Konrad and Curtis exchanged another glance. Then Curtis turned to Sean and said, “She said she cut off Amethyst’s head.”
“That’s it?” asked Sean.
“What do you mean, ‘That’s it?’” Curtis demanded.
“Well, did she say anything else?” asked Sean.
“She says why she did it,” said Curtis. “Here”—his hand moved to the switch—“you can hear for yourself.”
“That won’t be necessary,” Sean said quickly. “Why don’t you tell me instead?”
Konrad shrugged. “It’s simple. She did it because Amethyst threw her out the window, and she wanted to get even.”
“I see,” Sean said.
“So you don’t believe us?” Curtis cried.
Sean grimaced. “I believe you think you heard that.”
“No. We heard it,” Konrad insisted.
Curtis nodded. “We did,” he said. “Her voice was as clear as a bell jar.”
“Bell. The expression is ‘clear as a bell,’” Bernie corrected.
“That’s what I said,” Curtis told her.
“No. You said ‘bell jar,’” Bernie repeated.
“They’re the same thing,” Curtis retorted.
“No, they’re not,” Bernie said, and she went over and took another sip of her Scotch. As she was putting her glass down, she looked over and saw Libby eating the piece of pumpkin bar her dad hadn’t gotten to yet. She glanced away before she caught her sister’s eye. She was having a hard enough time keeping a straight face as it was.
“The problem is,” Bernie said to Curtis, “that ghosts are incorporeal beings.”
“They don’t get diseases,” Konrad cried.
“No. Incorporeal, meaning ‘without substance.’ They don’t have hands to grip axes or chain saws or whatever was used to cut off people’s heads.”
“They have energy,” Konrad protested. “They can do amazing things. We learned that in our class. Right, Curtis?”
“Right, Konrad,” said Curtis.
“I’m sorry, but ghosts don’t go around lopping off people’s heads, no matter how good the reason they have,” Bernie told Konrad.
Curtis put his hands on his hips. “That shows you how much you know. Ghosts can do anything they want. They can move chairs….”
“That’s a poltergeist,” Bernie snapped.
“Poltergeist is just a fancy name for a different type of ghost,” Curtis told her.
Bernie threw up her arms. “I give up.”
“That’s because I’m right,” Curtis replied. Then he turned to Sean. “She’s awful excitable, isn’t she?”
“I am not!” Bernie yelled.
Sean held up his hand. “Let’s talk about something else for a moment, if you don’t mind.”
“I don’t mind,” Curtis said.
“That was a rhetorical question,” Bernie informed him.
“The question is,” Sean said hurriedly, cutting Bernie off, “isn’t Bob Small related to you?”
Curtis looked at his feet.
“That’s what I thought,” Sean said. His legs weren’t doing too good anymore, but that didn’t mean his memory wasn’t as good as it ever was.
Konrad drew himself up. “Maybe he is our cousin, but so what?”
“The so what is obvious,” Bernie retorted.
“Are you saying my brother and I are lying about this?” Curtis said. “That we have ulcerated motives?”
Bernie laughed. “You mean ulterior motives.”
Curtis’s face began to get red.
“She’s not saying that,” Sean said quickly. Curtis and Konrad had had bad tempers when they were younger, and Sean was pretty sure that despite what they said, they still had them.
“Then what is she saying?” Curtis asked.
“She’s saying you are hearing what you want to hear,” said Sean.
Konrad lifted up his tape deck. “Come on, Curtis,” he said to his brother. “Let’s get out of here. No point in wasting anyone else’s time.”
“What did you want us to do?” Sean asked Konrad.
“We wanted you to prove that Bessie Osgood killed Amethyst Applegate, of course,” said Konrad.
“Of course,” Sean repeated. He could just imagine what his pal Clyde would say when he heard about this one.
Curtis shuffled his feet for a moment, then said, “We’ll pay you.”
“Money is not the issue,” Sean told him as he moved his wheelchair a little to the left so he could watch Mr. Wilson walk his Chihuahua, Merlin. It always amused him to see such a big man with such a little dog. At the moment Merlin was trying to subdue a jack-o’-lantern on someone’s doorstep by peeing on it.
“Then what is?” Curtis asked.
“There is no way to prove that Bessie Osgood killed Amethyst Applegate. Even if you had a viable tape, it wouldn’t matter,” Sean said after Mr. Wilson had rounded the corner. “I’ve never heard of ghostly testimony being accepted by the DA. And let me go further. The original crime happened over twenty years ago, and if I remember correctly, opinion was divided as to its cause.”
“The dead have just as much right to justice as the living,” Curtis protested.
“You’re going to have to take that up with the judicial system,” Sean told him. “I’m sorry, but there it is.” He sighed. Why did Curtis and Konrad make him feel guilty? They shouldn’t, but they did. “So do you have anything else you want to tell me?” he asked in the ensuing silence.
Curtis and Konrad looked at each other. They both cleared their throats.
“We don’t think it’s fair,” Konrad blurted out, “that Amethyst got Bob in trouble before, and she’s done it again.”
“Bob loaned her the car,” Sean said. “She didn’t put a gun to his head and force him to.”
“That’s true. But she sweet-talked him into it. If he hadn’t met her, he’d be all right now,” Curtis said. “He’d still have his family and his job.”
There was no arguing with that, Sean decided. “Do the police have Bob in custody yet?” he asked.
“No,” Konrad said. “But they’re gonna.”
“He’s a convicted felon, and he was there,” Curtis said. “Of course, they’re going to pick him up.”
“True,” said Sean as he spied Mr. Wilson heading back around the corner. He was carrying Merlin in his jacket pocket.
“The guy needs a break,” Konrad continued. “And it’s especially frustrating for us because we got the proof, and no one will listen to us.” He lowered his voice. “Even our wives think we’re a little wacko with this stuff.”
Sean pursed his lips while he thought. “I’ll tell you what. How about if me and the girls look into this?”
“That’s all we want,” Curtis said.
“But if whatever we find leads in the direction of Bob Small, that’s the way we’re going to go,” said Sean.
“I keep telling you that Bessie Osgood did it,” Curtis said.
“Maybe she did, and maybe she didn’t,” Sean said. “Maybe someone else did. That’s what we’re going to try and find out.”
Konrad and Curtis nodded. “We’ll leave the tape for you,” they both said at the same time.
“Appreciate it,” Sean said. “Tell me, how about the Reverend Peabody or Esmeralda? You heard anything from them?”
“Dad,” Bernie cried.
“I was just asking,” Sean replied.
“To answer your question,” Curtis said, “we haven’t yet. But we intend to try. Mr. Kane said he’d pay us a thousand bucks if we get their voices.”
“Dad,” Bernie repeated after the two men had left.
Sean looked up from the newspaper he’d picked up. It was two days old, but that was the way he liked his news. Past its prime. It gave some perspective to it.
“What?” he asked.
“I can’t believe you agreed to do that,” said Bernie.
“I don’t see why not,” Sean retorted.
“Bec
ause Curtis and Konrad are crazy,” said Bernie.
“A little strange maybe, but not crazy. After all, everyone has their private obsessions,” said Sean.
“But Dad,” Bernie continued. “You just said that you thought Bob Small chopped off Amethyst Applegate’s head.”
“No,” Sean corrected. “What I said was that if I were the police, I would like him for it. That doesn’t mean that I think he did it.”
“But Bob Small had motive, means, and opportunity,” Bernie wailed. “Those are your words.”
“I know. But I think he’s too obvious,” replied Sean. “Over the years I’ve found that things that come wrapped up in pretty, neat little packages with bows on top of them rarely are what they seem.”
“So you’re saying that you think that Bob Small was set up?” Libby asked.
“I’m saying it’s a possibility,” Sean replied. “Which is why we should come up with a list of Amethyst’s enemies and everyone who had access to the Haunted House and cross-reference them.”
Bernie sighed. “It’s going to be a lengthy list.”
Sean cast a longing glance at his paper. “I’m aware of that.”
“And we’re doing this why?” asked Bernie.
“Because the case interests me, and because I don’t want to see our redoubtable chief of police put the wrong man in jail,” said Sean.
“Lucy could do that,” Libby agreed, referring to the chief of police by his nickname.
“Lucas Broadbent has done it,” Sean said. “Several times.” He turned to Bernie. “And while you’re at it, see what you can find out about what happened to Bessie Osgood.”
“You’re kidding, right?” Bernie asked.
“Not in the least,” said Sean. “My gut tells me she’s at the root of this in some way or other.”
“Is this the same gut that told you to go west to Mr. Leonida’s house when you should have been going east?” said Bernie.
“Just humor an old man, will you?” said Sean.
“Fine,” Bernie said. She finished the last of her drink. “Maybe Curtis and Konrad do have something. After all, Halloween is the time of year when ghosts are supposed to come visit us mortals, the time when the veil between the two worlds is at its thinnest. The Celts thought so two thousand years ago. Who am I to argue?”
Libby groaned. “You don’t believe in ghosts, do you, Dad?” she asked.
“No. But I believe in bad luck places. And I think the Peabody School falls under that category,” said Sean.
Libby frowned. Maybe the money they were getting wasn’t worth it, after all.
“Oh, come on,” Bernie said, looking at her sister’s face. “I told you nothing else is going to happen. Trust me on this.”
Libby got up. “You know,” she said, “whenever anyone tells me that, I’ve found that the opposite is usually true.”
Then, before Bernie could reply, Libby went downstairs to bake some more pumpkin bars. Baking always made her feel better. And, anyway, her dad was right. They were going to be swamped tomorrow.
Chapter 5
Bernie looked at the three pumpkins she’d just carved to put in front of the shop’s doorway. The first looked like a witch, the second looked like a cat, and the third one she’d carved into the shape of a goblin, complete with a wart on her nose. Thank heavens for how-to books, Bernie thought. What did people ever do before them? She removed her apron and dusted off her shirt. Black parachute silk and powdered sugar definitely didn’t mix. But at least for once she hadn’t gotten any pumpkin glop on her clothes.
She looked over at her sister, who was working away in jeans, a flannel shirt, and a T-shirt. Libby’s clothes made more sense, especially when one was dusting powdered sugar on apple bars, but Bernie could never bring herself to wear outfits like that. What was the point? They were boring. And she had a reputation to uphold. People expected her to dress impractically now. It was part of who she was.
Bernie brushed a speck of powdered sugar off her black Dolce & Gabbana pants and checked her shoes for smudges. They were black suede and three inches high. Definitely not made for the kitchen, but she wasn’t planning on being here for much longer. She had stuff to do for her dad.
“I’m going now,” she said.
“I can see that,” Libby told her sister, but her eyes remained focused on the pie dough she was rolling out. She’d done six pumpkin pies already and she had six more to go for the Haunted House. Her pumpkin pies always went fast. Maybe that was because she started out with real pumpkin puree instead of the canned stuff. The color was prettier, and the flavor and texture more delicate.
“Do we need anything?” Bernie asked.
Libby stopped for a moment and thought. “A couple of gallons of cider and some red food dye. I want to make two more batches of devil cookies for the display case. Everyone seems to be enjoying them. And if you’re stopping by Sam’s Club, we could use some more chicken breasts for our red ginger chicken.”
“But I got some yesterday,” Bernie protested.
“We don’t have any left.”
“Have you looked in the cooler?”
Libby went back to rolling. “Check if you don’t believe me,” she told her sister.
Bernie repositioned her bobby pin to stop her bangs from falling in her eyes. That was the problem with letting your hair grow in. It just went every which way. But, on the other hand, it did hide her crow’s-feet. “We sold that much?”
Libby shrugged. “It would seem so.”
Maybe they had, Bernie thought. Or maybe someone was stealing the chicken. Except she couldn’t believe that Googie or Amber would do something like that. Shrinkage was a definite problem in their business, but Googie and Amber had been with them for years.
“We should keep better track of our inventory,” Bernie said.
“Yes, we should,” Libby agreed.
Bernie realized that they had this discussion every six months or so, and nothing ever came of it.
“And I vote that you be the one to do it. And be back by three-thirty,” Libby added. “Don’t forget, we have to be serving by five-thirty at the Haunted House.”
“I haven’t forgotten,” Bernie said. “I don’t think this talk will take that long.”
At least she hoped it wouldn’t. She was going to talk to Felicity Huffer, who used to work as a proctor at the Peabody School. Bernie had spoken to Felicity’s daughter earlier this morning and been told that Felicity lived in the Pine Bough Manor, a residential home for older adults. Now there was a euphemism if ever Bernie had heard one.
“I told her she could stay with me,” Felicity’s daughter had said. “But she doesn’t want to. I’m sure she’ll be happy you’re coming. She loves talking to people, and I can’t get up there until later in the evening. In fact, I’ll call her now and make sure it’s all right. Sometimes she gets a little grumpy.”
“Don’t we all,” her dad had said when Bernie told him what Felicity’s daughter had said. “Of course, if I remember correctly, she always was a bit irascible,” he’d added.
“Maybe you should go,” Bernie had told him. “After all, you’re the one that suggested this.”
Her dad had waved the suggestion away. “She always liked your mom better than me. In fact, she never liked me at all.”
Bernie was wondering why Felicity Huffer hadn’t liked her dad when her sister put down her rolling pin and wiped her hands off on her flannel shirt.
“So,” Libby asked her sister, “are we really going to do this?”
“Investigate Amethyst’s death?”
“I’m not talking about baking cookies.”
“Yes, we are.”
“Why?”
“I figure Dad’s done enough for us. Maybe we should return the favor.”
“I guess you’re right,” Libby said doubtfully as she tugged at her bra.
“I know I’m right, and your sisters are still lopsided,” Bernie informed her.
Libby tugged
on her left bra strap a little more. “Better?” she asked Bernie.
Bernie nodded. “You need new bras. In fact, you need new everything.”
“After Halloween,” Libby said. “When I have a little more free time.”
“Why do you hate to shop?”
“Why do you like to shop?” Libby countered, and she turned back to her pumpkin pies.
On the way out, Bernie stopped and had Amber pack her up a box of pumpkin chocolate chip cookies for Felicity.
“You know,” Amber said as she taped the box shut, “you ought to make sure someone isn’t doing a remake of Michael Myers’s Halloween at the Haunted House. Maybe there’s this homicidal maniac hiding in one of the rooms, with a chain saw, just waiting for you to arrive. You should keep your cell phone out just in case.”
This, Bernie thought, is what happens when someone watches too many horror movies.
“If we get diced up, you’ll be the first one I’ll call,” Bernie promised as Amber handed her the box full of cookies. “In fact, I’ll leave my cell on so you can hear every bloodcurdling scream. Now go wait on Mrs. Stein.” And with that, Bernie walked out the door.
She stood in the street for a moment and took a deep breath. It was one of those glorious late fall mornings. The air smelled spicy—like cinnamon and cloves. The sun was still warm, and the leaves remaining on the trees were crimson and gold. Most of the houses on the other side of the street had decorations in their windows: there were witches and goblins and black cats. There were tombstones in the yards. There were jack-o’-lanterns on people’s porches. In a week the street would be full of parents and children in costume knocking on doors and yelling, “Trick or treat!”
Halloween had been her favorite holiday when she was little. She still remembered her best costume ever. Her mom had made it, and she thought it was the prettiest costume she’d ever seen. It was a blue taffeta dress with a sparkly sash and pale blue wings and a wand. And she’d had a crown on her head and ruby slippers on her feet. She’d gone as Glynda the Good Witch from The Wizard of Oz, and she’d gotten so much candy, the pillowcase she’d carried was half full by the time her dad made her come home.
Halloween was still her favorite holiday. Every year she and Libby opened A Little Taste of Heaven and stood in the doorway and gave out homemade candy and cookies. They labeled every bag they gave away so parents would know where the treats had come from, which the parents seemed to agree with. Otherwise, they’d have to serve the prepackaged stuff, which would be a shame.
A Catered Halloween Page 4