by Kylie Logan
There was no use explaining the frantic call to the costume shop in Cleveland, the special messenger delivery, the cost. I was flattered, and smiled. For his part, Levi was dressed just as I asked him to, in dark work pants and a white shirt. He’d rolled the sleeves above his elbows and added a jaunty tweed walking cap. I hadn’t requested the hat, but I approved. It gave him a certain roguish look that was perfect for the part I had asked him to play.
“You had it easy,” I told him, because that seemed a better option than pointing out that he looked delectable. “Guys usually do when it comes to costumes.”
As if to prove it, Hank showed up in a black suit and a fedora. He had a cigar clenched between his teeth. He had a woman on each arm. The moll on his right—complete with a red strapless dress and a feathered headband—was none other than Chandra. For the record, she looks better in red than she does in green. The woman on his left, resplendent in a blue beaded gown that wasn’t at all true to the period but was beautiful nonetheless, was Luella. I realized I’d never seen her in a dress—or dangling earrings, for that matter.
Over the next twenty minutes, my guests drifted in, including all of the ghost getters. They weren’t sure what I had planned, but they made it clear that whatever it was, they were eager to get it over with so they could get out and start hunting on this, what they called the one night of the year when the veil between the physical world and the spiritual one was the thinnest. Ben and Eddie each wore T-shirts that said This Is My Costume. Liam, Rick, and David looked no different than ever and informed me that they were dressed as members of EGG. Jacklyn wore her pink kimono, and Dimitri had on a makeshift toga that seemed appropriate considering his Mediterranean good looks. At least until I realized the toga was made out of one of the bedsheets from the B and B.
I recognized Fiona’s costume at once; it was one of Chandra’s caftans, this one a swirl of purples and blues that set off that spectacular howlite necklace of hers just right.
Kate didn’t bother with a costume, and I didn’t criticize. I was so grateful to see her that the moment she arrived, I sat her at the table closest to the bar, ordered her a classic speakeasy drink—the gin rickey—and told her to get comfortable.
Lucy and Charlie Brown, it should be noted, arrived right on time, Alvin in his yellow t-shirt with a black zigzag and Marianne in a blue dress and saddle shoes. Okay, so they weren’t exactly Prohibition-era anything, but that didn’t keep them from looking as cute as can be.
“We’re ready,” I said to Levi when I zipped past him to make sure Marianne was comfortable. “Everybody’s here.”
“Go for it,” he said.
And I did.
“Ladies and gentlemen!” I stepped to the center of the room. “Thank you for joining us this evening to celebrate Halloween. My name is Carrie Wilder.”
Kate sat up.
“We’re here tonight,” I continued, “to tell you all a story. A story about me and this man.” I held out a hand and Levi joined me. “This is somebody you all know: Charlie Sleepy Harlow.”
The ghost getters applauded. Marianne looked pleased as punch. Hank knew what I was up to, but Chandra and Luella had only been given the bare bones of the plan. They were sitting with Kate, and like her, they sat up and took notice.
Once I had everyone’s attention, I signaled to Aaron, who brought an oil lamp out from behind the bar. I lit it and left it there.
“A lamp,” I said. “And Kate, though this one isn’t yours, you’ll recognize it. It’s just like the one Carrie Wilder . . .” I pointed to myself, just to remind them which role I was playing. “Carrie Wilder put this lamp on her windowsill at the winery every day. Sometimes she lit it and sometimes she didn’t, and some people”—I glanced at Levi—“some people thought I was crazy to think that the lamp was a signal, but I’ve recently found out that I was right. You see, I recently found a number of old letters. Written to Carrie Wilder from Charlie Harlow. And from Charlie Harlow to Carrie Wilder.”
Marianne’s mouth dropped open. “Is that the surprise you said you had for me? Carrie and Sleepy, they were friends?”
“They were more than friends. Kate, you should be the first to know, and I’m sorry I’m not going tell you in private, but you’ll understand when I’m done. You see, Sleepy Harlow, he was your great-grandfather.”
“No!” I couldn’t tell if she was happy or outraged or just so gobsmacked that she couldn’t think what else to say. “The family story is that Carrie’s husband died before my grandfather was born.”
“Well, that’s sort of true,” I told her. “Your grandfather’s father died, all right, but he wasn’t Carrie’s husband. Oh, they planned to get married, but they never had the chance. Carrie’s father was furious, both about who she intended to marry and the fact that she was pregnant before the I do’s were said.”
“Which is why . . .” Levi stepped forward. “It’s why he obliterated the oil lamp Carrie had added to Sleepy’s tombstone. She put it there as a tribute to her love.”
“But your great-great grandfather,” I told Kate, “didn’t want the world to know that his daughter was having the child of a gangster. Because we all know that’s what Sleepy was, right?”
I saw a couple nods and heard a couple, “You bets!” I figured that’s the reaction we’d get, and that was Hank’s cue to step forward.
“Sleepy worked with gangsters.” I motioned toward Hank. “He supplied them with Canadian liquor. And eventually, he got on the wrong side of those gangters. We’ve all talked about it, haven’t we? Sleepy did something to make the mob bosses really mad. They killed him and cut off his head. Nasty!” I didn’t have to pretend to shiver, because every time I thought about it, I had the same reaction. “And awfully violent, even for those years filled with gangland shootings and revenge killings. But thanks to those letters, we finally know why he suffered such a vicious death.”
Just as I’d instructed him, Levi turned toward the bar while I was saying all this, and now, he turned back again. He’d taken the time to pin something to his white shirt, and it winked in the light of the nearest candle.
As much as I wanted to make the announcement, I knew it wasn’t my place. I waited for Kate to figure it out. Her jaw dropped, and when she finally snapped it shut, she stammered, “Sleepy was a cop!”
“He was a G-man, working undercover to infiltrate the gangs of bootleggers,” I said.
“But why”—Kate got up and closed in on Levi so she could examine the badge he’d pinned on his chest—“why didn’t anyone ever say anything?”
I would explain to Kate in detail when we had the time. For now, it was simpler to say, “From what I’ve been able to find out, he was working under the direction of a man in Chicago. The day before Sleepy was killed, that federal agent had a heart attack. He was in the hospital for weeks, and he ended up dying. The secret of Sleepy’s undercover status died with him.”
“Then he wasn’t a gangster?” Marianne’s suddenly pale face looked terrible against her blue dress. “Then everything in my book, it’s all . . . wrong?”
“It’s all facts,” I reminded her. “And you have a new chapter to write. Thanks to the letters, you’ve got information that no one else has ever known, not since Carrie Wilder bundled up their love letters and Sleepy’s badge and hid them in one of the old storage rooms at the winery.” I glanced around at the small crowd. “See, Sleepy really did leave a treasure. The letters and his badge. That was his treasure.”
“Letters?” David’s mouth puckered. “Not exactly the stuff great stories are made of.”
“That’s where you’re wrong, young man,” Luella told him. “I’ll tell you what, Bea, that’s the most wonderful and romantic story I’ve ever heard. Imagine, Sleepy and Carrie Wilder. Congratulations, Kate.” She put a hand on Kate’s arm. “You’ve not only got a new ancestor—you’ve got one who’s a hero!”
Jacklyn didn’t even bother to stifle a yawn. “Terrific little story, but really, we
’ve got a lot to do tonight.” She scraped her chair back from the table. “So if this doesn’t have anything to do with us—”
“But it does,” I told her. “You see, Sleepy has everything to do with Noreen’s murder.”
What’s the old saying about being able to hear a pin drop? I don’t know about that, exactly, but I can say that in the silence that descended, I could clearly hear the whoosh of the ceiling fan above my head and the clink of glasses when Aaron poured a couple more beers for the ghost getters and the waitresses delivered them to the tables. I let the silence settle.
“Noreen Turner,” I told them all, “was a complete and total phony.”
“There’s a big surprise,” Jacklyn grumbled.
“Not fair.” Big points for Liam for defending Noreen’s honor. “Okay, so the chick could be annoying—”
“And obnoxious,” David added.
“And high-and-mighty,” Rick said.
“And as crazy as all get-out,” Dimitri said. “But what does that have to do with Sleepy?”
“It has to do with Sleepy because a leopard—or, in this case, a camouflaged ghost getter—doesn’t change its spots. Dimitri, you remember how Noreen stole your research for her magazine article—”
“I’ll say.” Dimitri slugged down the rest of his beer and chinked the empty glass against the table.
“Well, that’s the whole point,” I told him. “You see, Noreen was exactly what so many of you told me she was. She wanted to make a name for herself in the paranormal world. And she was willing to do anything to do it. Even if it meant stealing the plans for a new piece of equipment and then naming it after herself: the Turner Plasmometer.”
“No, no, no!” Liam sat back and crossed his arms over his chest. “That’s not possible. I showed you the plans. I told you, they were Noreen’s.”
“Actually, they were Ted Fywell’s.” I pivoted just a bit to my right. “Isn’t that right, Fiona?”
The kid clutched her hands together on the table in front of her. “I . . . I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Sure you do.” I glided closer. “Because you know the story of Ted Fywell. The fire at his home a couple years ago . . . You knew about that, right? In that fire, Ted thought he lost the plans for a new invention of his, the Fywell Plasmometer.”
Fiona frowned. “Why would somebody lie about a thing like that?”
“There’s been a lot of lying going on,” I said. “First from Noreen. I think she’s the one who stole those plans. And she set the fire, didn’t she, Fiona? So that Ted would think the plans had burned up. Then when word got out that Noreen had produced the Turner Plasmometer . . .”
Fiona dropped her face in her hands, and when she looked up again, her cheeks were stained with tears. “He thought the plans were gone. He didn’t think they’d be stolen. Then Noreen took credit and”—she sobbed—“it broke his heart.”
“Wait a minute!” Dimitri popped out of his chair. “You mean Noreen didn’t invent the plasmometer?”
“The plans should have been your first clue,” I told him. “The erasures? The crayon? The spilled coffee? Honestly, do you think Noreen would have let any of that get by her?”
Dimitri’s dark brows veed over his eyes. “We just thought—”
“That she was a genius,” Liam squeaked. “That’s how geniuses work.”
“That’s how Ted Fywell worked,” I told him. “And you knew that, didn’t you, Fiona? Just like you knew that Ted committed suicide and it was all Noreen’s fault.”
“That doesn’t mean anything.” Her hands flat against the tabletop, Fiona stood. “It’s just something I read about. Just something that told me what kind of person Noreen really was. It doesn’t mean I did anything. I never even knew Ted Fywell.”
I didn’t think she’d make this easy.
I reached over to the bar and picked up the picture of Ted Fywell I’d printed from a story about him on the Internet.
“Then explain this.” I showed the picture to Fiona, and the ghost getters gathered around to see what I was talking about.
David pointed. “He’s wearing Fiona’s stone necklace.”
“No,” I corrected him. “She’s wearing his. Because Ted Fywell . . .” I had other photos, and I passed them around. “In every photo Ted Fywell’s taken in the last few years, he’s been wearing that gorgeous howlite necklace you have on now, Fiona. That’s why you wore it in the first place, am I right? So Noreen would see it. So she would know why you joined the group.”
Fiona’s shoulders dropped. “She never even noticed.”
Dimitri took the photo of Ted out of Fiona’s hands. “So what’s the story?” he asked. “Fywell and Fiona—there’s no connection.”
“Do you want to tell them, Fiona?” She clamped her lips shut, so I told them instead. “Fiona kept her original last name, but she was Ted Fywell’s stepdaughter. When she realized what Noreen had done, she joined the group and tried to get Noreen to admit that she stole the plasmometer plans. She wanted Ted to get the credit he deserved for the plasmometer. Right, Fiona?”
She nodded, and tears streamed down her cheeks. “I didn’t come here to kill her,” she sobbed. “But then Noreen . . . Noreen asked me to dress up as Sleepy Harlow and meet her at the winery so we could shoot a phony video. And then Noreen . . .” Her words were nearly lost beneath the sound of her tears. “When we got ready to shoot the video, Noreen said the plasmometer was junk. Junk! It was Ted’s dream. He killed himself because she stole the plans and the credit. And Noreen said it was junk. I couldn’t help myself. I was so mad. All I could think was that Noreen had ruined Ted’s life. And my mother’s life. And my life, too. I loved Ted like he was my real dad. And I got so mad, I just picked up that plasmometer and . . .”
She didn’t have to finish. I remembered that flash of video I’d seen and the look on Noreen’s face right before the plasmometer came down on her head.
Hank moved forward, and I knew he was going to put handcuffs on Fiona. I stopped him with a look. “One more thing,” I said. “You had the Sleepy costume. You’re the one who we’ve seen on the island. The headless ghost.”
She nodded. “I heard about the legend and the treasure. I thought it was a real treasure, you know. Not just some stupid letters. I thought I could find it, and I figured if people thought there was a ghost, they wouldn’t come looking for me.”
Levi moved over to stand at my side. “That’s why you were on Middle Island that day. That’s why you couldn’t let us see it was you.”
“Yeah,” Fiona grumbled.
“But wait!” Chandra had been deep in thought, and now she got up and walked over to where we stood. “Fiona couldn’t have done it. She was at my house at the time of the murder. She was playing a CD of chanting and burning incense and—”
When Hank put Fiona’s hands behind her back and slapped the cuffs on her, the kid shot Chandra a look that was acid. “Just because the music was playing didn’t mean I didn’t start the music and light the incense, then leave,” she said. “Some people!” She snorted. “Some people believe anything!”
* * *
By the time Hank took Fiona away and the ghost getters cleared out to do their Halloween thing, it was late. I promised Marianne I’d bring copies of Sleepy’s and Carrie’s letters over to her the next morning, and she and Alvin left. Chandra couldn’t pass up the opportunity to celebrate her favorite day of the year in proper fashion. She’d brought her witch outfit with her, and her makeup, too, and, gloriously green, she headed to the park for the party and took Kate and Luella with her. I told them I’d catch up to them later and, one by one, blew out the candles on the tables in the speakeasy and told Aaron and his crew they could close up and go to the party, too.
“Good work!” Levi told me when we got outside. “If you hadn’t made the Fywell connection, the truth never would have come out.”
“I’m glad it did.” It was chilly, and I hadn’t brought a coat. I c
hafed my hands up and down my bare arms. “I’m going to go home and change.”
“And then come back to the park?”
I would have liked to tell Levi no, but there was a little thread of hope that ran through his words that made the unspoken invitation impossible to resist.
“I’ll drive you,” he said.
We were quiet all the way home.
“So?” He stopped his Jeep in my driveway and turned to me. “You’re lost in thought. Sorry that our Sleepy is as big a phony as the Headless Horseman?”
“Kind of,” I admitted. “Not that I ever believed in him or anything. It’s just that”—I got out of the car and started for the house, and Levi walked at my side—“it was a great story, wasn’t it? And now . . .” The candle in my glowering pumpkin guttered in a cool, sharp breeze. “Well, it’s kind of fun to believe in fairy tales, isn’t it?”
We climbed the steps. “You can come in,” I told Levi. “I’ll get a coat and a hat and—”
My attention was caught by movement on the other side of the street, and I stopped and hurried to the porch railing for a better look.
“Do you see what I see?” I asked Levi.
And I knew he did, because he couldn’t manage to say a word.
Instead, he slipped a hand in mine, and together, we watched a shadow outlined by the moonlight glinting against the water. It was a man. And he didn’t have a head.
“It’s just our imagination,” I told Levi.
“Absolutely.”
“And it can’t be real.”
“No, it can’t,” he said.
A moment later, the wind blew and the trees rustled, and the shadow was gone.
Still, we didn’t move. We stood there staring at the lake and wondering what we’d just seen.
And Levi kept hold of my hand.
If you enjoyed this book, try a taste of
CHILI CON CARNAGE
The first book in Kylie Logan’s Chili Cook-off Mysteries