Death by Pumpkin Spice

by Alex Erickson

  Paul’s smile turned wistful. “I do,” he said, stinging me all over again.

  “Have you been dating long?”

  “A few months.” He actually reddened at that. “When we started to drift apart, I couldn’t stand it.” He started to sound unsure of himself, like he was as confused as I felt. “We didn’t really get to date, you and I. But I didn’t want to be alone, and since our relationship was going nowhere, I thought it might be me. I felt like I was the problem, that I ruined everything, so I decided to give Shannon a chance.” He paused and looked deep into my eyes. “I’m starting to wonder if I was too hasty.”

  “But you like her.” It wasn’t a question. I could see it in the way he talked about her, the way he looked at her.

  “I do.” He sighed.

  My head was spinning. The closet felt as if it was shrinking, and before long, we’d be crushed together, unable to breathe. We’d die, clutched in each other’s arms, suffocated by . . . what? A mutual affection turned sour? Our mistakes?

  Why do I suddenly wish the murderer was back?

  “Why are you telling me all of this?” I asked. My voice came out quiet, almost a whisper.

  Paul shook his head and shrugged. “I don’t know. We’re here. No one else is around. It struck me that I’d screwed up, that I didn’t give you a fair shake. I abandoned you when you needed me, all because of my own insecurities and fears. So, I’m apologizing. I see you with that other guy . . .”

  “Will,” I supplied.

  “Will.” Paul said his name with a sad smile. “He can make you happy.” He paused. “You do care about him, don’t you?”

  Was this a test of some sort? A legitimate question? Why did everything have to get so tangled up and confusing, just when I was starting to think I knew what I wanted?

  “I do,” I said. It felt like the temperature had risen a good twenty degrees since we’d first gotten trapped together. “But he’s not the only one I like.”

  The silence that fell right then wasn’t just uncomfortable, it was practically murderous. My breathing was fast, my heart was hammering. I couldn’t see straight, and there was a ringing in my ears that was making me dizzy.

  Paul didn’t look any better. His hand was hovering between us, seemingly lost in the void that had grown there over time. He looked confused, scared. Basically, he looked like I felt.

  “Paul . . .” I nearly choked on his name.

  Here we were, trapped in a closet together, where no one could see us or hear us. We could say and do anything we wanted and no one would be the wiser.

  The thought caused my heart rate to speed up. I felt myself move forward, an inch, maybe two. Paul looked up at me, longing and fear in his eyes.

  “Are you sure they went this way?”

  Buchannan’s voice broke the moment. Paul and I stared at each other, wide-eyed, as if we’d never seen one another before. Buchannan’s voice got louder, telling me he was coming our way. I sucked in a breath and, for a moment, was unable to speak or move.

  Do I really want this to end? Paul had been completely honest with me, and it had been one of the best moments of my night. It felt like everything that had happened did so to lead me to this moment.

  But was it really what I wanted?

  Both Paul and I turned and started beating on the door at the exact same moment.

  “John!” he shouted at the same time I yelled, “Buchannan!”

  His voice cut off. There was a moment of silence on the other side of the door; then the lock clicked. A second later, the door swung open. Buchannan stood there, grinning like a fool, Margaret Yarborough at his side.

  “Well, well, well,” he said. “Taking a little time out for personal reasons, are we?”

  “Can it,” Paul said before I could formulate a response. He was much kinder than I would have been. “Our suspect got away.”

  “He locked you in a closet?” Buchannan asked, glancing past us into the small space.

  “He shoved us from behind,” I said, a bit defensively. “We couldn’t help it there was a lock on the door.” I looked to Margaret, who only shrugged.

  “When Mrs. Yarborough found me, she told me you went after the killer?” Buchannan asked.

  Paul nodded. “Philip Carlisle. Fedora, horn-rimmed glasses, long coat. He might have ditched some of the attire, so you can’t go solely by that alone.”

  “I can’t believe Philip would have done such a thing,” Margaret said.

  “Wasn’t he assaulting you when we found him?” I asked, shocked that she could still want to defend him.

  “We had a . . . disagreement. We all have them.”

  I gaped at her, shocked. The man very well might have been about to seriously hurt her, and yet she refused to believe he could have killed someone, might have even killed her. Either she was too trusting, or he’d worked her over pretty good.

  “We need to find Mr. Carlisle,” Paul said, taking control of the situation. “Buchannan, take Mrs. Yarborough and find somewhere safe for her. Once she is secure, man the front door. No one is to leave.” He frowned. “We can’t cover all of the exits, so if you can convince some of the help to guard the other doors, it would be appreciated. Tell them not to try to stop him, but to find you or me and tell us the moment they see him. This man is dangerous.”

  “I can assist with that,” Margaret said. “They’ll listen to me.”

  Buchannan gave a curt nod and then turned to his charge. “Mrs. Yarborough, if you would.” She took his proffered elbow and they hurried down the hall, back toward the ballroom.

  “Go with them,” Paul said as I turned to ask him what he wanted me to do.

  “What?” I gasped in shock. After everything that was just said, he was going to do this to me? “I can help!”

  “You need to get somewhere safe. You saw what he did. You don’t need to be wandering the halls where he can find you.”

  “But . . .”

  “No.” He held up a finger and gave me a stern look. “This is not your job. You need to go back to the ballroom and stay there. I don’t want to have to worry about you while there is a killer on the loose.”

  My stubbornness kicked in then, and all of the good things we’d discussed in the closet became a distant memory. “I can help. You wouldn’t even know about his past if it wasn’t for me.”

  “Krissy, please.” He gave me a pleading look. “Don’t make this difficult. I’m thankful you helped identify the suspect, but leave the rest up to Buchannan and me. We’ll take care of it.”

  I wanted to continue to argue but realized it would do no good. Besides, Paul was right; the man was dangerous. I saw him take Paul down with a single open-palmed punch. If he got hold of me, there was no way I was going to be able to stop him from doing whatever he pleased.

  “Fine,” I said, pouting. I might have realized it was the right thing to do, but it didn’t mean I had to like it.

  Paul looked relieved. “Thank you,” he said. “Chances are good our suspect is long gone by now. There’s probably nothing to worry about, but I want you to be safe.”

  I nodded, still unhappy. Paul gave me a smile and, shockingly, touched my cheek. “I’ll see you in a bit.” And then he turned and hurried down the hall, checking rooms as he went.

  I stood there for a few long seconds before turning and doing what Paul wanted me to do. I’d done my part. I should be happy about that. For once, I’d helped without getting myself shot or choked. It was silly not to be overjoyed.

  But if that was the case, why did I feel so crappy?

  With a sigh, I trudged my way back to the ballroom to let the police do their job.

  23

  “I should be helping him look for him.”

  “No, Krissy, you shouldn’t.”

  I was standing with my friends, who were doing their best to console me. Lance and Jules were giving me sympathetic looks, as if they completely understood how I felt, though they weren’t willing to do or say anything to
goad me into action. Mason and Will were mostly staying out of it, contributing a few words here and there. It was Vicki who was steadfastly refusing to let me give in. She knew how much trouble I could get in, especially if I found the killer on my own.

  “You’ve done enough already,” she said at my pout. “You’ve gotten yourself hurt by chasing after the bad guy. I don’t think you should ever put yourself in that position again. It’s hard on all of us, worrying about you.”

  I huffed and glanced toward where Buchannan was standing near the front door, giving anyone who came close to him the stink eye. Igor was off covering some other exit. I was worried someone was going to get hurt, someone who had no experience dealing with a murderer. I should be the one watching a door or a window, not one of the help, and especially not the girls wearing those old waitress outfits.

  “But if two of us are looking for him, we can cover more ground,” I said. “This can be over so much faster and everyone can relax.”

  “You said it yourself not but ten minutes ago, he might already be gone,” Will said. “Don’t stress yourself out over this. It isn’t healthy.” He put an arm around my shoulder and squeezed.

  I looked down at his cane. He’d given it to me when I wouldn’t stop wringing my hands. Now, my fingers were clenched tightly around the wood, so hard it was a wonder it didn’t snap.

  “Officer Dalton can handle it,” Lance said. “And the other officer is watching the doors. We’re safe in here. Together.”

  I knew they were right, but I was having a hard time sitting still and waiting. Margaret Yarborough was across the room, surrounded by people with hands over their mouths, as if in shock as they listened to her relay what had happened. Looking at her only made me angrier. She shouldn’t have lied to us. If she’d come out and told the truth right away, we might already have Philip in custody.

  “Krissy . . .”

  I looked back to find Mason frowning at me.

  “Let it go.”

  I wanted to scream, wanted to run out of the room and search every last corner of the house, but what good would it do? I didn’t know where Paul was, where he had been. I’d be more likely to get myself killed than find the killer. Heck, finding Philip Carlisle was probably exactly how I’d get myself killed.

  Staying here was safer. Smarter. The right thing to do.

  “I’ll be back,” I said.

  “Krissy, no.” Vicki shook her head. “You are not going to go running around, getting yourself into trouble.”

  “I won’t leave the room.” Yet, I silently added. “There’s someone I want to talk to. It’ll keep my mind off what I’m not doing.”

  I’d noticed our resident Clark Gable, Terry Blandino, standing over by the refreshments. The food had stopped coming, so there wasn’t much left for him to pick through, but he was trying.

  “You sure, sweetie?” Jules asked. “You can always hang out with us.” The twinkle in his eye told me he knew exactly what I was planning.

  “I’m sure. I’ll be right over there.” I nodded toward the table.

  Vicki crossed her arms over her chest but couldn’t keep the crooked smile off her face. Like Jules, and apparently everyone in the room, she knew what I was doing. She might warn me off putting myself in dangerous positions, but she also knew it was in my nature to snoop. They’d have to tie me down to keep me away.

  I took a few steps away from Will. He frowned and then followed me over. “Krissy . . .”

  “I’ll be okay,” I said. “And I promise I’ll be good.”

  He looked worried, but smiled. “Please, be careful.”

  “I will.”

  “And don’t take too long, okay?”

  “I won’t.” On a sudden impulse, I stood on my tiptoes and kissed him on the cheek. Then I hurried away, pointedly not looking at the faces around me, especially Will’s. I didn’t know if he’d be smiling or looking more worried than ever. I had a feeling it might be a little of both.

  Terry was alone at the snack table, still picking through what little there was left. He had a plate in hand. A solitary grape rolled around on it, seemingly forgotten. He didn’t notice me until I was standing right next to him, and even then, he didn’t look my way until I cleared my throat.

  “Did you need something?” There was no hostility in his voice, just a sad resignation. I wasn’t sure if it was directed at me, or something else—his daughter perhaps.

  “Hi, Terry,” I said, putting on my best “We’re buddies!” smile. “How are you doing?”

  His brow furrowed. “Fine,” he said, wary now. “Why?”

  “You’ve heard about Philip Carlisle, right?” I asked, knowing he had. The entire ballroom was buzzing about it. “He’s on the run, but should be in custody soon.”

  Terry’s jaw clenched before he answered. “I’m not surprised he’s involved.”

  “How well did you know him? I saw you two fighting a few times now. I’m guessing you didn’t get along.”

  Terry slammed down his plate violently enough, the grape bounced onto the floor. “That is none of your business.”

  His tone was aggressive, yet I wasn’t going to give in. I was positive Terry knew more than he was letting on. “I’m pretty sure he killed Jessica Fairweather, and might have been planning to do the same to Margaret Yarborough. Is that why you were arguing?”

  “Philip and I had a disagreement.”

  “Over?”

  “That is none of your business,” he repeated, more forcefully this time.

  Eyes were starting to turn our way, but I pressed on. “What about Elaine Harmon?”

  Terry went still. “What about her?” His eyes flickered over my shoulder. I glanced back to see the girl in question standing against the wall, watching us while pretending she wasn’t.

  “She’s your daughter,” I said, turning back to him.

  He didn’t speak for a long moment. He stared at me hard enough, it felt like he was looking straight through me. He was breathing heavily, but in a controlled manner, telling me he was trying to rein in his temper. From what little I’d seen of him, I was guessing he had to do that a lot.

  “What does she have to do with anything?”

  “I don’t know,” I said. “But I find it interesting that she was wearing the same costume as Jessica Fairweather. And the man who murdered Jessica was seen arguing with you, not once, but at least twice. Tell me what you know. It could help.”

  “There’s no connection.” Harsh. Clipped.

  “Are you positive about that?” I pressed.

  “I am.” He clamped his teeth together hard enough, I heard them click.

  A new thought popped into my head. I’d assumed Terry had fought with Philip because he knew about the man’s past and was looking to protect not just his daughter, but Mrs. Yarborough. But what if that wasn’t it at all?

  I took a step toward him, stepping on the lonely grape in the process. “Elaine doesn’t know why she was invited here,” I said, keeping my voice low. “She doesn’t have the money or social standing to attend something like this.” Neither did I, but at least I knew where my invite had come from. “She was wearing the same dress as the victim. That can’t be a coincidence.”

  Terry’s eyes hardened. “You don’t know what you are talking about.”

  “Do you want to know what I think?” I asked, taking a quick peek at the table. There was nothing there Terry could use as a weapon, so as long as he didn’t have a machine gun under his jacket, I thought I was safe. I did tighten my grip on Will’s cane, just in case.

  “Enlighten me.” He crossed his arms.

  “I think you invited Elaine to the party yourself. You haven’t had a lot to do with your daughter, or your ex-wife, since the divorce. And then out of the blue, Elaine receives an invitation and is called and told to be here. So she comes to a party she has no business being at, with no one but you she knows, wearing a very distinctive outfit.”

  Terry glared at me then. I presse
d on, hoping he would break and confess to something, rather than break and try to strangle me instead.

  “You hired Philip Carlisle to kill her.” I was as blunt as I could be, hoping it would surprise him and cause him to slip. “You knew who he was, what he was rumored to have done in his past. What you didn’t realize was that he’d make a mistake. He saw Jessica dressed just as you described Elaine, and he took the opportunity to kill her. You were arguing with him, not because you were accusing him of murder, but because you were angry at him for killing the wrong person!”

  “You’re insane.”

  “Am I?” I asked, a satisfied smile quirking the corners of my mouth. “Am I really?”

  “Yes, you are.” Terry glanced around, cognizant of the eyes on us. “I didn’t invite Elaine here.”

  “Oh?” I asked, not buying it for a second. “Then who did?”

  “I don’t know.” He sighed. All of the strength seemed to go out of him then. Quite suddenly, he looked like a man tired of all of the pressures of his life—a man looking for a way out. “I was surprised when I saw her here,” he said. “I never would invite her to this snake pit.”

  “But you didn’t talk to her when you saw her, did you?”

  He winced. “I wanted to, but didn’t think she would want to have anything to do with me.” He closed his eyes for a second, as if fighting back tears. “I saw her, and then when I saw Philip, I immediately thought something was wrong. I didn’t know why he would want to hurt her, but feared he would. He isn’t a pleasant man. Since neither of them should have been here, I knew it couldn’t be a coincidence.”

  “So you confronted him about it,” I said. Maybe I was wrong about Terry. I found myself believing his every word, though that could simply mean he was a very good liar.

  “I did. I saw him talking to Margaret and, I don’t know . . .” He shrugged. “I wanted to warn her off of him, to tell him to leave. Then, later, I confronted him about the death of that poor girl. He acted like none of it bothered him. I didn’t know what his plan was, and still don’t, but as long as he left Elaine out of it, I didn’t care.”

  “If you were so worried about Elaine’s safety, why didn’t you go over to her? It’s easier to protect someone if they are by your side.”