s her nephew. Or stepnephew. Something like that. She was telling me a few weeks ago at the library. He and his brother are breaking into show business.”
“Well, that’s certainly taking the long way around,” Shelly said. “But trust Mary Rose to turn a community event into a personal gain for herself, one way or another.”
It’s not that we hated Mary Rose. In fact, she could be a very nice person. Sometimes. But she was one of those people that loved to gossip. In turn, she generated quite a bit of gossip herself.
Carol, as head librarian of the Mt. Abrams branch of the Lawrence Library system, managed to pick up quite a bit of information, but was much more responsible about spreading it around. Except to us, of course.
“Her brother remarried,” Carol explained. “And the new
wife has two grown sons. They’ve tried stand-up, a little acting, and are now doing parties. Clown stuff and magic for the one. The other son is a singer, plays a few instruments, that sort of thing.”
Shelly’s dog, Buster, stood stock-still. Boot, a few seconds behind, stopped as well. We looked, and there, barely visible in the trees, was a light-colored, very lean, and mangy-looking coyote. Buster began to grow. Boot, who had the courage of a newborn lamb, stayed silent.
“Well, he’s ugly,” Maggie said loudly, and the coyote vanished.
“A lot of cats are going to go missing this winter,” Carol said as we walked on. “We should post something on the bulletin board.”
I nodded. “Along with a call for volunteers. I’m going to need lots of adults to make this scavenger hunt work. Although, I did get an offer of help right after the meeting.”
Shelly glanced at me. “Who?”
“James Fergus.”
“Why, you sly dog,” Carol murmured.
James Fergus was the newest Mt. Abrams resident, a fine-looking gentleman who was renting a house on Davis Road. He was tall and of an indeterminate age, but most guesses put him around my age, fifty. He was good looking in a movie star sort of way—thick, dark hair, blue eyes, an amazing body, and charm oozing from his very pores. He was a landscape architect, so his appearance at the Garden Club meeting was cause for a ripple of excitement that wasn’t just for his looks. And after the meeting, he grabbed me and offered to help.
“Don’t tell Viv,” Maggie warned.
Vivian Brewster, our good friend and local realtor, had her eye on James.
I grinned. “Of course I’m going to tell her. How else would I get her to help me out?”
By the time I’d finished our walk, I was in a pretty good mood. I was a freelance editor, specializing in mysteries and thrillers, so I was pretty confident I could come up with an exciting hunt that would challenge the imaginations of every child—and adult—in Mt. Abrams. Something clever enough for Sherlock Holmes but tame enough for Miss Marple, witty enough for Archie Goodwin, with the charm of Richard Jury. A piece of cake.
By the end of the day, I had nothing.
So much for my good mood.
My oldest daughter Caitlyn was twenty-four and quite beautiful. She was also very, very smart. She had passed up a fellowship in France and was instead teaching French at a Montessori school. It wasn’t the opportunity to teach that kept her home. Rather, it was Kyle Lieberman, her childhood friend who was now a handsome, successful young man who had managed to keep his awkward adorableness while holding down a mid-six-figure job on Wall Street.
She thought the whole scavenger hunt thing was a hoot.
“Mom, you hate Halloween,” she said, after laughing hysterically for about seventeen minutes.
“Yes, I know. But you know how I love mysteries, and a scavenger hunt is like a mystery, and I thought I’d be really good at this, and I’m not.”
I stared down at my dinner. Broiled boneless chicken breast, roasted cauliflower, and sautéed zucchini. I had gained five pounds over the three-day weekend by making—and eating—a huge pot of chicken and dumplings and an apple pie. I also spent most of that weekend in bed with Sam Kinali, my extremely smart and funny and sexy boyfriend. Tessa had been with her father. Cait and Kyle went to Delaware. Sam and I indulged in all sorts of pleasures, including eating, lots of wine, and sex. I know that in theory, sex can burn calories, but apparently not as many as long brisk walks and weight training. So I had some catching up to do in the weight-loss area.
“You’ve got over a month, Mom. I’m sure you’ll think of something.” Tessa was eating mashed potatoes with her chicken. With lots of butter. She looked like me—dark, curling hair, dark eyes, round, pretty face. She was also going to be built just like me when she became an adult—short-waisted, big boobs, no hips, and having to fight a round middle all her adult life. But for now, she ate mashed potatoes with lots of butter.
Her momentary burst of civility quickly passed. “You’d better, ’cause I don’t want all the kids talking about how lame you are,” she said.
“Well, Tessa, I’ll keep that in mind. Heaven forbid your friends think I’m lame.” I stabbed my chicken. “Do they think I’m fat?” In my mind, it was a hypothetical question. But Tessa…
“Not any more. You dodged the bullet on that one, Mom.”
Oh, you little…
Cait stepped in gracefully. “What’s with the scarecrow?” she asked.
I took a cleansing breath. “A Mary Rose idea. Her nephews? Stepnephews? Something like that. Todd someone and his brother. Apparently, they’re an act.”
“Todd Richter? I went to school with his brother, Doug,” Cait said. “Doug had an amazing voice, and played all sorts of instruments. Really talented guy. Todd was a year or two younger. Kind of a screwup, but with great tattoos. He did magic. Kyle and Doug are still friends.”
I nodded and moved some zucchini around. “That sounds right. Todd is going to be juggling, making balloon animals, that sort of thing. Won’t that be fun, Tessa?”
My youngest daughter rolled her eyes. “Maybe. As long as he’s not lame.”
Again with the lame.
Cait came to the rescue. Again. “What kind of scavenger hunt would you want, Tessa?”
Tessa made a curling road through her potatoes as she thought. “I’d want to be with my friends. Not by myself. And not, like, a gazillion things to find. And it should be fun stuff. Maybe each thing could be its own prize. No going behind scary houses. And maybe popcorn and cider.”
Cait raised her eyebrows. “I’m impressed, Tessa. Those are good ideas. Right, Mom?”
I was still seething a bit over the “fat” thing, but had to agree. “Great ideas. I already thought about teams. Maybe you could help me?”
She rolled her eyes. “Really? I didn’t ask for this, you know. And now you want me to help?”
I swallowed my chicken.
“I’ll be glad to help, Mom. And I bet Kyle would love to, as well,” Cait said.
Eventually, Cait would be moving out of my house. Tessa would be on her own. Things, I knew, would get dicey, because Cait was often the only thing between her sister and…
“Thank you, dear,” I said. I stabbed the chicken again. And reached for the mashed potatoes.
I finally had it all figured out. There would be twelve stations, with a specific item to find at each location. The clues would be given in random order, teams would find the correct station—a front porch, a backyard, an empty lot, whatever—and collect the item, as well as being checked off by a trustworthy volunteer. It’s not that I honestly believed that anyone would actually cheat at a simple scavenger hunt, but I knew that to some parents, winning trumped personal ethics, and I wasn’t taking any chances.
Emma McLaren was going to let us use her garden as one of the stations, as well as a spot for cider and doughnuts. Her garden had been badly trampled that summer when Boot accidentally dug up a body in the exact spot where Emma’s koi pond was supposed to go. At the end of the summer, a bunch of us got together to help her rake, transplant, and generally repair the damage. An early hard frost killed off anything left alive, so she threw down lots of straw and said we could use the space.
It was there Mr. Scarecrow would be doing his act.
Mary Rose had brought him around the week of Halloween, so he could look everything over. Mr. Scarecrow was indeed Todd Richter, a tall and lanky young man with lots of tattoos up and down his arms and several piercings. He would juggle, do tricks, make balloon animals, and generally entertain anyone who stopped by Emma’s for a doughnut and hot cider. Since the whole point of winning the hunt was to figure out the clues and find everything in the shortest time, I didn’t really think any kids would be watching him for very long, but I wasn’t about to mention that to Mary Rose. The woman was on a mission, and that involved a check for Mr. Scarecrow.
Vivian Brewster had graciously offered to be my rig
ht-hand woman, and she and I walked Todd through the neighborhood, gave him a general rundown as to how things would work, and tried to draw him into any type of conversation. He nodded and grunted a lot, but as far as sentences went, he was loath to give them up. He followed us around for twenty minutes, then got into his Honda and drove away.
Viv and I both waved as he drove down the hill.
“That is one ugly man,” Viv said. “He doesn’t even need a costume. He could scare the bejesus out of small children just the way he is now.”
“And he didn’t seem very jolly. Aren’t clowns supposed to be jolly?” I asked.
Viv shuddered. “Honey, I just remember that evil clown from that Stephen King thing, you know, the one who lived in the sewers? I’ve always thought clowns were creepy.”
“You should mention that to James,” I said, “so he can protect you from the big, bad scarecrow.”
She grinned. “He’d be very good at protecting, I’m sure. In fact, I’m sure he’d be good at all sorts of things.”
I never heard the rest of James’s very useful qualities, because Mary Rose appeared from nowhere. “Isn’t he wonderful?” she gushed.
Mary Rose was a throwback. She wore outfits that matched, low heels in all seasons, and always had on lipstick that was the same color as her nail polish. Her hair was permed in a short gray helmet, and her earrings were clip on. Standing next to Viv, who was tall, black, dressed in leggings, over-the-knee black boots and a colorful fringed sweater, Mary Rose looked like she belonged in a 1950s sitcom.
Viv turned to Mary Rose and tilted her head. “Thank God he’s got a costume, or he’d be scaring the kids outta here faster than—”
“What Viv means,” I interrupted quickly, “is that his piercings are very unusual.”
Mary Rose sighed. “Yes. His brother, Doug, is quite different. Doug is a singer. Very talented. They’re having a bit of a disagreement right now, but I’m sure that they’ll iron everything out by the weekend. Doug helps out, you know? Gets things set up. Todd would be lost without him.”
