A Catered Halloween (3 page)

“We’re here,” Curtis said, “because we know who killed Amethyst.”

“So go to the police,” said Sean.

“We tried, but they didn’t want to listen to our tape,” said Konrad.

“And why do you think we will?” Sean asked.

“Because,” Curtis said, taking over, “you always listened. You listened to our side that night.”

“That was different. It was my job to listen,” said Sean. “There was a brawl between you and eight other guys, and I wanted to know what started it.”

“And you let us go,” Konrad said.

“The Myers brothers were punks.”

“So you gonna listen, or what?” Curtis asked.

Sean shook his head. He was definitely getting soft in his old age. But what the hell. Why not? It wasn’t like he was going out anywhere tonight.

“Sure,” he said. “Play the tape. Let’s hear what you got.”

B
ernie watched Konrad put the machine down on the table in front of her dad’s wheelchair. It was one of those old-fashioned reel-to-reel tape recorders.

“Where did you get that?” she asked.

“From my uncle’s basement. It’s real old. Almost an antique,” replied Konrad.

“It looks it,” Bernie said.

“But it works better than cassette players or those new voice recording things. It picks up more stuff,” said Konrad.

“I used to have one of those in the eighties,” Sean remarked. “My wife made me throw it out. Me, I like to keep things like that.”

“That’s because you’re a pack rat,” Libby observed.

“No. You just never know when something is going to come in handy,” said Sean.

“Like Konrad said,” Curtis replied, “this deck works real fine.”

“I didn’t say it didn’t,” Bernie said. “I just said it was old.”

Konrad held up his hand. “Listen now.” Everyone fell quiet and leaned forward. “Here we go,” he said, and he clicked the switch.

Bernie heard someone that sounded like Konrad say, “Are we on?” Then Curtis answered, “We’re rolling,” and then she heard a lot of static and white noise.

After a minute Curtis stabbed the air with his finger. “Did you hear that?” he asked excitedly.

“I hear static,” Bernie said.

“No. Listen harder. There’s Bessie,” said Curtis.

“I’m sorry?” replied Bernie.

“Focus,” Curtis said.

“I’m trying,” said Bernie. And she leaned forward, closed her eyes, and concentrated. She thought she heard someone say, “Get out. Get out,” in a hoarse whisper. A chill went down her spine. She shook her head.
Bernie, get a grip
, she told herself. This evening was affecting her more than she’d thought. Now her hearing was playing tricks on her.

“You heard something, didn’t you?” Konrad asked her.

“I’m not sure,” Bernie said.

“That’s Bessie,” Konrad said. “Here.” And he stopped the tape and played it again.

This time Bernie didn’t hear anything except a hiss. There were no words.

“I didn’t hear anyone talking this time,” Bernie said.

“Sometimes that happens,” Konrad said.

Bernie turned to her father. “Did you hear anything?”

Sean shook his head, but the way he shook it made Bernie wonder if he had.

“I know I didn’t,” Libby said, but Bernie noticed her sister had the look she had on her face whenever she had one of her dreams.

“But you have to have heard it,” Konrad said. “I’ll make it louder.” And he turned up the volume. Now the room was filled with earsplitting static.

Sean winced. “It reminds me of someone drawing their nails across a blackboard.”

As Curtis leaned over the tape deck, Bernie decided if he got any closer, he’d be in it.

“See,” Curtis said, stabbing the air again. “There’s Bessie.”

Bernie shook her head. All she heard was a hiss. Maybe she heard a word. Home? House? No. There was nothing there. She was just hearing things because Curtis was suggesting that she do so. This was a subtle form of hypnosis.

Konrad began pounding his leg with his fist. “I can’t believe you can’t hear this. She’s telling us she cut Amethyst’s head off.”

“I don’t hear anything,” Libby said.

Bernie straightened up. This was giving her a headache. “You know,” she said to Konrad, “it’s been a really bad day, and I want to finish my drink, take a shower, and go to bed.”

Konrad turned to Sean. “You heard something, didn’t you?” There was a pleading note in his voice.

Sean shook his head. “Sorry. I can’t say that I did.”

“Let me rewind it, and we can try again,” said Konrad.

Sean held up his hand. “Let’s not. Instead, why don’t you turn it off and tell me what you think Bessie Osgood told you.”

Konrad looked at Curtis, who shrugged and nodded.

“Okay,” Konrad said.

Bernie breathed a sigh of relief as Konrad flicked the switch up. The room became blessedly quiet.

Konrad and Curtis exchanged another glance. Then
Curtis turned to Sean and said, “She said she cut off Amethyst’s head.”

“That’s it?” asked Sean.

“What do you mean, ‘That’s it?’” Curtis demanded.

“Well, did she say anything else?” asked Sean.

“She says why she did it,” said Curtis. “Here”—his hand moved to the switch—“you can hear for yourself.”

“That won’t be necessary,” Sean said quickly. “Why don’t you tell me instead?”

Konrad shrugged. “It’s simple. She did it because Amethyst threw her out the window, and she wanted to get even.”

“I see,” Sean said.

“So you don’t believe us?” Curtis cried.

Sean grimaced. “I believe you think you heard that.”

“No. We heard it,” Konrad insisted.

Curtis nodded. “We did,” he said. “Her voice was as clear as a bell jar.”

“Bell. The expression is ‘clear as a bell,’” Bernie corrected.

“That’s what I said,” Curtis told her.

“No. You said ‘bell jar,’” Bernie repeated.

“They’re the same thing,” Curtis retorted.

“No, they’re not,” Bernie said, and she went over and took another sip of her Scotch. As she was putting her glass down, she looked over and saw Libby eating the piece of pumpkin bar her dad hadn’t gotten to yet. She glanced away before she caught her sister’s eye. She was having a hard enough time keeping a straight face as it was.

“The problem is,” Bernie said to Curtis, “that ghosts are incorporeal beings.”

“They don’t get diseases,” Konrad cried.

“No. Incorporeal, meaning ‘without substance.’ They
don’t have hands to grip axes or chain saws or whatever was used to cut off people’s heads.”

“They have energy,” Konrad protested. “They can do amazing things. We learned that in our class. Right, Curtis?”

“Right, Konrad,” said Curtis.

“I’m sorry, but ghosts don’t go around lopping off people’s heads, no matter how good the reason they have,” Bernie told Konrad.

Curtis put his hands on his hips. “That shows you how much you know. Ghosts can do anything they want. They can move chairs….”

“That’s a poltergeist,” Bernie snapped.

“
Poltergeist
is just a fancy name for a different type of ghost,” Curtis told her.

Bernie threw up her arms. “I give up.”

“That’s because I’m right,” Curtis replied. Then he turned to Sean. “She’s awful excitable, isn’t she?”

“I am not!” Bernie yelled.

Sean held up his hand. “Let’s talk about something else for a moment, if you don’t mind.”

“I don’t mind,” Curtis said.

“That was a rhetorical question,” Bernie informed him.

“The question is,” Sean said hurriedly, cutting Bernie off, “isn’t Bob Small related to you?”

Curtis looked at his feet.

“That’s what I thought,” Sean said. His legs weren’t doing too good anymore, but that didn’t mean his memory wasn’t as good as it ever was.

Konrad drew himself up. “Maybe he is our cousin, but so what?”

“The
so what
is obvious,” Bernie retorted.

“Are you saying my brother and I are lying about this?” Curtis said. “That we have ulcerated motives?”

Bernie laughed. “You mean ulterior motives.”

Curtis’s face began to get red.

“She’s not saying that,” Sean said quickly. Curtis and Konrad had had bad tempers when they were younger, and Sean was pretty sure that despite what they said, they still had them.

“Then what is she saying?” Curtis asked.

“She’s saying you are hearing what you want to hear,” said Sean.

Konrad lifted up his tape deck. “Come on, Curtis,” he said to his brother. “Let’s get out of here. No point in wasting anyone else’s time.”

“What did you want us to do?” Sean asked Konrad.

“We wanted you to prove that Bessie Osgood killed Amethyst Applegate, of course,” said Konrad.

“Of course,” Sean repeated. He could just imagine what his pal Clyde would say when he heard about this one.

Curtis shuffled his feet for a moment, then said, “We’ll pay you.”

“Money is not the issue,” Sean told him as he moved his wheelchair a little to the left so he could watch Mr. Wilson walk his Chihuahua, Merlin. It always amused him to see such a big man with such a little dog. At the moment Merlin was trying to subdue a jack-o’-lantern on someone’s doorstep by peeing on it.

“Then what is?” Curtis asked.

“There is no way to prove that Bessie Osgood killed Amethyst Applegate. Even if you had a viable tape, it wouldn’t matter,” Sean said after Mr. Wilson had rounded the corner. “I’ve never heard of ghostly testimony being accepted by the DA. And let me go further. The original crime happened over twenty years ago, and if I remember correctly, opinion was divided as to its cause.”

“The dead have just as much right to justice as the living,” Curtis protested.

“You’re going to have to take that up with the judicial system,” Sean told him. “I’m sorry, but there it is.” He sighed. Why did Curtis and Konrad make him feel guilty? They shouldn’t, but they did. “So do you have anything else you want to tell me?” he asked in the ensuing silence.

Curtis and Konrad looked at each other. They both cleared their throats.

“We don’t think it’s fair,” Konrad blurted out, “that Amethyst got Bob in trouble before, and she’s done it again.”

“Bob loaned her the car,” Sean said. “She didn’t put a gun to his head and force him to.”

“That’s true. But she sweet-talked him into it. If he hadn’t met her, he’d be all right now,” Curtis said. “He’d still have his family and his job.”

There was no arguing with that, Sean decided. “Do the police have Bob in custody yet?” he asked.

“No,” Konrad said. “But they’re gonna.”

“He’s a convicted felon, and he was there,” Curtis said. “Of course, they’re going to pick him up.”

“True,” said Sean as he spied Mr. Wilson heading back around the corner. He was carrying Merlin in his jacket pocket.

“The guy needs a break,” Konrad continued. “And it’s especially frustrating for us because we got the proof, and no one will listen to us.” He lowered his voice. “Even our wives think we’re a little wacko with this stuff.”

Sean pursed his lips while he thought. “I’ll tell you what. How about if me and the girls look into this?”

“That’s all we want,” Curtis said.

“But if whatever we find leads in the direction of
Bob Small, that’s the way we’re going to go,” said Sean.

“I keep telling you that Bessie Osgood did it,” Curtis said.

“Maybe she did, and maybe she didn’t,” Sean said. “Maybe someone else did. That’s what we’re going to try and find out.”

Konrad and Curtis nodded. “We’ll leave the tape for you,” they both said at the same time.

“Appreciate it,” Sean said. “Tell me, how about the Reverend Peabody or Esmeralda? You heard anything from them?”

“Dad,” Bernie cried.

“I was just asking,” Sean replied.

“To answer your question,” Curtis said, “we haven’t yet. But we intend to try. Mr. Kane said he’d pay us a thousand bucks if we get their voices.”

“Dad,” Bernie repeated after the two men had left.

Sean looked up from the newspaper he’d picked up. It was two days old, but that was the way he liked his news. Past its prime. It gave some perspective to it.

“What?” he asked.

“I can’t believe you agreed to do that,” said Bernie.

“I don’t see why not,” Sean retorted.

“Because Curtis and Konrad are crazy,” said Bernie.

“A little strange maybe, but not crazy. After all, everyone has their private obsessions,” said Sean.

“But Dad,” Bernie continued. “You just said that you thought Bob Small chopped off Amethyst Applegate’s head.”

“No,” Sean corrected. “What I said was that if I were the police, I would like him for it. That doesn’t mean that I think he did it.”

“But Bob Small had motive, means, and opportunity,” Bernie wailed. “Those are your words.”

“I know. But I think he’s too obvious,” replied Sean. “Over the years I’ve found that things that come wrapped up in pretty, neat little packages with bows on top of them rarely are what they seem.”

“So you’re saying that you think that Bob Small was set up?” Libby asked.

“I’m saying it’s a possibility,” Sean replied. “Which is why we should come up with a list of Amethyst’s enemies and everyone who had access to the Haunted House and cross-reference them.”

Bernie sighed. “It’s going to be a lengthy list.”

Sean cast a longing glance at his paper. “I’m aware of that.”

“And we’re doing this why?” asked Bernie.

“Because the case interests me, and because I don’t want to see our redoubtable chief of police put the wrong man in jail,” said Sean.

“Lucy could do that,” Libby agreed, referring to the chief of police by his nickname.

“Lucas Broadbent has done it,” Sean said. “Several times.” He turned to Bernie. “And while you’re at it, see what you can find out about what happened to Bessie Osgood.”

“You’re kidding, right?” Bernie asked.

“Not in the least,” said Sean. “My gut tells me she’s at the root of this in some way or other.”

“Is this the same gut that told you to go west to Mr. Leonida’s house when you should have been going east?” said Bernie.

“Just humor an old man, will you?” said Sean.

“Fine,” Bernie said. She finished the last of her drink. “Maybe Curtis and Konrad do have something. After all, Halloween is the time of year when ghosts
are supposed to come visit us mortals, the time when the veil between the two worlds is at its thinnest. The Celts thought so two thousand years ago. Who am I to argue?”

Libby groaned. “You don’t believe in ghosts, do you, Dad?” she asked.

“No. But I believe in bad luck places. And I think the Peabody School falls under that category,” said Sean.

Libby frowned. Maybe the money they were getting wasn’t worth it, after all.

“Oh, come on,” Bernie said, looking at her sister’s face. “I told you nothing else is going to happen. Trust me on this.”

Libby got up. “You know,” she said, “whenever anyone tells me that, I’ve found that the opposite is usually true.”

Then, before Bernie could reply, Libby went downstairs to bake some more pumpkin bars. Baking always made her feel better. And, anyway, her dad was right. They were going to be swamped tomorrow.