PICKED OFF

by Linda Lovely

  Zack clenched his fists. He clearly wanted to whack Chester again.

  The redneck stumbled toward the borrowed hearse. With a snarl, the party-crasher climbed into his Halloween ride. His buddies had long since kick-started their bikes or scrambled back in the truck bed.

  Eva kept her shotgun leveled at the invaders as they raced their motors and spun their tires. Gravel kicked up by the tires’ reverse spin smacked the hearse’s undercarriage. The rocky hailstorm didn’t die down until Chester’s to-die-for ride backed through the main gate. Did they think the racket made their retreat manlier?

  “Who ordered the ghouls?” Carol asked, trying to lighten the mood. “Given the excitement, my son will buy the next round of ’shine from Magic Moonshine. Just hope he hasn’t injured his arm. It’s better suited to throwing footballs than punches.”

  There was polite laughter, and Zack yelled, “Drinks are on me.”

  “We have more entertainment in store—and before you even ask, it’s not a boxing match,” Carol added. “Be sure to pay a visit to the Udderly Haunted Barn of Horrors, though its thrills may seem a little tame now.”

  I turned to Mollye. “With free drinks, they’ll be lined up six-deep at the Magic Moonshine tent. I’ll go help.”

  My friend shook her head. “Not me. I plan to be drinking not serving. I need it.”

  I coveted a drink to settle my nerves, too, but I figured Udderly’s residents ought to keep their heads clear—and their weapons ready. I posed little danger holding a shotgun. But watch out if I’m armed with a rolling pin. Too bad I could only land a blow if the other person stood stock still in arm’s reach. Anyone could outrun me in my stupid mermaid costume.

  FIVE

  I slipped in the back of the Magic Moonshine tent and told the frantic barmaid to shout orders to me and I’d pour. “Thanks,” said Vera, the busty server.

  As we fell into a routine, I appreciated the Clemson coed’s keen sense of humor. She awarded a zinger to every Dick and Harry who made a suggestive comment.

  “That’s a big mug. Be careful. Your hands are mighty small.”

  “Can I see some ID? You look old, but you talk like a pimple-faced teen.”

  We laughed as the chastened loudmouths slunk away. Thankfully, they were few in number. After fifteen minutes, the line dwindled to less than half a dozen customers. I recognized several faces sneaking back for seconds.

  “Think I can handle it now,” Vera said.

  “Okay.” I glanced over at my costumed friend, Mollye, slumped on a stump. I walked over. “Think you’ve had enough moonshine to qualify as a fruitcake?” I asked. “You know fruitcakes can be stashed in a closet for years without, well, losing a thing.”

  “I may have marinated a bit, but that just makes me tastier.” She smirked. “Anyway, a fish with scales on her boobs should never insult fruit. Let’s go visit your Udderly Haunted Barn of Horrors, see what you and your beaus think is scary.”

  I’d been looking forward to Mollye experiencing our spooky soundtrack and pop-up ghouls. I kinda hoped our surprises might shrivel her grapes and brown her bananas.

  As we approached the entrance, a dozen people stumbled out of the barn. Some were running.

  “Gotta give you credit,” Mollye said. “Those folks look scared. You must have done one heck of a decorating job.”

  I shook my head. “Something’s very wrong.”

  Andy and Paint were nowhere in sight. At least one of them should have been manning the entrance and taking donations to beef up Carol’s campaign fund.

  I tried to run, too, though my tail-shortened steps made it feel like I was swimming upstream. As I passed one of the exiting couples, I caught a snatch of conversation. “Do you think he’s really dead?”

  I shuffle-hopped once I entered the twilight of the barn’s interior. While I knew the space like the back of my hand, the eerie lighting and creepy displays forced me to watch my step. I spotted a tall silhouette toward the back of the barn. Paint. The distinctive shape of his fake aerosol headpiece provided a positive ID.

  “Paint,” I yelled. “What’s happened? Is someone hurt?” My heart raced. Could someone have fallen and broken a neck in the darkness?

  Paint jerked off his head piece and flung it to the ground as I reached him. His face showed real shock. “It’s Zack. Andy just found him.” Paint nodded at the adjacent barn stall.

  I peered over the wooden divider. Zack’s body was spread-eagled, his head turned to the side, one foot bent in an unnatural position. His nose looked crooked, too. Then I saw a sliver of white bone peeking through.

  “Oh, no. Is he breathing?”

  Zack’s head was surrounded by a halo of blood that looked almost black under the dim, pumpkin lights strung from the hayloft. Blood—at least I assumed that’s what the blackish goo was—dripped from the long, slender tines of a pitchfork leaning against the barn wall.

  Oh, my God. This was no accident.

  Andy knelt beside Zack’s body. “Someone attacked him with that pitchfork,” he said as he looked up at Paint and me. “Think it broke his clavicle, and there’s a deep gash in his scalp. His nose may have broken when he fell. He’s lost a lot of blood. We need an ambulance. Fast. Brie, call 911.”

  I patted my hip where my cell phone was normally parked in a pocket. “Oh, no. I don’t have my cell.” Again I cursed my skimpy costume.

  “No worries.” Mollye wheezed. Focused on Zack’s crumpled form, I hadn’t heard my friend come up behind me.

  She yanked a phone from a fold in the bosom of her costume. “Last spring, I developed a real fondness for cell phones. Always keep mine handy,” she added as she waited for emergency dispatch to pick up.

  “What can I do?” I asked.

  “I saw Dr. Bowman earlier,” Paint answered. “Go find him. He can help Andy till the ambulance comes.”

  “Good idea. Go,” Andy urged.

  Mollye squinted into the darkness. “Think the attacker’s still here?” Her voice wavered. “He could be hiding.”

  “Probably long gone,” Paint answered. “I hustled everyone I could find out of here. But I’ll keep watch. Don’t worry about us. Just go.”

  “Ambulance is on its way,” Mollye chimed in as she put away her phone. “Should be here in five minutes. They were right down the road. I’ll wait for them outside.”

  “Be careful. Don’t take any chances,” I said as I wriggled out of my mermaid tail. I needed to move faster than a waddle. I exited the barn and raced toward the center of the crowd, naked legs pumping, loose strands from my long blonde wig whipping my face. The whistles and catcalls barely registered. A few raised cell phones in my direction. The sequined mask that extended from my forehead to my cheeks chafed, but I wasn’t about to take it off. I ran faster hoping to appear as an indistinct streak if anyone tried to post to Instagram.

  A familiar plaid shirt came into view. “Eva. Hold up,” I yelled.

  Oh, hog jowls. Carol stood right beside my gun-toting aunt. I couldn’t just blurt out that Carol’s only son was unconscious and bleeding on the barn floor.

  “What’s wrong?” Eva demanded, eyes wide as she stared at me decked out in what looked like a stripper’s spangled costume.

  “Someone’s injured. It’s bad, real bad.” My words tumbled on top of each other. “Andy’s with him. An ambulance is on the way. We were hoping Dr. Bowman could help. Have you seen him?”

  Eva pointed. “Over there. The tiger costume.”

  I turned to run, but an iron grip on my forearm stopped me. “It’s Zack, isn’t it?”

  How did Carol guess? Had I given it away when I tried to avoid her eyes?

  I nodded. “Yes. I’m so sorry.”

  “How? What?” Anguish creased the widow’s face.

  “Sorry I don’t know more. Andy and Paint are with him. They’re in t
he barn.”

  Carol’s hand dropped and she took off in an awkward jog. She shuddered as sobs racked her body. She stumbled and fell to her knees.

  Eva caught up and helped her to her feet. “It’ll be all right,” she whispered. My aunt repeated the words, over and over like a prayer. The incantation echoed in my head as I sprinted on. I had a mission. Shanghai the doctor, take him to the barn. I was glad I had a duty that let me flee Carol’s anguish.

  Eva said that Zack’s car crash twenty years ago had almost done Carol in.

  Would losing him now be any easier?

  Please, lord, let Zack live. Let it be all right.

  SIX

  Dr. Bowman and I hustled to the back of the barn. Paint and I scrunched into a neighboring stall to stay out of the way.

  “How’s he doing?” Dr. Bowman asked as he joined Andy, kneeling on the opposite side of Zack’s body.

  “Pulse is thready, and his breathing’s awfully labored,” Andy answered. “I felt inside his mouth. No obstruction. There’s a big knot on the back of his head, next to the gash. Someone walloped Zack good. I’d bet on a concussion.”

  A stray noise made me jump. Couldn’t help it. I looked up to scan the barn’s dark recesses and the overhead loft.

  “How long till the ambulance arrives?” the doc asked.

  “Should be here any minute,” Paint said.

  “Good.” The doc turned to look up at us. “Paint, bring the ambulance crew back here, and make sure only EMT and law enforcement come inside.”

  His order brought home an unwelcome fact: our barn had become a crime scene.

  “We need to wait for the EMTs to move him in case there’s a spinal injury,” Dr. Bowman said as he took Zack’s pulse. “He’s lost quite a bit of blood. I’m worried there may be injuries we can’t see.”

  The doc barely finished his sentence when we heard sirens. A minute later, Paint ushered in two double-timing paramedics.

  Doc Bowman and Andy exited the stall so the first responders could cradle Zack’s head and roll him onto a stretcher. His limp body and blanched face didn’t look like they belonged to the healthy, hardy Zack who’d punched Chester an hour ago.

  “How long has he been unconscious?” one of the paramedics asked.

  “I’m not sure. I found him about fifteen minutes ago,” Andy answered.

  The second EMT motioned toward the Halloween decorations and feed buckets littering the floor. “Help me move this stuff. We need a clear path to the ambulance.”

  When they wheeled Zack outside, Mollye and I followed at a respectful distance. I spotted Eva and Carol. They’d pushed their way through the crowd of gawkers. When Carol saw her son, she broke from my aunt’s side and raced to Zack.

  Carol cringed at the sight of her son’s damaged face. “Oh, my God, he’s dying, isn’t he?”

  “No, Carol,” Dr. Bowman soothed. “I saw no indication Zack’s heart or lungs are damaged. Your son’s in tip-top physical shape. He has everything going for him.”

  Carol tugged hard on the sleeve of a first responder. “Please, I need to ride with him.”

  “Ma’am, I’ll let you ride up front,” the paramedic answered.

  I recognized him from our brief encounter last spring. Steve? I glanced at his name tag. Yes. Kind and competent Steve.

  “I need room in the back of the ambulance to move around,” Steve explained. “That will let me do everything possible to help your son.”

  “I’ll be at the hospital as soon as I can,” Eva called to Carol as she scrambled into the ambulance’s front passenger seat.

  Carol didn’t even look back.

  As the ambulance pulled away, a sheriff’s cruiser slid into the space it left near our haunted barn. Two men jumped out—Sheriff Kyle Mason, and Deputy Danny McCoy, Mollye’s sometime boyfriend. The new sheriff, a no-nonsense, spit-and-polish professional, appeared to be the exact opposite of his corrupt predecessor, who was now serving a prison sentence.

  The sheriff spotted Eva and hurried toward her. As he huddled with my aunt, another cruiser arrived, and two more deputies joined the law enforcement gaggle. Eva pointed the sheriff toward our Udderly Haunted Barn of Horrors gang.

  The temperature had dropped below fifty, and goosebumps decorated my all-too-exposed appendages. I wouldn’t have been surprised to see icicles dangling from the tawdry remnants of my mermaid costume.

  I’d discarded my scratchy half-mask and blonde wig after escorting Dr. Bowman inside the barn. The wig had turned my scalp into an itchy swamp. My newly freed damp curls probably made me look like a Betty Boop stripper.

  So far, none of the men had offered me a jacket. Then again, how could they? Andy was wearing a full-body beagle suit, and Paint was encased in a red cylinder with footies. Now that Paint had discarded his aerosol hat, he looked like a grizzled toddler in a scarlet onesie.

  As soon as the sheriff finished with us, I planned to run to the cabin and put on real clothes. If that didn’t happen soon, I’d steal a blanket from Eva’s horse. At this point, warmth more than trumped odor.

  Two more cruisers pulled up, ejecting four more deputies into the on-scene excitement. The sheriff rushed over to our first-on-the-scene group. “Eva says you found the victim in a stall at the back of the barn. Did anyone see the attack?”

  “No,” Andy answered. “Unfortunately. I don’t even know how long Zack was unconscious and bleeding before I found him.”

  “Any possibility the attacker’s still inside?”

  “It’s possible,” Paint answered. “I tried to search, but it’s dark and there are places to hide, especially in the loft.”

  “Danny, take those men with you, check it out, and secure the crime scene,” the sheriff ordered. “Now let’s hear the who, what, and where. Who found the victim?”

  “I did,” Andy replied. “Paint and I were working the entrance to the Haunted Barn, which was also the exit. We charged twenty-five dollars per person to enter. Then, when folks got ready to leave, we tried to hit them up for an exit fee. All in good fun. No one really had to pay to get out.

  “Anyway, Zack wanted to see our handiwork. He peeled off two hundred-dollar bills as his entry fee. Paint and I were busy chatting up Haunted Barn customers, so maybe half an hour went by before we realized Zack hadn’t come out.”

  “You went in after him?” the sheriff interrupted. “Where’d you find him?”

  “First time through, I didn’t see him,” Andy said. “On my second circuit I realized the pitchfork I’d duct-taped to our scarecrow was missing. Then I peeked in the stall behind the dummy. The lighting was poor. Zack was sprawled face down, the pitchfork stuck in his body, up near his shoulder. For a second, I thought Zack was pulling my leg. Then I came closer and saw the blood.”

  The sheriff’s eyes narrowed. “Isn’t it kind of odd that no one saw or heard the attack with so many people inside the barn?”

  Paint shrugged. “It was dark. The soundtrack we ran through the speakers played loud screams, rattling chains, groans. Even if Zack yelled or moaned, people probably assumed it was part of our scary audio. Whoever did this could have waited for a window of opportunity when no one was around. Most people came through in groups. It wasn’t a steady stream.”

  The sheriff turned back to Andy. “What’d you do after you discovered the body?”

  Sheriff Mason sounded brusque. I understood. Time mattered. Plus a media feeding frenzy seemed inevitable given that someone had tried to maim or maybe kill a pro-football quarterback worth millions to his team. The fact that Zack was the son of a gubernatorial candidate would add to the turmoil. Reporters would be all over the sheriff and his investigation.

  Andy sighed. “I pulled the pitchfork out of Zack’s shoulder and leaned it against the stall so I had room to assess his condition. I’m a veterinarian with medical training. Zack was my
main concern, not evidence. I checked his pulse and breathing and tried to staunch the blood from his head wound.”

  “Did you leave him to get help?”

  “No. I heard a noise. Then a giggle. Saw shadows. Realized it was a couple of girls just a few feet away. I jumped up and yelled. They just giggled some more. Thought it was part of our haunted fright skit. I yelled louder. Probably swore. Told ’em it was for real, and a man was going to bleed to death if they didn’t move it. Swore again and told ’em to go get the man collecting entrance fees.”

  Paint nodded. “The girls were hysterical when they found me. Couldn’t make sense of what they were saying. So I went to find Andy. Once I saw Zack, I cleared everyone out of the barn. Didn’t want someone else to be attacked.”

  Danny exited the barn. “We didn’t find anyone inside.”

  The sheriff turned back to Paint. “Could the attacker be one of the people you chased out of the barn?”

  Paint pinched the bridge of his nose; his eyes closed. “Guess it’s possible. Most of the folks seemed to be with friends. Afraid I just assumed the attacker was some crazy loner.”

  The sheriff’s gaze roamed over the barn. “Can you put together a list of the people who went into the barn before the attack?” He doffed his hat and used a handkerchief to swipe at his almost bald head. Sweat beaded on his forehead despite the evening chill.

  Paint’s head dropped and his shoulders slumped. “’Fraid not, Sheriff. Most people wore costumes and masks. I could ID maybe a third of them. Tonight’s guests were a real mix. Even without disguises, I wouldn’t have known quite a few of them. We didn’t take names, just money.”

  “Terrific,” Sheriff Mason grumbled. “How many possibles are we talking about?”

  “At least forty people paid to come in,” Andy said. “Like Paint, I didn’t keep track. Not sure it matters. Zack’s attacker didn’t have to arrive or leave through the front of the barn. We barricaded the back door with hay bales, but it would have been easy to sneak through a window. The first people I’d interview are those crazies who follow Chester Finley.”