The Diva Haunts the House (31 page)

June bustled in with Jesse, Blake, and Humphrey right behind her. She stopped dead when she saw Mars. “I didn’t know you were here. You look so . . . content.”

“I am. Even in this Gomez Addams getup.”

“I thought you were handing out candy at your house. Where’s the dry ice, Sophie?”

I pointed June toward the cooler where I’d stashed it.

Mars sighed. “They fired me because I wasn’t doling out the candy right.”

If he’d said that about anyone other than Natasha, I wouldn’t have believed it. I noticed I wasn’t the only one stifling a laugh. How could anyone not pass out candy correctly? I poured equal amounts of apple cider and orange juice into the punch bowl and added ginger ale for a touch of sparkle and sweetness.

June handed me a black kettle in which she had placed dry ice. “I love this stuff. We never used it creatively when I was young. Honestly, I was always a little bit afraid of it.”

“For good reason. Just be sure you don’t burn yourself. Terrific costume, Blake.” Up close, I could see that the skeleton bones covered a black T-shirt, trousers, gloves, and shoe covers. “Tired of being a vampire?”

“No. But my mom will be here later. She, uh, doesn’t like vampires.”

“How’s she doing?”

Blake followed me to the sink and whispered, “She’s talking about Dad a lot.” His eyes twinkled and he wiggled his eyebrows.

The door opened and a gust of wind blew into the kitchen. Bernie, dressed as Cyrano de Bergerac with a frighteningly long nose, swept in with panache. “Gomez Addams!” Bernie withdrew a play sword from a sheath on his hip. “I challenge you to a duel for the hand of our fair lady.”

Mars leaped to his feet, dodged behind the island, located my two-foot-long knife-sharpening honing steel, and wielded it like a sword. He and Bernie danced in a mock sword fight, alarming Daisy, who barked at them both.

Fortunately, Wong arrived, looking so elegant that the guys ceased their battle to bow to her. She wore a low-cut bright yellow dress adorned with pearls and sequins. She’d styled her hair in a pouffy pageboy and wore a tiara atop her head.

Humphrey could hardly take his eyes off Wong’s ample cleavage. “Who are you supposed to be?”

Wong sashayed over to him. “Oprah, silly! Tonight, I am the queen of the world.”

I knew the dreamy look that clouded Humphrey’s eyes.

Apparently Wong recognized it, too. “Down, fella. I already married the Wong man once.”

Bernie and I burst into laughter.

Humphrey, never one to pick up on humor very fast, said, “Is that how you got your name?”

“You betcha! I got the name, the cat, a vintage convertible that lives in the repair shop, and half of his pension.”

Humphrey’s cell phone jingled a spooky tune. He excused himself to answer it but soon returned, his pale face flushed. “The medical examiner confirmed that the marks on Patrick’s neck were made by leaches. They secrete a blood thinner that was present in both Patrick’s and Frank’s wounds.”

Wong glowered at Humphrey. “That’s privileged information. You’re not supposed to know that.”

Humphrey smiled at her like a bad boy, pleased to have gained her attention. “I have connections.”

“Gross! I think I’d rather be bitten by a vampire,” said Blake.

“Leaches.” Bernie scratched his head. “Where would Ray get leaches?”

“They’re still in use. Leach saliva contains a compound that prohibits blood clotting. It’s called leach therapy.” Trust Humphrey to know about a disgusting practice.

Wong gave him an evil eye. “Who told you that?”

Humphrey regarded her oddly. “Isn’t it general knowledge?”

My mouth puckered at the thought. I’d come very close to some of that therapy. “You’re saying the leaches didn’t kill Patrick.”

“Not in that small amount,” said Humphrey. “Besides, they already determined that Patrick died from asphyxiation.”

“It can’t be hard to confirm Ray as the killer then,” I said. “It’s not like he could walk into Leaches R Us and buy half a dozen. That should narrow things down for the police considerably.”

Wong sighed. “Probably not. Aside from collecting them yourself in shallow waters where they live, it seems one can buy them online. They’re not even expensive.”

“Hey, Blake!” Jesse snapped the hair out of his eyes. It fell back immediately but looked adorable above the doggie snout he wore. “It’s dry ice like that guy had on the video we watched. I dare you to touch it.”

Blake regarded him with the boredom of an old man who had seen it all. “Don’t mess with that.”

Bernie and Mars ceased their mock fight and looked over Jesse’s shoulder.

“Fraidy cat,” sneered Jesse. “This stuff is harmless. They just put all those warnings on there for little kids. Watch. I’ll eat a piece and nothing will happen.” He reached for the dry ice.

TWENTY-SEVEN

“No!” I lunged at Jesse and inserted my hand between his hand and the ice. “That will burn you.”

He laughed. “How can ice burn you? It’s just frozen water.”

Frank’s ankle! Why hadn’t I thought of that before? “Dry ice burns bare skin. It’s not hot, but it can burn you like frostbite.”

Bernie nodded. “It’s not water, Jesse, it’s carbon dioxide. We use it sometimes in the restaurant. Can’t keep it in a sealed container, though”—he grabbed my arm—“because it displaces the oxygen.”

“The killer didn’t know about the hole in the casket!” Bernie and I said it in unison.

I dashed to the phone to call Wolf. As I dialed, I asked, “Is it possible that the murderer suffocated Patrick with dry ice? When he attacked me, he held something over my nose, and I couldn’t breathe.”

“Was he wearing gloves when he murdered Patrick?” Bernie looked to me for an answer.

I tried to remember details. The cape and the mask seemed so vivid to me. “He might have. I’m not sure. He seemed like a mannequin. Gloves would have fit that image. I might have noticed he was real if he hadn’t worn gloves.”

“A bit sick if you ask me,” said Bernie, “but technically I suppose it could work. If he placed the dry ice in a loosely woven cloth, cotton perhaps, and held it over the victim’s nose and mouth—”

Humphrey interrupted Bernie with all the excitement of a schoolboy. “It would be a double whammy. The victim would exhale carbon dioxide, then inhale the additional carbon dioxide wafting from the dry ice and suffocate.”

I shuddered, realizing that I had been only breaths away from that fate.

Wolf answered his phone and I jumped right into our theory.

“We were talking about Frank in the coffin, and it dawned on us that the killer might be using dry ice to kill people. He could have placed it in the coffin around Frank’s feet. If the hole hadn’t been there, the carbon dioxide would have suffocated Frank. Plus, if he set the dry ice around Frank’s ankles, it would have burned his bare skin.”

“Why were the ends of his pants wet?” asked Wolf. “I thought dry ice went straight from a frozen form to a gas form.”

“I don’t know—unless the killer poured some water over the dry ice to speed up the process. We’re also thinking that he might have suffocated Patrick by holding dry ice over his nose and mouth. Same principle.”

After a stunned silence, he said, “I think you might be onto something. That’s the first theory to make any sense at all.”

I hung up, thrilled that we had helped with the investigation. “There’s only one problem. If we’re right about the dry ice, then Ray wasn’t the killer. He knew about the hole in his wife’s casket.”

Bernie shook his head. “Don’t count the old fellow out so quickly. He probably thought the concentration of carbon dioxide in that small bedroom would be sufficient to kill Frank anyway. Dry ice labels always warn against letting it dissipate in a small room, or a tent even, because the oxygen will be depleted and people can suffocate.”

“It’s that window that’s always open. The killer didn’t anticipate that,” said Humphrey.

I glanced at Blake. He knew about the window. How much had he known about dry ice?

Gazing around at the somber faces in my kitchen, I said, “Hey, this is a party! Come on, let’s shove the furniture out of the way in the sunroom for some dancing!”

“Dancing?” Humphrey spat the word with disapproval.

Mars, Bernie, and I whipped the sunroom into shape quickly. Tiny lights twinkled overhead and gleamed on the glittery wings of bats I’d hung from the glass roof with suction cups. The overall effect was positively romantic. In short order, “Love Potion No. 9” began to play. Bernie and I were the first to make fools of ourselves dancing, but Wong promptly lured Humphrey out to wiggle to the music. Before long, June and the kids joined us, and my house rocked!

I had to bow out to prepare Dead Man’s Bones for dinner, but the music and fun went on in the sunroom. Catching my breath, I rushed through the family room on my way to the kitchen, where I immediately preheated both ovens and pulled racks of baby back pork ribs from the refrigerator. I swayed to the music as I minced fresh garlic and mixed it with apricot jam and soy sauce. Such an unlikely combination of ingredients, yet one of my favorites, even when it wasn’t Halloween.

I hauled my mashed potatoes out, spooned them into a pastry bag, and squeezed little ghosties onto an oblong baking dish. In minutes, an army of three-inch-tall ghosts stood at attention. I was cutting raisins to use as tiny ghost eyes when Nina showed up at the kitchen door.

She let herself in and set a large box on the counter. “Great music!” As threatened, she wore a Morticia Addams gown. “Is Natasha here yet?”

“No. What’s in the box?”

“We were supposed to bring something.”

“But you don’t cook.”

“I brought chocolate-iced Krispy Kreme doughnuts with an orange drizzle on them for Halloween.”

I nearly dropped the knife in my eagerness to dive into that box.

“Feel like dancing, Morticia? I’m sure Gomez would be thrilled if you twirled about with him.”

She disappeared in the direction of the sunroom, and I finished poking tiny raisin bits into the ghosts’ heads as eyes. Checking the time, I lined baking sheets with aluminum foil for easy rib cleanup, placed the ribs on them, and shoved them into the two ovens. I set the timer for twenty minutes so I wouldn’t forget to baste them with the sauce.

The music almost drowned out Mochie’s growl, but I caught him prancing on the window seat like a scared Halloween cat, his back arched high. “What’s with you?”

I started toward him, but someone knocked on the front door, and I hurried off in the opposite direction.

Maggie walked in dressed as Morticia Addams. Natasha would hate having two other women present wearing the same costume. A pretty good Halloween prank, actually. “Do you find it hard to walk?”

Maggie groaned. “I hope fashion never goes this way!” She looked out the door and called, “Come on, honey.”

The one person I would never have invited strode into my house.

Maggie had brought Patrick to Natasha and Mars’s party, and now she’d invited Karl Corbin to Jen’s celebration. I could only hope it wasn’t a bad omen. I didn’t like the fact that “Lil’ Red Riding Hood” began to play in the sunroom.

Karl couldn’t have appeared more sinister if he’d tried. He wore a black leather jacket over a black T-shirt and jeans, a tight silver necklace of dagger charms, and a black hat that swooped into a long point over his eyes. “Hello, Sophie. It was so nice of you to include me.”

I bit back all the retorts that came to mind. “That’s quite a necklace. I’m afraid I don’t recognize the outfit. Who are you supposed to be?”

“A vampire hunter.”

“You came to the wrong place,” I joked. “I haven’t seen a single vampire tonight.”

Maggie giggled like a schoolgirl. “I think it’s positively swashbuckling!”

“If that’s what you like, wait until you see Bernie.” I showed them along the hallway to the sunroom.

Maggie hung back and whispered, “Is Dash here yet?”

“Not that I know of.”

She leaned down to my ear. “I hope you don’t mind that I brought Karl. He always makes Dash so jealous.” Maggie disappeared among the dancers, leaving me to wonder if she wanted to make Dash jealous because she still loved him and wanted him back, or to annoy him, or to make herself feel special with two men fighting over her.

The door behind me burst open. Natasha waddled in like a duck in the Morticia Addams costume. “Where is Mars?” she demanded. “This stuff is heavy, and it’s impossible to walk in this dress.”

I strode toward her, biting my upper lip to conceal my amusement about three women in the same costume. It might just kill Natasha.

She shoved a casserole at me. “Can you please take this? Mom insisted on making it. Mom, for heaven’s sake, stop that! You’re going to embarrass me!”

Wanda quite literally Texas two-stepped into my house— in the arms of Ray! A Stetson sat atop his head and snakeskin adorned his boots.

Choking back my shock at seeing him, I stepped aside to let them dance through the hallway to the sunroom. Morticia number three was about to shuffle off, but I managed to snag her arm in spite of the heavy casserole I held. “What’s he doing out of jail?”

Natasha answered as matter-of-factly as if she were telling me the weather. “He wasn’t arrested.”

“You brought the murderer to the party? Are you out of your mind?”