by Mae Clair
“I know all about trolls and ogres,” Derrick said proudly. “Ron told me about it. But Dad doesn’t like Halloween anymore.”
“I thought you wanted to find your cousins.” Caith redirected the conversation with minimal effort.
Derrick nodded eagerly. “Then can we go on the hayride?”
Taking Veronica’s hand, Caith slipped it into the crook of his arm. “Sure, partner. Let’s go.”
They located the story tent as the latest session was breaking up. Noah and Matt had just finished passing around chunks of egg-coated Jello, rumored to be vulture eyes in the dark. Wound up from the storytelling, the boys immediately cornered Derry and shared how cool and disgusting it was to hold the slimy globs in their hands. After a few moments of general confusion, the kids all talking at once, Derrick turned to his grandfather. “Are you going with us on the hayride, Grandpa?”
“No, I’ve got to find your grandmother. She’s helping Aunt Melanie with the pumpkin painting.” Caith’s father tugged the bill of Derrick’s ball cap, giving it a firm jerk over his eyes. “You have a good time, kiddo, and stick with your dad.” He gave a short ruffle to Matt and Noah’s hair, said good-bye to Veronica, and then glanced awkwardly at Caith. “See you Sunday.”
When Caith didn’t respond, Veronica elbowed him in the ribs. Scowling, he grunted something resembling an acknowledgment. As his father left, Caith steered the small group toward the hayride. Derrick, Matt, and Noah raced a short distance ahead, grinning at the costumed performers who wove through the crowd.
“They’re having a great time.” Veronica kept her hand firmly hooked in the crook of Caith’s arm as they walked. “They remind me of you, Merlin, and Trask when you were kids. Maybe a little younger.”
“They need some scrawny girl to balance things out.” Caith grinned at her, amused by the gleam in her eyes. “You were pretty good at keeping the three of us in line. Trask used to say—” He stopped abruptly, stung by the thought of his dead friend.
Veronica tightened her grip on his arm. “I miss him, too, Caith.”
“It’s not the same.”
“I know.”
Her eyes were soft when she looked at him, and for a moment, he imagined something beyond concern. Something that hinted she felt the same about him as he did her. It was all too quick, much too fleeting.
“You knew him a long time before you knew me,” she said.
Caith exhaled. “I can’t remember not knowing him. He was always there from the time our kindergarten teacher put us together at the same activity table. Sometimes, he was more like a brother than Merlin. I think about what he’d be like now…if he’d lived.”
“Caith Breckwood!” He jerked as the name exploded behind him. Surprised, he turned to the sound of pounding footfalls. A tall, solidly built blond-haired man bore down on him at full tilt.
“Hey, I thought that was you.” The newcomer caught Caith’s hand in a firm grip. “I see Kelly splashed your name all over the Herald. So you’re a cop now?”
“Was.” It took Caith a moment to realize he was talking to Nick Fontaine, Kelly Rice’s ex-husband, and the man she’d dumped him for in high school. “I’m a private investigator. Thanks to Kelly, that’s not a secret anymore.”
“Yeah, she does like to twist the knife. I got it firsthand in our divorce.” Nick grinned and gave Veronica a quick nod. “I saw Ron here first—how ya doin’?—and figured it had to be you with her. Veronica Kent and Caith Breckwood. Kind of like old times.”
Caith glanced aside, scanning for Derrick, making sure his son and two nephews were only a step away. “It’s Lairen. Caith Lairen.”
Nick snorted. “Maybe in Boston. You come to Coldcreek, you’re a Breckwood. Your family owns the whole fucking town.”
Caith was uncertain what to make of Nick’s broad grin. Normally when people talked about Breckwood money and influence, it wasn’t in a flattering light. He flicked a glance through the crowd, conscious of Derrick and his cousins digging into their bags of candy corn, of the milling press of people. The throng made him uncomfortable.
You come to Coldcreek, you’re a Breckwood. Your family owns the whole fucking town.
He might as well have hung a neon sign on his chest. His unusual name, his resemblance to his father, Kelly’s article… If there was anyone who didn’t know who he was, they had their head under a rock. He looked around for Derrick.
Derrick Lairen. Derrick Breckwood. It didn’t make a difference. His son’s uncanny resemblance to him marked Derrick as a target for anyone devious enough to use a small boy for extortion.
The astringent scent of model glue overrode the aroma of caramel apples and spicy barbeque.
“Sorry, Nick. I gotta get going. I’m taking my son to the hayride.” Moving beside Derrick, he dropped a hand on the boy’s shoulder, a warning to anyone lurking in the crowd to stay away. He’ll never suffer what I did.
Nick didn’t seem to realize anything was wrong. “Sure. You take care of yourself. Hey, before I forget…one of those ghouls in costume asked me to give you this.” He pressed a scrap of paper into Caith’s hand and grinned. “Wait till I tell the other guys I saw you.”
Caith wasn’t sure who the “other guys” were, but didn’t care. He wanted to get free of the crowd and get Derrick into the wagon where there were less people and less chance of his son being stolen away. He was overreacting, the long dormant sense of panic kicking into high-gear, but couldn’t choke it down. The reek of model glue was overpowering.
“Caith, is something wrong?” Veronica’s eyes were wide with worry.
He stuffed the paper into his pocket. “Do you smell anything?”
Puzzled, she paused. “Barbeque. And french fries.”
“And glue.” Noah grinned as though it were a game. “I smell glue like the kind you use to build plastic airplanes.”
Frazzled, Caith scraped a hand through his hair. “I thought I was imagining it. Veronica, stay with the boys.”
He sprinted a short distance beyond the light-illuminated fringe to an area of bordering shadow. It was difficult to see but he focused on the scent, closing his mind to the memories the odor conjured. After five minutes of hunting through the grass, his hand encountered something sticky and wet. Caith nearly gagged when he passed his fingers beneath his nose.
Glue.
There was no tube, just a huge loose mound as though someone had dumped a quart of it in the grass. He wiped his hands on his jeans, but the wind shifted and the odor struck him full in the face. Lurching backward, he choked down a wave of nausea.
“Caith.” Veronica caught his arm as he stumbled onto the lighted midway. “What’s wrong?”
Bending double, hands on knees, he waited for the clean air to absorb the odor.
“Dad, you okay?” Derrick looked worried, his blue eyes abnormally large beneath his ball cap.
Caith shot him a reassuring grin, able to breathe again. “Yeah, partner, I’m okay. How about we go on the hayride now?”
A little subdued, Derrick nodded. As they started walking, the boys in front, Veronica slipped her hand into his. “There’s something you’re not telling me.”
How the hell did he explain a glob of glue in the grass? He’d sound like an idiot. He wanted to go back, scan the area for tracks, trampled earth, footprints. But it was dark, and countless people had trooped across the fields in the last few days, especially tonight. Someone must have dumped the glue when he was talking to Nick. If Merlin was the only person who knew the scent triggered reactionary panic in him, and if Merlin wasn’t involved, how did he account for tonight and the incident at his parents’ home?
“Caith, you’re worrying me.”
Veronica watched him, her brows drawn together in an anxious frown. He found himself grateful for her concern. Last night, she’d closed a door in his face; now she walked with her hand twined in his.
“Guess I’m not used to being a Breckwoo
d again.”
It was partially true. Walking through the crowd, he saw people looking at him, glancing over their shoulders. Once he heard someone whisper, “That’s the one Kelly wrote about in her column.”
Kelly Rice, prom queen. She’d dumped him in high school and was making his life difficult now. Caith slung his arm over Veronica’s shoulder and tugged her close. “I don’t do well with attention.” He brushed his lips against her temple, lowering his voice to an intimate murmur. “Unless it’s in private.”
Her back went rigid. “We’re friends, Caith. Enjoying each other’s company. Let’s keep it at that.”
They’d reached the line for the hayride. The boys returned to their previous state of exuberance, cutting short anything further he might have said. Caith dug out his wallet, bought five tickets and three glow sticks for the boys, and then remembered the scrap of paper Nick Fontaine had given him. What had he said? Some ghoul in costume asked me to give this to you. A member of the drama club? Or someone who’d arrived in costume, hoping to blend in?
He pulled the paper from his pocket and creased it open. Typed words became visible as he tilted it toward the light.
If you want to know who’s responsible for what’s happening at Stone Willow, meet me behind the Jade Club. Monday night,10:00.
There was no signature, no name of any kind, but he hadn’t expected one.
“Dad, it’s our turn.” Derrick tugged on his arm, pulling him toward an empty wagon. A man in a scarecrow costume was directing passengers where to sit. Dressed in ragged coveralls with a straw wig and tattered hat, he assisted a mother and child into the wagon. Caith stuffed the note into his pocket. Despite the painted face and triangular-shaped eyes, there was something familiar about the ride attendant.
“Dad.” Restless, Derrick danced a few steps ahead.
The scarecrow waved them forward. “Move it, Caithelden. You’re holding up the line.”
“Merlin?”
Laughing, Veronica covered her mouth with her hands. “Oh, that’s priceless! I wish I had my camera.”
“Don’t worry. Melanie took plenty of pictures after she got done stuffing me into this outfit. This is the thanks I get for having a friend who supplied the wagons.”
Caith grinned. “So that would be your buddy the Tin Man?”
If there hadn’t been children around, Caith was sure Merlin would have flipped him the finger. But there was no rancor in his reply, just the comfortable boasting of one brother to another. “You ain’t in Kansas anymore, Caith. Get your butt in the wagon.”
If Merlin was here, he couldn’t possibly have dumped the glue. Could he?
Still grinning, Caith lifted the boys in, helped Veronica, then climbed in himself. Serving as makeshift seats, hay bales lined both sides of the wagon and the area behind the driver’s station. Within minutes, the driver boarded, pausing to relay a somber warning that ghosts and ghouls haunted the grounds. He gave a snap to the reins, sending the wagon’s horse down a dimly lit path, its harnesses jangling. Green glow sticks bobbed in the darkness as children turned eager faces toward the fields, hoping to catch a glimpse of a ghostly apparition.
Fog billowed from the ground and a garishly deformed creature lunged from the darkness. There were shrieks and screams as a series of flash pots erupted, piercing the fog with bursts of light. The illumination faded quickly and the creature was swallowed by shadow, trailing sinister laughter amplified through hidden speakers.
“That was so cool!” Derrick immediately turned to his cousins, and the three began mimicking how the creature had looked, making growling sounds and curling their hands into claws. Another blast of light came within minutes, sending the boys scrambling to see.
“You’re shivering.” Caith wrapped an arm around Veronica and pulled her close.
“I guess I should have worn a heavier coat.”
“There’s nothing that says two friends can’t keep one another warm, is there?”
She tensed briefly, then relaxed against him. Permission enough, he shifted, positioning himself behind her rather than beside her. Bracing one arm across her chest at shoulder height, he held her snugly, a trifle too intimate for friendship. Rather than protest, she rested her head on his chest. Together, they watched the boys react with laughter and delighted yells as the hayride progressed.
“Aren’s done a good job,” Caith observed when the ride neared its end.
Veronica tilted her head to look at him. “Aren’s perfect, didn’t you know that?”
“A perfect pain in the ass.”
She chuckled, settling more comfortably against his chest. “You’re just jealous. Two brothers completely unalike. It’s the same with you and Derry. He looks like you, but he’s totally different in personality.”
“You mean because he never shuts up?” Caith grinned, his question laced with affection.
Veronica smiled. “He’s outgoing. You were always quiet, thoughtful. Merlin was the one who made friends, but you were the one who kept them.”
For some reason, her words hit hard. You were the one who kept them. He hadn’t kept Trask. He was responsible for getting Trask killed. Six more days would bring the seventeenth anniversary of his friend’s death. Halloween. He usually passed it with a bottle of scotch after Derrick had gone to bed, the only night of the year he drank hard liquor. The only day he set out to get intentionally plastered.
He hugged Veronica closer. “I’m not the best at keeping friends. I almost lost you.”
Her hand closed over his. She was silent a long time. “But you didn’t,” she said softly.
Chapter 11
Veronica tossed restlessly. The sweet scent of roses drifted from the dresser and wafted over her as she lay in bed. The jagged silhouette of the bouquet sprouted from her favorite cut-crystal vase, outlined in a faint glimmer of moonlight. The fourteenth rose, the one Caith had given her tonight, lay on the nightstand at her side. Tomorrow, she’d press the flower in a book, saving it as a treasured memento of their evening together as friends.
When the hayride had ended they’d taken the boys to the corn maze, then back to the story tent. By then, all three had been clamoring for barbeque and french fries, and Veronica had admitted she could eat something as well. Caith had found them a warm place inside one of the picnic tents, then returned later, his arms loaded with food and drinks.
He hadn’t said anything more about what bothered him, but she’d known he was holding something back. Something about glue, and the scrap of paper Nick had given him.
When the evening ended, he had left Derry with Aren and drove her back to the lodge. Sweet and accommodating, he’d been a perfect gentleman. The same way he’d behaved all evening. As a result, she felt it only fair to tell him she and Merlin had decided to be friends. He’d merely nodded and kissed her good-night, a chaste peck on the cheek before retiring to his suite on the third floor.
Had she wanted him to kiss her? Had she wanted him to try?
Frustrated, she rolled onto her side. It was easy to recall the way his body moved with hers when they’d been together. She’d wanted him, still wanted him. She just didn’t trust him to love her. He’d be leaving soon, a week, maybe two. Would he call from Boston? Would he ask her to visit?
The creak of a floorboard brought her thoughts to a shuddering halt. Someone was in the bedroom.
A spike of alarm rocketed from her head to her toes. Tensing, she lay still, barely daring to breathe. Eyes narrowed to tiny slits, she searched for any glimpse of an intruder in the darkness. From the corner of her eye, she spied a flash of gray shadow by the window, fleeting and quick. Lurching from the bed, she groped for the lamp, her heart hammering wildly.
Yellow light flooded the room. It took a moment for her eyes to adjust and her breathing to spiral into something controllable. Relief surged through her as she registered the cause of the disturbance. “Stupid cat. You scared the daylights out of me.”
Feeling foolish for her earlier panic, Veronica bent and scratched the cat behind its ears. “How did you get in here?”
The answer hit her immediately. Someone was in the lodge. Someone who wasn’t supposed to be there. After the last occurrence with the basement doors, Caith had made Lew install a heavy padlock. Even with that extra precaution, someone had found a way inside, and the cat had followed on their heels.
As if in confirmation of her suspicions, a woman’s chill scream echoed shrilly from the lobby.
* * * *
The pattern was becoming all too familiar—sitting annoyed, helpless, and frightened while police officers trooped through the lodge. Merlin had arrived with Stuart and Galen with Aren on their heels. Kelly Rice would have a field day with the headlines: “Halloween Nightmare at Stone Willow Lodge.”
It wasn’t the shattered pumpkins that bothered Veronica, or the cow’s blood splattered everywhere through the lobby. Even the couches, covered with manure, could be replaced. It was the thing hanging from the beamed ceiling—at first glance a woman dangling from a noose. Alma had found it on the way to the kitchen for a late-night snack, her blood-curdling scream waking everyone in the lodge.
The unknown intruder had dressed the dummy in clothes similar to those Veronica had worn to the hayride. They’d scrawled her name in cow’s blood on a piece of white cardboard and roped it around the dummy’s neck. At least the police thought it was cow’s blood. According to Duke Cameron, a farmer had called earlier to report one of his heifers had been slaughtered and drained. In the end, it came down to a single ugly truth—some sick bastard had hung her effigy from the rafters of Stone Willow.