Boston Scream Murder

by Ginger Bolton

  Nina added green faces, hands, and feet to the zombies. Their green ankles showed beneath their torn-off pantlegs. “I like your theory.”

  Tom shook a finger at Nina. “Don’t encourage Emily to do anything more about the case than maybe discussing it with the detectives.”

  I blushed. I knew that Tom and Cindy wanted me to be happy. Although they never said so, I was sure that one of the things they thought would make me happiest would be pairing off with their son’s, my late husband’s, best friend. I was also certain that they didn’t think that if Brent and I fell for each other we would be disloyal to their son’s memory.

  The idea made me uneasy, though. Brent was a wonderful person, and I liked being with him and talking to him. Maybe, someday, I would be able to untangle my feelings about him. Maybe in the meantime, a voice inside my head reminded me, he’ll find someone else. Like Detective Gartborg. I mentally told the voice in my head to be quiet, and that if it refused to, I was going to ignore it.

  Sometimes I thought Tom was almost as keen on matchmaking as I was. There was a difference, however, between being a matchmaker and a matchmakee. Maybe, if being the target of a matchmaker was making me uncomfortable, I had overdone my matchmaking. But I had succeeded with my two best friends. Both Samantha and Misty were happily dating men I’d chosen for them, although I had decided that Hooligan was right for Samantha after the thought must have already occurred to both of them. Remembering their momentous first encounter, I smiled. The sparks between those two had been almost visible. They still were.

  With black icing, Nina piped dreadful-looking faces on the zombies and outlined the creatures and their outfits. She placed blood-red sprinkles on their shirts and slid the tray into the display case.

  Cheryl returned with Steve but without any knitting projects, either finished or unfinished. I went out to the dining area to take their orders.

  “I recommend the witch’s hat donuts,” Cheryl told Steve.

  I added, “If you like licorice gumdrops.”

  Steve put his hands up to his throat like he was being strangled.

  Cheryl defended her choice. “They’re really good licorice gumdrops.”

  He pointed a finger at her. “You must be a middle child.”

  Cheryl quirked an eyebrow and tilted her head. “How did you know?”

  “Middle children are the ones who eat pretend candies like licorice, candy corn, and molasses kisses. They can’t fight the older kids for the chocolate, and the littlest kids get whatever they want.”

  “You’re not a middle child?” she asked him.

  “I’m an only child.”

  I said firmly, “So am I, and I like all of the candies you mentioned. How about a Boston scream donut then, Steve? They have lots of chocolate on them.”

  “That sounds perfect. And some hot chocolate to go with it.”

  “Cheryl?” I asked.

  “A witch’s hat donut for sure. And do you have any of that licorice-and-lemon tea?”

  “Ugh,” Steve said.

  Cheryl asked, “Will it be too much, boiling water for tea?”

  “Not at all. We have water that’s close to boiling all the time. And if that’s not working, we could quickly boil some on one of our gas burners.”

  “Cooking with gas is great, isn’t it?” she asked. “That’s what I have at home, for the burners, at least. The oven’s electric.”

  “Me, too,” I said, picturing the kitchen that Alec and I had designed and wondering how difficult it would be to connect a gas line to Rich’s cottage, not that I was going to have anything to do with renovating it, now. “I’ll be right back.” When I returned, Steve was making Cheryl laugh with disparaging remarks about so-called pretend candies.

  She leaned toward him. “Have you tried Wisconsin Limburger?”

  He stared at her for a second. “Don’t even mention that.”

  After everyone left and we closed, the walk home with Dep was lovely. It had been an amazingly warm October so far. Dep arched her back when she saw the goblins on our front porch. I opened the front door. She skittered sideways into the house.

  Rich had commented that he didn’t want anything resembling Halloween upstaging his birthday, but I didn’t think that Samantha would mind someone wearing Halloween colors to her pre-Halloween potluck dinner. I put on a short orange denim skirt, black tights, a black sweater, and black flats.

  Dep stalked to the sunroom and jumped onto one of her padded windowsills. I packed a small bag of medium-roast but flavorful coffee beans from the Dominican Republic into my backpack, called a goodbye to Dep, and drove to Cat’s Catering.

  Cat came out of the kitchen and handed me the pecan pie in a heavy-duty plastic container with a clear lid. She reminded me that she was interested in the possibility of jointly catering events.

  In my car again, I wondered if the detectives had yet contacted Terri.

  Her town house was near Samantha’s. . . .

  Chapter 17

  Streetlights were on in the development where Samantha’s, Derek’s, and Terri’s town houses were. Hoping, probably in vain, that no one would notice or recognize my red car with the red kayak on top, I drove slowly past Terri’s town house. No lights were on inside, but I could see pumpkins beside her front door and mums blooming along the path between her porch and the sidewalk. Everything looked tidy, but she hadn’t been missing long. Impossible as it seemed, Rich’s death had been only two days before.

  I sped up and parked around the corner.

  Was Terri hiding from the police inside her house? Maybe she would open the door if she saw me on her porch among her pumpkins. However, I couldn’t go barging to Terri’s door with no explanation. Northern Wisconsin women took food to the bereaved, usually a hot dish in which cream of mushroom soup served as both the liquid and most of the flavoring. I didn’t have one with me. I should have brought donuts. I sighed. If I had to, I would sacrifice that delicious-looking pecan pie. I wasn’t sure how I, maker of donuts and other delicious desserts, would explain to Samantha and the others, including two sharp-eyed police officers, how I had managed to show up at a potluck dinner without the promised dessert. If necessary, I could speed back to Cat’s Catering or to Cookies and Bakies in downtown Fallingbrook for a replacement. I slid out of the car, put on my backpack, and picked up the pie in its container.

  No one else seemed to be around. I rang Terri’s doorbell. She didn’t answer. I waited and rang it again. And again. After five minutes, I still didn’t know where she was.

  Or where she wasn’t.

  She could have been sick, injured, or worse inside her house. I was disappointed that I hadn’t found her, but glad that I didn’t have to give up the pie.

  I turned around.

  Derek Bengsen stood at the end of the short path, blocking the sidewalk. The streetlight above him turned his blond hair almost silvery. His hands on his hips, he glared at me. He was wearing scuffed boots, torn jeans, and a black tank top that showed off substantial biceps and did not look warm enough for the cooling evening.

  I thought, Pies work as weapons only in comedies. Smiling with faked confidence and walking toward him, I mentally prepared to leap over a row of chrysanthemums and bolt across Terri’s neighbor’s yard.

  Derek demanded in an unpleasantly hoarse and raspy voice, “Do you know where she is?”

  Since I’d been ringing her doorbell, I couldn’t pretend I didn’t know who he was talking about. “No. She doesn’t seem to be home.”

  He scrubbed a hand through his hair in a distraught manner. “Her boss called me and wanted to know why she didn’t show up at work yesterday or today. And she hasn’t been here, either. I keep checking back.” He was either a good actor or he didn’t know where his ex-girlfriend was. “Aren’t you the chick who told me that her new boyfriend’s party was canceled?”

  “Yes.” Was he connected to Terri’s disappearance? I could probably edge around him without jumping over flowers. Maybe po
tentially helpful witnesses were peeking between curtains in nearby town houses.

  “Terri took that day off, and that was the last time I saw her. The bank where she works hasn’t seen her since Monday.”

  “I thought maybe she’d be here. . . .” I let my voice trail off and hoped the container of pie in my hands would complete my explanation.

  “And I was in your donut shop, too. I followed her in.”

  Pinching my lips together, I nodded. If he came after me, I would scream.

  The corners of his mouth turned down in apparent contrition. “I’m sorry I lost control. I was just so”—he seemed to search for words—“so mad at the way she treated me that I wasn’t thinking. I mean, she has a right to date whoever she wants, right, even if he’s old enough to be her grandfather?”

  That was stretching the age difference. “He’s dead.” That was also how my voice sounded.

  “I heard about that. After I left his place, the police asked me questions for hours. I suppose I did look guilty, coming into your shop and yelling at him, so I understand why you sent them.”

  “I didn’t send them. The police are interviewing everyone who might know anything about Rich Royalson. Your connection to Terri would be enough—”

  He waved my comments aside. “I didn’t know him. I didn’t kill him. And don’t go blaming my friends who were at his cottage. They thought he was funny. They laughed at him. We all did. And right after Royalson kicked us out, my friends went home to Gary. I’ve known them forever. They got into some trouble when we were kids, but they’re good guys. We all have jobs. I deliver furniture and appliances.” He flexed one of those impressive biceps. “I can lift and carry nearly anything.”

  I didn’t doubt that. I barely managed to restrain myself from backing farther from him. Maybe he didn’t realize that what he’d said could be interpreted as a threat. He went on defending the men that Rich had referred to as Derek’s drunken buddies. “You can check with the police. They know for a fact that my friends were in Gary when Royalson died. I was just angry when I came into your shop. It didn’t mean anything. I bet you say things when you’re mad that you don’t mean, but you can’t take them back, can you?”

  “No, you can’t.” I let him interpret that however he pleased. “You were angry at Rich Royalson on Monday. Why did you come to his birthday party on Tuesday?”

  He eyed me like he was about to challenge my right to question him, which was fair enough, but he answered. “After he yelled at me in your shop, he called and invited me.” I doubted that, but unless I could see Rich’s or Derek’s phone records, I had no way of proving that Derek was lying. “He said he was sorry for the way he treated me, both in your shop and at his cottage.” I doubted that, too. “He said Terri told him I was not responsible for the way my friends acted when I rented his cottage. They got a little carried away.” His shrug rippled more muscles. “What can I say? I told Royalson I was sorry and that they were just having a little fun and things got out of hand. You know how that goes, right?”

  “I’ve heard.” And things getting out of hand sometimes ends up with someone dead.... I didn’t say it.

  Derek laced his fingers together and stretched them, his palms toward me. It was too dark to see dirt on his hands, if there was any. His knuckles popped. “How can I make it up to you for how I acted in your shop?” Shoving his hands into the back pockets of his jeans, he rolled his shoulders forward slightly in a pose that could have looked humble if he hadn’t widened his stance at the same time.

  I wanted to race away from this man who would undoubtedly catch me in about three strides. I attempted a courteous smile. “Come in sometime and try our donuts and coffee.”

  With what could have been a sheepish grin, he stepped aside. “Okay.” He eyed the clear top of the container in my hands. “Were you going to give that to Terri? I can keep looking for her. I’ll see that she gets it.”

  “That’s okay. I’d like to give her my condolences in person.”

  “Condolences,” he repeated with a hint of sarcasm. And maybe a flash of anger.

  I felt like I was teetering on the edge of a blade. Saying, “And this is for a potluck dinner,” I strode toward Samantha’s.

  Where was Terri, and was Derek only pretending that he didn’t know? And where was his motorcycle? I hadn’t heard or seen one before he appeared on the sidewalk in front of Terri’s house.

  I turned around and scanned the sidewalk behind me. Derek was not in sight. I tried not to run the rest of the way.

  Samantha’s outdoor decorations did not include skeletons or ghosts, which wasn’t too surprising for an emergency medical technician dating a policeman. Instead, she had witches and black cats. It looked like she had tried to carve a scary face on her pumpkin, but her innate kindness must have prevented her from creating anything that might frighten young trick-or-treaters. The pumpkin looked surprised and slightly goofy.

  Carrying my pie up to her porch, I wondered if I should have worn a costume.

  Samantha opened the door. She wasn’t in costume unless the orange and black streaks in her dark brown curls counted. She often tinted her hair to go with the season and to cheer her patients. She saw me grinning at her hair and joked that she’d been trying to copy Hooligan’s hair color and had failed. Her smile was huge. I gave her a one-armed hug.

  Hooligan showed up behind her in the narrow entryway. I handed him the pie. His hair might have been orange when he was a kid, but now it was auburn, which didn’t keep him from looking charmingly boyish, especially in his jeans and tweedy gray sweater. “Misty and Scott are already here,” he said. “Come join us in the living room.”

  Neither of our two tall blond friends were in costume, either, or in uniform. They’d been holding hands on the couch, but they let go of each other and stood up. Misty’s black slacks and turtleneck set off her fair skin. She wore a necklace made of strands of multicolored beads. Scott was wearing black slacks and an orange shirt.

  “Brent probably can’t make it,” I said.

  Misty hugged me. “Gartborg is keeping him busy.” She grinned. “With work. Hooligan and I were lucky to get away. But never fear, we’ll make it to your party Saturday night, no matter what, and we’ll drag Brent along, too.”

  I whined, “I need friends who aren’t first responders, friends who work normal hours.”

  “Like you,” Misty said, “always having to go into work early and never able to stay out late.”

  “I do, sometimes.”

  “When you can’t help it.” I could tell she was teasing, but she was undoubtedly remembering nights when emergencies had kept both of us out later than we’d intended.

  Hooligan brought in a bottle of champagne, opened it, and divided it between five glasses. “We’ll start with this and work our way to sparkling water for those of you who have to drive tonight.”

  I eyed him suspiciously. Champagne? And Samantha’s super-brilliant smile? I caught Misty’s eye and raised an eyebrow. She winked as if she also had a good guess about what might be about to happen.

  When we all had our glasses, Hooligan raised his and began a toast. “To my . . .” Grinning, he turned to Samantha. She pulled her left hand out of her pocket, where, I realized, it had been the entire time I’d been there, and displayed a diamond ring on her engagement finger. Hooligan was glowing as much as Samantha was. “To my wonderful fiancée,” he said.

  Misty and I squealed and managed to drink to Hooligan’s toast before setting our glasses down haphazardly and running to Samantha to hug her. And we didn’t leave Hooligan out of our hugging frenzy, either.

  “When did you ask her?” I demanded.

  Hooligan squeezed Samantha next to him. “Last night.”

  Misty asked, “Have you set a date?”

  Samantha gazed adoringly up at Hooligan. “Probably next summer, definitely in Fallingbrook, but we haven’t decided where. I’m going to want you two, Misty and Emily, to be my attendants.”
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br />   I asked, “Wouldn’t you rather have me cater and stock a donut wall?”

  “No way! You are both going to take that evening off and party.” She patted her head. “I haven’t decided what color my hair will be.”

  Misty suggested, “You can dye it to match Emily’s and my dresses.”

  “Or powder it to match mine. Ooooh, I like it!” Samantha spoke in an exaggeratedly dreamlike voice. “Maybe we should have a winter wedding. I’ll wear white velvet and snowy hair.” Although I’d known her since the beginning of junior high, I couldn’t always tell when she was joking.

  “What about your honeymoon?” Scott asked. “Where will you go?”

  “We haven’t decided that yet, either,” Hooligan said. “We’re open to suggestions.”

  Samantha raised her chin and made a small-mouthed and patently fake haughty face. “Or keeping it secret so that the rest of you won’t come along.”

  Placing one hand over my heart, I staggered backward. “I feel wounded.” I carefully did not back into anything.

  “Ha,” my unfeeling bride-to-be friend said.

  Our appetizers were the charcuterie plate that Scott had brought and the veggie plate that Misty had brought.

  Samantha and Hooligan had made delicious coq au vin. By the time we finished that, Scott, Hooligan, and I were drinking sparkling water because we were all driving. Scott offered to take me home, but I wasn’t leaving my car and kayak on the street overnight, plus I had to work early the next morning, and I wasn’t sure when or how I would retrieve my car.

  Because of my early hours, I didn’t have any of the coffee I’d brought, although those who did said it was delicious. “I know,” I said. “I get lots of it.”

  Scott smiled. “Braggart.”

  I did eat a nicely large portion of the pecan pie. Everyone agreed that they would buy pies from Cat’s Catering in the future.

  “Unless Cat turns out to be a killer,” Misty added ominously. She apparently wasn’t afraid of Cat’s pie, though. She had seconds.