by J. B. Hawker
Max leaned over and opened the passenger door for Bunny to jump onto the high bucket seat. She was still buckling her seatbelt as Max began to follow the judges to the first home on the list.
“Sorry to be late, Bunny. Traffic leaving the city was horrendous. It was sure good to get away from it,” Max said, watching the van ahead as he spoke.
As soon as Bunny saw Max, all her ambivalent feelings evaporated and she was struggling to keep her mind on the work ahead.
“At my age, the only hormones I have left should be causing hot flashes, not ‘hot-to-trot’ flashes! Why is my timing always so far out of whack?” she chastised herself and pulled out the list of contest hopefuls.
The Chamber van pulled up in front of the first house on the list, with Max and Bunny right behind.
They all piled out and the judging began.
When they had viewed more than a dozen homes, there remained only two entrants on the list: Dinks Dodd’s place by the cemetery and the Trainors’ Victorian.
Parking by the graveyard gates, the group observed Dinks and another man standing near the false mausoleum.
Dinks seemed to be posing with his “Ghost,” its finger pointing at Dodd’s chest.
As they walked up, the group could see the other man had a camera and was rapidly snapping shots of the bizarre tableau.
Dinks looked up and, telling the photographer to “take a break,” approached the judging party, smiling broadly.
“I thought I’d get my picture made with the winning entry! Save the newspaper people all the trouble,” he said looking at Max.
“Well, yes, Mr. Dodd. But we haven’t finished our judging, yet, and all the entrants have an equal chance of winning,” Fred Whitten explained in his best “President of the Chamber of Commerce” manner.
“Yeah, but you can’t blame a guy for being confident, I guess. Just go ahead and look it over and you’ll see why I’m a shoo-in.”
Dinks walked over to the photographer and the two men went into Dodd’s decrepit house, while the judges made their appraisal of his yardscape.
Leaving Dodd’s place, while driving to the Trainors’, Max and Bunny discussed the homes they had looked at that morning.
“I really haven’t seen anything I think will beat Sally and Yance’s place,” Max told Bunny.
She could tell he had taken to the couple. Bunny hoped they won the contest, just because it would make Max happy. She felt protective of him, somehow, as if he were the emotionally fragile one.
The Trainors came out on their veranda as the entourage pulled in. The couple looked happy and confident.
The judges observed the house from a variety of angles, beginning on the sidewalk and gradually looking more closely at the various details.
Bunny heard several comments about the creativity and effectiveness of the transformation.
It sounded like Max was right about the morning’s outcome.
As the group drifted around the corner of the veranda to the shady side enclosed by a vine-covered lattice, Bunny heard gasps from the first people to round the corner.
“There must be more surprises tucked away,” she thought.
A scream from one of the women and shouts from the men soon replaced the gasps.
Max and Bunny, in the rear of the group, hurried to see what was causing the commotion.
They found a Frankenstein’s monster posed on one of a pair of Adirondack chairs on this section of the porch. It was a jarring note, and not in keeping with the mood of rest of the decorating scheme.
It seemed an odd addition, but didn’t explain the judges’ reactions.
A placard stuck to the monster’s chest had some printing on it.
“Maybe that will explain it,” Bunny thought as she stepped closer to read the words.
“Bunny, no!” Max called to her.
They had separated in the confusion and she was beyond his reach.
“What’s wrong, Max?” she asked as she turned to read the sign.
Now she was able to see the monster clearly. What she saw took her breath away. This was no Halloween prop.
Bob Miller had just turned up, and he wasn’t all right, after all.
Bunny went numb. She could not pull her gaze away. As in a nightmare, although she tried to run, her limbs refused to move.
Max appeared at her side and pulled her to him roughly, turning her face away from the pitiful sight.
She collapsed against him, sobbing hysterically, and he led her out onto the front yard where the others were standing around looking shell-shocked.
Fred Whitten had gone inside to call the Sheriff.
Sally and Yance sat clinging to one another on the steps of the veranda.
Max half-dragged, half-carried Bunny to his car and put her inside.
Her sobs had stopped but the tears coursed down her face.
She alternately closed her eyes tightly and opened them as wide as possible. Nothing worked. She still saw Bob’s poor tortured body.
Her shocked stare had enabled her to take in every horrific detail and seared it into her memory.
She feared it would remain with her always.
Forever, she would see the severed hands and head, the crude stitches holding them precariously in place, bits of bone and flesh protruding.
Her mind would forever replay the cruelly crushed skull, bulging sightless eyes, and the spike penetrating Bob’s neck. No songs would come from that throat, ever again.
She would always remember, but she would never understand.
“Why?” she whispered, hoarsely.
Max was beside her with his arm holding her close.
“What, Hun? What did you say?”
“Max, why would anyone do that? Why would they do that to Bob?”
“Bob? You knew that man? Who was he?” Max asked urgently.
Bunny told him all she knew.
Max pulled out his cell phone and called the Sheriff’s Office to report the identity of the victim.
Banks thought it might save some time and the sooner the sheriff had the facts, the better.
Sirens announced the arrival of the authorities just as Max finished his phone call.
He and Bunny held each other’s hands while they waited to see what would happen next.
The officers took Bunny’s statement, noting all she could tell them about the late Bob Miller and his life; he was a CPA for a local firm, single, quiet and a faithful member of the church choir, with a lovely tenor voice.
Bunny only saw Bob at choir, so she could not offer any other details.
When officers had finished with her, Max took Bunny home.
Bunny sat rocking and staring into the fire while Max fixed cups of tea.
He would have preferred something a bit stronger, but Bunny’s liquor supply consisted of a very old bottle of cooking sherry.
“Here, Hun, drink this, it will make you feel better.”
He rubbed her neck and tried to get through to her. Bunny hadn’t spoken a word since coming home.
She sipped her tea, then turned to Max.
“That sign...I just remembered what it said, Max...It said Faginstine. What could that mean?”
“It said Faginstine Monster, actually. I think it was a misspelling of Frankenstein, so we would be sure to get the point of the mutilation. This guy is beyond insane.”
“That’s a pretty wild spelling of Frankenstein, don’t you think? After all, Monster was spelled correctly.”
Bunny remained unconvinced it was a simple misspelling.
She sounded it out in her mind, “faj-in-stine.” It still made no sense.
She tried every possible pronunciation of the strange combination of letters until she stumbled upon “fag-in-stine” with a hard “G” and it became clear.
“I sometimes wondered if that were the way Bob was wired,” she murmured.
Her statement, coming as it did after another long spell of staring into the flames, star
tled Max, who had been dozing...a reaction from the morning’s emotion.
“Wha...what did you say, Bunny?”
“I was just thinking out loud, Max. I said I sometimes wondered if Bob was gay.”
“What does that have to do with anything? Why were you thinking about his sexual orientation, all of the sudden?”
Max was still a bit muddled from the sudden awakening.
“Fag-en-stein, Max. ‘Fag’ is an old slang term for homosexuals,” Bunny answered patiently.
“I think that’s what the sign meant,” she went on.
“Someone knew, or thought he knew, Bob was gay. That must have been the motive for killing him, although it does seem a bit harsh.”
“A bit? Bunny, are you joking about this?”
Max was surprised. Bunny had seemed almost catatonic from shock after seeing her choir-mate’s murdered remains and now she was making flippant comments about his death.
“No, Max. I wasn’t making a joke. Many people take the words of the Bible about homosexuality to mean the ones who give in to that particular temptation are some sort of beast. Some folks actually think homosexuality is the unforgivable sin, rather than just one of the many ways a person can sin against himself and against God,” Bunny explained.
She continued, “I meant this murder, with the mutilation and all, would even be harsh for the worst kind of fanatic. It seemed so much more personal than that. Didn’t you think so?”
“I would have to agree it looked like more than a random hate crime, certainly,” Max replied.
He was reassured that Bunny was still taking the death seriously, but he was not crazy about the religious turn of their conversation.
“I think you should tell the investigators what you think the sign meant. They will probably come up with that option on their own, but you might save them some time, especially as you can mention your prior suspicions about Bob.”
Max handed Bunny his cell phone, punching in the number for her.
Bunny took the phone, reluctantly. She wasn’t sure the authorities would appreciate any input from a civilian.
When someone answered, she asked to speak to an officer working on the Halloween murders.
After several minutes on hold, another voice came on the line, identifying itself as belonging to a Sergeant Michelson.
Bunny told the sergeant who she was and her theory about the sign on Bob Miller’s chest. Michelson asked her a few questions, thanked her for calling and rang off.
“Well, I did it. I think the sergeant probably thinks I am a frustrated Miss Marple, but whether anything comes of it or not, at least I’ve done all I could. Thank you, Max. I do feel better now.”
Bunny rose from the rocker and sat beside Max on the sofa.
She pulled his head down and kissed him on the lips.
“I am thoroughly exhausted. Why don’t you go and get some lunch. I think I am going to lie down for a little while. Will you need me in the office this afternoon? What’s going to happen about the contest?”
Bunny remembered what had started all this.
Max stood up, pulling Bunny with him.
“When you first suggested a little nap, I was tempted to join you. But, I had forgotten all about the contest and the newspaper. I’d better get in touch with Fred or someone from the Chamber of Commerce and find out what they are going to do. I’ve got to write up a story about the contest and another about the latest murder. If you feel up to it later, I really could use your help.”
He said the last, apologetically.
“I’m sure I’ll feel better in an hour or two. I’ll take a couple of aspirin and be as good as new. Would two o’clock be too late?”
Max assured her anytime she felt up to it would be fine. Then he held her for a long moment, gave her a quick kiss and left.
After Bunny watched him drive away, she sat down and gave in to another good hard cry.
Max found Fred Whitten at the Chamber office slumped behind his desk and looking shattered.
“Well, Banks, this is one for the books and no mistake.”
“Not quite what we expected, I’ll grant you,” Max replied. “What have you decided to do about the contest?”
“That damned contest! How could we have known what it would lead to?” Fred moaned.
“No one is blaming you or the Chamber for these murders, Fred.”
“No? Then why do I feel like it’s our fault? It seems to be the contest that set off this maniac,” said Whitten.
“That may be true. On the other hand, perhaps the decorations just gave him an idea for disposing of victims who he would have killed, anyway. In either case, the only one responsible for these atrocities is the person committing them. Hopefully, the authorities will soon bring him to justice.”
“At least they know the identity of this last poor guy. That should help with the investigation, I think,” Fred was looking a bit more himself as he spoke.
“Thanks, Banks.”
“Now, what has the Chamber of Commerce decided to do about the contest? Will there be winners or do we just let it fade away, or what?” Max asked.
The Chamber members met briefly at the Trainors’ before everyone hurried away. The consensus was to go ahead and announce the winners in the paper, present the awards without ceremony, and never, ever, hold another Halloween decorating contest. That last decision had been unanimous.
Fred gave Max the details, locked up the Chamber office and headed home, while Max went on to the Sheriff’s Office.
Returning to the newspaper later, Banks sat at his desk thinking.
He was trying to compose the story of the day’s events, but thoughts of his time with Bunny kept intruding.
Her attitude to the apparent accusation of homosexuality aimed at a fellow church choir member surprised him.
It did not seem to matter to her whether the claim was true or not.
He thought these Bible thumpers were all homophobic. Actually, he thought they were all like the “fanatics” she had talked about so dispassionately.
He knew she thought living a gay lifestyle was a sin, but it didn’t seem to bother her more than, say, gluttony, or something.
Bunny and her religion kept surprising him.
When all this turmoil was over, he was going to pin her down and find out what she really believed.
Banks reached for the phone and dialed.
“Hi Hunny,” he murmured into the phone. “How are you feeling now?”
Returning home after helping at the paper for a couple of hours, Bunny thought about why she told Max not to come over that evening.
He offered to bring dinner for the two of them. That would have been nice, and Bunny didn’t especially want to be home alone replaying mental images from the morning.
Max could have driven all those thoughts from her mind and left her with nothing but animal instinct.
She put out her hand, as though to pick up the phone, than stopped.
“No,” she admonished herself.
Bunny was emotionally vulnerable after the day’s shocks. She needed a clear head if she was going to integrate a relationship with Max into her life, without giving up her values.
She wason the verge of a precipice. Spending tonight with Max could send her over the edge.
Once more Bunny reached for the phone. She picked it up and pushed the buttons.
“Hi, it’s me. Did you hear about Bob? Yes, horrible. Can I come over? I don’t want to be alone right now.”
Max drove by Bunny’s dark, empty house.
Where was she? He had some idea of why she begged off tonight. She was having trouble squaring her churchy ideas with having him in her bed.
Well, she would just have to get over that. He had come by to help her get over it, actually.
Banks decided not to wait around. Bunny might be staying with her sister after her day’s experiences.
He would let her have her way to
night, but not for much longer.
His ambivalence of the previous day had melted away. Max was certain he was not ready to lose Bunny again. He did not know what the future held, but, for now, he wanted to share it with her.
Bunny was nervous and angry with herself.
With a homicidal lunatic on the loose, it was foolish to go about one’s business as usual.
Why hadn’t she asked Emily to pick her up?
The empty, shadowy streets of her little community had taken on a sinister coloration. The wind howling through the bare branches overhead added to her uneasiness as she walked along.
When she was less than a block from Emmy’s house, she noticed a man approaching on the other side of the street.
There was something familiar about his silhouette and gait.
He crossed the street to intercept Bunny, who picked up her pace, hoping to get within screaming distance of Emily’s before he met up with her.
“Hi, Mrs. Elder! Where you off to all alone on a night like this? You oughtn’t to be out all on your own after dark. I better walk you back home, now. Pastor wouldn’t want me to let you stay out here like this.”
Walter Bjorglund grabbed Bunny’s arm and began to lead her in the direction of her home.
Stumbling a little, Bunny pulled herself free.
“Thank you very much, Walter, but I’m on my way to stay with Mrs. Wilcox. She lives right over there, only a few steps away. See?”
“Why are you gonna stay with her?”
Walter did not mean to be rude, Bunny knew, so she tried to explain.
“I’ve had a very upsetting day today, Walter, and I don’t feel like being alone.”
“What upset you, Mrs. Elder?” Walter wanted to know.
“Well, I’m sorry to have to tell you this, Walter, but you know Mr. Miller?”
Walter nodded.
“I’m afraid he has died quite tragically. That’s why I’m upset.”
“But he wasn’t your husband or anything....”
Walter seemed to need more of an explanation.
Bunny did not care if Walter was “special,” she was not going to stand out in the cold all night letting him interrogate her. Really!