“Sure, I can do by tonight, unless you need me hanging out at the station.”
“The Vice Squad can shoot the breeze there just as well. Wear a body cam. I want you to watch for Randy and Dillon’s reactions, whether they are surprised to discover the tunnel or if they knew about it.”
“Thought our suspect was Diana,” he says.
“She might have had help. The stolen pickaxe wasn’t at her place.”
He agrees to come after the children and young teens have finished for the evening.
I text the younger deputies and gather them for a meeting. Randy, Justin, and Chad show up, but Dillon and Al don’t reply.
“Okay, guys,” I announce. “We’re shorthanded tonight. The Trickvenger Hunt is more of a scavenger hunt. Tami has certain stations, or hollow trees and nooks where treats and gifts are hidden. Some have locks or mechanisms that must be solved, whereas others are guarded by volunteer ghouls who might jump out and scare the trick or treater. It’s all supposed to be good fun, but I want you guys to keep an eye out for any practical jokes that are hurtful or pranksters trying to take advantage.”
“Are the locations close by?” Chad asks, looking at a map Neil hands out.
“All are within this side of the creek on the Bee Sting property. Nothing across the bridge or encroaching on the Sixty Miners, so no one should go that direction.”
“How many trick or treaters?” Randy asks.
“They’ll be in teams of two.” I flip through the sheets Tami gave me. “Tami’s parents are one team, her two sorority sisters a second team, my sisters Vivi and Joey are a third team, the Jewells a fourth team, and Tami and I are the fifth team.”
“I only have four itineraries,” Neil says. “Will need to print another one for you and Tami.”
“What’s an itinerary?” Randy asks.
“They’re maps with the stations, but listed in a different order, so each team will not step on another team. Sort of like miniature golf stations,” Neil explains. “For your purposes, it doesn’t matter. You’re just going to walk around the different stations and make sure everyone’s having a good time.”
“Okay, think I got it,” Chad says. “There’s only three of us, so we won’t be able to have one at each station.”
“I’m sure it will be okay,” Randy says. “They don’t look too spread out.”
“Great.” Neil checks his watch. “Let’s meet the teams in the dining room and hand out the maps and itineraries.”
The mood in the dining room is festive, and I’m introduced to Dave and Jen Jewell. They’re both tall and athletic, oozing with polish, with perfect grooming, manicures, and pressed clothes. Wealthy tech moguls, but surprisingly down-to-earth.
I’m used to city folk saying inane things like how charming our town is, or how they love being so close to nature, but Dave is more interested in the history of Colson’s Corner and mining, while Jen is curious about the stories of the women who lived and worked here.
“It looks like Miss King is doing a good job balancing between historical accuracy and entertainment value,” Jen says as she checks out the museum side with the collection of artifacts, photographs, and testimonials. “I can’t wait to see a ghost tonight.”
“We’re in the Weeping Widow Walkway,” Dave says. “Somehow, I don’t particularly wish to encounter a widow.”
Jen takes Dave’s hand and grins. “Well then, if it makes you feel better, I won’t weep for you.”
He chuckles and kisses her, and I have to look away, because there’s so much love and devotion between them that it hurts.
My parents might have loved each other once, but my mother left us long ago. Tami’s parents seem to love each other, but they bicker constantly, and George always has to be right.
I can’t imagine Tami and I bickering all the time. It gives me the heebie-jeebies when two people who love each other say they want to grow old together. One or the other gets sick and dies when the other is so old and frail and vulnerable.
I can think of nothing worse. Maybe it’s better to die young with lovestruck hearts that are able to recover and go on rather than exist together past the expiration date.
“Todd, there you are,” Tami says, knocking me out of my morbid thoughts. “Dave, Jen, I’m so glad you’re going trick or treating with us. I’m sorry you missed the ghost hunting, but Evan will be back tomorrow, and I’m sure we can arrange a private tour.”
“That would be awesome,” Jen says, looking expectantly at Dave.
“Only if I survive my night with the weeping widow,” he says and gives his wife a kiss.
“Here’s your map.” Neil gives them their itinerary and explains a few of the landmarks.
The others are ready to go. Chad is flanked by Rosalie and Suzette, and Randy is shamelessly flirting with my baby sisters.
I narrow my eyes, wondering why Chad isn’t watching more carefully.
“Todd, they’re grown women,” Tami reminds me, taking my attention. “Where’s our itinerary?”
“I had to print yours last,” Neil says. “Here you go. It looks like you guys start the farthest out.”
“That’s okay,” Tami says. “I thought we’re supposed to stay on this side of the creek.”
I give Tami a reassuring hug. “The map doesn’t look drawn to scale. Here’s Hangman’s Bridge. I don’t think it’s too far, and you have on hiking boots.”
“Like my sheriff’s girlfriend costume?” She points to the toy star and a toy gun. “Don’t worry, this isn’t loaded.”
“You look great. Let’s take a selfie before and after.” I stretch out my arm and point my cell phone camera back at us.
Everyone takes their selfies with their itineraries, and Tami hashtags and uploads to social media. We linger around to take group pictures and pick up our pillowcases, then we’re off, trekking toward our stations.
I’m halfway across the field when I get a call.
“I’m sorry,” I say to Tami. “This always happens, but I have to take it.”
“I understand.” She waits at my side.
It’s Shane. “Are you alone?”
“No, with Tami,” I reply.
“She might not want to hear this, so can you step away from her?” His voice is strained.
I cup my hand on the phone. “I have to take this in private. Police business.”
“Sure, I’ll head over to the bridge and wait for you there.” She takes her flashlight and shines a path toward the creek.
“Not too far,” I call out, but Shane is speaking again.
“You’re not going to like this,” he says. “But that friend of theirs, Larissa who was dressed like a fox. She’s missing.”
“We know she’s out with some guy, but what happened?” Dread creeps up my collar, and I hope it’s not a body. “Is she okay?”
“Don’t know,” he says. “I got a text message from her cell phone with an image.”
“Of what?”
“It’s a picture of Larissa with a gag on her mouth inside a mineshaft. She’s covered by a blanket, so I can’t tell if she’s injured or not. But she looks terrified and not there of her own free will. The surroundings are dirt, and she’s on a stained mattress, definitely not having the good time her friends think.”
“Where is she?”
“It’s pretty dark, and the flash made her eyes red. But as far as I can make out, it looks like a mineshaft or cave.”
“Who took her there, did you ask?”
“I tried calling, but she’s not answering, and the text messages stopped,” Shane says. “Let me text you the picture. You can see for yourself. There’s a hairy glove on top of the blanket, almost like it’s some kind of sign.”
I open the image he texted.
Lying on top of the woman’s lap is the Bigfoot glove.
“I got another text message,” Shane says. “She says it was Bigfoot. The guy who kidnapped her was the one who you said Tami hired. Did you find out anythin
g about him?”
I should have said something earlier, but at the time, I didn’t think it was important. After all, the mask was thrown into or near the dumpster, and anyone could have found it.
This is now a kidnapping case, and I cannot obstruct my own investigation.
“Shane, I have a confession to make. I was the Bigfoot guy with Tami. She wanted me to be incognito because she didn’t want police presence at the party. I danced with Larissa, and she took my glove and my star badge. But I did not kidnap her.”
“Sheriff Colson, you should not have left this detail out of your report,” Shane says. “You know what you have to do. Turn yourself in.”
“Not when we have to rescue Larissa,” I lower my voice and glance around for Tami. She seems to have disappeared in the dark, and I hope she joined another group.
“Stay where you are. I’m coming over, but if this were the big city, I would have to arrest you. Was that your mask we found in Evan’s room?”
“Yes, and I don’t know how it got there. You saw me go in.”
“You went in first,” he says. “How do I know you didn’t stick the evidence in the bathroom for me to find? It’s right next to the entrance.”
“Be on your way, now.” I put on my voice of authority. “Our first priority is finding Larissa and keeping the rest of the town safe.”
“I’ll alert the deputies,” Shane says. “Let the Vice Squad know they’re in charge. I heard Al and Dillon are at the Sixty Miners. If they’re not too drunk, I’ll round them up to help with the search. But Sheriff, you can’t be in on it, and you know it. You’ll have to sit this one out.”
My stomach sinks like a rock thrown in quicksand. I’m in real trouble now. I know I had nothing to do with the murder, and the timing of the body being found works in my favor. Shane himself saw me at the station before the fireworks show.
“I wasn’t finished with the reports,” I counter, not about to take orders from a subordinate. “Since you got this search and rescue operation, I’ll relieve you at the station.”
“Text me when you get to the station, and I’ll text you when I get the search party in position.” He hangs up, and I feel like my goose is well cooked.
Why did I hide that piece of information about the guy in the Bigfoot costume? Is this how cops get corrupted? Start with something small and it grows bigger?
Was this what happened to Weaver? Could he also have not wanted certain facts to come to light?
Now that Weaver is dead, it might not matter what he hid. He never found evidence to charge anyone with a crime, and if he knew anything, the details died with him.
I sure hope this Bigfoot detail doesn’t matter, but if Shane lets it go, he’ll always have something over me, and that sucks.
Thirty-Three
~ Tami ~
I stay back in the shadows underneath a tree and watch for Todd. His hunched posture with his hand cupping the phone is not a good sign. Something must have broken on the case, but he doesn’t want to let the word out.
Police oftentimes keep things from the public, especially things only the murderer would know, in order to be able to gather enough evidence for a conviction.
He hangs up and looks around for me. I turn on my flashlight and wave to him to let him know I’m safe.
“Did something big happen?” I ask as soon as he gets close enough.
“Can’t talk about it. I’m sorry.” He gives me a hug. “I have to go back to the station. Let me walk you back to the hotel.”
“Go ahead. I’ll be okay here. I’ll join up with Rosalie and Suzette.” I press a kiss on his lips. “Stay safe.”
“You too.” He guides me toward one of the hollow trees where I hear howls of laughter and the mock screams of my friends.
As soon as he sees me going toward them, he turns around and lopes back to his police vehicle. He’s running hard, and I want to run after him. Something bad happened. I can feel it in my bones, and I hope it isn’t another body.
Shivering, I hike toward the hollow tree with the dangling ghosts and fluorescent-painted faces on the bark.
A twig cracks behind me, and I startle like a jackrabbit. I stop and prick my ears to listen. The background noise of the creek, insects, and wind, as well as the occasional shout and scream of the other participants distract me from whatever is behind me.
Maybe I’m imagining things.
I keep moving, but something taps my shoulder from behind. I let out a scream. I’ve heard the legend that if a wolf taps your shoulder, never turn around, because if you do, he’ll sink his teeth into your throat.
“Tami, it’s only me, Evan.” His voice is as familiar as it is creepy, a sibilant slithering hiss.
“What are you doing here? I thought you were doing a ghost hunt elsewhere.”
“Molly is substituting for me,” he says. “You hired yourself a pretty decent hunter. She’s quite dramatic.”
“True, but I’m not paying for her time to substitute for you.” I babble when I’m nervous, and right now, my mind is going five different directions. If Evan’s back, does this mean he never left? That he killed Viola?
He could have planted Todd’s mask in his own room to make it look like he’s being framed. Or maybe he took it as a souvenir thinking he was going to get away. Some killers do crazy stuff like that.
Evan takes off my cowgirl hat and runs his fingers through my hair. “I’m not asking you to pay her salary. She says she got time off.”
“Actually, she was supposed to work tonight.” I correct him. “Neil took over for her.”
“He has an undertaker quality,” Evan says. “I can picture him in a scream mask, a top hat, and tails.”
I grab my hat from him. “Sure, well, I have to catch up with my group. Will you be going back to your room? The police searched it.”
“That’s what I need to talk to you about.” He loops his arm around my shoulders as if we’re good friends. “Whoever searched the room stole your naked photos.”
“What? Why did you have them with you anyway?”
“I was using them as a model for the Corpulent Courtesan who’s supposed to haunt the dining room. She’ll be seen stuffing her face with all sorts of grotesque things.”
“Corpulent Courtesan?” I screech. “That’s insulting.”
“I already have her wireframes done, and I’m adding fashionable items for her to wear—whalebone corsets and the like.”
“No, you’re done with your gig here.” I squirm from underneath his arm. “You were supposed to give those pictures back to me.”
“Silly girl.” He tips his head back and laughs, hooking his thumbs through his beltloops. “How do you know I don’t have copies on the internet?”
“You can’t show them to anyone. You signed a confidentiality agreement.” How stupid I was as a sixteen-year-old freshman, believing him when he told me he’d get me into plus-size modeling. Oldest trick in the book, but for a girl raised in a small town with pampering parents, I was a naïve lamb among wolves.
“Why would I show my prized pictures to anyone other than your loving parents?” He pets my head and scratches behind my ear. “Especially if I have a business interest to protect. I rather like what we’re doing here at Harrowing Haunts. So theatrical with the creative freedom to tell stories and scare the living nightlights out of our guests. This place has the potential to be one of the world’s most famous haunted hotels, once the dinky town expands the roads and upgrades the bridge. There’s land to build more attractions, and once we take over the saloon, we can have a ghost hunter’s paradise on this spit of land across Hangman’s Bridge.”
“I’d rather keep it more historical than sensational,” I huff, completely incensed by now. Meanwhile, my heartbeat is stuttering because I wonder if Todd has found the pictures. “Do you think the police took them? When we went into your room, it looked like it had already been searched.”
“I didn’t say the police took them, because I don
’t know if anyone else has been through the room earlier.”
“Yeah, well, someone planted an item in your room—something that was at the scene of the murder, which I’m assuming you came back to find out more about.” I can’t help the sarcastic tone I’m taking with him. Oftentimes, in a murder mystery or even in true crime, the perpetrator has a hard time staying away. They get joy out of tricking the police and scaring the public. They always feel they’re so clever, and this one thing, pride in what they’d done, is oftentimes their Achilles’ heel.
I’m waiting to see if he knows what it is.
He raises his eyebrow, not seeming surprised, but Evan’s a cagey character and not easily misled, so I up the ante. It’s the only shot I have.
“Since the pictures are now missing and could turn up anywhere, I guess your hold on me is over.” I cross my arms and shrug. “I’m much older than that young girl you took advantage of, and these days, what’s a few naked pictures when I could claim they were photoshopped?”
“Still don’t get it, do you?” He gets in my face, drilling me with those hard, cold eyes of his—reptilian, especially since he’s as bald as a skinhead. “You won’t get rid of me this easily.”
Footsteps and voices come our way, and Suzette says, “Hey, Tami, have you done your first station yet?”
“Who’s that?” Rosalie asks. “Is Casper friendly or unfriendly?”
“I’m Evan Graves, your ghostest host.” He marches up to shake their hands.
“Oh, girls, I’m so glad you joined up with me.” I greet them overly enthusiastically and interrupt them from speaking to Evan. “Did you figure out the tree of souls?”
“Yes, got my gift!” Suzette waves a moonstone necklace. “You’re really generous.”
“I know,” Rosalie says. “I got a pair of turquoise earrings.”
“This is a high-end establishment,” Evan says. “And we know how to treat our guests well. Are you ready to go on to the next one?”
“Definitely,” Suzette says. “I’m a little thirsty from all that screaming.”
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