The Skeleton Haunts a House (16 page)

Sure enough, when we got home and started unpacking the food, Mom and Phil wandered in within seconds, and before long, the whole family was chowing down. In a minor miracle, Phil had finally mastered the art of using chopsticks while on sabbatical.

“So you're definitely reopening the haunt tomorrow night?” Mom asked as we ate.

“It wasn't really a choice,” Deborah said. “Beatrice made it plain that if I didn't, she'd find somebody who would. And if my people are going to be working with a murderer on the loose, I'm going to be there watching.”

“Me, too,” Sid said.

“Excuse me?” Deborah said.

He lowered his voice to a stage whisper. “I'm going in undercover.”

“Dude, don't you mean uncovered?” I asked.

He ignored me. “I know you're adding monitors, but people won't talk in front of them. And your cameras won't pick up sound, will they?”

“No, I couldn't get cameras with decent sound at the last minute.”

“Then what you need is a champion eavesdropper.” He
poked his sternum with a thumb bone. “I'm just the skeleton for the job.” He went on to outline his plan. It was kind of screwy, but even Deborah admitted that it might work. It would require some additional supplies, but Phil volunteered to take care of that.

Then Deborah turned to me and said, “What about you?”

“I think I'll go, too,” I said, “but while Sid does his thing inside, I'll work outside and see if I can spot the people who wouldn't wait for the cops last week. The only problem is that I'm going to need a costume—I can't be Velma again.” Mom offered to help me.

By the time we worked out all the details, all of us but Sid were ready to call it a night, and he even faked a couple of yawns to be sociable before going up to play on the computer.

A
s soon as I finished teaching my clump of classes on Friday, I headed home to help Mom put together my costume. Meanwhile, Phil had gone to get what Sid needed and the two of them were plotting in the attic. Fortunately, Madison was able to take care of her own preparations. After an early dinner of leftovers, we all got ready for the Howl. And I mean all of us—Mom and Phil were going to work the ticket booth so Deborah and her usual helpers could be stationed inside the haunt.

We must have made an interesting sight when we emerged from my minivan, even for the Howl. First up were Mom and Phil in orange McHades Hall T-shirts. Then came Madison in red-and-black vampire regalia, heavy on the eye makeup. As for Sid himself, he was in the duffel bag I was carrying. At least I think he was, but it was hard to tell because we were all carrying skeletons. Only Sid was real, but I wasn't going to start licking to verify which was him.

There was one other skeleton in evidence: me. Not just the
one I modestly keep covered with flesh and blood, but a skeleton costume. I'd intended to start with a bone-embellished hoodie Madison had given me for Christmas, add a mask and black pants, and be done. Mom was more ambitious. She'd gone through her closet to find a wide red-and-yellow skirt with a coordinating peasant blouse she'd bought on a trip to Mexico. Then she'd gone shopping to find long gloves and stockings with bones traced on them, spray-on black dye and a flower for my hair, and makeup to paint a skull and multicolored swirls onto my face. The Day of the Dead might still be a couple of weeks away, but McQuaid had a campus calavera.

Deborah was waiting for us at the door of the haunt, and locked it behind us. “You're late,” she said. “The rest of the cast will be here in half an hour.”

“That's plenty of time,” Sid said as he unzipped the duffel and extricated himself. “Let's get my Irregulars into place.”

The plan he'd concocted was to plant fake skeletons—which he was calling his Baker Street Irregulars—in key spots along the upstairs and downstairs halls and in whichever rooms where we could fit one inconspicuously. The trick was that each skeleton would be up against one of the secret entrances hidden in the haunt. The real Sid would switch places with them throughout the night, hiding the fake ones behind curtains. So if he was suspicious of a customer, he would be able to follow him or her through the haunt. In order to keep in touch, he was going to have his cell phone.

“Just make sure nobody sees you texting on it,” I'd told him when he revealed that part of the scheme.

“I'll use my feet,” he said. “Nobody looks there.”

“You can text with your metatarsals?”

“Of course. Can't everybody?”

We got the skeletons into place just as the rest of the crew started to arrive. Then Deborah headed to the control room
for a last-minute check of the security cameras she'd installed, Madison joined her fellow crew members, Mom and Phil went to start setting up the ticket booth, Sid began his undercover stint in the cafeteria, and I left to patrol the grounds. All of us promised to be careful and to keep our eyes—or eye sockets—open. I could not imagine a more ridiculous set of sleuths, but I was still kind of proud of us.

There was half an hour to go before the Howl officially opened for the evening, but there were plenty of costumed characters already out and about in the crisp fall twilight. There were also a lot of campus security people and Pennycross police officers in view. I would like to have believed that the police had their own doubts about Linda's guilt, but thought they were probably there either to reassure anybody who might be concerned about safety or because the McQuaid Quintet had insisted.

If the inhabitants of Pennycross were haunted by the murder, you couldn't tell it by the number of people who continued to stream into the quad as it got dark. At McHades, the line for tickets was already twice as long as it had been the week before. I would have been disgusted by their morbid streak had I not myself been nosing into the murder, and dressed as a skeleton to boot.

So rather than stand on the moral high ground, I wandered through the crowd, accepting compliments on my costume and turning down a couple of invitations to join parties of revelers, including a trio of freshmen I recognized as regularly sleeping through my class. I hadn't had a chance to enjoy dressing up the previous week, what with worrying about Sid, and by all rights, should have been even more worried that night, but I got a kick out of being unrecognizable. When I saw Louis Raymond conferring with a couple of uniformed cops, I “accidentally” jostled him just to see if he would know it was me. If he did, he did an excellent job
of hiding it as he accepted my apology and threw in a “Buenas noches.”

I was starting to understand why Madison and the other scare actors liked their jobs. It was fun to be somebody else for a while, and trolling on people was a relatively harmless power trip. That led me to think about Kendall's murder. Had it started out as a prank that went very wrong? Then the killer panicked and ran? But then where had the bat come from? And would an accidental killer be willing to let Linda take the blame?

It was hard to reconcile my thoughts with the cheerful crowd of partiers—nobody was walking around with a T-shirt that said
I did it!
I sighed and kept wandering, though I didn't know exactly what I was looking for.

Over the next hour, I checked in with my family three times, ate a box of popcorn, and was propositioned once. None of that added in any way to the investigation. I was actually yawning when I spotted somebody, and was immediately torn between the urge to fist pump and cheer versus pure fear.

There, no more than ten yards away from me, was the ninja.

I
pulled out my phone and texted all five Thackerys:

NINJA!

Deborah was the first to text back:

R U sure?

I snapped a photo to send. The long-sleeved top had white trim and gold cobras on the front, just like in the picture Louis had shown us.

See?

Sid joined the conversation:

 

Sid:
Where is he?

Me:
At hot dog stand.

Sid:
Do not engage!

 

The ninja was talking to a Darth Vader whose costume was every bit as cheap-looking as his, and I tried to remember if anybody had mentioned Darth being around the night of the murder. Of course, Darth could have been dressed as something else that night.

They finished their hot dogs then headed toward the midway, and after a moment's hesitation, I followed, texting as I went:

Going to carnival.

Then I put away my phone, not bothering to check again when another message buzzed because I knew it would be someone in my family telling me to be careful, and that was already my plan.

The jostling crowd made it harder to keep track of Darth and the ninja, but it also meant that it would have been nearly impossible for them to realize I was in pursuit, had they been looking. As far as I could tell, they weren't.

Their next stop was a booth selling beer, and though I would like to have gotten close enough to see their licenses when they were asked for ID, I was pretty sure that wouldn't count as “being careful.” They guzzled their beers, and got back in line for refills. Those didn't last much longer than the first two, and I was thinking they might go for thirds when Darth consulted a watch—which did not go with his costume—and slapped the ninja on the back before heading away.

The ninja paused, started walking purposely down the midway, then stopped and looked around in what I interpreted as an anxious manner, but could just as easily have been an urgent need for a bathroom after all that beer. Then he turned around and came right toward me.

I ducked behind the ticket booth, and realized that's what he was aiming for. Apparently he wanted to go on a ride, and for that he needed tickets. I watched as he purchased a long strip of cardboard tickets. Unfortunately he used cash, so I didn't have a chance to see a name on a credit card. Afterward, he started walking down the row of rides, stopping outside the Octopus and joining the line to go on.

I walked past until I spotted the ride exit, then settled in to watch for him. After a while he emerged, and looked around again. I was almost certain that he took note of me—my costume was pretty bright, after all. I ducked behind the nearest sign only to run smack into somebody in a purple Fenton's polo shirt.

“Hold on there, señorita,” the guy said, then looked at me more closely. “Georgia? Is that you?”

So much for anonymity. It was Brownie, and much to my aggravation, he was blocking my view of the ninja.

“What's up?” he asked.

“I'm looking for someone,” I said, craning my neck to see around him.

“Yeah?” He turned around, and naturally, the ninja saw the two of us staring at him. He jerked, then started away from us.

“Damn it!” If I didn't run, I'd lose him, but if I did, he'd know I was following him and would probably outrun me.

“Is there a problem?”

“I need to catch that ninja!”

Brownie started to laugh. “Seriously?”

“Yes, seriously!”

He stopped, looked curious, then nodded. “Okay.” He pulled out a walkie-talkie that was considerably nicer than the ones Deborah had. “This is College Boy. We've got a towner in a ninja costume just leaving the Octopus. Anybody free to keep an eye on him?”

“Soda Pop here. I'm on him,” a voice said in response. “What's the story?”

“Just stay with him. I'll explain later.”

“Ten-four.”

Brownie put the gadget down. “Now, tell me how I'm going to explain this.”

“That guy might be the one who killed the girl in the haunted house.”

“I thought the police arrested somebody.”

“They got the wrong person. Besides, I'm sure that ninja was in the haunt the night of the murder. Well, fairly sure. I need to find out who he is.”

“So you're following him? On your own?” I was afraid he'd spout some kind of macho nonsense, but instead he sounded admiring when he said, “You're fearless, aren't you?”

“Well, a friend of mine knows where I am.” That was stretching it a bit, but Sid did know I'd gone onto the midway.

“Even so.” His walkie-talkie squawked and he answered. “College Boy here.”

“He's at the basketball joint.”

“Stay with him.” He looked around, then said, “Come on, I'll take you the back way.” He led me between the Octopus and the Fun House, past
Employees Only
signs, and across a jungle of power lines littering the pavement, catching me handily when I tripped.

He pointed to a tent. “That's the back of the basketball joint.” Then he got back on the walkie-talkie. “Is he still there?”

“Yup. Blowing through money. The guy's got no game at all.”

“I'm behind the tent. Tell me if he moves.”

“Ten-four.”

Brownie said, “Do you always chase people you think are murderers?”

“Everybody has to have a hobby.”

“Uh-huh,” he said. “Nice costume, by the way.”

“Thanks.”

“A skeleton again.”

“We're all skeletons under the skin.”

“Are you going to tell me more about what's going on?”

“Not if I can avoid it,” I said. “I could make something up but I'm terrible at cover stories.”

He laughed. “Well, if I'm going to chase ninjas, I should let the boss know.” He used the walkie-talkie again. “Boss Lady, this is College Boy. I'm taking a break.”

His mother's voice replied, “On the lot or off? How long?”

“On, but not sure how long. Call it an hour.”

“Good enough.”

Then his father's voice said, “Is your break a towner or one of us?” He must have still been holding the button down, because I heard Mrs. Fenton say, “Leave him alone, you old fool!” before the walkie-talkie went dead.

It was my turn to laugh.

“College Boy, this is Soda Pop. The ninja is on the move, and I heard him ask about bathrooms.”

“He had two beers really quickly,” I said.

“Meet you at the donnikers,” he said. Again he led me through a maze that only needed a minotaur to be complete, and we emerged at the carnival's selection of porta-potties.

A young woman wearing a fleece vest over her Fenton's polo shirt nodded at Brownie, gave me a curious look, then went back to texting on her cell phone. After a minute, the ninja came out of one of the porta-potties.

He spotted me instantly, then took off at a near-run. He'd have been gone, too, if Soda Pop hadn't “accidentally” gotten in his way and knocked him down. She helped him up, apologizing and brushing him off so thoroughly that he was trapped until Brownie and I got to him.

He looked at me and groaned. “Oh, come on, Bailey . . .” Then he looked at me more closely. “You aren't Bailey.”

Brownie looked confused, and I imagine I did, too.

“No, I'm not Bailey,” I said. “Why were you trying to run?”

“I thought you were Bailey. My ex. She's kind of stalking me because she wants us to get back together. She told a friend of mine that she was trying to find me tonight, and he said she was going to dress as a skeleton.”

Brownie tensed as the guy fumbled in the pocket of his pants, but he came out with nothing more threatening than a dark blue case from which he pulled a pair of gold-rimmed glasses. He yanked the mask down to reveal an unremarkable set of features, and put the glasses on. A ninja in glasses isn't nearly so ominous as one without.

He said, “You're a lot older than Bailey. No offense.”

“None taken,” I lied. “Who are you?”

“His name is Hector Garza,” Soda Pop announced. She was holding a wallet in one hand and a driver's license in the other.

“That's mine,” Hector said.

“It must have fallen onto the ground when you toppled over,” she said with an innocent look, and handed it to him.

“Okay, Hector,” I said, “what were you doing at the haunted house?”

“What do you mean?” he said as he checked to make sure his belongings were intact. “I didn't go into the haunted house. I rode a ride and then played basketball. Man, that game is a rip-off. Anyway, what's it to you? Who are you people?”

“Somebody in a ninja costume like yours grabbed a couple of purses here last week, including this lady's,” Brownie said. “We carnies don't like that kind of thing.” He cracked his knuckles threateningly. “It gives us a bad name.”

Hector held up both hands placatingly. “Hey, man, it wasn't
me. I was out of town last weekend for my mother's birthday, and I didn't find this costume until Monday.”

“What do you mean, you found it?” I asked.

“It was in the lost-and-found at the student center. That's where I work. I waited all week to see if somebody claimed it, but when nobody did, I figured it wouldn't hurt to borrow it for tonight. It was just the mask and the top, and I needed something with a mask so Bailey wouldn't recognize me.”

“What about the pants?” The photo Louis had shown us included pants.

“There weren't any,” Hector said. “These are mine.”

Now that I got a closer look, I could see he was wearing regular black jeans, while the top was a cheap grade of cotton.

Remembering Brownie's cover story, which was much better than the ones I came up with, I said, “I guess the purse snatcher ditched the costume so he couldn't be identified. And if you really were out of town last weekend—”

“I was, I swear. You can call my mom.” He actually rattled off the phone number, which I dutifully entered into my phone. While I had the phone out, I quickly texted a message to my family.

Found ninja. Not our guy. Will explain later.

“One other thing,” I said. “The cops have been looking for a ninja who was seen in McHades Hall last weekend when that girl was killed.”

“Wow, I heard about that. But it wasn't me!”

“The cops still might be interested in hearing about how you ended up with that costume.”

“But if you don't mind, keep the purse snatching on the down low. We like to take care of these things ourselves.” Brownie cracked his knuckles again.

“Okay, I guess,” Hector said, and I figured it was unlikely that he'd say anything to the cops. That was fine with me, actually—I'd only brought it up to soothe my conscience. Then he glanced behind me and said, “Oh man, there she is!”

Brownie and I turned and saw a young woman in a skeleton costume, but her outfit was nothing like mine.

The top was a strapless bodice with a ribcage painted on, and the tulle skirt was more of a tutu than anything else. She had stockings like mine, but hers stopped at the thigh, and she had a skull-themed domino mask. I think it was what Halloween catalogs call a Sexy Skeleton costume, and in my opinion, those are two words that should never be used together.

“Hector!” She started in our direction.

“Soda Pop,” Brownie said, “why don't you take our boy out the back way as a little apology for knocking him down?”

“On it,” she said, and grabbed Hector's arm to pull him into the shadows. It was the most ninja-like thing I'd seen all night.

“Don't worry—she'll get him out,” Brownie said. “And in case you were wondering, not all carnies can pick pockets. Soda Pop is working up a magic act, and she's been practicing.”

“That's good to know.”

Bailey huffed up to us and said, “Where did Hector go?”

“Who?” Brownie asked.

“The guy in the ninja suit. He was right here.”

“Oh, right, Hector,” I said. “You know, I'm pretty sure he doesn't want to get back together with you.”

“What? Who said anything about getting back together? That loser broke up with me in a text. A text!”

“Wow, that's cold. But if you don't want to get back together with him, why are you looking for him?”

“I wasn't looking for him. I have to go to the bathroom. I
just thought that if I saw him I could give him back the ring he left in my dorm room, but if he's telling people I'm chasing him, I'm going to drop the thing in the porta-potty.”

“Tell you what,” I said. “Why don't you give the ring to me, and I'll take it to the student center? He works there, doesn't he?”

“I guess I could do that. I mean his father gave the ring to him, so it's kind of important. No reason to lower myself to his level, right?”

“Right.”

She dug around in a shoulder bag to produce a gold-colored signet ring with a
G
engraved on it, then hesitated. “How do I know you're not going to just sell it?”

“I'm a professor at McQuaid,” I said, and went into my own bag to find my faculty ID. “I don't exactly look like the picture right now, but this is me. Or if you'd rather, you can take the ring to him yourself. Just don't throw it away, okay?”

She considered it, then handed the ring to me. “No, you do it. I don't want Hector thinking I'm making excuses to see him.”

“I'll get it to him as soon as possible.”

She nodded and picked out a porta-potty to go into.

“Nice,” Brownie said. “You saved his ring.”

“And gave myself an excuse to go see Hector.”

“Georgia, you have unexpected depths.”

“Did I come off as shallow before now?”

“Not at all. Just different. Do you have any other suspects we can chase? This was fun.”