Death by Pumpkin Spice (4 page)

4

“Ah, Mr. Foster and . . .” A man dressed like Igor frowned as he looked me up and down.

“Kristina Hancock,” Will provided. “She's my date this evening.”

“Ms. Hancock.” Igor smiled at me, but it never reached his eyes. “Right this way.” He bowed and began to shuffle down the hall, back slightly hunched.

“Don't mind him,” Will said. “He hates these things almost as much as the rest of the help does. They're in for a long, busy night without a chance for a break.”

I nodded absently, distracted by the entryway into the Yarborough mansion. It was decorated like a movie theatre hallway with large, framed posters, lit from below by floor lights. Women with wide eyes gripped their hands close to their chests while giant monsters stalked toward them. Giant bugs, bloody murderers wielding weapons just as bloody, and hideous creatures were the order of the day, apparently.

“Howard loved his horror movies,” Will said. “Fits right in with the Halloween theme.”

That was an understatement. I hadn't seen over half of the movies, and I never wanted to. I wasn't a total wimp, but the last time I went to a scary movie, I ended up “watching” it with my eyes closed and humming to myself so I couldn't hear the creepy music.

We were led to an open doorway. What appeared to be intricate runes were carved in the frame, as well as the two large open doors. Fake spiderwebs hung above the doorway, and I caught a glimpse of a very real-looking spider in the corner. Beyond, the party was taking place.

Igor bowed to each of us in turn before hurrying back to his place at the doors where another rain-drenched couple was coming in.

A handful of eyes turned our way as we stood outside the doors. Many of the guests continued on with their conversations as if we were beneath their notice. Apparently, the parking lot we'd gone to wasn't the only one because there were at least three dozen people milling about, if not more. Most of the ones who'd turned to see who had come in looked away when we didn't turn out to be interesting enough. A select few continued to stare as if waiting to see if we'd do a trick or two.

“Ready?” Will asked, holding out his arm. I took it gratefully, unsure I'd manage to keep from fainting without his support.

As soon as we stepped inside the room, a woman dressed in a '40s era waitress uniform took Will's umbrella with a smile that was practically painted on. “Enjoy the party,” she said, shaking off the excess water into a vase before putting the umbrella in a container with a dozen more.

Will twirled his cane and tapped it onto the hardwood floor as we made toward the small crowd. Almost every costume I saw made me think of people with money. Many of the women wore extravagant dresses in place of a real costume. They compensated by holding masks up to their eyes every now and again. Only a few were actually wearing them. Some of the men looked as if they hadn't dressed up at all, choosing to go as a high-class socialite, if anything. I had a feeling it wasn't too far of a stretch for many of them. There were a few real costumes, but most of those involved dresses and suits with hats and fake mustaches to complete the outfits.

“Krissy!” I turned, pivoting with Will, as Vicki and Mason strode up to us, arm in arm. I just about collapsed in relief to see they'd both worn their gangster outfits. Vicki had somehow managed to make hers look as if it hadn't come off the rack in a Halloween store, while Mason's looked as if it had come straight off the set of one of the
Godfather
movies. They looked absolutely perfect together.

“Vicki! Mason! You don't know how relieved I am to see you.” I let go of Will's arm and clasped Vicki's hands in my own.

“You look great,” she said, eyes flickering to Will. “Care to formally introduce us?”

“Of course! Will,” I said, stepping back to his side. “This is my best friend, Vicki Patterson, and her date, Mason Lawyer.” I took Will's arm again. “Everyone, this is Will Foster.”

“Pleasure to meet you both,” Will said.

“Likewise.”

The men shook and eyed each other in that way men have when they are sizing each other up. Vicki rolled her eyes and pulled me a few paces away.

“Can you believe this place?” she asked, looking around. The room we were in could hold a good hundred people without feeling stuffy. A large chandelier hung overhead, crystals twinkling like little stars. Tables lined the walls, filled with finger foods and wines. There were a few punch bowls sitting off to the side, and I noticed not too many of the guests ventured over to them. Most of them were holding wineglasses that looked to be real glass, not the plastic ones you'd normally see at a party.

“It's a lot bigger than I expected,” I said.

“Wait until you see the bathrooms!” She shook her head in wonder. “I can't even describe them. You'll have to check them out for yourself.”

By the sound of it, I anticipated being impressed. “Have you seen anyone else?” I asked, scanning the crowd in the hopes of catching a glimpse of a few more people I knew.

“Mason's dad is here,” Vicki said, pointing.

Raymond Lawyer was dressed like, well, Raymond Lawyer. In fact, I think he was wearing the same suit I'd seen him wearing the last time I'd seen him. He was red in the face, which wasn't much of a surprise if you knew him. The man had a temper, and he wasn't afraid to show it. In the brief amount of time I knew him, I don't think I saw him do anything but yell at or belittle his son.

“How did the Lawyers get an invite, anyway?” I mused. “Most of the people here are rich.”

“Dad's new girlfriend,” Mason said, coming up to stand next to Vicki.

I raised my eyebrows at him, firstly, surprised that anyone would date Raymond Lawyer, and secondly, by how it had come out sounding. Mason acted as if he wasn't thrilled about the idea of his dad dating, which I supposed was natural. I don't think I would like it all that much if my dad were to suddenly jump back into the dating pool, though sometimes I thought he needed it. Sitting home alone wasn't good for anyone. I should know.

“Not a fan?” I asked.

Mason grunted a laugh and then pointed. “You tell me. There she is.”

I followed the direction of his finger and then gasped in shock by who I saw. “No way.”

“I could hardly believe it, either.”

Standing over by the punch bowls was none other than Regina Harper, mother to the widow of Raymond Lawyer's late son, Brendon. I wasn't sure who she was supposed to be, dressed in a severe tight skirt and blouse. Maybe a well-dressed drill sergeant? High-paid lawyer willing to glare the prosecution into submission? Either way, she looked just as angry as she always did. I could see the clench of her jaw from clear across the room.

“I thought they hated each other?”

“So did everyone else who knew them.” Mason sighed. “After Brendon's funeral, they spent quite a lot of time together, dealing with the will and everything. It started with a few afternoon meetings with all of their lawyers there to keep the peace, but before long, those meetings turned into late-night dinners that sometimes lasted into the next day.” He shuddered.

“Wow.” As I watched, a young woman dressed as Marilyn Monroe in the famous white dress picture, wig and all, walked over to stand beside her. Regina looked her up and down, grimaced, and then turned and walked away, as if offended that the girl was sharing the same air as her.

“Still frosty as ever, I see.”

“You don't know the half of it.” Mason looked pained as he said it.

My gaze went from the girl at the drinks to an older woman who was dressed in the same white dress. “Who's that?” I asked, thinking it had to be her mother.

Will was the one to answer. “That's Margaret Yarborough.”

She had the figure to pull off Mrs. Monroe, and the confidence to do it, too. Her hair looked natural, but could very well have been a high-end wig. Unlike the first Marilyn, Mrs. Yarborough was wearing an expensive diamond necklace that caught the light and blinded anyone who was foolish enough to look directly at it.

She was talking to a man half her age, which put him no older than his mid-thirties. His eyes constantly scanned the crowd behind horn-rimmed glasses that were a little too thick for his face. He wore a fedora and a long trench coat, which concealed much of his features, though I got the distinct impression he was well-built.

“I'm not sure who she's talking to,” Will said, sounding mystified. “But that is Terry Blandino walking up to them.”

The man Will indicated looked to be in his fifties, dark hair graying naturally at the temples. He wasn't all that bad looking for a man his age, and it only helped that he appeared to be dressed as Clark Gable with the part in his hair and thin mustache. When he reached the two, he spoke harshly to Mrs. Yarborough before turning to level a finger at the man in the hat, before turning and storming off.

“Drama already,” Will muttered in a way that made it sound as if this sort of thing happened all of the time.

I watched Terry go and then caught a glimpse of another man, standing against the wall. He was wearing one of those
Scream
masks and black robes, which completely obliterated any chance of identifying him. He looked out of place in a party where most of the guests were wearing suits and dresses. It was the reason I noticed him.

As I watched, he raised a hand and pointed a finger at me.

“Who's that?” Will asked.

“I don't know.”

The masked man lowered his hand as a young girl approached. He turned to her and the eerie moment was broken.

“Uh-oh,” Vicki said. At first, I thought she was talking about the man in the mask, but when I turned, she was looking the other way, toward the entrance. I followed her gaze and my stomach instantly dropped to the floor.

“Oh no.”

Officer Paul Dalton was handing his umbrella to the waitress by the door. He was dressed in one of those old-style police uniforms you'd see in a Benny Hill skit, nightstick and all. He said something to the waitress and then held his arm out for the girl coming in behind him.

It was as if I'd been shot. Shannon, the waitress from J&E's Banyon Tree, was dressed in a gorgeous dress that looked handmade. Her hair was styled atop her head, so it left her neck bare, but still left strands trickling around her face. She was carrying one of those party masks that had straps around it so she wouldn't have to hold it all night. She put it on just before taking Paul's arm.

“Don't worry about it,” Vicki said, keeping her voice low. “You've moved on.”

If only,
I thought. I'd once thought Paul and I could be an item, but after only one disastrous date, and a few arrests on my part, any relationship we might have had fizzled out.

Yet a part of me still really wanted to give it a shot, even though I was standing beside a good-looking, kind man, who was also a wealthy doctor to boot. I shouldn't be thinking of anyone else, yet I couldn't help myself.

Thankfully, I didn't have to explain anything to Will because just then, someone tapped a glass with a spoon. All eyes turned toward where the elder Mrs. Monroe, Margaret Yarborough, stood, head held high.

“I'd like to take a moment to thank everyone for coming,” she said. Her voice rang out over the crowd as if she'd been holding a microphone. There were at least fifty people in the room now, and not one of them made a sound. “Howard would have been proud to see all of your faces, knowing what surprises he had in store for you this year.”

She looked suitably sad a moment before breaking out in a wide smile. “And while I may not have the flair Howard did, I do hope you'll find your time here to be a most thrilling and terrifying one!” She waited for applause before continuing. “This house is open to you all. Explore. See the terrors waiting for you. And most of all, have fun.”

Another smattering of applause. Margaret basked in it before tapping her glass again. “Now, before I let you go, there is one more piece of business to take care of.” She turned toward a man who looked about ready to rocket from his shoes. “I give the floor to Quentin Pebbles.” She stepped aside.

The applause this time wasn't nearly as enthusiastic. A few of the guests turned away and started talking amongst themselves as Quentin stepped up to where Margaret had stood. He was wearing a red bow tie and gray suit that made him look like Pee-wee Herman, though I don't think that was the look he'd been going for.

“I, um.” He cleared his throat and adjusted his bow tie. “Jessica, if you would.” He motioned to a spot in front of him.

Yet another Marilyn Monroe stepped forward, looking annoyed. She was probably about the same age as the first Monroe I'd seen, but her dress and jewelry looked to be the real thing. She looked absolutely stunning, and I could tell that her hair was naturally blond, not from a bottle.

“Popular costume,” Vicki commented.

“Yeah.” I glanced to the side to see the first Monroe looking down at herself, mortified.

“Jessica . . .” Quentin cleared his throat again. “I know we've had our ups and downs, and believe me, our downs can be pretty low.”

There was a round of chuckling at that, and I noted not all of it was good-natured.

Jessica sniffed and looked away as she crossed her arms over her chest. Her eyes darted from face to face, as if looking for someone to save her.

“I . . .” Quentin was visibly sweating now. He tugged at his collar as if he were being strangled, and then so suddenly it caused a few people to gasp, he dropped to one knee. “Jessica Fairweather, will you marry me?”