All Hallows Evil

by Valerie Wolzien

  “They’re here to see you.” The receptionist wasn’t going to be cheated out of an announcement that was rightly hers.

  “Why don’t we all go to my office?” Brett suggested. “You had better answer that phone, hadn’t you?” he added, glaring at the receptionist.

  “I thought we … I thought I had to identify my husband,” Rebecca said very quietly.

  “You …” Susan began.

  “The policeman at my house,” Rebecca explained. “He told me that I had to go to the police station to identify Jason. I think that’s what he said.”

  “Why did you run away from him?” Brett asked.

  “ ‘ Run away?’ ” Susan repeated.

  “I spoke to the officer assigned there myself,” Brett assured Susan. “He said that Mrs. Armstrong drove up in a white Mercedes, got out, and greeted him, asking him what he was doing there. And he told her that there …”

  “That there had been an accident,” Rebecca interrupted, repeating the words in a shaky voice. “He said something terrible had happened and that Jason had been killed, and that I was needed down at police headquarters to identify the body. I’m sure that’s what he said. And so, I’m here.”

  “Couldn’t we just get this over with?” Susan asked, wondering how long Rebecca was going to be able to go on like this. Her paleness had increased, and her hands were shaking as she nervously tugged at a strand of long auburn hair.

  “We have to go to the hospital to identify the body,” Brett explained.

  “Can’t we do that now?” Rebecca asked, looking up at the handsome man.

  “Well, I don’t suppose there’s any reason not to. Just let me make a phone call, and we can leave. You can wait in my office,” he suggested. “It’s more private and … quieter.” He nodded at the phone, and Susan realized that it had been ringing almost continuously since they arrived. “Halloween is always a busy night for the police,” he added, directing them down a long hallway to his office.

  Susan followed Rebecca into a large room containing a desk, five gray office chairs, a table with a computer and a printer, and about forty cardboard boxes piled against the walls. “I just got here a few days ago, and my file cabinets still haven’t arrived. But sit down. I’ll go next door to make that call.” He handed Susan a box of pink tissues from on top of the computer before he left.

  Rebecca had seated herself in the chair nearest the door, and Susan went and sat down next to her, prepared to pass Kleenex if it became necessary. But Rebecca appeared calmer as she stared at the ugly beige linoleum floor.

  “Can I get you anything? I saw a coffee machine out in the lobby.…”

  “No. Nothing. I wish this were over.…”

  “It’s going to be difficult for you,” Susan agreed. “Is there anyone you’d like me to call? A relative, or close friend, or … anybody? Someone you’d rather have with you right now?”

  “No. No one.”

  “What about your husband’s family?”

  “There really isn’t anyone,” Rebecca insisted. “You see, we just moved here. I was born in California, and the show has been originating from there for years. We moved to New York for the new season—that’s in September,” she explained as though Susan was a visitor from another planet.

  “I remember. But the rest of the show’s staff moved with you, didn’t they? Maybe one of them …”

  “No. Definitely not one of them!” Rebecca startled Susan by her vehemence. “I would rather know what I’m dealing with before anyone on the show finds out about this. It’s almost impossible to keep a secret at a television network, and anyone can tell you that a news department is a big-time rumor mill. I don’t want anyone to know … to know that Jason is dead until … well, not right now.”

  Brett appeared in the doorway and ended their conversation. “We can leave now if you’re ready, Mrs. Armstrong.”

  “Fine.” She took a deep breath and stood up. “I’d like …” She looked at Susan strangely. “I don’t remember your last name,” she admitted.

  “Henshaw.”

  “I’d like Mrs. Henshaw to go along with us,” Rebecca ended.

  “Of course, whoever you want,” Brett agreed. If he thought this a little strange, he didn’t say so.

  In fact, no one said anything until they had driven the five or so miles to the local hospital and were waiting in a narrow, pea green hallway for the doctor in charge of the morgue.

  “I wonder what’s taking him so long?” Susan commented when the silence began to make her nervous.

  “Her.”

  “Excuse me?” Susan looked curiously at Brett.

  “This,” he explained with a wave of his hand at the woman walking toward them down the hall, “is Dr. Penobscott. And this,” he continued to the doctor, “this is Rebecca Armstrong.”

  “Of course. I’m a big fan of your show,” the physician said, shaking hands before turning to unlock the door to the morgue. “Are we all going in?” she asked.

  “Yes. I don’t want to be alone,” Rebecca said, removing Susan’s last hope that she could avoid this task.

  The tiny room did not have a wall of pullout drawers, as Susan had expected. It contained a few empty hospital dollies, some bulky equipment covered with gray drop cloths, and a table with the unmistakable shape of a body under a light green sheet. A fluorescent tube hung directly over the cadaver. It took only a few moments for Rebecca to identify her husband, which she did in a steady voice and without tears, and Susan was surprised at how quickly they were back in the hall.

  “I’ll have to ask you some questions now,” Brett said, nodding good-bye to the doctor. “We can go to the station, or to your house, or wherever you would feel comfortable. I can drop Mrs. Henshaw off at home.”

  “Alone in that big house …” Rebecca started.

  “I need to talk to you for only an hour or so, then maybe you could go to a friend’s house.”

  “I don’t have any friends around here. We just moved in.” Rebecca repeated the story she had told Susan.

  “Maybe a hotel,” Brett suggested. “But I am going to have to ask you to stay in the area. Though I’m sure we can make arrangements for you to continue your broadcast …”

  “And just where do you suggest I make my first appearance after my husband has been discovered murdered on Halloween? Some sleazy afternoon talk show or … I’m sorry. I know I’m acting terrible.” Rebecca started crying again.

  Susan put her arm around the woman’s shoulder and led her out of the hospital. “You’re doing just fine. You’re being very brave.”

  “I’m just so scared,” Rebecca sobbed.

  “Why don’t you go with Brett and answer his questions, and then he can drop you off at my house. You can stay in our guest room until you … you get everything straightened out.”

  “That … that would be a big help.”

  “Susan is a pillar of strength in Hancock,” Brett added. “She’ll take care of you. Now, where would you like to talk?”

  “The … the police station, I guess.”

  “Maybe you could drop me off at home first,” Susan suggested, getting into the back of the police car behind Brett and Rebecca. She had a lot to do if she was going to have a houseguest.

  “Good idea.”

  The Henshaws lived on the same side of town as the municipal offices, and the police car pulled up in front of the large colonial in only a few minutes. “I’ll be waiting here for your arrival,” she said somewhat formally to Rebecca.

  “Thanks,” Brett called as he turned his car around. Rebecca stared straight out the window.

  Susan hurried up the walk. It was dinnertime. She wondered if Jed’s car was in the garage or if there had been some sort of problem on the road. She wondered if anyone in the family remembered the fresh pot of chili in the refrigerator that she had planned on serving tonight. She flung open the black-enameled door and smiled. Someone had remembered; the air fairly shimmered with essence of hot pepper.
She pulled off her jacket, leaving it on the hall table near an almost depleted bowl of Hershey bars, and hurried down the corridor to the kitchen.

  “Jed!” Her husband, still in his gray suit, was standing in front of the stove, stirring a large pot with one hand and stuffing candy bars into his mouth with the other. He turned and smiled at her.

  “Hi.”

  “You found the candy.” Susan reached across the sink for a sponge. She’d wipe off the table before setting it.

  “And the chili. I don’t see how you keep this stuff from burning, though. Every time I stop stirring, it begins to scorch. I even had to change pots.” He nodded at the large casserole sitting in the sink; crisp brown cinders of food clung to its bottom.

  “I heat it up in the microwave,” Susan explained, filling the dirty pot with water. She would deal with that later. “Jed, we’re going to have company for a while. Houseguests. Well, actually, one houseguest.”

  “Someone fun, I hope.” He popped the last of his candy bar in his mouth.

  “Not under these circumstances.”

  “These circumstances?”

  How was she going to explain? Well, they always said to start at the beginning. “Jed, have you heard anything about the murders in town today?”

  Her husband turned and stared at her, eyes wide, mouth open. “I didn’t know there was a murder, and you’re telling me that there was more than one, aren’t you?”

  “Two.”

  “I assume the victims are no one we know.”

  “How did you know that?” She gathered together napkins, silverware, and glasses as she spoke.

  “Because you don’t seem at all upset.” He turned off the burner under the chili. “Does this have something to do with our houseguest?”

  “Her husband was one of the victims. Why don’t I explain?”

  “Why don’t you? I’ll set the table.”

  Susan told the story while he set the table, while she assembled a small Caesar salad, while he poured two glasses of imported ale, and while they drank the ale and ate the salads and bowls of chili. “I was probably pretty stupid to invite her here, wasn’t I?” she ended.

  “It may not have been one of your best ideas,” he agreed vaguely. “But I don’t see what we can do about it now. When is she going …” He was interrupted by the doorbell. “I wondered when the evening onslaught of kids was going to begin.” He put down his empty glass and stood up.

  “Why don’t I get it?” Susan offered quickly, hoping it was children, but a quick glance at her watch told her that it could just as well be Rebecca. “You can clean the table,” she added, suddenly remembering that she hadn’t done anything about the guest room, which hadn’t been used since Labor Day weekend.

  There were teenagers at the door, a high school group that included her own daughter. Chrissy was apparently dressed as a lady of the evening. Susan recognized the lacy silk camisole on her daughter as her own. She passed out candy, exchanged a few greetings with children she had known since their first day of kindergarten, and closed the door in Rebecca Armstrong’s face.

  “I’m sooo sorry!” She pulled it open, realizing what she had done. “Please come in.”

  “Brett dropped me off. I told him there was no reason to wait around,” Rebecca explained, entering the hallway. Jed’s appearance caused a slight smile to cross her face. “You must be Susan’s husband. I’m …”

  “Of course I know who you are,” he hurried forward to assure her, shaking hands. “Susan was just telling me about your terrible loss. I can’t tell you how sorry we are …” he continued, falling back on the conventions.

  “It’s good of you to put up with me,” Rebecca cut him off. “We … I don’t have any close friends in town yet. You and your family are saving my life.” She bit her lip.

  “Would you like something to eat or drink?” Jed offered as Susan turned to another group of children.

  “No, thank you. I was wondering …” She looked around. “There are so many things I have to do … calls to make. My producer has to know … but I would love to lie down for a while. I’m suddenly very tired. Maybe if I could rest for a few minutes …”

  “Of course, that’s natural. I’ll just show you the guest room.” Jed led the way upstairs.

  Susan saw what he was doing but wasn’t in time to stop him. She just hoped no one had thrown a pair of outgrown soccer shoes in the middle of the bed. She returned to the group at the door. They were talking about the murders.

  “I heard it was a gang killing. Probably something to do with a drug ring trying to get established in Hancock. The suburbs are the new market for big-time heroin and cocaine rings, you know,” a mammoth scarlet butterfly insisted, antennae bobbing on her head.

  “My father says there’s already a lot of organized crime around. He says he never votes for an incumbent in office because they’re sure to have been bought off during their first term,” a pirate answered. Susan was amused to notice that his earring was real but the handlebar mustache wasn’t. “Thanks, Mrs. Henshaw!” The boy returned his attention to what he was doing.

  “Adam? I didn’t recognize you with that costume!”

  “How could you forget me!” He laughed. “I lit her back porch on fire during a Cub Scout meeting,” he explained to the butterfly.

  “Oh, Adam! You’re terrible,” his friend replied, obviously not meaning a word of it.

  Susan smiled weakly and closed the door.

  “She’s lying down,” Jed announced, returning to his wife’s side. “She really is beautiful, isn’t she?”

  Susan stared at her husband.

  “I mean, when her husband has just died, and you know that most women would look just horrible.…” He stopped just as Susan was beginning to doubt the sanity of having a beautiful widow for a houseguest.

  “Maybe I’d better go up and make sure she has everything she needs,” Susan suggested.

  “She asked to be left alone. But you’re right, she’s going to need some things if she’s going to stay here. I already suggested that and offered to go to her house and pick up some odds and ends.”

  “Odds and ends?”

  “You know, toothbrush, nightgown, robe … She gave me the key to the front door.” He held up a silver key chain.

  “You know, Jed, I think I should run over to her house. I’ll be better at picking out the things she will need. Don’t you think?”

  “Great.” He handed her the key, knowing that she was looking forward to seeing the inside of the Armstrongs’.

  She drove over to the house slowly, wary of the kids running door-to-door through the piles of leaves left at the curb for municipal pickup. She actually followed a rowdy group up the Armstrong driveway, her car lights picking out their gaudy costumes in the double beam.

  “Trick or treat! Trick or treat!” the kids yelled, surrounding the car, laughing.

  “I’m sorry, but this isn’t my house. I’m just doing an errand for a friend. There isn’t going to be any candy given away here tonight. Sorry,” she repeated. But the children, unconcerned, were on their way to the next house.

  Susan carefully walked up the brick path to the steps of the huge Victorian mansion. Dozens of tiny security lights set in the lawn had gone on at dusk, but the porch wasn’t illuminated, and she was afraid of tripping. Brass lanterns on either side of the mahogany double doors clicked on as her foot touched the top step. What a nice idea …

  Suddenly she jumped. Her heart was still pounding when she realized that mirrors had replaced the glass in the large oval windows set into the front doors. She had been frightened by her own reflection. Her hand shook as she fitted the key into the lock.

  But the sight that met her eyes when she had found the wall switches and turned on the lights gave her something else to think about. Expecting an entry hall, she was astounded to find herself in a three-story atrium. There were mosaics below, stained glass above, and a fabulous chestnut stairway connecting the two. Palms gr
ew out of Oriental jardinieres, velvet seats lined the walls, and numerous doorways led in various directions. So where did they hide the toothbrushes? She started up the stairs, her steps silent on the thick Oriental runner.

  The third door she tried led into what was obviously the master bedroom. Running along what appeared to be most of the back of the large home, almost a dozen floor-to-ceiling windows looked out into the darkness. The room was furnished with a huge Victorian bedroom set, covered with wooden curlicues. Fabric in a dozen different patterns covered walls, curtains, and pillows. A very talented designer had worked here. Three doors led from the room, and two large standing wardrobes and a marble-topped dressing table leaned against the walls.

  Susan walked across thick rose carpeting to the dressing table and removed a hairbrush and comb, which she tossed onto the bed. She should have brought a suitcase, she thought, opening the drawers. She studied the large array of bottles and tubes, unable to decide what Rebecca might need. She selected two jars of cream and an almost empty bottle of cologne. These she also put on the bed. The wardrobe contained dozens of Porthault sheets, blankets, and other linens. She approached the nearest door looking for a closet. What she found was a dressing room lined with built-in shelves, drawers, and hanging rods. The space was wall-to-wall clothing. It took Susan only a moment to pick out a peach silk nightgown, then a minute to put it back on the shelf, deciding white flannel was more appropriate for the Henshaws’ guest room. She found a Hermès overnight bag on one of the top shelves and, returning to the bedroom, put everything in it. She went back to the dressing room and added some underwear, socks, a moss green cotton sweater, and jeans. Then she left, her self-discipline not allowing for even a quick peek into other rooms. She had been in the house for less than fifteen minutes when she locked the front door behind her, smiling at her own reflection in the mirrors. And not screaming at the one-eyed monster that stood behind her. It was still Halloween, after all. He was just another trick or treater.

  So why did he steal her purse?

  FOUR

  Proper victorian gardens frequently boasted trellises, statues, rustic summerhouses, benches set in leafy bowers, ferneries, and an ornate pergola or two. Naturally, the Armstrongs’ yard was equally well equipped. In fact, Susan might have discovered the person who stole her purse if she hadn’t fallen over a hideous metal urn dripping dead coleus. She landed on a walk of crazy paving, shredding her stockings as well as her knees and palms.