by Krista Davis
“Vampires and werewolves.” Jen bared her teeth.
“I suppose I know what sort of costumes you two will be wearing,” I said. “Is there a way to be a shape shifter, Jesse?”
He leaned back and with the smugness of an overly confident man forty years his senior, he said, “I’ll think of something.”
Vegas and Blake finally joined us. Was that lipstick on his collar? I sidled closer while Vegas bemoaned the lack of a scary story to accompany the tour. Not only was lipstick smeared on Blake’s shirt, but I thought I saw the beginnings of a hickey. Oh no. No wonder his parents were worried. They had no right to talk about Vegas as though she were a tart, but I understood their concern a little bit better and anticipated another angry visit from them.
Ray wiped his forehead with the back of his hand. “Well, I’ll be. Take a look at that.” He tilted his head toward the window, and his laugh bellowed through the house.
The kids gathered at the window for a nanosecond before racing out to the sidewalk with the adults behind them. The boxy, elongated shape of a shiny black hearse maneuvered into an empty spot in front of the haunted house. Gleaming chrome ran along the length of the bottom and circled the windows. I guessed it to be 1960-ish vintage because of the prominent fins on the back.
Humphrey stepped out, his huge smile showing he was pleased with himself. His pale skin and almost white hair gave him a ghostly appearance, not the best look for a mortician.
I’d grown quite fond of Humphrey, but in a strictly platonic way, and I made sure he remembered that. When we were Jen’s age, he had an obsessive crush on me, to which I was embarrassingly oblivious. Humphrey meant well, though, and had proven to be a good friend, even if he hadn’t progressed past high school when it came to romance and chasing women. All he wanted was someone to return his affection. Surely that wasn’t asking too much. As a mortician, he had a slightly different view of the macabre, so I hoped his contribution to the haunted house might spur an idea for the elusive scary story the kids needed.
The kids zoomed around the car. “Where did you get this?” asked Jesse.
Humphrey puffed his chest proudly when he said, “A friend of mine collects funeral memorabilia.”
“Eww.” Vegas sounded like a spoiled Valley girl. “That is sooo gross.”
Jesse peered inside. “Hey! There’s a coffin in here.”
Everyone laughed except Humphrey, who patted the car. “She’s in perfect condition. And the crowning glory . . .” He placed a life-sized skeleton in the front seat and wrapped the fingers around the steering wheel as though it were driving.
“Is the casket for the vampire’s bedroom?” asked Bernie.
I thought Humphrey might melt and sink into the pavement on the spot. He glared at Bernie, mashed his lips together, and tugged at his collar as though he was uncomfortable and hoped to change the subject. Bernie looked to me quizzically.
“Is there somebody in it?” asked Vegas.
Simultaneously, Jesse and Blake breathed, “Cool!”
Surely it didn’t contain a corpse! Humphrey would never be that unprofessional. Or would he? Were dead people so matter-of-fact and everyday to him that he would carry one around?
Ray clapped Humphrey on the back. “Who’ve ya got in there, buddy?”
Humphrey’s wan body shook from the force of Ray’s hand, and he had to take a step forward to regain his balance. Looking like a kid caught in big trouble, he dragged to the back of the hearse and opened the rear door.
Ray followed him, but his expression changed from amusement to horror. “What the dickens? That’s my wife’s casket!”
THREE
Dear Sophie,
My sister-in-law always manages to top my Halloween decorations. She comes up with one-of-a-kind items that can’t be beat. This year, I’m determined to outdo her. Where can I find unusual decorations?
—Boring Mom in Deadman Crossing, California
Dear Boring Mom,
Haunt junk stores, secondhand shops, and stores featuring donated items. Don’t worry about anything being perfect—a slight cant, age, or major crack will only make it look more authentic and spooky. Think creatively. Use old balusters as candleholders. Find uses for chipped crystal, weather-beaten books, and oddball objects. Don’t be afraid to use spray paint liberally.
—Sophie
Humphrey turned beet red. “Well, it’s not like she’s in there!” He expertly released legs with wheels, pulled out the casket, and shut the hearse.
“It looks real.” Blake was duly impressed, as well he should be. Brass accents gleamed against highly polished wood the color of coffee beans.
“It is real.” The maroon shade of Ray’s face made me worry about his blood pressure. His wife had died years ago. I must be missing something.
Bernie flicked Humphrey a thumbs-up. “It’s fantastic! Can’t you imagine a sophisticated vampire residing in there?”
“I can imagine my wife in there. Y’all use it for the haunted house, but then I want it back. I paid for it! Shoot. I’ve got a customer. I’m not through with you yet, Humphrey!”
Humphrey relaxed and released a huge breath when Ray scuttled back to his store. “It’s been taking up space at the mortuary, and it’s true he paid for it, but what’s he going to do with it? Wait until you see the interior.” He lifted the lid to reveal a garish red lining.
I ran my hand across it. “Is that velvet?”
Bernie laughed out loud. “It’s worthy of a Victorian bordello.”
Humphrey closed the lid and rolled the casket toward the front door. “We special-ordered it for Ray when his wife died. He paid extra for that lining and expedited delivery. But when his wife’s sister saw it, she was so traumatized at the thought of her sister spending eternity in that ‘gaudy nightmare’ that she returned later in the day with a shotgun tucked inside her coat, and blasted a hole as big as a fist in the side, rendering it useless.”
The kids couldn’t resist. They trotted around to the other side and, sure enough, Jesse inserted a hand in the coffin. He arched his back and screamed, as though something inside had grabbed his hand and wouldn’t release it.
“We couldn’t bury her in it, and even though it’s state-of-the-art, we couldn’t use it as a model with that hole and the tasteless interior, so it’s been taking up space at the mortuary. They were delighted it could be used here at the haunted house.”
Bernie helped Humphrey bump it up two stairs and into the house.
Humphrey collapsed the legs of the rolling gizmo, and Bernie grabbed the far end, pulling it up the stairs toward the vampire bedroom. Humphrey pushed from below with no effect, except that his normally pale face flushed tomato red. He bellowed like a bear when he heaved the end of the coffin up one step.
“Come on, old man, you can do it.” Bernie peered over the top at me.
“Can’t we enlist some of the young bucks?” asked Humphrey.
“We’re not allowed to send them home broken,” I reminded him.
“What’s the problem? You move these things all the time,” Bernie said.
Humphrey thunked the end of the casket on the next step up, turned around, sat down on the step below it, and wiped perspiration off his face with a handkerchief. “Sorry to disappoint you, but I’m not some kind of superhero. We wheel them around. I’ve never carried a casket up stairs!”
“Are you taking a break? Sophie, prod him a bit, will you?”
I couldn’t help teasing them. “Are you sure Ray’s wife isn’t in there?”
Jesse emerged from the front room and puffed out his slender chest. “I could give you a hand.” He sat next to Humphrey on the step and said, “On the count of three, we heave with our backs.”
“Wait!” called Blake. We could hear the pounding of his footsteps as he ran up the rear stairs and across the second floor. He reappeared beside Bernie and grabbed onto the coffin.
“We could help, too, if the stairs weren’t so narrow.” Jen pouted
.
“Why don’t you hustle up the back staircase to the second floor and make sure the path is clear from the top of the front stairs to the vampire bedroom?” I suggested.
With the boys’ help, the casket was nearing the top of the stairs, and I returned to the witch’s lair. I had strung tiny purple lights around the corners and the ceiling and shot cobwebs over them. I still needed to add a witchy broom or two, but the room had come together nicely, except for the bright brass chandelier hanging from the ceiling. Large and authentic for Old Town’s historic style, it would have been coveted by many homeowners, but was surely a humiliation for a witch.
Bernie spoke behind me. “The casket made it to its destination. I think we did a decent job of hiding the hole. It’s on the side that people won’t see. Humphrey adjusted the lining so the hole isn’t visible when the lid is opened. Okay if the kids help Humphrey and me finish the graveyard in the back?”
“Perfect. I need to run some errands anyway. I’ll bring back Chinese takeout for lunch.”
My first stop was Ray’s shop, Le Parisien Antiques. Like the haunted house next door, it featured a large picture window to showcase the interior. Cigarette smoke hung heavily inside, giving it a gloomy, hazy appearance. Two plastic side tables, probably worth less than ten dollars when new, occupied a place of honor in the window. Stacks of old books surrounded them, as well as a genie lamp, a pair of ratty slippers, and an old tire. Ray Barnett sure knew how to dress a window.
Gulping a breath of fresh air, I pushed the door open and a flat clink, barely audible, announced my arrival. Ray heard it, though, and shuffled toward me through the cluttered mess.
“Howdy, little Miss Sophie.”
“I’m sorry about the casket. That must have been a shock.”
“Tell the truth, I forgot all about the thing until I saw it again. I like to fell over. But I’m a tough old geezer. What can I do you for?”
“I’m looking for old, chipped, okay—cheap—chandelier crystals for the haunted house.”
“I have some beauties in the back corner.” He motioned for me to follow him. “I plan to be first in line when you open up for business. I love me a good haunted house.” He grinned, displaying large yellow teeth. “It better draw some potential tenants. It’s been empty since Patrick Starski defaulted on his rent.”
“Patrick Starski just paid me a visit. He owned the candle shop?” No wonder he didn’t want to come in and help with the haunted house. He was probably still upset about losing his business.
“He’s not much of a businessman.”
I knew nothing about him. “That Hummer Maggie drives couldn’t have been inexpensive.”
“She’s got money. I imagine the Hummer came from the car dealership—she’s part owner. That Patrick is a parasite, though. There you go.” He pointed at a dirty corner. “See anything you like?”
Ray didn’t believe in high-wattage lightbulbs. Maybe that was just as well given the clutter. Still, I could make out an amazing array of dust-encrusted crystal chains and prisms of every imaginable size and shape. “Oh, that’s the door. I must have another customer.” He patted my shoulder. “Since it’s for the haunted house, you take whatever you need for, say, five bucks.”
He shuffled off toward the front of the shop. Funny, I hadn’t heard the dull clink of the bell on the door. I spent a few minutes pawing through the crystals. I really didn’t need many, and since he was being generous, I felt even more compelled to snag broken ones. A spritz or two of black spray paint would add just the gloomy touch I sought.
Ray’s voice bellowed through the cavernous store. “How dare you come onto my property and threaten me? Git! Git on out, you sorry fancy-pants Yankee.”
I didn’t hear the response, but an ear-shattering rumble of items falling to the hardwood floor suggested someone had bumped into a stack of goods. I hurried to the front to see if anyone needed help, and arrived just in time to see Patrick Starski pointing a finger at Ray, much as he had at me. He backed through the front door and fell flat on his face on the sidewalk outside. He rose quickly and glared into Ray’s store.
Ray nodded once with apparent satisfaction. “Yellow-bellied sap sucker.” He pulled out the drawer of his old-fashioned cash register and even in the dim light, the metal casing of a gun shone as he stashed it away. “Hey there, little lady. You find what you need?”
“Is everything okay?”
He snorted. “Some of these young fancy-britches fellows don’t know how to conduct business. I’d be plumb ashamed to come around asking for extensions and favors.” He accepted the five-dollar bill I held out to him. “You see? That’s how you do business. Fair and square.”
“Patrick likes to point his finger and threaten,” I observed, in the hope of learning more about him.
Ray waved a fleshy hand through the air carelessly. “I’ve dealt with his kind before.”
“All hot air?”
“Not unless you think a striking rattler is full of hot air. You steer clear of him, hear? I’ve already spread the word about him. No one in Old Town is going to rent him a place to do business. Don’t need folks like him around these parts.”
Even though I barely knew Patrick and wasn’t really worried about his idle threats, I found myself on the lookout for him when I left Le Parisien Antiques. I picked up an assortment of Chinese takeout, bought a can of black spray paint, and headed back to work. The house was still when I entered. I carried the food through the hallway to the kitchen and set it on a 1950s-style laminated dinette table. Through the windows, I could see Bernie, Humphrey, and the kids working in the backyard. I was about to call them to come in when I heard something.
A whimper.
I listened intently.
I heard it again—like a dog’s whine. I scanned the yard for any sign of an animal.
A creak behind me made the hair on my arms rise. I swung around and Natasha rushed at me, her hands raised, witchlike. My own sweet Daisy, the hound mix Mars and I shared, bounded toward me, her tail spinning in a circle with joy. I sank into a chair and hugged her while Natasha laughed.
“I love Halloween!” Natasha dropped Daisy’s leash and promptly wiped dog fur off her gorgeous, fluffy robin’s egg blue sweater and skinny pants that made her look even more slender. “I thought I’d drop Daisy off. I have so much to do before tonight’s big Halloween party.”
“I’m sure it will be marvelous.” When my pulse returned to normal, I set the kitchen table with paper plates and napkins that featured a creepy house with ghosts hanging out the windows. Natasha reached out and clutched my shoulder with such tension that I could feel her superlong, perfectly manicured nails digging in.
“I need your help. I’m desperate, Sophie.”
I’d grown up with Natasha and was used to her dramaqueen behavior. I turned away, stifling a yawn. “I’m up to my eyeballs with the haunted house.”
“Pleeease, Sophie. My mother arrived unexpectedly! She just assumed she was invited to the party.”
“That’s nice.”
“Noooo,” she whispered. “Not at all. You know my mother. I can’t have her at my party tonight. I’ve invited everyone who is anyone. It has to be perfect. I have a lot riding on this.” She picked at an errant dog hair on her trousers. “Frankly, I’m still miffed that they didn’t ask me to chair the haunted house. I have to prove that I can out-haunt you.”
“That’s why you’re throwing the party?” Natasha and I had a history of competition, but we were adults now, way beyond the nonsense of high school. “You could have volunteered to assist with the haunted house, you know.”
She shifted uneasily. “You would have gotten all the credit.”
As far as I was concerned, it wasn’t about credit. It was about fun for the kids.
“So you see how vital it is that my party be the party of the year. I need it to be the party against which all other parties are measured. The most incredible Halloween party ever thrown in Old Town.” S
he raised her gaze to meet mine. “You know my mother. I can’t have her showing up in some strange outfit, talking about spirits. Please, please ask her to help with the haunted house so she’ll be busy?”
I found Natasha’s mother, Wanda Smith, fascinating, but then, she wasn’t my mother. Prone to dressing like a teenager, Wanda was the antithesis of her conservative daughter, who considered her public image in everything she did. Wanda was likely to turn up at Natasha’s party as a sexy witch or a call girl. She was also inclined to spout superstitious sayings and read palms or tarot cards. The more I thought about her, the more I thought she would be perfect to spook kids at the haunted house. We could place a chair in the foyer for her, and she could entertain waiting groups by telling fortunes.
“I would love to have your mother help us. As long as she doesn’t dress in something too revealing, she would be fantastic. Can’t you just see her being mystical with the kids who come through?”
Natasha’s perfect eyebrows shifted together in a frown. “I hadn’t thought about it that way. This is the ideal time to introduce her to important people. No matter what she says or wears, it will all be embraced in the spirit of Halloween. They won’t know she’s always like that.”
I pretended to be disappointed, so she wouldn’t change her mind. “Oh, but she would be so great at the haunted house! Maybe she could help out tomorrow instead? I’m sure she’d rather be at your party tonight.” Truth be known, I was very happy that Natasha had changed her mind and wouldn’t hurt her mother’s feelings by trying to get rid of her.
She eyed each container of Chinese food as I opened it. “Would you care to join us?” I asked.
“I’m so starved I would even eat takeout, but I don’t dare eat anything today. My costume is skintight. Oh, but it smells good. I’m turning Daisy-the-fur-factory over to you, okay? I don’t have time for her right now.”
“Why do you insist on talking about her that way when she saved your life last Christmas?” Like me, my ex-husband Mars was crazy about Daisy so we shared custody. If only Natasha would be kinder to her.