Perfectly Pumpkin Killer

by Carolyn Q. Hunter

  “When gums experience trauma or injury, the pull back from the teeth, exposing some of the sensitive root of the teeth. It can make eating or drinking very painful, cause neck aches and migraines.”

  “How is that your fault?”

  “That part isn’t. In fact, it happens often to patients after a procedure. When that occurs, we invite them back in and put a coating, a type of medicine, on the root to protect it until the gums heal.”

  “I see. You still haven’t explained what you did wrong,” Bert pointed out, feeling lost.

  “Well, this patient came in on a day the doctor was out of the office when me and the two hygienists were just doing cleanings and checkups.”

  “Okay?”

  “But he seemed to be in so much pain, I brought him back anyway and put the medicine on myself. It wasn’t anything big, at least at the time, but I may have accidentally made things worse for him.”

  “That was it?” Bert wondered.

  “You don’t understand. I did it without consulting Craig first. I should have set up an appointment for him to see the doctor the next day, but he kept on insisting we do something about it.”

  “He sounds like a real jerk of a customer,” Bert thought, thinking of some of the ornery people she’d had to deal with at the pie shop.

  “But, when his pain got worse and worse, he got angry. Now he is threatening to sue.”

  “Ah, so was that what that phone call was all about yesterday?” Bert pointed out, remembering.

  Wyn nodded silently.

  “And that’s why you offered to take the call instead of Doctor Penrue.”

  She nodded again, shame enveloping her.

  “But the patient finally got through to the doctor and explained the situation last night? That’s when he fired you?” she remembered the dentist saying something along those lines when he came to buy the book.

  “Yes, and I’ve been trying to get my gumption up all day to come and talk to him, ask him to reconsider.”

  Bert pondered this situation for a moment. Could it be possible that this angry patient, threatening to sue, could have confronted the dentist that very evening, stabbing him in his neck? What level of pain would you have to be in to blame a doctor enough to kill them? It seemed possible. “Could you tell me who the patient was?” she asked.

  “I’m sorry, I can’t. It would be a HIPAA violation. In fact, I may have already messed up by telling you what I did.”

  If she was already in trouble for doing an office procedure without the dentist’s okay, she was making it a step worse by breaking laws around medical privacy.

  This time, Bert had a different thought. Wyn seemed like an emotional and somewhat desperate woman. Could it be a possibility that she had in fact seen the doctor that night, and when he’d refused her, she’d lashed out and stabbed him with the hairpin?

  Could she be sitting next to the killer right now?

  Chapter Seven

  “What’s going on up at the playhouse?” a woman’s voice inquired, the sound of high heels clicking on the boardwalk.

  Bert and Wyn looked up and noticed Malinda there, bundled up against the chill with an extra coat over her turtleneck. Her pale cheeks and nose had taken on a rosy complexion.

  “Malinda, what are you doing down this way?”

  “I needed a break from the booth. I was going to see my friend Craig in the play, he’s playing Dracula, but there are cops everywhere. I’ve been wandering around trying to figure out what happened.”

  Wyn and Bert looked at one another. Placing her hands on the boardwalk, she pushed herself up and stood. “I have some bad news.”

  “The play’s been canceled?” Malinda wondered obliviously.

  “No, Craig Penrue’s been murdered.”

  The writer’s jaw fell open. “W-what? You’re kidding me.”

  “I wish I was. I found him in the playhouse dressing room. Someone had stabbed him.”

  “O-Oh my gosh. That’s horrible,” Malinda shuddered, but not from the cold. “Are they sure he’s dead?”

  The image of the hair fork in the dentist’s neck flashed in Bert’s mind. “Yes, he’s gone.”

  “I just don’t understand. Who would have wanted to kill him?”

  In answer to this, everyone was dead silent. Only the distant sound of the merry-go-round and people’s voices accompanied the chilled wind rushing down the river banks.

  “I should have paid more attention to him,” she moaned, her face reddening more, but not from the cold this time. Her eyes seemed to burn with tears. “He’s been texting me for weeks, asking to meet up for coffee or dinner.”

  Bert stole a glance at Wyn, whose face had scrunched up tightly. A sign of anger.

  Could there have been an unspoken competition between the women?

  “I’ve just been so busy with the new book release, I felt I didn’t have time for him.”

  “And look where that’s gotten us,” Wyn snapped, standing up from her seat.

  “Huh? Who are you?” Malinda asked.

  Wyn’s cheeks flared a shade similar to a ripe tomato. “Who am I? Are you serious?”

  Malinda, already on the verge of tears, looked around in confusion. “I’m sorry. Am I supposed to know?”

  “We’ve met before, you know. A few times,” Wyn growled.

  “I am so, so sorry, but I honestly can’t remember you.”

  “Of course, you can’t you’re too self-absorbed, just like you’re too naïve to see the great man before you. The man who wants to see you.”

  Malinda squinted as if it might help her memory. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  “You came into the office a few months ago around closing time. Craig was so excited to see you. He was never excited to see me like that.”

  “Wyn, maybe we should just calm down a little bit,” Bert suggested.

  “Calm down? What for? It’s her fault he’s dead.”

  “What? How can you say that? He was my friend,” Malinda shot back.

  “Seriously, let’s all just take a deep breath.”

  “No, I worked day in and day out for Craig, never to be appreciated or noticed. All he could think about was you.”

  An O of realization came over Malinda’s lips. “You’re his dental assistant.”

  “You’re darn right I am . . . was.”

  “And you think me not spending time with Craig led to his murder?” she gasped, horrified by the implication. “That makes no sense.”

  “Sure, it does. Maybe he got mixed up in something shady waiting around for you.”

  “That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard,” Malinda barked.

  “That’s enough, ladies,” a male voice boomed.

  The three women turned to find Detective Mannor standing upon the path toward the boardwalk. Marching down toward them, he looked a little ridiculous in his silver jumpsuit which he’d put his trench coat over. When a sudden case arose, there was very little time to change into something more professional.

  “Wyn Harrison?”

  “Y-yes?” she responded, all the redness in her face having washed out.

  “I need to speak to you about your relationship with the victim.”

  “She didn’t have one,” Malinda bit, cutting the young dental assistant to the core. Clearly, the writer didn’t take getting yelled at or accused of murder well.

  “That’s enough. Who are you?” Harry insisted.

  “I’m Malinda Crewe.”

  “The writer of that goofy horror novel?” he asked, speaking before he thought.

  Malinda looked like she might just pass out from hearing that comment. “H-How dare you?!”

  “Did you know the victim?” he asked, cutting to the chase.

  Swallowing her pride, she answered. “Yes, we were old friends.”

  “Then stick around. I’ll want to talk to you as well.”

  “Do you know who did it?” Wyn asked.

  “Not y
et. It’s too early to jump to any conclusions.” He paused, looking the woman directly in the eye. “However, the victim did leave a clue just before it died, it seems.”

  “A clue?” Bert blurted out.

  “Yes, it seems he wrote the letter W on the mirror before losing consciousness and dying. He wrote it in his own blood.”

  Bert wracked her brain trying to remember that part of the scene. Unfortunately, all she could remember was how red the room looked. With as much blood as there was, she was not surprised that she hadn’t noticed the extra splatter that had made up the victim’s own clue.

  As she thought on it more, her eyes focused on Wyn, whose name started with W.

  “Come along. I have questions,” he said, directing the woman to follow him.

  Malinda and Bert watched the two walk away.

  Chapter Eight

  “Look, Bert, I finally got my book signed,” Carla shouted from across a crowded lane of people mulling about the Halloween Carnival. She was waving her copy of Malinda’s book all around in the air while trying to push through people.

  Bert, had almost forgotten that her friend was planning on meeting her at the Halloween Carnival with all the chaos around the murder.

  “Where is Harry?” she inquired once she’d reached Bert.

  “You haven’t heard?” she asked.

  “Heard what?” she wondered, still out of the loop.

  “Didn’t you see all the cops?”

  Carla looked around at the countless people. “Cops? I just thought they were people in costume, or maybe security for the park.”

  Bert grabbed her friend’s arm and lead her away from the teeming crowds of people. They quickly found a little station called the Hub and Grub where you could buy snacks and food and then sit at one of the tables to eat. It was still crowded but less so.

  “Are you going to tell me what’s going on?” Carla insisted her hands on her hips.

  “Sure, let’s find someplace to sit.”

  “Hold on,” Carla ordered. “Two pumpkin patties please,” she requested, walking up to the service window of the eatery.

  “Better make it four. This is pretty big news and it might take a minute to explain.” Bert noted. Carla looked around at her surroundings, still trying to get a handle on what could be going on.

  “Okay, four, please,” she finally said through the window.

  “Here you are, ma’am. That’ll be four dollars,” the pimply teen informed her, adjusting his ballcap with the Hub and Grub logo on it.

  Carla dug out the cash and paid the young man. “There you go.”

  “And here you go,” he said, handing the patties over in a paper sack.

  The two women quickly found a seat and dug into their cheap Carnival food. The patties were a little like a two-sided waffle. The batter was placed into a hot pumpkin shaped iron that was heated up on the griddle. Then pumpkin pie filling was placed on top and then more batter. The iron was closed and flipped along the heat of the griddle until they were done.

  What came out were cute pumpkin shaped crusts that had an ooey-gooey filling once you bit into them—sort of like a cream filled donut.

  “Oh, I needed this,” Bert admitted, the stress of the situation getting to her. She’d assumed visiting the dentist would be the hardest part of her weekend, but with a murder on top of it, she just felt pooped.

  “I thought you might need a treat,” Carla noted.

  Bert took another greedy bite of the steaming delicious pumpkin snack, her mind temporarily on Pies and Pages. These little treats weren’t so different from a hand pie. She realized she could probably make a slightly higher quality version of the dish and serve it at the shop for maybe two to three dollars each. Knowing the number of broke college students and teens who came into the bookstore, having an extremely low-cost menu option could potentially be a good business boost.

  “Earth to Bert. Are you in there?” Carla said, waving.

  Shaking her head, she looked at her friend who hadn’t touched her own patties. “Oh, sorry. I was just thinking these would be a good item for the pie shop.”

  “You’re right,” her friend agreed. “But what is this big news?”

  Bert was about to answer when she noticed Carla had two books sitting in front of her, not one. One of them looked beat up. “Why do you have two?” she asked pointing.

  “Oh, that’s the reason I’m later than I expected. I showed up and was looking around for you when I realized Malinda was hosting a booth. I mean, can you believe it? Did you know?”

  “I didn’t until I got here.”

  Carla took a big bite of her pumpkin patty, chewing it vigorously and swallowing before speaking. “So, I rushed back to my car, got my book and went to the booth. Going back and forth is what held me up.”

  “I see,” Bert understood, not mentioning how she didn’t even notice her friend’s absence in the shadow of a murder.

  “Malinda was so nice. She signed my book, and after I gushed to her for like ten minutes, she offered to give me this copy,” she noted, picking up the tattered book Bert remembered seeing earlier. “I guess some kids trampled it and it was unsellable, so she gave it to me.”

  “Why do you need two copies of it?” Bert wondered.

  “I don’t, but this copy is still readable. If I find someone who is interested in the book this can be my loaner copy,” she said, tucking it back under the nice copy. “After that, Malinda closed her booth to go see the play, so I’m glad I caught her when I did. Ever since then, I’ve been looking for you.” She took another big bite.

  “Well, the play has been canceled.”

  “Why?” Carla asked, covering her mouth while she spoke.

  “The man playing Dracula, who happens to by my dentist and an old friend of Malinda’s, was murdered this evening.”

  Carla instantly began choking on the bite she had in her mouth. A few seconds later she got it under control, whipping her mouth with a napkin. “Wait, he was murdered?”

  “That’s right. Stabbed in the neck with a hair fork.”

  “Holy smokes, and I didn’t hear about it?” she wondered. She had a good ear for gossip, even if she wasn’t the kind of person to spread it around so readily.

  “I think, in consideration for the carnival and all the work that went into it, Harry and the police force are trying to keep the reason for their presence pretty hush-hush.” She motioned to the families and groups of teens all running about enjoying themselves. The rush of the nearby rollercoaster was loud, seeing as it passed over the eatery. “As you can see, they’ve done pretty well. People aren’t worried. They’re having fun.”

  “Thank goodness for that,” Carla agreed.

  Bert started in on her second pumpkin patty.

  “Do they know who did it?” her friend asked.

  Bert shook her head. “Nothing yet, but I’m thinking they’re considering his dental assistant as the main suspect.”

  “Really? Was there a falling out between the two?”

  “Yes, as a matter of fact. He just fired her last night. On top of it, she was romantically interested in him, but he had no interest in her it seems.”

  “Wow, it sounds like a soap opera.” Carla was known for indulging in her late afternoon soaps. They often played on the TV behind the counter of Christmas in July.

  “Based on what I’ve seen, he was interested in Malinda, but she hardly ever had time for him.”

  “I’d guess not with how popular this book release has been. I mean, she’d put out other titles in the past, but none quite like this.”

  “How so?” Bert wondered, not having followed Malinda’s career. Carla, on the other hand, had been a pretty big fan for a while.

  “I don’t know. The new one was more gruesome. It had a darker tone.”

  “And you like that?” Bert questioned, scrunching up her face in disgust.

  Carla shrugged. “Not usually. I can’t stomach that sort of thing. This time, though, I
just couldn’t put the book down. It was so good. I think the fact that it’s a vampire and not just some serial killer makes it easier to swallow.”

  “I suppose.”

  “But it is interesting. It’s not quite like the other thrillers she has written.”

  “I guess that happens. Writer’s styles change over time,” she said polishing off the last of her pumpkin patty. Her jaw was aching from chewing the food, she realized. On the other hand, the sugar in the food wasn’t making her cringe. That was a bonus. In any case, the medicine she’d taken earlier was wearing off and soon, she knew, she’d be out of commission.

  Placing her hands on the table, she stood up. “Well, I think I’m going to head home for the evening.”

  “Huh? But we just got together? You’re done already?”

  “I already know I’m going to be too tired for anything else tonight, and Harry is preoccupied anyway.”

  Carla stood up as well. “Then I’m going, too.”

  “You don’t need to do that. It won’t be much of a Halloween weekend for you if you do,” she pointed out.

  “I don’t need big parties or carnivals to enjoy a holiday with a friend.”

  Bert smiled at her friend, “Oh, Carla.”

  “Why don’t we go back to your place, order a pizza, and binge watch old horror movies?”

  “You’ve got a deal.”

  Chapter Nine

  “I've parked a ways off. I’ll meet you at your place,” Carla informed her friend, waving as she walked toward the huge parking garage that was about three blocks away near the stadium.

  “Okay, you got it,” Bert agreed, waving back. She turned to head toward her own vehicle. She’d arrived earlier and parked closer by virtue of being a caterer for the event. She couldn’t imagine trying to drag four trays of pies all the way from the parking garage.

  As she neared her hatchback, she noticed someone nearby. They were bent over inside their trunk and looked like a furry wild animal scrounging for scraps.

  Bert recognized the man. “Hey, Pastor Chimney.”

  The werewolf straightened up. “Oh, hey, Bert.”