by Vickie Fee
Our meals arrived at the table, and I knew Ted must have it bad for Daisy. I’d seen Ted plow through a hefty plateful on several occasions. Today, he barely touched his food.
“I’m sorry I always have to hurry off right after yoga class,” Daisy said to Di and Ted, but mostly to Ted. “I take part in an online forum for serious spider enthusiasts every Wednesday night. Being live on the webcam still makes me a little nervous, so the yoga session helps me relax.”
“It’s impressive how you’ve built a career around your passion for spiders,” I said.
“Yeah, I’m really lucky,” she said. “I make a little money with the writing and a little with the spider and collection sales. I also sell venom to some medical research teams at a couple of universities.”
“Wow, that’s wonderful,” Ted said, still looking as if he were under a hypnotic trance.
“What kind of medical research?” I asked.
“They’ve discovered that peptides from some varieties of spider venom are effective in treating chronic pain. There’s also promising research that a certain protein in spider venom could be used to treat muscular dystrophy. I was a biology major and know a few people who are now doing graduate work in medical research.”
“So small amounts of spider venom can be used as a painkiller?” Ted asked.
“Not exactly. There aren’t any human trials yet, at least not for the researchers I supply,” Daisy said. “And the venom I collect isn’t sterile or licensed for clinical use. They’re studying the effects of different venom compounds. Most of these could then be replicated synthetically.”
“Wow,” Ted said.
Di and I decided to leave when they ordered dessert. Daisy grabbed the check.
“Di,” she said as we got up from the table. “I’d really appreciate it if you didn’t mention my spider collection to the neighbors, especially Mrs. Roper. The spiders are no danger to them, but I know from experience neighbors can get pretty unpleasant about it. And if they complain to the Woodleys, I could end up having to move.”
“No worries,” Di said. “You learn all kinds of things when you deliver people’s mail. I make it a policy to keep people’s private business under my hat. And I don’t talk to Mrs. Roper any more than I have to.”
Daisy and Ted, who had just met an hour earlier, were sharing a dessert as we left. Afterward they were planning to go by the sheriff’s office to collect Tango.
With any luck they’d have the whole afternoon to get acquainted. I had phoned Dave on the way to the restaurant to inform him that Ted was on a date with a real live woman and he should not under any circumstances be called away for work. Dave seemed so surprised that I had a feeling he’d comply.
We drove back to the parking lot. I pulled up beside Di’s car and turned off the engine.
“You know this means Lucinda didn’t have anything to do with putting that tarantula in your car,” I said.
“Yeah. But that doesn’t mean she’s not fooling around with Pierce or that she wasn’t involved in Morgan’s murder,” Di said, obviously still fuming over our conversation with Dave the previous day.
“So doesn’t the sweet little romance blossoming between our awkward wallflowers inspire you at all to work things out with a certain handsome sheriff?”
Di gave me one of her trademark deadpan expressions.
“Look,” I said, turning to face her. “If you don’t want to tell me what’s going on with you and Dave, that’s fine. At least be honest with yourself—and with him. Every time it seems like things are going really well between you two, you suddenly push him away. Can’t you see that?”
“Yeah, I can see that,” Di said.
I hadn’t expected her to admit it, so I wasn’t sure what to say. We sat silent for a long moment before I had to ask.
“Why?”
“You really want the truth?”
“Of course.”
“Dave and I have been pretty low key as a couple so far. But if our relationship becomes serious—and public—people are bound to find out that my ex is in prison. How will that look for Dave, especially when he runs for reelection?”
“Di, your ex-husband being in prison in no way makes you guilty of anything!”
“That may be true in theory,” she said. “But this is a small town, Liv, and you know perfectly well that some people just won’t see it that way. Jimmy Souther was convicted of armed robbery. He’s a thief. And if word about that gets around, what it means in real life, my life, is that certain people in Dixie will be taking inventory of the silverware whenever I leave their house.”
Di sniffed. I could tell she was close to tears. And I’ve rarely seen her cry.
“Please at least talk to Dave about this and let him know what’s going on in your head,” I said.
“I can’t talk to him about this—and you’d better not say a word. I mean it.”
“Don’t worry. It’s not my place,” I said. “But you can’t let your past, or more specifically your ex-husband’s past, determine your future.”
In a few seconds, Di started laughing.
“That sounds like something you read in a fortune cookie,” she said between giggles.
“What if I did? It’s still good advice,” I said, trying to sound indignant before bursting into giggles along with Di.
Di got out of the SUV and climbed into her car, and I started to drive back to my office.
I noticed I had a text message from Holly. She said Mr. Crego had picked up the screaming lady from her house. He was doing a daylight run-through and wanted us to come over to see how everything looked. I phoned Holly.
“I’d love to see how everything looks for the hayride, but do you think we can spare the time to go out to the Crego farm?”
“Of course we can,” Holly said. “We should treat the fund-raiser events like we would any other party. And we’d check every detail, wouldn’t we?”
“Yes, we would,” I agreed.
“Besides it’s awfully generous of Mr. Crego to host the teen event,” Holly said. “He wants to show off his hard work, so I think we should let him.”
“You’re absolutely right, Holly. I’ll swing by your house to pick you up in about fifteen minutes.”
* * *
Homer Crego helped us into a long wagon pulled by a tractor. Holly and I took a seat on a couple of hay bales. Mr. Crego climbed in with us while his teenage son, Robby, started the tractor.
As we approached a copse of trees a spotlight suddenly came on, illuminating a homemade sign that said ENTER AT YOUR OWN PERIL.
“Of course, all this will stand out and be a lot scarier when it’s good and dark,” Mr. Crego pointed out.
The tractor turned onto a trail that went about one hundred feet into the woods. The next spotlight that popped on lit up a skeleton hanging from a tree. As we neared the skeleton, a ghost came flying toward us on a zip line. Even in the daylight it startled me, which brought a big smile to Mr. Crego’s face.
We emerged from the woods near the edge of a field, where a creepy scarecrow was affixed to a pole. As we got closer the scarecrow suddenly spun around, revealing several arrows lodged in its back.
We neared an outbuilding with a narrow porch. A spotlight switched on, revealing the screaming lady. Holly and I knew what to expect, but it would be a chilling surprise for a wagonload of kids in the darkness.
Mr. Crego explained that after the outbuilding with the screaming lady, the tractor would turn around and head back toward the campfire.
“The kids will probably think that’s the end of the frights. So when we get to about here,” Mr. Crego said, motioning to the barn just up ahead on our left, “my brother-in-law, who’ll be wearing a Jason mask, will come running around from the far side of the barn, cranking up a chain saw.”
“Oh my, Mr. Crego,” I said. “You’ve done a wonderful job of setting up the haunted hayride. I think the teens are going to love it.”
“Yes,” Holly added. �
�I saw a demonstration of how the screaming lady works and it seemed pretty complicated to me. I’m most impressed with how you rigged up the flying ghost and spinning scarecrow on your own.”
He beamed.
“That was pretty simple mechanical stuff. But that old lady leaping out of the rocking chair really puts it over the top. Even Robby said it’s pretty cool—and that’s high praise coming from a teenager,” he said. “I thank you ladies for spending the time and money to get this animated prop for us.”
On the drive home I told Holly how glad I was that she had insisted we go out for the demonstration.
“It’s obvious that Mr. Crego has put an awful lot of time and effort into this.”
“So have we,” Holly pointed out. “And tomorrow night it’s showtime.”
Chapter 24
I dropped Holly off at her house and drove straight to the office to get to work. I needed to make sure everything was coming together. Tomorrow. That word sounded almost as scary as the screaming lady.
Since the town council had officially changed the date for trick-or-treating to October 30, I saw a number of costumed tots running from business to business on the square to collect treats. It was still sunny, but most of these preschoolers would be heavy-lidded by the time darkness fell.
I pulled up in front of my office just as a miniature Batman and pint-size pirate strolled up and wandered into Sweet Deal Realty. Winette, who had left the door propped open to encourage roving trick-or-treaters, picked up a large bowl filled with candies and walked over to the costumed youngsters.
She leaned over and lowered the bowl to the right height for them, inviting the children to take a piece or two of candy. Of course they grabbed all the candy their tiny hands could hold before looking up and reciting the sweetest-sounding thank you.
I stepped back to let the kids run out the door and rejoin the weary-looking man waiting for them on the sidewalk.
“Aw, they’re just precious,” I said to Winette as I walked in.
“Yeah, we’ve had a steady stream of little ones the past hour or so,” Winette said. “Folks know that the businesses on the square always have candy to hand out. Kids can score a bagful of candy in short order, and parents can get it over with quickly and go home. It’s a win-win situation for young families—but I’m not getting much done. I’d go home to work, but there are lots of kids in my neighborhood, too. I expect the doorbell to ring nonstop until I turn out the lights.”
“Larry Joe’s on his own with the trick-or-treaters,” I said. “I’m going to wrap up some stuff in the office and then head over to Holly’s to put some decorations together for the mystery dinner. Winette, you’d better turn your porch light off early and try to get a good night’s sleep. Tomorrow’s going to be a long and busy day.”
“Yes, indeed. And I suggest you take your own advice, Liv.”
I went upstairs, locking the street door behind me. Partly because I didn’t want to be interrupted by little costumed beggars and partly because I didn’t have any candy to hand out and I couldn’t bear the thought of tears.
I spent a couple of hours making phone calls, touching base with all the team leaders and members of the planning committee. Then I loaded everything I would need from my supply closet into the car, so I wouldn’t have to stop by the office in the morning.
I drove to Holly’s place and we ordered pizza delivery before getting down to work on decorations for the dinner tables. We put together Clue-themed embellishments to place in and around the live flower arrangements that would be delivered tomorrow to the country club.
Each floral arrangement would sport a wooden floral pick with a pair of game cards of Clue characters glued back to back. We had found some fun, vintage game cards from the 1950s on eBay, featuring colorful drawings of the usual suspects.
At the base of each arrangement, we’d place a couple of items related to the featured character. There would be a pair of evening gloves and a veiled hat for Mrs. White, a couple of books and a brass microscope for Professor Plum, rhinestone-studded cat-eye glasses and a small jade peacock statue for Mrs. Peacock, and so on.
We were interrupted a few times by the doorbell. Holly, who almost always looks like she’s wearing a sixties costume anyway, would slip on a witch’s hat to greet the trick-or-treaters at her door and distribute candy. I stood a few feet behind her in the entry hall to get a peek at all the cute costumes. Early on we had a few young kids dressed as princesses and lions and one precious little lamb. As the hours went by, the kids got taller and the costumes turned to mostly vampires and zombies. Holly finally extinguished the porch light to signal that the candy store was now closed.
We ended the evening by going over the work list for the big day—it was distressingly long. But that’s the nature of our business. So many things just can’t be done ahead of time.
* * *
It was late by the time I left Holly’s house and headed for home. With a few exceptions, the houses along the way were dark and the streets and sidewalks were clear. I did pass one convertible filled with teenagers playing loud music and wearing Goth costumes, or at least I assumed they were costumes.
When I pulled into my driveway I decided not to open the garage door. I worried the noise might wake Larry Joe, who was likely fast asleep by now.
We always turn off the porch lights before bed, so it was dark as I went up the front steps. I was fumbling with the keys, trying to find the one to the front door, when I felt something brush against my arm.
I turned my head and found myself nearly nose to nose with a disfigured face staring at me. I screamed and backed away, tumbling down the steps and landing on my backside. The figure seemed to remain motionless as I scrambled to get to my feet and make a run to the car.
The porch light suddenly lit up and a shirtless Larry Joe dashed across the porch and down the steps, still zipping up the blue jeans he had hastily pulled on over his boxers when he jumped out of bed.
“Liv, are you all right?” he said, rushing over to me.
He clasped my hands and helped me to a standing position. Wordless, I looked past him to the porch. I could still see a sleeve mostly hidden by the porch column.
“What?” Larry Joe said, following me as I walked haltingly back to the porch.
On closer inspection and with the benefit of the porch light, I saw a dummy wearing a Freddy Krueger mask lashed to one of the porch columns.
Okay, so we do live on Elm, and Mama likes to refer to our house as the Nightmare on Elm Street. But I didn’t think this prank was Mama’s handiwork. Somebody else apparently shared her warped sense of humor.
“Huh, I didn’t even notice that when I rushed out the door. I guess I was so focused on you and seeing if you were okay,” Larry Joe said.
Larry Joe and I went into the house.
“Did you have many trick-or-treaters tonight while I was gone?” I asked.
“Quite a few,” he said, “including some teenagers. My guess is that one of the older kids came back and installed Freddy after I switched off the porch lights. Pretty appropriate decoration for our house when you think about it.”
“I’m too tired to think about it,” I said as I wearily ascended the stairs to the bedroom.
* * *
I must have fallen asleep well after midnight, with my time line and fund-raiser notes strewn on the floor beside the bed. I woke up before the alarm went off at six.
I was already showered, dressed, and sucking down coffee when Larry Joe came down to the kitchen just after six-thirty. He grabbed me by the waist and pulled me up against him.
“Breathe, Liv,” he said, gently kissing me on the forehead. “You have covered every detail of this event. . . .”
“Events, plural,” I interrupted.
“Events, plural,” he said. “Everyone is eager to pitch in, and it’s going to be great.”
I looked up at my husband’s dreamy brown eyes and baby-face dimples and enjoyed the view for a moment
before the sheer panic of reality kicked in again.
“Thanks for the vote of confidence. Now I gotta run,” I said. “You have your to-do list?”
“Yes, ma’am. I’ll leave the office no later than three o’clock to get my chores done.”
“You’re a keeper,” I said, then gave Larry Joe a quick buss on the lips and hurried out the door.
* * *
At seven AM at command central, otherwise known as Sweet Deal Realty, we were still waiting for a couple of folks to arrive. I stirred creamer into my coffee and looked over the muffins and doughnuts on offer, or what was left of them. Some men were standing on the far side of the room chatting, their paper plates piled with pastries. I had run out the door without any breakfast, and my stomach was starting to growl.
“Ooh, some of these muffins are still warm,” Dorothy said.
“Did you just eat the last pumpkin spice muffin?” Bryn asked, furrowing her brow. “Those are my favorite.”
Dorothy gave a sheepish grin and mumbled “Sorry”—with her mouth full.
“Here, Bryn, take one of these blueberry muffins,” Winette offered, sliding a box in her direction. “They’re delicious, and I think they’re still warm.”
“Thanks, but I’m allergic. Blueberries make my throat swell up.”
“That very same thing happens to my little grandson, Luke, if he eats anything with peanuts in it,” Holly noted. “In fact, he has to carry one of those EpiPens everywhere he goes. I never realized before how many things have peanuts in them.”
“My son Lester can eat anything—and does,” Dorothy said. “The only thing he’s allergic to is hard work.”
Winette clapped her hands to get everyone’s attention.
“Speaking of work, we all need to get to our assigned areas to make sure everything that needs to happen for tonight’s festivities happens,” she said, rallying the troops.
I handed out checklists to the planning committee members to take with them to their assigned areas. Holly, Winette, and I would be roving among the various venues to troubleshoot any problems that arose.
