Misalignment and Murder

by Cathy Tully

  Susannah grabbed the flier and tore it from the board. “No more haunted houses.”

  Bitsy wrestled the flier away from her. “That’s tonight!” Bitsy spun, almost crashing into the clerk, who had returned with Bitsy’s Growl-A-Ween signs. Susannah steadied the clerk. “I only have a few hours to get ready. Grab those signs.” To the clerk, Bitsy said, “Tell Shanice I owe her.” Clutching the box of fliers, she told Susannah, “Let’s go!”

  Susannah followed her out, jamming the yard signs into the open hatchback. Bitsy slammed it shut and jumped into the driver’s seat. “Let’s drive by this address.” She handed the ad off to Tina. “I think it’s on the other side of the cemetery. We can keep an eye out for Crazy Crystal and Two-Timing Travis.”

  “That’s the old feed and seed store,” Tina said. “You know, the one that backs up to the cemetery. My cousin told me the Tussahaw High seniors converted it into a haunted house to raise money for their senior prom.”

  “I love me a haunted house.” Bitsy followed Tina’s directions, and they soon saw the old building decorated for Halloween. “Dr. Shine, we have a date with destiny.”

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Haunted House Holdup

  Despite her best efforts, Susannah found herself in Bitsy’s SUV dressed as Supergirl.

  “Supergirl, for real?” Bitsy asked. “You’re grown. Why not Wonder Woman?”

  “I might be a wonderful woman,” Susannah said as she tugged the Supergirl cape around her shoulders, “but I’m not going out in public in a teddy and a tiara. At least this outfit has sleeves. Besides, it’s all I could find on short notice.”

  “It’s Angie’s, isn’t it?”

  “What if it is?” Susannah always felt foolish in costumes but admired Bitsy’s ability to have fun dressing up. Her zombie makeup was impressive considering the small amount of time she’d had to get her look together. Even Andrea had commented on how quickly she had gotten dressed. “Anyway, remember what Andrea said. We need to be home early. We can’t expect her to watch the boys for us all night. She has studying to do.”

  “We’ll be back early. But let me get my Halloween classic rock groove on.” Bitsy shimmied her shoulders to the beat of “Monster Mash.” “You, know, I think a haunted house would make a good fundraiser for the Peach Grove Business Association.”

  “If you say so.” Susannah smoothed her cape. “We’ll need a passel of volunteers. But you’re the president now, and you can probably motivate people better than Marcie could have.”

  “Oh.” Bitsy stopped shimmying and turned the volume down. “I don’t know about that. The only volunteer I motivated for Growl-A-Ween is you.”

  At the old feed and seed store, they parked in an empty lot that already was filling with cars. Keith Cawthorn sat in a Peach Grove PD cruiser, and Officer Chaffin directed traffic.

  “Hey there, Officer Cawthorn.” Bitsy waved at Keith as she and Susannah joined the ticket line. Ahead of them, Susannah saw Disney princesses and superheroes, but Bitsy’s darker take on the costume was not unusual. There were several Ghostfaces in long black robes.

  “Keep your eyes open,” Susannah told Bitsy.

  “For real-life ghosts and ghouls?” Bitsy stared into the cemetery. “We’ll go looking for them later.”

  “No,” Susannah whispered, “for Travis or Crystal.”

  “Why would Travis show up at a haunted house?” Bitsy frowned, gazing down the line. “Though I could see cray-cray Crystal dressing up as a serial killer.”

  Behind them, a teenaged Dracula swooped into line, swooshing his satin cape over his head and burying his fangs into the neck of a tall young woman who screeched with delight. Keith looked over and then exited his car.

  “Look.” Susannah pulled Bitsy’s arm, pointing to a group of people coming around the corner of the building from the street. “Is that Travis?”

  “Where?” Bitsy twisted, following Susannah’s finger. “I don’t see anybody. I think you’re imagining things.”

  At last they paid their entrance fee and were ushered down into a damp cellar with about a dozen other people. A thin young man in ragged jeans and a black shirt pointed across the low-ceilinged room to a wooden staircase.

  “Once you go up the stairs into the haunted house,” he said as he looked from person to person, “you can’t come back.”

  The group slowly treaded up the rickety stairs, Susannah and Bitsy the last to enter. Stepping onto an uneven floor, Susannah took a few small steps into the darkness, disoriented, feeling Bitsy’s breath on her hair. A light suddenly flared, and a witch flew by on a broomstick. The flash of light and the sudden movement caused the women to jump, grabbing each other. Laughing, they continued on amid squeals of fright until their pace slowed and the temperature rose.

  Bitsy touched Susannah’s arm. “It’s hot as the blazes in here. Let’s see if we can get to the end—”

  Before Bitsy could finish, Susannah was shoved. She crashed into the wall as her purse was yanked from her shoulder. At the same time, a yowling filled the air and a strobe light flashed. Large dead eyes flew at her. Bitsy ran away shrieking as a ghoul came at Susannah, its arms outstretched. She reached for her purse but became entangled in wires. The sound of tearing cloth and snapping plastic filled the air as the ghoul bobbed about her head.

  “What’s happening?” a voice yelled.

  In her frenzy to get free, Susannah had twisted the ghoul’s robes around her arms and face. She thrashed about, hitting several teens as they rushed past. The lights came up, and she blinked against the brightness.

  “You broke it,” a girl dressed as Harley Quinn accused, pointing a baseball bat. Susannah flattened herself against the wall. “You ruined everything.”

  The same young man who had ushered them into the basement came down the hall with a walkie-talkie in hand. He took one look at the cracked plastic and ripped fabric and glared at her. “You’re going to have to pay for that.”

  Susannah unwrapped the ghost’s robes from her neck. “It wasn’t my fault. Someone shoved me into the wall and grabbed my purse.” She looked at the floor around her, her heart sinking. “I’ve been robbed.”

  “Well, someone has to pay, or I’m going to call the cops.”

  “Don’t bother.” Susannah untangled the last bits of string and fabric from her arms and plopped them into his hands in a jumble. “The police are outside. I’m going to make a report. One of your customers stole my purse.”

  Susannah gave Harley Quinn a hostile stare and stormed off. As she scanned the property for Keith or Owen, Susannah saw Bitsy entering the cemetery behind a black-robed ghost. A few steps ahead of them, a blue uniform hurried away.

  “Keith?”

  He didn’t respond, instead disappearing behind the large hedgerow that grew over the fence between the haunted house and the cemetery. She pursued him, muttering. As she neared the fence, a high-pitched scream sent her running through the gate and into the dark cemetery.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Cemetery Smackdown

  Illuminated by the orange glow of a streetlight, a narrow asphalt pathway wound between the tilted and weathered headstones. A group of costumed revelers gathered around a statue of a forlorn angel, and another shriek rent the air. High schoolers fooling around. Susannah stopped. Had she seen a police officer’s blue uniform, or was it a costume? She heard voices and followed them, slowing her stride as the glow from the streetlight faded. Had Bitsy come this way too?

  Another scream, followed instantly by a rolling boom.

  Gunshot!

  She crouched behind a monument, ears ringing. Low to the ground, she waited for another shot, but it never came.

  “Hello?” she called. “Is there anyone there?”

  “Susannah, is that you?” Bitsy answered from a distance. “Where are you at?”

  “Over here.” Susannah launched herself from a crouch, like a track-and-field athlete in pursuit of a medal, and then her foot hooked on someth
ing and she was eating grass. “Gah,” she spit. Cemetery grass. She spit again. Her shoulder hurt and head ached. First slammed into a wall, now face-first into the ground. This was not her idea of a good time. Sitting up, she gasped as the image of what she had tripped on became clear. She crawled slowly toward a large granite tombstone.

  “Don’t be dead, don’t be dead, don’t be dead,” she whispered to herself. But it was no use. On the other side of the headstone was the lifeless body of Travis Keene, a bullet hole in his forehead.

  Frozen in place, she squeezed her eyes shut, tears flowing down her face. “Bitsy! Where are you?”

  “Dr. Shine?”

  She opened her eyes. Keith Cawthorn loomed over her. He put out his hand and helped her up. Bitsy appeared behind him, running down the path.

  “I knew it! Zombies are real.” Bitsy pushed past Keith and stared down at Travis with fear in her eyes. “Did you get bit?”

  “Stop.” Keith placed his large hand on Bitsy’s shoulder, preventing her from going any further. “This is a crime scene now.”

  A few minutes later, Susannah, with a blanket over her shoulders, stood in the shadows where the blue light of Randy’s patrol car flashed in the darkness. Shivering, she pulled the blanket tighter, covering up Angie’s costume. She didn’t know how she had torn the cape, or even how long she had been there; she just knew she was cold and tired. Randy stood over Travis, his hands on his hips, chewing on a toothpick. Detective Withers had taken Susannah’s statement and was now interviewing Bitsy. The detective would return for a second round, Susannah was sure of it. Keith appeared holding two cups of steaming coffee in one massive hand and a flashlight in the other. He offered her a cup.

  “Bitsy’s going to take your nephew home and put him to bed. And Tina wants you to text her if you need her in the morning.”

  “Thanks.” Susannah warmed her hands on the cardboard cup. “And for the blanket.”

  “No problem.” One of Keith’s huge hands completely hid his coffee cup.

  “How did you get here so fast?” Susannah looked up at him. “Before, I mean. After the gunshot.”

  “I was over there.” He pointed over his shoulder, sweeping the beam from his high-powered flashlight around them in a widening arc. “The kids who run the haunted house reported that someone attacked one of their props and then ran off when they were asked to pay.”

  “That was me.” Susannah sipped at her coffee, swallowing the lump in her throat with the brew. “Someone in the haunted house shoved me and stole my purse.” She sighed. “I already told the detective. I couldn’t pay, I didn’t have any money. I came out looking for you.” She stopped and shook her head. “I don’t know what I saw.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I left the haunted house wanting to report the…” She searched for the right word. “The mugging. I came over here because I thought I saw you by the entrance to the cemetery.” She shrugged. “I guess I was wrong.”

  Before Keith could say any more, the detective approached. He winked at Susannah and left.

  “Miss Long didn’t have much to add.” Detective Withers pointed at Susannah with her pen. “She backs up your story of being shoved from behind. She said she got shoved too, and decided she had had enough and left. Is that correct?”

  “Yes, but…” Susannah remembered the heat and the darkness. “I got shoved to the side. Into the wall, and I guess into the mechanisms that were running the ghost. Bitsy went forward.” She looked at the detective. “There must have been two people working together.”

  “What makes you say that?”

  “Because I was purposely pushed into the wall.” Susannah rubbed her left shoulder. “The side opposite where I carry my purse. And then my purse was yanked off my arm. That same person couldn’t have been rushing Bitsy and the others at the same time. It worked out for them that I got all tangled up and caused a scene. Nobody was paying attention to them when they left with my stuff.”

  “An interesting theory.” The detective paused. “I told Ms. Long not to wait for you.”

  When the detective ushered Susannah past the front desk of the Peach Grove Police Department, Little Junior’s brows rose so far up that it looked like he had two black caterpillars walking across his shaved brown head. As the detective ushered her into an interview room, she noticed Little Junior, head down, fingers moving furiously. The Peach Grove grapevine was smoking.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  A ’Do and a Deer

  Susannah walked into the kitchen, staring at her new phone. The smell of coffee and old sneakers hit her nostrils. She skirted Caden’s gym shoes on the floor and sighed. After finding Travis Keene’s body last night, Susannah was sure Angie would be released soon and she wouldn’t have to lie to Caden anymore. He had asked about his mother on the drive to school this morning, and she had put him off. Hopefully, for the last time.

  Susannah made a beeline for the espresso maker. It had taken an hour to replace her phone, but in the end she was satisfied with her choice. At least she had gotten to keep her old phone number. Once the service was turned on, the device began to beep and vibrate. Ten text messages from Bitsy appeared.

  “No,” she texted to Bitsy, “I really am not zombified.” She added a winking emoji.

  A phone message from an unknown number caught her eye. Since the voice mailbox hadn’t been set up yet, she would not be able to retrieve the message. Sipping at her espresso, she peered at the instructions to activate the mailbox. As she swiped at the screen, the front door opened. Lunging across the table for her new concealed-carry purse, she withdrew her Glock, hands trembling.

  “Suzie?” Angie grinned, one hand on Bitsy’s arm. “I know you’re angry at me, but can you drop the weapon?”

  “Glad to see you using that handbag correctly, girlfriend.” Bitsy removed the gun from Susannah’s hand and placed it on the table. “Safety first.”

  “What? How?”

  Angie rushed Susannah and engulfed her in a hug. “They released me!” Angie danced with glee. “My attorney showed up yesterday afternoon and told me about a new bail hearing this morning. They accepted all the paperwork you filed, and here I am. That squint-eyed detective was not happy, but there was nothing she could do. Anyway, by the time they let me use a phone, I couldn’t get through to you.”

  “Enter moi.” Bitsy crunched a Granny Smith apple as she closed the refrigerator. “I knew you were phone shopping, so I went.”

  “Thank you so much for helping me,” Angie said.

  Bitsy gave her shoulders a squeeze. “Don’t mention it. Any family of Susannah’s is family to me. Plus you’re like the Italian grandma I never had. With all the best recipes I could ever want.” She winked at Susannah. “I mean, I love her to death, but your sister thinks garlic-flavored flax crackers are a good substitute for Oreos.”

  “Thank you.” Susannah hugged Bitsy.

  “That’s what friends are for. But I gotta fly.” Bitsy twirled the apple and took another bite, crunching loudly as she headed for the door. “Don’ forge yur air poinmet.”

  “What was that?” Susannah asked her sister.

  “My hair.” Angie dropped her bag. “I have to get cleaned up. I have a hair appointment at Cutz & Curlz.”

  “What? Maggie’s working? How did you even get an appointment?”

  “I made an appointment before all this.” Angie twirled her hand. “On the way over here, I got a call from Maggie’s assistant, Polly. She’ll be filling in for her.” She raised her eyebrows at Susannah. Her expression said: What do you think about that? “I’m keeping the appointment.”

  “Well, let’s get going.” Susannah stowed her gun in the concealed carry purse. The one saving grace of last night’s mugging was that she had not been carrying her Glock. She was now. Angie showered quickly and threw on a pair of jeans and a T-shirt. “I didn’t know that you knew Maggie,” Susannah commented as she pulled out of the drive.

  “I don’t,” Angi
e replied. “Someone at work recommended her weeks ago, so I made an appointment.”

  When they entered Cutz & Curlz, a petite redhead bounded up to them. “Hi, I’m Polly Dean. I’m taking Maggie’s clients today.” Polly ushered them in and settled Angie into a chair. Susannah half expected to see Miss Shirleen under a dryer. Polly examined Angie’s hair in the way only hairdressers do, half clinical tug and half loving caress. “I love these curls,” Polly remarked. “Let’s get you shampooed.” To Susannah she said, “There’s coffee in the break room. Help yourself.”

  “Thanks, I think I will.” Susannah scuttled to the room where just a few days before, Maggie had asserted that Travis would be fine. Did Maggie feel guilty about assuming he was stepping out on her? Or would she be blaming Crystal for what had happened to him? Susannah had to admit that Crystal’s part in this remained a mystery that needed solving. She glanced at the table, which was still covered with magazines and styling scissors. She looked around, searching for something that might jump out at her as being important, but nothing did. In the other room, Polly was busy shampooing Angie’s hair. Susannah sprinted into action and opened the cupboards and even looked into the refrigerator, hoping something might scream, I’m a clue! But nothing did.

  As she fixed herself a cup of coffee, a movement outside the building caught her eye. Like a lot of older Victorian-style homes, the window casing was framed out with thick wooden molding, and the bottom part was wide enough to sit on. She watched Otis, Maggie’s mostly black cat, flick his tail and pick his way through some brambles. Susannah sympathized; any more coffee this morning and she would be twitching like a cat’s tail. Otis moved further into the weeds and jumped atop something brown that was half hidden behind a small shed. Susannah squinted at it. It looked like the rump of a deer. The cat sat down and began grooming its paw. Susannah examined the brown thing more closely. Was it one of those fake deer bow-hunting targets?