Wicked Witch Murder

by Leslie Meier

  Sue’s eyebrows shot up in disbelief. “You didn’t get that rosy glow from the store brand. What’s your secret?”

  Lucy wasn’t about to tell, not in front of the kids. “Look, Pam needs help with the punch, so I’m supposed to take over here.”

  Sue was clapping for the little Dracula, who finally got the ball through the hoop on his third try. “Here you go,” she said, giving him the candy and taking the ball, which she passed on to Lucy. “Three tries each, make ’em wait in line, and no pushing or shoving.”

  “I can handle it,” said Lucy, passing the ball to a blue and silver princess. A mummy, a pirate, and a tiny Nemo were all waiting their turn, with varying degrees of patience.

  “C’mon, Bella,” urged the pirate. “You’re taking forever.”

  “Shut up, Jason,” snapped the princess, with plenty of attitude. “I can take as long as I want.”

  “Ten seconds or you lose your turn,” said Lucy, starting to count, and the princess heaved the ball, bouncing it off the backboard.

  “You killed the cat,” crowed Jason, causing the princess to sulk while Lucy chased down the ball. She made the next two tries, however, and Lucy gave her two Tootsie Rolls. She was about to give Jason his turn when the music stopped and the DJ announced the costume parade was about to begin.

  There was a flurry of activity as the kids lined up and the judges took their seats; then the music to The Sorcerer’s Apprentice filled the room, and the kids began marching in a circle. Lucy loved this part best, amused by the kids’ expressions. Some were self-conscious in their costumes, while others really enjoyed play-acting and putting on a bit of a show. The Draculas, in particular, liked to show their fanged teeth and wiggle their fingers. The smaller kids really got into their characters, the Thomases huffing and puffing like really useful engines and tiny little Nemo making swimming motions.

  Then everyone waited while the winners—there were at least twenty categories, ranging from “Most Original” to “Scariest” and “Funniest”—were announced and prizes awarded. Afterward, everybody lined up for refreshments, which Pam carefully specified were to be eaten sitting on the floor. “There will be absolutely no running,” she warned.

  “Can we have seconds?” asked Nemo, piping up.

  “After everybody has had firsts,” said Pam, “and only if there is no running.”

  The older kids knew the drill, and soon the children were all seated Indian-style on the floor, quietly eating their Beastly Cookies, Wiggly Worms, Eyeballs, and Witches’ Brew punch. Lucy took advantage of the quiet to collect the box of favors and stationed herself by the door, ready to present each departing child with a trick-or-treat bag filled with a few pieces of candy, a black or orange flashlight to carry while trick-or-treating, and the protective pouches Diana had donated.

  A half hour later and the kids were all gone, all except for little Nemo, and the cleanup was beginning. It looked as if Nemo’s folks were running late.

  “What’s your name?” she asked him.

  “Nemo.”

  “That’s your costume,” said Lucy. “What’s your real name?”

  “Nemo.”

  And people said kids had no imagination nowadays. “So where do you live?” she asked, thinking she probably knew the answer.

  She did. “In the aquarium.”

  Time to try a new tack. “Where does your mom live?”

  Nemo chuckled at yet another silly question. “In the aquarium. She’s a fish too.”

  “Okay, Nemo,” she said with a sigh. “You stay right here until I get back, okay?”

  Nemo nodded and began checking out the contents of his treat bag while Lucy canvassed the volunteers, looking for somebody who knew the child.

  “Oh, that’s Nemo,” said Sue, ripping off a piece of plastic film to cover the leftover cookies.

  “So he says,” said Lucy.

  “No, really. Nemo Anderson. He’s a part-timer at the school. His parents are a little sketchy; they’re usually late.”

  “Drugs? Booze?” asked Lucy, who was familiar with the issues faced by many of the town’s residents.

  “No, I don’t think so. They’re just free spirits. Throwbacks to the sixties, I guess.”

  “Can you call them? Tell them the party’s over?”

  Lucy went back to wait with Nemo, who was now surrounded by a small pile of candy wrappings and discarded herbs. “What’s this?” he asked, showing her the little stone Diana had included in the pouch.

  “It’s a lucky stone. It has a special power, and if you carry it with you all the time, it will keep you safe. At least that’s what some people think.” Lucy had popped her bag into her bra, as Diana had suggested. She wasn’t sure why she did it. Maybe because it was Halloween and it seemed to go with the costume; maybe she subconsciously felt the need for protection on this night when the veil between the living and the dead was said to disappear.

  “Cool,” said Nemo, popping the stone into the pouch and lifting up his costume to stuff it in his pants pocket.

  Lucy could see Sue crossing the room toward them, phone in hand.

  “Nemo’s mother says her car died, and she wants to know if somebody could bring him home. I would, but I’ve got to meet Sid at the airport—he’s coming back from his annual golf weekend in Hilton Head—and his plane is supposed to be landing right now.” She shrugged. “It’s probably delayed—they always are these days, but still—”

  “I’ll do it,” said Lucy. “Where does he live?”

  “I told you: the aquarium,” said Nemo.

  Lucy was getting tired of this. “I need better directions than that,” she said.

  Sue was smiling. “He’s actually telling the truth. Remember the old aquarium?” she asked, referring to a defunct tourist trap out on Route 1.

  “Yeah,” said Lucy, picturing a dilapidated cluster of buildings surrounded by an overgrown parking lot.

  “That’s where he lives.”

  “That’s almost an hour’s drive!” protested Lucy.

  “No good deed goes unpunished,” said Sue.

  Lucy glanced at the little kid, who was busy sucking on a lollipop. “This is how fish eat lollipops,” he told her, sucking in his cheeks.

  “Okay, Nemo, I’ll give you a ride home,” she said, taking him by the hand. “Where’s your coat?” The coat rack was empty, except for a handful of adult-sized jackets. Her eyes met Sue’s, expressing mutual disapproval.

  “Fish don’t need jackets,” declared Nemo.

  “There’s a blanket in the car,” said Lucy, becoming aware as she dashed out to the car to retrieve it that this simple errand was getting a lot more complicated than she’d expected. Then when she tried to drape it around him, Nemo insisted that fish didn’t use blankets, not ever, but he changed his mind when they were halfway to the car. The temperature had fallen as night fell. It was just above freezing, and a sharp wind was blowing off the cove. Lucy cranked up the heater when she started the car, rubbing her hands together until she felt the first blasts of warm air flowing from the vents. Little Nemo was seated beside her, wrapped in his blanket and held securely by the seat belt as they drove through town.

  The little village had a holiday air, as many people had not only left their porch lights on but had also strung lights shaped like pumpkins or skeletons; others had set up spotlights to illuminate their harvest figures. Candles twinkled inside jack-o’-lanterns; some grinned and others leered or howled, depending on their creators’ inclinations. Some people had taped cutouts on their windows: Black cats and witches on broomsticks were favorites. And some folks had even bought crumpled figures of witches that they fastened to a tree trunk as if a witch riding a broomstick had accidentally crashed into it. Lucy loved all the decorations, except for the giant inflatable purple spider that one family always set on their porch roof—that one gave her the creeps, and she tried not to look at it.

  She drove carefully and slowly, on the lookout for trick-or-treaters. Th
e kids were everywhere, dashing from house to house, the young ones with parental escorts and the older kids in groups. It was getting late, almost eight o’clock, and she knew things would quiet down pretty soon as the kids went home with their loot. Some parents tried to limit the gorging and confiscated the sweets to dole out later. Lucy and Bill generally let the kids eat as much as they wanted on Halloween night, figuring it was better to get it over with as soon as possible and get back to a healthy diet. Whatever was left went into a bowl on the dining room sideboard for everyone to share; Lucy could never pass it without grabbing a mini chocolate bar, or two, and was glad when nothing was left except a couple of grape lollipops, scorned by everyone. They generally lingered there until it was time to put up the Christmas decorations.

  She was thinking about this and hoping Sara and Zoe were having a good time with their friends when the town gradually dwindled down to scattered houses and small strip malls and then to nothing but fields and woods. The old aquarium wasn’t in Tinker’s Cove but a couple of towns over, beyond Shiloh, and the unlit two-lane road wandered and wound its way over hill and dale and around the mountain. Nemo was a good traveler, however, and Lucy soon sensed he had fallen asleep. The trip seemed endless, but finally she spotted the green neon fish sign that still stood in the old parking lot. Most of the letters were out, however, with only a Q, U, and R remaining. She tapped the horn, and a figure emerged from one of the buildings and ran to the car just as Nemo woke up. He sat for a minute, rubbing his eyes and blinking under the dome light; then the door was yanked open and a thirtyish woman with a shaved head and numerous piercings stuck her head inside.

  “Hi, honey, did you have a good time?”

  Nemo blinked and nodded, popping his thumb in his mouth.

  “Thank you soooo much,” she said as she unfastened the seat belt. “That old car, I keep telling my husband we need a new one but…” She shrugged, then scooped up Nemo, blanket and all. “Thanks again,” she said, slamming the door shut and running, carrying the child, back toward the lighted building. Lucy got a glimpse of them as they passed an outside light; then they were inside and a moment later the big neon sign flickered out, leaving her in the dark.

  At least she said thank you, thought Lucy, shifting into drive and turning back onto the road for the long, lonely trip home. No offer of coffee or a bathroom, not even a glass of water. This was exactly the sort of behavior that really ticked her off. Nemo’s mother hadn’t shown the least bit of consideration for her. She was one of those who took it for granted that other people, conscientious people like herself, were only too happy to take care of their children. A thank-you was nice, thought Lucy, but a tenner for gas would have been nicer, considering the price at the pump. Much nicer, she thought, checking the gauge and seeing with a shock that the needle was hovering on E. But where on earth was she going to find a gas station out here on this lonely stretch of highway? The nearest was at least twenty miles back, in Gideon.

  There was nothing to do but keep driving, hoping that the gas held out until she returned to civilization, but it was nerve-wracking to say the least. She tried to be optimistic, but each flutter of the needle sent her into a panic. And when the engine finally started to sputter, she was just able to glide to the side of the road before it died. She got the emergency flasher going. It ran off the battery, so she knew it wouldn’t last very long. She wasn’t really expecting her cell phone to work—the area was notorious for poor reception—and it didn’t. There was nothing to do but wait and hope that help would arrive.

  Lucy hadn’t sat there for very long when she remembered she wasn’t far at all from Peter Symonds’s place, on River Road. He had a big yard; she figured he must have a gas can around for the mower. And she didn’t need much gas—even a gallon would be more than enough to get her back to the all-night station she’d passed. Or maybe he’d let her use his phone; she remembered he had a landline. Either was preferable to sitting in the car, especially since she’d promised Diana that she would lead the reporters who were, indeed, camped outside her store on a wild-goose chase. And it was getting late. She’d promised Diana she would be there by ten, and it was already almost nine.

  So she turned off the flasher and got out of the car, crossing the road to walk facing traffic, if any should come along. None did, however, and she had the highway to herself all the way to the intersection with River Road. It was a brilliant moonlit evening, with the full moon actually casting shadows of the tree branches on the road. There was enough wind to make the trees moan as they were bent this way and that, and she thought she heard an owl hoot from time to time.

  A dark and deserted road, she thought to herself, maybe not the best place to be on Halloween night. But then she caught a glimpse of light shining through the trees and knew she was closer than she thought to Symonds’s place. She had just turned up the driveway when the front door opened and two figures came out: Symonds and Lady Sybil. Even in the dark, Lucy knew she would recognize that rotund figure.

  “Hi!” she called. “I need some help.”

  Lady Sybil stationed herself by the front door, waiting for her, while Symonds continued on to his pickup truck. Amazingly enough, he was carrying a gas can.

  “Hey, hey,” she called, running up to him. “Can I have some of that gas? I’ve run out. My car’s just a little ways down the road.”

  Symonds set the gas can in the bed of his pickup and turned to face her. “Sorry, but I need it,” he told her.

  “Can’t I just have a little?” asked Lucy, begging. “My car gets really good mileage, and I only need to get to the all-night gas station.”

  Symonds was looking uncomfortable, but Lucy wasn’t about to give up. “You could follow me and I’ll fill the can right up for you—I’ll fill it to the top, and fill up your truck too.”

  Lucy was confident this was a deal no sane person would refuse. In fact, if she wasn’t so desperate, she’d never make such an extravagant offer that would cost her so much money. But she needed to get back to town to help Diana.

  Lady Sybil was sailing down the lawn, her loose ritual garments billowing behind her. “He told you he doesn’t have any gasoline to spare,” she said, staring at Lucy with those popping frog eyes.

  “Okay, I understand,” she said, casting her eyes longingly on the red plastic can in the truck bed, resting among the usual clutter of tools and equipment that invariably accumulated back there. “Can I just use your phone to call my husband?” she asked.

  “As Lord Peter—I mean, Peter—told you, we’re in a bit of a hurry ourselves, so I’m very sorry but—”

  “Oh, I understand,” said Lucy with a wink. “It’s Halloween, or Samhain, and you have, um, commitments. There’s no need for you to stay—just let me use the phone and I’ll lock up the house. You can trust me. One quick phone call and I’ll be out in no time at all.”

  “Why should I help you?” demanded Peter, but Lady Sybil interrupted him.

  “Remember the rule of three,” she said in a school-marmish voice. “We really can’t afford for anything to go wrong tonight.”

  “Oh, all right,” he agreed resentfully. “You’ll find the key under the doormat. But make sure you do lock the door.”

  “I will,” said Lucy. “And thank you, thank you, so much.”

  “No problem,” said Symonds grudgingly as he got in the truck. Lucy heard the engine start with a cough when she slipped the key into the lock and turned it.

  Entering the ramshackle house, Lucy was almost overcome by the stale scent of dust and mildew. The faded and torn 1930s wallpaper had been stained by the floodwater; the ruined carpet had been removed, revealing scuffed wood planks thickly layered with dirt and leaves carried in from outside on shoes and boots. Lucy hurried down the hall to the kitchen, where she figured the phone would be, and found a dated 1980’s wall model hanging beneath a calendar.

  The phone itself was so grimy that the buttons on the keypad stuck when she began to dial home. She�
�d punched in only the first three numbers when she sensed someone behind her. She was turning to see who it was when she was knocked to the floor by a terrific blow to the head. The pain was overwhelming, and she was trying to struggle to her feet when everything went black.

  Chapter Twenty-four

  Something vile and nauseatingly sweet was in her mouth, and she retched, spitting it out. Her head hurt like hell, and she couldn’t see straight—shapes and colors were whirling around her. The trees were dancing against the sky, orange flames were leaping upward, and figures dressed in purple and green and yellow came and went, circling around her. She wanted to lie down but she couldn’t move; she was uncomfortably upright. She tried to stretch and found her hands were fastened to her sides. Shaking her head and blinking once or twice, she realized she was tied back-to-back with someone else.

  “Wha…?” she managed before slumping forward.

  “Lucy! Wake up! It’s me, Diana!”

  Lucy raised her head; it felt like it was full of lead. “Unh?”

  “We’ve got to get out of here!” hissed Diana, and Lucy felt her wriggling and pulling at the ropes that bound them together. “They’re going to sacrifice us.”

  Lucy was suddenly alert, energized by adrenaline. This was no dream, no nightmare. She was really out in the woods, tied to Diana. She could feel the chilly night air and the dampness on her chest. She smelled bile and wood smoke. Members of the coven were standing in a circle around them, some with drums, and everyone was chanting. Even Abby was there, pale in the firelight. Lady Sybil was standing at a crude altar, lighting a candle.

  “Now the tired year comes to its close,

  We remember our dying King,

  His light is faded and weak,

  The birds themselves take wing.”

  The group responded together, repeating the phrase “So mote it be” three times. Then Lady Sybil lit another candle.

  “Well we know this eternal truth