The Skeleton Haunts a House

by Leigh Perry

  “There weren’t any,” Hector said. “These are mine.”

  Now that I got a closer look, I could see he was wearing regular black jeans, while the top was a cheap grade of cotton.

  Remembering Brownie’s cover story, which was much better than the ones I came up with, I said, “I guess the purse snatcher ditched the costume so he couldn’t be identified. And if you really were out of town last weekend—”

  “I was, I swear. You can call my mom.” He actually rattled off the phone number, which I dutifully entered into my phone. While I had the phone out, I quickly texted a message to my family.

  Found ninja. Not our guy. Will explain later.

  “One other thing,” I said. “The cops have been looking for a ninja who was seen in McHades Hall last weekend when that girl was killed.”

  “Wow, I heard about that. But it wasn’t me!”

  “The cops still might be interested in hearing about how you ended up with that costume.”

  “But if you don’t mind, keep the purse snatching on the down low. We like to take care of these things ourselves.” Brownie cracked his knuckles again.

  “Okay, I guess,” Hector said, and I figured it was unlikely that he’d say anything to the cops. That was fine with me, actually—I’d only brought it up to soothe my conscience. Then he glanced behind me and said, “Oh man, there she is!”

  Brownie and I turned and saw a young woman in a skeleton costume, but her outfit was nothing like mine.

  The top was a strapless bodice with a ribcage painted on, and the tulle skirt was more of a tutu than anything else. She had stockings like mine, but hers stopped at the thigh, and she had a skull-themed domino mask. I think it was what Halloween catalogs call a Sexy Skeleton costume, and in my opinion, those are two words that should never be used together.

  “Hector!” She started in our direction.

  “Soda Pop,” Brownie said, “why don’t you take our boy out the back way as a little apology for knocking him down?”

  “On it,” she said, and grabbed Hector’s arm to pull him into the shadows. It was the most ninja-like thing I’d seen all night.

  “Don’t worry—she’ll get him out,” Brownie said. “And in case you were wondering, not all carnies can pick pockets. Soda Pop is working up a magic act, and she’s been practicing.”

  “That’s good to know.”

  Bailey huffed up to us and said, “Where did Hector go?”

  “Who?” Brownie asked.

  “The guy in the ninja suit. He was right here.”

  “Oh, right, Hector,” I said. “You know, I’m pretty sure he doesn’t want to get back together with you.”

  “What? Who said anything about getting back together? That loser broke up with me in a text. A text!”

  “Wow, that’s cold. But if you don’t want to get back together with him, why are you looking for him?”

  “I wasn’t looking for him. I have to go to the bathroom. I just thought that if I saw him I could give him back the ring he left in my dorm room, but if he’s telling people I’m chasing him, I’m going to drop the thing in the porta-potty.”

  “Tell you what,” I said. “Why don’t you give the ring to me, and I’ll take it to the student center? He works there, doesn’t he?”

  “I guess I could do that. I mean his father gave the ring to him, so it’s kind of important. No reason to lower myself to his level, right?”

  “Right.”

  She dug around in a shoulder bag to produce a gold-colored signet ring with a G engraved on it, then hesitated. “How do I know you’re not going to just sell it?”

  “I’m a professor at McQuaid,” I said, and went into my own bag to find my faculty ID. “I don’t exactly look like the picture right now, but this is me. Or if you’d rather, you can take the ring to him yourself. Just don’t throw it away, okay?”

  She considered it, then handed the ring to me. “No, you do it. I don’t want Hector thinking I’m making excuses to see him.”

  “I’ll get it to him as soon as possible.”

  She nodded and picked out a porta-potty to go into.

  “Nice,” Brownie said. “You saved his ring.”

  “And gave myself an excuse to go see Hector.”

  “Georgia, you have unexpected depths.”

  “Did I come off as shallow before now?”

  “Not at all. Just different. Do you have any other suspects we can chase? This was fun.”

  I wasn’t sure if he was making fun of me or not, but he didn’t seem to be. “Unfortunately no. My partner will let me know if anything else arises.”

  “Your partner? Tell me you’re not talking about Charles.”

  “No, not Charles. Not that he wouldn’t give it his best if asked.”

  “Would this be a romantic partner as well as an investigative one?”

  “Definitely not.”

  “Good. Then would you care for a stroll around the carnival?”

  “Yes, I would.” I knew Sid would be annoyed that I’d abandoned my post, but I didn’t have any more leads to follow anyway. He or somebody else would text me if anything came up, and in the meantime, why shouldn’t I enjoy the carnival, especially in the company of a man with gorgeous blue eyes?

  We started at the games, not to play, but so Brownie could show me how they were subtly gaffed.

  “See the basketball hoop? From the front it looks round, but actually it’s oval, which is why it’s hard to get the ball in.”

  “Sneaky.”

  “And the balloons on the dart toss? They aren’t inflated all the way, which is why they’re hard to pop. If you aim for the tighter ones, and also arc up in your throw, you’ve got a better shot.”

  “What about the fact that your darts are crap?” I’d dated a serious darts player once, and we spent a lot of time at pubs.

  “It’s not a tournament target—it’s a balloon.”

  “Fair enough. What about the duck pond? Is there some way you force ducks on people like magicians do with card tricks?”

  “Nope, everybody is a winner. It’s just that out of a hundred ducks, ninety win slum—”

  “They win what?”

  “Cheap prizes bought in bulk. Whistles, friendship bracelets, stuff like that. Anyway, of the other ten, eight are the next level up of prize and only two are flash prizes. Everybody wins, just not very much. Now in a rigged show, they’ll let a plant win the flash, then pretend to throw the grand prize duck back into the water when what they’ve really done is throw in another dud. We don’t do that here. Our games are fair, as long as you pay attention. Want to play one?”

  “No way,” I said. “I spent nearly fifty bucks winning my daughter a stuffed Powerpuff Girl doll a few years back, and my wallet has never been the same. Though I think I’ve still got the Scooby-Doo I got at this carnival when I was a little girl.”

  “You’re a sentimentalist.”

  “Or a pack rat. I wouldn’t be if I didn’t have my parents’ house to store stuff in. I’ve moved too often.”

  “I bet I’ve got you beat.”

  “Sure, but you take your house with you.”

  “Would you like to see it?”

  I wasn’t sure if that was an invitation just to view or to do something more active, but I wasn’t ready for either. “Maybe another time.”

  We strolled farther, and he bought us an enormous piece of fried dough but warned me against patronizing the chili and churro booth, not that the juxtaposition of those two items appealed anyway. As we munched, conversation turned toward work, and the aggravations of the adjunct life. At least I was talking about aggravations—Brownie was mostly listening.

  Eventually we reached the midway. “I like the way a midway sounds,” I said.

  “What? Loud pop music and screaming?”

>   “Okay, the music isn’t always great, but the screams are mostly happy screams. Usually babies and toddlers are the only ones who scream for joy. Anybody older than that is too self-conscious.”

  “What about teenagers at a concert?”

  “Equally loud, but carnivals have brighter lights, shorter lines for the bathrooms, and a better exit strategy. Once you’re in a teen idol concert, you’re stuck for hours.”

  “The voice of experience?”

  I nodded. “Do you enjoy the midway? Or are you sick of the rides?”

  “I only ride most of them to test them out, but I have one favorite. Want to see?”

  “Sure.”

  Given his earlier invitation, I wondered if he’d suggest a dark ride or a scream fest like the Matterhorn. Instead he led me to the Ferris wheel. It was a big one, and since it was featured in the show’s logo, I figured it was their centerpiece. I expected him to butt in line, but we politely waited our turn, though being the owner’s son had some perks. When we got to the front of the line, the tattooed young man with a World of Warcraft ball cap didn’t ask for tickets.

  “Georgia, this is Gameboy.”

  We exchanged pleased-to-meet-yous, and then he handed us into a gondola.

  As Gameboy checked that the gate was secured, Brownie said, “Don’t rush the trip, okay?”

  He gave us a knowing grin, and stepped back to start the ride moving.

  “Do this often, do you?” I asked.

  “If you mean coming onto the Ferris wheel, the answer is yes, at least once per stand. If you mean bringing a friend along, the answer is reserved.”

  “Fair enough.”

  I’ve never been a huge fan of Ferris wheels. Most of the ones I’ve ridden spend an endless time loading each gondola, meaning that you move a few feet, stop for loading, move a few feet, stop, and so on. But there weren’t many people riding this Ferris wheel, probably because it was chilly to be up in the open air, and presumably Brownie’s status as son-of-the-boss helped. We went around the whole way, only stopping at the very top.

  I wondered if Brownie would make a move once he had me all alone, but what he did was lean over and look down. “Hello, Pennycross.”

  I mirrored him. “This is a great view.”

  “Every town is different from above. Down below, you see all the similarities—the duplicate malls and McDonald’s and houses that could be anywhere in New England. Plus we set up the lot the same way every stand, or as close to it as we can given the space we’ve got. It’s hard to tell where we are. When I come up here, I can see the shape of the town.” He pointed toward downtown. “That’s the oldest section—look at how the buildings are clustered around that dark spot. Town square?”

  “Complete with a Civil War cannon. Not that there was fighting here. Somebody brought it home from the war as a souvenir.”

  “The cluster around the college is brighter, newer. How long has McQuaid been here?”

  “Founded in 1950.”

  “McQuaid Hall looks older than that.”

  “That’s because it predates the college. It was a defunct art school owned by the McQuaid family, and when somebody got the idea of creating a college, the McQuaids donated the building and grounds, along with some nasty strings.” I explained the odder provisions of the bequest. “What is it about making big donations that inspires people to add strings?”

  “If I ever have enough to give, I’ll try to be less picky,” Brownie said. “The more modern stuff is over there, by the highway. All those big box stores, and a mall.”

  “They aren’t very pretty from up here, are they?”

  “Not so much.”

  The wheel started downward.

  “Want to go around again?” Brownie asked.

  “Can we?”

  He gave Gameboy a thumbs-up as we reached the bottom, and up we went, stopping a quarter of the way from the top this time.

  “What else do you see?” I asked him.

  He looked straight down at the midway. “Lots of people at the games, which is good for us. The bounce house is deflating, which means it’s getting late enough that the younger kids have gone home. We have to close it or the partying college kids will go in, and since they’ve probably been drinking, at least one would barf in there. Nobody wants to clean that out.”

  “I can’t blame you for that.”

  “No line at the haunted house, even this close to Halloween—they’d rather go to McHades. There’s a long line at the popcorn stand, which means that JoJo is goofing off again. Look, my mother is going to read him the riot act.”

  Sure enough, I saw Dana Fenton striding in that direction, and even from above, her body language showed that she was not amused.

  “From the macro to the micro,” I said. The wheel started up again, but only went as far as the top before stopping. “And back to the macro.”

  This time Brownie leaned back and looked up at the sky. “This is the part of the view that gives me perspective.”

  I looked up, too. There were clouds around, and the lights of the town and the midway caused enough glare that I couldn’t see many stars, but the moon was full and bright. “I could use a little perspective.”

  “I kind of thought so.”

  “Have I been whining?”

  “Maybe a little. Can I ask you a question?”

  “Sure.”

  “Do you like your job?”

  “Of course.”

  He didn’t say anything.

  “Mostly,” I said. “I like the work, but being an adjunct is tough.”

  “Why don’t you do something else?”

  “I don’t know how to do anything else.”

  “Crap.”

  “Well, I could draw on my experiences to enter the exciting world of fast food.”

  “Don’t you have a doctorate?”

  “Sure, who around the adjunct office doesn’t? It doesn’t mean much.”

  “It means that you know how to learn, how to do research, and how to formulate an original thought. Apply that to another line of work.”

  “It’s not that simple.”

  “Probably not,” he agreed, “but it seems that way from up here.”

  “You can’t see my bills from up here. Or my daughter, who I adore, but who keeps me from being footloose or fancy-free. I don’t feel that I can take many chances with Madison depending on me.”

  “Is that why you’re chasing ninjas? Giving yourself a chance to take chances?”

  I stiffened, suddenly uncomfortable. I’d blithely eliminated Brownie from my list of possible murderers, but now I was feeling less sure. Being alone with him on top of a Ferris wheel didn’t feel as comfortable as it had seconds before.

  “Seriously,” he said, “why are you sticking your neck out?”

  “Why do you care?” I countered.

  “I’m curious. Most of the time you’ve seemed focused on your work, your daughter, and yeah, sometimes your troubles. The only time I’ve seen you color outside the lines is this murder stuff.”

  “Okay, now I don’t know if you think I’m really boring for doing my usual stuff, or a weirdo for my crayon techniques.”

  “Neither,” he said with a laugh. “Your focus is admirable, and if I had a kid as great as Madison must be, I’d give up a lot for her. As for the other, it’s intriguing. Kind of hot, really.”

  “Yeah?” Nobody had called me hot in a long time, except for that one boy at Madison’s high school, and that was just weird.

  “Definitely hot. But if you don’t want to talk about it, that’s okay.”

  The wheel started turning again, and I enjoyed the view for a few moments before deciding I should color outside the lines a bit more. “It’s complicated, but the short version is that my sister Deborah asked me to investigate an
d I don’t believe the girl who the police arrested is guilty.”

  “Who do you think it was?”

  “Maybe one of the other employees, or the real ninja, or some other customer. We’ve even been looking at the McQuaids.”

  “Why them?”

  “That bequest I told you about. It turns out there’s a missing heir.”

  “Really?”

  I nodded. “So we’ve got all kinds of theories.”

  “I still don’t understand why your sister wanted you to get involved.”

  “Would you believe that I’ve done this kind of thing before? And for some reason, I like it.”

  “I’ve seen you chasing a ninja while dressed as a calavera, so I’d believe just about anything about you.”

  That was said in such a nice way that I knew he meant it as a compliment, and it seemed like a great time for a kiss. Though Brownie’s touch was gentle, he warmed me all the way down to my toes. The second kiss was nice, too, and I’d have been willing to bet that the third would have been even better, but there was a squawk from Brownie’s walkie-talkie.

  “Hey, College Boy, how’s that ‘break’ going? You resting up there or wearing yourself out?”

  Brownie sighed, and looked down at the ground. His father was standing below us, grinning. “I’ve got to go back to work.”

  “So I see.”

  Treasure Hunt was waiting to open the gondola when we got to the bottom. “College Boy, you’ve got some makeup on your cheek.”

  Brownie put his hand against his cheek dramatically. “I’ll never wash it again.” Then he took my hand and kissed it. “Farewell, señorita. I’ll think of you every time I chase a ninja.”

  There was nothing I could say to that, so I pulled the flower from my hair, brushed it against my lips, and handed it to him. Then I glided away. At least I was trying for a glide, but I had to step over a spilled box of popcorn.

  Treasure Hunt, for once, had nothing to say.

  21

  McHades Hall was still doing blockbuster business when I got back there, and since neither my ninja chase nor my Ferris-wheel-granted perspective had provided investigational inspiration, I asked my parents if there was anything I could do for them. They nearly dragged me into the ticket booth so I could spell one and then the other for bathroom breaks, and then enlisted me to bring back food. My idea of adding food delivery service to my resume was looking better and better.