Howloween Murder
Page 1
Books by Laurien Berenson
A PEDIGREE TO DIE FOR
UNDERDOG
DOG EAT DOG
HAIR OF THE DOG
WATCHDOG
HUSH PUPPY
UNLEASHED
ONCE BITTEN
HOT DOG
BEST IN SHOW
JINGLE BELL BARK
RAINING CATS AND DOGS
CHOW DOWN
HOUNDED TO DEATH
DOGGIE DAY CARE MURDER
GONE WITH THE WOOF
DEATH OF A DOG WHISPERER
THE BARK BEFORE CHRISTMAS
LIVE AND LET GROWL
MURDER AT THE PUPPY FEST
WAGGING THROUGH THE SNOW
RUFF JUSTICE
BITE CLUB
HERE COMES SANTA PAWS
GAME OF DOG BONES
HOWLOWEEN MURDER
Published by Kensington Publishing Corporation
Howloween Murder
LAURIEN BERENSON
KENSINGTON BOOKS
www.kensingtonbooks.com
All copyrighted material within is Attributor Protected.
Table of Contents
Also by
Title Page
Copyright Page
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
HARRIET BLOOM’S MARSHMALLOW PUFFS
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, or events, is entirely coincidental.
KENSINGTON BOOKS are published by
Kensington Publishing Corp.
119 West 40th Street
New York, NY 10018
Copyright © 2020 by Laurien Berenson
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the Publisher, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.
Kensington and the K logo Reg. U.S. Pat. & TM Off.
Library of Congress Control Number: 2020935635
ISBN: 978-1-4967-3057-2
ISBN-10: 1-4967-3057-7
First Kensington Hardcover Edition: September 2020
ISBN-13: 978-1-4967-3059-6 (ebook)
ISBN-10: 1-4967-3059-3 (ebook)
Chapter One
“There’s a ghost in the attic,” Cheryl Feeney told me.
“No, there isn’t,” I replied firmly.
The Joshua Howard mansion, home to Connecticut private school Howard Academy, was one hundred years old, but there’d never been serious talk of a ghost before. Sure, sometimes kids played around with the idea, trying to scare one another. But a real ghost? That was new.
I had been the special needs tutor at Howard Academy for nearly a decade. If the mansion was haunted, surely I’d have heard about it before now.
On the other hand, Halloween was less than a week away. The upcoming holiday gave everyone at the school a chance to dress up in costumes and pull harmless pranks. It also pretty much guaranteed us a sugar rush. So maybe we were all feeling a little silly in anticipation.
Cheryl Feeney taught first grade and was new at HA this year. She was bright, and enthusiastic, and she loved working with children. In her twenties and fresh out of school herself, Cheryl took her responsibilities very seriously. She and I were putting together Friday’s Halloween party, which was what had brought her to my classroom in the school’s new wing.
Now, as Cheryl stood in front of my desk, she didn’t look as though she was fooling around. Idly I wondered if she knew there was a smudge of dust across her cheek and a cobweb tangled in her blond ponytail.
“I know the mansion’s an old building,” I said. “But it doesn’t have a ghost.”
“It does,” Cheryl insisted. “Up in the attic. I saw it just now. Come on, I’ll show you.”
“You’ll show me?” Okay, that offer got me to my feet. “Like it’s just standing there, waiting around to be seen?”
“I wouldn’t say it’s standing, exactly.” Cheryl chewed on her lower lip. “More like floating. You know?”
I didn’t, actually. But apparently I was about to find out. Despite the length of my tenure at the school, I’d never previously had a reason to visit the mansion’s attic. So that would be a first too.
I snapped my fingers and Faith, my big black Standard Poodle, hopped up from her bed in the corner of the room. She was a beautiful dog, who stood nearly as high as my waist. A retired show champion, Faith wore her hair in the easy-to-maintain kennel trim, with a short blanket of dense curls covering her body and a plush pompon on the end of her tail. She came trotting eagerly across the room to join us. Whatever kind of adventure I had in mind, Faith was always ready to go.
Nine years old now, Faith was well into middle age. Her body had thickened in the middle, and she wasn’t as energetic as she’d once been. The bond she and I shared had grown more meaningful over the years. Faith read my thoughts, supported my ideas, and sometimes understood me better than I understood myself.
That wasn’t surprising, considering that she was a Poodle. The breed isn’t just intelligent and playful, they’re also naturally empathetic. Fortunately for the students of Howard Academy, I wasn’t the only one who got to benefit from Faith’s many good qualities.
HA was situated on a bluff overlooking downtown Greenwich, with Long Island Sound visible in the distance. The school’s reputation was every bit as lofty as the prominent position of its real estate. Howard Academy counted senators, CEOs, and groundbreaking scientists among its distinguished alumni.
Our K–8 program offered a rigorous curriculum meant to give children the best possible start on the road to success. Not every child whose parents wanted them to receive a Howard Academy education was equipped to deal with that kind of pressure, however. That was where I came in.
It was my job to tutor students who were struggling—for whatever reason—to keep up. Sometimes their application to their studies needed my individual oversight. Some kids were having social or emotional problems. Occasionally they just needed a sympathetic ear.
No matter the issue that brought them to my classroom, kids were always delighted to find Faith waiting for them. Students accepted my tutoring, but they adored my Poodle. Over the years, she’d become Howard Academy’s unofficial mascot.
Cheryl Feeney had only been at Howard Academy since the beginning of the fall semester. And since the first-grade homeroom was in the mansion, this was her first visit to my classroom. So I wasn’t surprised that her eyes widened when Faith leapt to her feet.
I was surprised, however, when Cheryl shrieked, then jumped around behind me as Faith approached. The Poodle’s tail was up over her back and wagging happily. Her lovely head tipped to one side, Faith appeared to be as confused by the woman’s reaction as I was.
“Oh, my God!” Cheryl exhaled sharply. “What is that? It’s enormous! What’s it doing here? Does it bite?”
“That’s Faith.” I held up my hand and the big Poodle stopped in front of me. “She’s a Standard Poodle.”
“No, n-no, n-no, she’s not,” Cheryl stuttered. She was still hiding behind me. Her ponytail swung back and forth as she shook her head vigorously. “Poodles are little itty-bitty things. They don’t look like
that.”
“Some of them do,” I told her. “She’s very friendly. Would you like me to introduce you?”
“To that?”
“No, to her. Faith’s a girl.” A bitch, in dog parlance, but I didn’t think it would help to tell Cheryl that. “She likes everybody.”
“Not me. Dogs don’t like me. They bite me.”
“Faith doesn’t bite.”
“Sure. That’s what you say now.”
I turned to look at her over my shoulder. I found it mildly amusing that Cheryl was using me as a human shield. “There’s no need to be afraid of her.”
“I’m not afraid. I just don’t like dogs anywhere near me. Like, ever.”
I sighed. It looked as though Faith wasn’t going to be coming with us to the mansion. I leaned down and scratched beneath the Poodle’s chin. Her dark brown eyes stared into mine. Dammit, she knew what was coming.
“Sorry, sweetie,” I said. “I guess you’ll have to stay here. Go back to your bed and lie down, okay? I won’t be gone long.”
Faith’s tail drooped. She sighed under her breath. Slowly she turned around and walked back to the cedar bed. If you think kids know how to make you feel guilty when you screw up, try having a Poodle.
Cheryl peered at Faith over my shoulder. “Why did she do that?”
“Do what?”
Her finger lifted in a wobbly point that was directed at Faith. “She went away.”
“Because I asked her to.”
“Yes, but she’s a dog.”
“An obedient dog.”
I headed for the door. Cheryl quickly followed.
“And a smart one,” I added. “Faith could probably help teach your first graders how to add.”
As we left the room, Cheryl cast a furtive glance backward. Faith was back on her bed, just where she was supposed to be. “You’re kidding, right?”
“Nope.”
“Really?” Frowning, she looked back again. “Because that seems unlikely.”
“So does your ghost,” I pointed out. “And yet here we are, going to have a look.”
“I know I saw something.” Cheryl skipped around in front of me to lead the way. “The ghost is real.”
Maybe. Strange things had been known to happen at Howard Academy before. And Halloween—the night when ghouls and goblins came out to play—was right around the corner. Maybe anything was possible this time of year.
Even a ghost in old Joshua Howard’s attic.
Chapter Two
Cheryl and I walked through the passageway that connected the school’s new building to the mansion. I followed as she bypassed several classrooms and headed directly to the older building’s soaring front hall. The large entryway smelled of lemon polish and fresh flowers. Its gleaming hardwood floor, crystal chandelier, and hand-rubbed antique furniture were part of a heritage that had been meticulously preserved through the years.
Twin portraits of the school’s founders, siblings Joshua and Honoria Howard, stared down at us gravely from a side wall. The first time I’d seen the paintings, I’d stopped and stared in awe. Now I was more entertained by a pair of carved pumpkins someone had placed on a sideboard beneath them. The jack-o’-lanterns’ somber expressions appeared to mirror those on the founders’ faces.
I bit back a laugh and hoped I wasn’t around when our esteemed headmaster, Russell Hanover II, noticed that.
Cheryl was already skipping up one side of the hallway’s split staircase. I hurried to catch up.
“I’ve never been up in the attic,” I said. “But if it’s as big as the basement, it must be huge. What were you doing up there anyway?”
Cheryl glanced back at me. “I thought I told you.”
I considered briefly, then shook my head.
“You know, the Halloween party.”
As the teacher with the least seniority, Cheryl had gotten roped into organizing this year’s holiday party. Then Mr. Hanover had pointed out that since my tutoring schedule was light this semester, I might want to volunteer to help out.
I’d learned my first week at Howard Academy that when the headmaster made a suggestion, the only sensible response was to jump to comply. So I did. Which still didn’t explain why we were on our way to the attic.
“All the props and decorations from previous holiday parties are in the storeroom next to the auditorium,” I said. “You know that, right?”
“Sure. That was the first thing you told me.”
“What was the second thing?” I asked.
She stopped on the second-story landing so abruptly, I nearly ran into her. “You said, ‘Let’s not try to reinvent the wheel.’”
“Good advice,” I pointed out.
“Well, sure—if you’ve been teaching here for years.” A smile softened Cheryl’s words. “But I’m new. And I’ve been given a special assignment. So I really want to ace it. I know I was lucky to get this job at Howard Academy. I want Mr. Hanover to be impressed, and then he’ll know he made the right decision to hire me.”
I nodded. I could see that. Cheryl wasn’t the only one who felt fortunate to be working at the school.
“And that meant checking out the attic?” I asked.
“Sure, why not? I figured it had to be filled with old stuff, and maybe some of it would be useful.”
“And?”
“I was right about the old stuff. The whole place is a treasure trove of . . .” She stopped and winced slightly. “Well, to be perfectly honest . . . crap.”
That made me laugh. “Crap and a ghost. This adventure is sounding better and better by the minute.”
Tucked at the end of the upstairs hallway was a plain, unmarked door. I’d have expected it to be locked, but when Cheryl grasped the knob and turned it, the door swung open easily. It didn’t even creak.
As I peered inside the opening, a blast of cold air hit me in the face. A narrow wooden staircase angled upward at a steep pitch. I could only see the first half-dozen steps. Everything above that was shrouded in darkness.
I turned to Cheryl and said, “Really?”
“Don’t worry. There’s a light switch.”
She found it on the wall and flipped it on. It didn’t help much.
“Have at it,” I said, gesturing toward the dimly lit stairs. “I’ll be right behind you.”
Cheryl braced one hand against the wall as she began to climb. I quickly realized why. There was no banister to hold onto. I had to watch where I placed my feet. The stairs were narrow and coated with dust. They groaned as we stepped on them.
The air around us was chilly and still. When I took a breath, I could feel my heart beating in my chest. We hadn’t even reached the attic yet, and already the place had me spooked.
No wonder Cheryl thought she’d seen a ghost up there. At this rate, I might see one too.
“Almost there,” she said happily.
“Thank God,” I muttered under my breath.
Cheryl reached the landing and moved aside so I could step up to join her. It was darker here than it had been on the stairway. When my eyes adjusted to the gloom, I saw a naked lightbulb hanging down from the ceiling on a twisted wire. Cheryl pulled the long string that dangled from it and the light turned on.
The sight in front of us was hardly worth the climb. The attic was a jumbled mess. It was piled to the rafters with decades’ worth of odd items that previous denizens of the school hadn’t wanted. And that no one in their right mind would want now.
In short, it was a cluttered mishmash of junk.
“Well,” I said after a moment. “This is interesting.”
Cheryl turned to me and grinned. “I know, right?”
The woman had entirely too much enthusiasm for her own good. “If you can find something up here to use for the Halloween party, you’re a miracle worker,” I said.
“Oh, I’ve pretty much given up on that. Once I started trying to sort through this mess, I realized it wasn’t going to work.” Cheryl headed toward a narrow aisle b
etween two tall stacks of packing crates.
I brushed a cobweb out of the way and followed. “Then remind me again why we’re here?”
“You said you wanted to see the ghost.”
I nearly stopped in my tracks. Surely she didn’t think this adventure had been my idea?
Suddenly Cheryl screamed. She jumped backward and stumbled into me. I grabbed her shoulders to steady her.
“Is it the ghost?” I asked eagerly. I didn’t see a thing.
“No.” Her voice quavered. “A mouse.”
Oh. Bad luck.
Cheryl began walking again. “The ghost was over here,” she said as the cramped passageway opened up in front of us.
I hopped over the spikes of an old bicycle wheel and looked in the direction she’d indicated. I still didn’t see anything resembling a ghost. But maybe what I saw wasn’t what mattered.
“Can you see it now?” I asked.
Cheryl looked at me as though I was daft. “No. Of course not.” She paused, then frowned. “Can you?”
“No. But it’s your ghost. I was hoping you’d be able to point it out.”
“My ghost,” Cheryl muttered under her breath. “As if anyone would want to have a ghost.”
Dust rose from the floor as she crossed the open area in two quick strides. Cheryl shoved a battered bookcase out of the way, then abruptly went still. One of her hands slowly lifted, her finger beckoning me closer.
For some reason, silence seemed like a good idea. I tiptoed softly in her direction. As if I didn’t want to scare the ghost away. Like that was a real possibility. If I wasn’t trying to keep the noise down, I’d have smacked myself in the forehead.
I reached Cheryl’s side and looked where she was now pointing. A flutter of white, backlit by the grimy window behind it, made my heart leap into my throat. Then I got hold of myself and looked again.
“That’s not a ghost,” I said. Loudly. Just in case it was a ghost and was entertaining thoughts about coming closer.