Authors: Laura Childs
But
Tortuga was the note Peebler wrote to himself and
Tortuga seems to
synch nicely with Spanish armor and
coins, doesn’t it?
Suzanne chewed on that
notion for a few minutes, won
dering
where it might lead her.
To Lester Drummond,
with his turtle tattoo and stash of
vicious fighting dogs? Had Drummond murdered Chuck
Peebler?
Or was
Jane Buckley involved, after all? During his rant
at the read dating event,
Peebler had pressed Jane about
stolen antiques. And Jane worked at a museum, so she had
firsthand
knowledge about antiquities. Was mild-mannered
Jane really a stone-cold killer?
And what about Mayor
Mobley and Allan Sharp? Were
they so obsessed with winning that they’d kill an oppo
nent? But how did
antiques come into play?
And then there was
Mike O’Dell, the man with a cross
bow and a wife who’d been hassled by Chuck
Peebler. Was
O’Dell a spurned man
or a common thief? Could he have
stolen antiques from Peebler’s aunt and then fenced
them?
Suzanne felt her mind
spinning like a centrifuge. Where
was she going with all of this? Where were the
answers?
She pressed the book
to her chest, as if she could absorb
critical information through osmosis. And puzzled
some
more.
The next step was so
simple it made her laugh.
Find Davy Crockett.
Maybe if she found the
man in the buckskin jacket and
coonskin cap, she’d also find a semblance of an answer.
Or
at least a clue.
Rushing outside,
Suzanne was startled to see that Petra
had already started the costume
contest She was standing
on an orange crate, head and shoulders above the crowd,
holding a microphone
and introducing the evening’s final
ists.
Suzanne glanced at her
watch. Petra would be introduc
ing her shortly. So ... first things first. She’d better
stay on
schedule
and do her Headless Horseman thing. Then she’d grab Doogie and go on a Davy
Crockett hunt.
Ducking back into her
office, Suzanne scrunched up her jacket and inserted a couple of foam shoulder
pads, making
her shoulders high enough and broad enough to rival any
NFL linebacker. Then
she tied a black do-rag over her hair and hiked up her collar so it came just
below her eyes. She
checked herself in the mirror. With the black scarf covering
her head, it really
would appear as though she was head
less. So far, so good!
She pinned on a black
wool cape, perfect Sleepy Hollow
couture, and grabbed the fake head that was sitting on
her
desk.
It was really a plastic foam wig head she’d purchased
from a beauty supply store. But
with a bit of brown spray
paint, it now looked like a head that had just flown in
from
a sunny weekend in Boca
Raton.
Suzanne slipped
through the kitchen and out the back
door.
Mocha was tied to a
fence at the back of her property.
He turned his handsome head and nickered when he
saw
her
approach, almost as if he’d been waiting for her. Knew in his horsy mind that
the two of them were going to make
a grand entrance at tonight’s big party.
With a tingle of
anticipation, Suzanne untied the reins, put her left foot in the stirrup, and
swung up onto Mocha’s
broad
back.
And that’s when the
world tilted crazily on its axis.
That’s when Arthur
Bunch came strolling out of the
woods wearing his coonskin cap and buckskin jacket. Su
zanne would have
laughed out loud at how authentic Bunch
looked—except for the gray
snub-nosed pistol he held in
his hand—the pistol that was pointed directly at her
heart.
“Bunch!” she cried,
startled.
“Get
down, Suzanne,” Bunch said through clenched
teeth. “We need to talk.”
‘Talk?’ said Suzanne,
suddenly realizing Arthur Bunch was deadly serious. “Sure, Arthur, whatever you
say. Just
don’t
point that thing at me, okay? Go easy.” She knew for a fact she wasn’t going to
get off her horse. Right now, her
horse was the only advantage she had.
An evil
grin lit Bunch’s face. “Scared, aren’t you?” He
seemed to revel in his power over her.
“You bet I am,”
Suzanne gibbered, using her apparent
fear to buy her time to think. “So just take it
easy, I’ll do
whatever you
say.”
“I thought you might,”
Arthur said, a thin smile on his face, his attention relaxing for just a split
second.
That’s when Suzanne
dug her heels into Mocha’s flanks
and drove her horse directly at Bunch.
The big horse’s chest
struck the man hard, spinning him
around. Bunch, his arm suddenly flung up over his
head,
fired
one shot into the sky, then the pistol flew from his
hand. Still driving at him, one
of the horse’s metal shod
hooves ground down hard on top of Bunch’s left foot,
elic
iting
a scream and sending Bunch reeling in pain.
“How do you like that,
Bunch?” Suzanne taunted, suddenly grabbing the upper hand. “Want to mix it up
some
more?
Want to tell me why you killed Charlie Peebler?
Why you shot Wilbur Halpern?”
Still hanging on to the
wig head, she threw it at him with all her might
But
Arthur Bunch wasn’t having it. He ducked the flying head and flung himself
away from Suzanne and her
horse. Stumbling, cursing at her, he picked himself up
and
took
off running around the side of the Cackleberry Club.
“Doggone!” cried
Suzanne. The last thing she wanted
was for Arthur Bunch to find refuge in the big
crowd that
mingled
out front. He could easily grab a different mask or
costume and melt into the crowd.
Or worse yet, try to take
someone
hostage!
Suzanne kicked Mocha
again and took off after him.
Cantering around the side of the building, the horse’s
hoof
beats rang out in the
still, cool air.
“Do you folks hear
that?” asked Petra’s voice over the
microphone, right on cue. “Do you think we might
have a
special visitor this
Halloween night?”
Coming at full
gallop, Suzanne rounded the corner, just
in time to see the crowd part
for her and Arthur Bunch duck
past the
tent. She spurred her horse on as she bent low, gal
loping swiftly past the row of
flickering jack-o’-lanterns
that
Toni had planted on wooden stakes.
Grabbing
the last jack-o’-lantern, Suzanne galloped through the crowd, holding the
lighted pumpkin high, her
cape trailing out behind her. There were appreciative
oohs
and aahs from the crowd.
Raising the pumpkin
high above her head, Suzanne flung
it with all her might. The orange missile went
tumbling
through
the air, sparks flying, glinting jack-o’-lantern eyes winking, crooked pumpkin
mouth grinning at me crowd.
Then the pumpkin struck Arthur Bunch in the middle of
his back, knocking
him to the ground as it exploded into
a hundred pieces, splattering everyone nearby with
orange
pumpkin goop!
“Holy bull dingers!”
Doogie cried. Darting toward Su
zanne, he held his hands up as if to stop her, as the
crowd
roared
its approval at such a dramatic tableau.
“Grab him!” Suzanne
yelled, as she reined her horse
back hard. “Grab Bunch. He’s the one who killed Charlie
Peebler and Wilbur!”
But
the
crowd’s instantaneous burst of applause blocked
the sound of Suzanne’s plea to
the sheriff! She sat atop
the dancing horse as the crowd surged around her, staring
out at Sheriff Doogie’s quizzical face, feeling terrified and
enormously frustrated.
“Bunch!” she cried
again. “Grab him!”
Doogie spun about, but
was trapped by the crowd and
unable to make a move or get a bead on Bunch. He whipped
his head back and
forth frantically, but to no avail.
Suzanne,
perched atop Mocha, could see Arthur Bunch
just fine. The rogue killer was
still on the ground writhing in pumpkin goop, gripping his knee in pain.
“Stop him!” Suzanne
shouted again. “Arthur Bunch is
the
killer!”
Struggling to his
feet, Arthur Bunch seemed dazed but
determined to make his escape. He flashed a look
of tri
umph
at Suzanne and began limping away.
“No!” Suzanne
shrilled.
That’s when a comical
red figure with white pearly
horns stuck on the sides of his head jumped out from the
crowd and poked Bunch
in the backside with his pitchfork.
“That’s it, Junior, do
it!” Suzanne screamed.
Abruptly
poked and jolted, Arthur Bunch fell forward
and landed flat on his face.
“Got him!” screamed
Junior, letting loose a high-
pitched
war cry.
The crowd
turned, en masse, to witness Junior poking
his pitchfork in Bunch’s rear end
and roared their approval!
“What an act!” someone
yelled.
“Like vaudeville!”
cried a voice.
“Wonderful,”
another voice cried. “I didn’t know these
gals had it in them!”
Then, as if Arthur
Bunch and Junior Garrett were an act
ing troupe, as if the Cackleberry Club was the new
theater-in-the-round, the crowd surged forward and formed a circle
around the two men.
Buckshot Benoit’s
group struck up the first couple bars of
Devil Went Down to Georgia
and
the crowd screamed
again, loving
it.
“Hang on
to him!” Doogie yelled, as he thrashed his
way through the crowd of revelers.
“Junior, be careful!”
cried Toni. She was on the side
lines,
hopping up and down.
“I got him, I got
him!” yelled Junior, as he prodded
Bunch one more time, shoving him to the ground.
The crowd, still
thinking it was a wonderful slapstick
play, cheered wildly. Even Carmen Copeland was
laughing
and giggling like a
schoolgirl.
Junior, playing
broadly to the crowd now, planted his
right foot on Bunch’s rear end and held the
writhing man
firmly in place. Then he grinned wickedly, brandished his
pitchfork, and took a deep bow.
“Thank you, thank you
all,” shouted Suzanne, pulling
off her head scarf with a flourish and suddenly gaining
the attention of the crowd. “I’m so glad you all enjoyed
our little theatrical
presentation,” she said, winging it.
“And now, if you’ll kindly follow Petra into the
Cack
leberry
Club, we’ll be serving dessert and hot cider for
everyone!”
Looking slightly
stunned and unsure at what had just
transpired, Petra gamely led me crowd inside for
dessert.
Amazingly,
the crowd moved after her, still chattering
about the wonderful show.
“You miserable
piece of filth!”
Suzanne screamed, as she
jumped from her horse. She
dashed up to Arthur Bunch and
angled one
cowboy-booted foot
at him. “I ought to kick
your
...”
“No,
Suzanne,” cautioned Doogie. “We’ve had enough
of that for one night I’ll take
care of him.”
Bunch groaned
miserably on the ground.
“He’s a
stone-cold killer,” Suzanne cried, unable to curb
her anger. “He even pointed a gun at me!”
“What!”
said a stunned Sam, as he suddenly rushed up
to join Suzanne.
“Threatened me,”
Suzanne muttered, aiming a foot at
Bunch again. This time Sam pulled her away.
Doogie grabbed a set
of handcuffs from his belt and
quickly secured Bunch’s hands. Then, grabbing Bunch by
the scruff of his
neck, Doogie yanked him rudely to his
feet “You and I are going to do some talking!”
Doogie
commanded.