The Pumpkin Thief: A Chloe Boston Mystery (3 page)

The haunted house tour was designed to lead guests down an obvious path. The front parlor with its delicate stained glass windows was barricaded with a torn up settee adorned with more red paint. The room looked empty, but I leaned over the barricade to check the space beyond for scared people or even other bodies. There was nothing but a grandfather clock with the hands running rapidly backwards and a creepy portrait of a vampire with glowing red eyes hanging crooked on the wall— and more blood on the wallpaper though none on the portrait and floor. Clearly no one in the art department had ever taken a class in blood-spray patterns. Blood doesn’t avoid paintings and carpet when being sprayed from an artery. The silliness of it was making me feel better about being alone.

 A thick silk cord roped off the upstairs. I knew that I would have to check it eventually, but my first sweep was for stragglers, maybe kids frightened by the screaming who were too terrified to come out on their own.

I stepped into the carpeted hall— more shredded wallpaper, more blood— and felt something shift beneath my foot. Toccata and Fugue in D minor underscored by snarling and screaming thundered at me from speakers shrouded by more cobwebs, and I realized I had stepped on a pressure plate and triggered the din. Bach would not have been amused, and so much for being quiet and not scaring anyone left in the house.

The dining room was supposed to be elegant, I guess, and certainly there were goblets and candelabras on the table. But someone had gone a bit nuts with the fake dust and cobwebs. One could barely see the blood and eyeballs in the wine goblets. There was a serving platter with withered greens around an entrée of plastic skull. The potential for serving something really gory had been resisted. Someone had liberated the skeleton from the science room and set him up at the head of the table. He was wearing a noose like a tie. Under the present circumstances, it seemed in bad taste.

The fake fire in the fireplace was a nice touch, if again nonsensical. Any place abandoned long enough for things to get that filthy would not still have a fire burning in the grate. I decided that next year I would screw up my courage and volunteer to help with the haunted house so it would be more logical.

My amusement ended as I entered the master bedroom. The wall sconces held maybe twenty watt bulbs and were shrouded with dust and cobwebs, but there was enough light to still see clearly. There was plenty of fake blood and torn wallpaper, but there were some realistic splotches of rather rusty blood on the chaise lounge near the fireplace and one of the curtains had been ripped from the window and left in an inartistic pile. There was a hunting knife on the floor and a convenient wardrobe that could hold a body. Also there was a certain smell in the air— nothing too strong but quite unpleasant in the nostrils and in the imagination when you weren’t expecting it. It was important to let the tech people process the scene but I wanted very much to open the wardrobe door and look for blood stains inside. It took effort but I resisted temptation and the door remained properly closed.

Until the wardrobe burst open and a figure in a black cloak and a goblin mask ran past me bellowing unintelligibly. After one gasp and a stumble against the wall— and I think I was entitled to a moment of fear— I gave chase. More pressure plates, more screaming and then we were out a side door.

There was no garden out back, just a paved courtyard and a low fountain filled with dry leaves instead of water waiting to trip me. As I righted myself, the dark figure ran for a hedge at the edge of the patio, pushed through with suspicious ease, and took off into the corn maze.

I said some really bad words in a really loud voice.

“Boston?” It was the chief. He was pushing through some bushes and probably ruining his suit. That would make him cranky.

“Out back! Murder happened in the first floor bedroom—a suspect has entered the maze!” And then I surprised myself. Though terrified and a lot smaller than the person I was chasing, I nevertheless ran for the place in the hedge where I had seen him— or her— disappear.

“Boston!” The chief’s voice was closer. But Blue’s howling said she was closer still. I was going into the corn maze, but I wasn’t going alone. I thanked God for my dog beside me.

Chapter 3

There are worse places to pursue someone than a corn maze— through an alligator-infested swamp or quicksand, for instance— but I couldn’t think of them that night. That field of towering corn stalks was the scariest thing on the planet and I was in it.

The desire to get out of the maze leant wings to my feet and following the suspect who seemed to know the way seemed only sensible. I was supposed to be chasing him anyway. But wings don’t help much in narrow, choking rows and I didn’t want Blue to hurt herself by running too fast.

Ever been in a cornfield? At night? Outside sounds are deadened while all around you the dry crunch and whispers of the corn stalks grates against the ears. Things seem to snap and snarl all about you and it is impossible to believe that you are alone. The stalks will cut you just like paper and bare skin begins to itch and sting.

The light was also bad. The exterior edges of the field were lit up brightly enough, but the klieg lamps did not penetrate beyond a few rows of corn. The maze paths would have been marked, but I hadn’t found one. I was running through virgin territory and wondering what flaw of mind and twist of spirit led to anyone inventing such a horrid entertainment.

I was terrified of the corn. Of spiders. Of monsters with scythes. Of being lost in the field until I was nothing but bleaching bones that would be disked under by a tractor come spring. Of a possible murderer deciding to turn around and attack me in the increasing dark. Though the last one was a more reasonable possibility, it was actually the least of the terrors that stalked me.

Blue, on the other hand, was having a grand time. Usually she is silent when we go for walks, but something about the dark and comparative wildness of the setting had her sending up joyous ululations and bouncing like a puppy. This made it easier for the chief to follow me. And it was his presence behind us and the thought of Mr. Jackman before us that kept me from utter panic.

My craven heart was beating uncomfortably hard and the pounding was louder than the suspect’s wild thrashings. I faltered. I tripped. But the sight of what was doubtless a very frightened corn snake only inches from my nose had me on my feet and running in moments.

It was another minute of terrified tramping before I realized that I couldn’t hear the suspect at all any more. I stopped cold and listened. Blue obligingly ended her lope and sank down on the ground. We were both breathing heavily, but I soon realized that I was hearing another person drawing in terrible sobbing breaths, and their obvious terror knocked the blind fear out of me.

“Hello,” I called softly, using the voice I would with a stray dog or wary cat. I turned back over my shoulder and called softly: “Hold up, chief! I think it’s a kid and he’s scared to death.”

The sounds of crashing stopped.

“Blue— go slow,” I said. There was always the chance that Blue would frighten a child. She is a Rottweiler. But I was having a hard time judging direction in that horrible, oppressive place and knew that her nose was better than my ears. And since Blue loves people, she would probably take me directly to whoever was crying so piteously. Or to Mr. Jackman who would help me find whoever was crying.

Blue got to her feet and began pushing crosswise through the corn rows. We were making a mess on the dried stalks and I was positive that I was getting spiders on me as I shoved them over, but I followed Blue unquestioningly. A minute later I found my cloaked goblin. The hood of the costume had fallen back and I saw spikes of familiar golden hair. The goblin was crouched low, weeping. His mask had fallen off.

“Jack. Jacky MacKay,” I said softly. “It’s okay. It’s me, Chloe, and my dog Blue.”

The sobbing was swallowed in one or two gulps and a terrified face looked up at me. It was red and rather embryonic. One hand covered his scratched cheek, the other was carried awkwardly because the arm was broken and in a sling. Jacky MacKay is ‘challenged’. He came into the world just shy of the six months where babies are typically saved these days and was a living testimonial to the wonders of modern medicine. He was also what many people call ‘simple’.

Blue went over and started laving the boy’s face. I say ‘boy’ because though Jacky is physically seventeen, his demeanor is more that of a backward five year old. Jacky hugged Blue for a moment with his good arm and then said: “Hi, Chloe.”

“Did I scare you in the house?” I asked, squatting down. I tasted salt on my lip before I felt the sting and realized I was bleeding. I must have bitten myself when I fell. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“You were like a black ghost. You chased me,” Jacky said. And I realized that though ninety-nine point nine percent of the world would never be afraid of me under any circumstances that, to Jacky, I might very well have looked frightening in the dim light with a billowing black cloak that made me look rather larger than I am.

“I’m sorry. You sure scared me too. I guess we looked pretty silly running around like that.” This got a watery chuckle.

“Silly,” he agreed. “I don’t want to play hide and seek anymore.”

“Is that what you were doing? Playing hide and seek with someone?”

He shook his head slowly. “There was screaming and people ran and Mom got lost. I decided to hide. I stayed there a long time.”

I heard the chief come up behind me.

“Have you met our new chief yet?” I asked the boy without turning around. “His name is Randy.”

Jacky studied the chief from behind Blue’s body. The chief, grasping the situation, squatted down on his heels beside me. I noticed that his suit was looking battered.

“Hi, Jacky.” He didn’t reach for the boy or ask any questions.

“Hi.” Jacky is not very expressive. Most of his facial muscles go unused and I wondered if they would ever sharpen into their intended adult form. This is what the real Peter Pan looks like and I was grateful that God had only made me small.

“Well, I am thinking that I have had enough of haunted houses and corn patches. You maybe want to come with Blue and me and go see the jack-o-lanterns in the park? I have a real big one that I grew myself.”

“I saw your pumpkin. It’s real big,” Jacky said. He stood up suddenly. He is almost six feet tall and towered over me. “I’ll go with Blue. I need to find my mom.”

“We definitely need to find your mom,” I agreed. Standing slowly, I offered the chief my hand and pretended to work at pulling him up. He didn’t need the help, but the clowning was to show the still slightly wary Jacky that the chief was harmless.

“Chloe, why don’t you go with Blue and Jacky,” the chief said, “and I’ll make sure the crime scene is being processed. You said the bedroom?”

“Yeah. The settee and the wardrobe. Um, Jacky was in the wardrobe so….” So there would be confusing prints and other trace evidence to confuse things. That was unfortunate but the chief didn’t look annoyed. If anything our new chief was flooded with silent compassion. I wondered if he had never met anyone like Jacky before, or if maybe someone in his family had similar problems.

“I’ll meet you in the park in a few minutes and you can fill me in,” the chief said and then turned and melted back into the cornfield.

“Do you know the best way out?” I asked Jacky. “Because I really want to leave here.”

“I think so,” he said and started off. Blue and I stuck close. I was no longer afraid of a murderer turning on me or being lost until my bones bleached, but there were still possible monsters and spiders lurking in the horrid field. Enough was enough.

We found Jacky’s mom on the courthouse steps and she was very relieved to see her son with Blue and me. I explained in as indirect and un-alarming language as I could about where Jacky had been and that probably someone would be by in the morning to take Jacky’s fingerprints. I was pretty sure that this wouldn’t frighten Jacky because he knows all the officers, excepting the chief, but told Lydia MacKay that I— and Blue— would be happy to come out and be with Jacky if he wanted while he made his statement. She said she would call me if Blue was needed.

Feeling exhausted once the adrenaline wore off, I waved Lydia and Jacky goodbye and then turned to look at the deserted park. Most of the jack-o-lanterns had gone home with their owners or been trampled in the excitement, but mine was still there along with Mr. Jackman’s snowman. It would have to stay there until tomorrow. There was no sign of Dad, and Blue and I couldn’t move it on our own. I started down the steps to wait for the chief, my dad or Mr. Jackman. Someone would show up eventually and tell me what was going on. I was too tired to sleuth any more.

Chapter 4

The crime scene was being processed by the official detectives and I had been politely booted out. Again. But so had the chief, I noticed once I glanced back up the hill, so I didn’t feel so bad. Anyway, chasing monsters through a cornfield can really take it out of a girl.

I made my way to my jack-o-lantern and sat on a bench that was far from clean, having had hordes of cider-swilling kids dribbling on it for hours. But I was far from clean myself after rolling around the corn field so a little more dirt on my shroud didn’t matter.

I was looking sadly at my jack-o-lantern whose candles were guttering and wondered if I would have won had the discovery of the body not interrupted proceedings. The air smelled of baking pumpkin and I realized with a pang that I never got my pumpkin cake. Blue looked kind of depressed too. Maybe it was the cold light from the nearly full moon overpowering the sodium vapor streetlamps. I know the lamps are efficient but I’ve never cared for their eerie, dim light. Of course, maybe she was just tired after playing wolf in the cornfield. She hadn’t done that in a couple of years. I hoped her joints weren’t hurting.

The chief joined me and my limpet—I mean my cousin, Althea, who had clearly been lingering in the park in hope of gathering gossip. She popped out from behind a tree when the chief appeared and plopped down beside me on the bench and made her usual insincere facial grimace in my direction. It was petty, but I hoped she got her princess dress covered in apple goo.