Halloween Hijinks (A Zoe Donovan Mystery Book 1)

Halloween Hijinks

A Zoe Donovan Mystery

by

Kathi Daley

Version 2.0

Copyright © 2013 by Katherine Daley

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved, including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form.

This book is dedicated to my sister Christy

who
reads everything I throw at her

and offers invaluable feedback in return.

I also
want to thank Lindsay for Lambda; Jason for the zombies; Ricky for the website; Brian and Melanie Jackson for the book cover; Randy Ladenheim-Gil for superior copy editing; my editor and coach Paul Dinas for his never ending support and encouragement; and my best friend and super-husband Ken for allowing me time to write by taking care of everything else.

It was the week before Halloween and the alpine town of Ashton Falls was decorated festively for the annual Haunted Hamlet: a four-day event comprised of a haunted barn, spooky maze, zombie run, kiddie carnival, and pumpkin patch. Known as the event capital of the Timberland Mountains, Ashton Falls is a quaint village, nestled on the shore of a large deepwater lake, surrounded by hundreds of miles of thick evergreen forest.

Like many small towns across the country, Ashton Falls is a village with a big heart but
a tiny local budget. While our forefathers tended toward rugged isolation, the younger generation has discovered that the answer to funding luxuries such as a free public library, volunteer fire department, afterschool sports and activities and, my personal favorite, wild and domestic animal control and rehabilitation, is a steady inflow of tourist dollars from the larger cities in the valley below. After much consideration, the town council decided that the best way to accomplish the aforementioned transfer of funds was the frequent hosting of an array of celebrations and events. As a result of this constant state of preparation and implementation, the Ashton Falls Events Committee, of which I am a member, was formed.

My name is Zoe Donovan
. I’m a third-generation Ashtonite (our unofficial name for the citizens of our little community). The by-product of my wealthy mother’s single act of teenage rebellion, and my locally beloved but financially lacking, blue-collar father’s tender act of love, I’ve overcome my scandalous entry into the world and carved out a satisfying and peaceful existence. While some of the crustier old geezers in town would say I have a tendency toward the absurd, I like to think that I’m actually a normal and well-rounded twenty-four-year-old with a few adorable quirks that make me, me.

According to my Facebook
page, which I share with Charlie, my half terrier/ half mystery dog, we’re in a relationship with our two cats, a huge orange tabby named Marlow (after detective Phillip Marlow) and a petite black beauty named Spade (named for Sam Spade and not the playing card suit.)  We are avid joggers and mystery buffs who work for the Ashton Falls branch of the Timberland County Animal Shelter. When we aren’t rescuing animals and placing them in homes around the community, I volunteer at the senior center, where I horn in on their book club, and Charlie volunteers at the hospital, where he’s a therapy dog. I like to wakeboard in the summer and snowboard in the winter, while Charlie prefers chasing a Frisbee on the beach or hiking the miles of unmarred forest around the lake. We both like to relax by curling up in front of the fire with a good book in the converted boathouse we call home.

I suppose I should mention that, although I tend to be verbally creative and a bit long
-winded, I’m not a physically impressive individual. In fact, at five foot two (okay, five foot nothing) and just under a hundred pounds, I’m considered by most to be both vertically challenged and physically derisory. I inherited my dad’s stick-thin frame, speckling of freckles, and thick curly hair, a deep chestnut brown that most days is a wild mess that I braid or just pull back with a large clip. I’ve been told I have nice eyes, sort of an intense yet unusual piercing blue, and I did manage to inherit my mother’s long, thick lashes and wide, full-lipped smile.

I guess the only other
thing you should know is that, while I’m somewhat high-strung in general, I tend to go more than a little nuts if the equilibrium in my most important relationships is disturbed in any way. I’m not sure where my neurotic need to maintain homogeneity originated, but I suspect it had something to do with my mom’s desertion when I was just a baby.

My story begins on a
sunny Tuesday in October. Although the temperature was unseasonably warm and the air delightfully calm, I knew, intuitively, that a storm was brewing. The storm wouldn’t be a traditional sort, embodying rain and lightning-streaked skies but a different type, born of the tangled threads of iniquitous secrets and ravaged lives.

Charlie and I were
on our way to the regular Tuesday morning breakfast meeting of the Ashton Falls Events Committee when we noticed two of the members of the Ashton Falls Bulldogs (rugged, blue-collar-raised mountain boys with a tendency toward mischief) hanging a mannequin in the town square dressed in a jersey they stole —I later found out—from the locker room of their arch rivals, the Bryton Lake Beavers (think upper-class preppy in a tries-too-hard, middle-class sort of way). This year, for some maniacal reason, the biggest football game of the decade was scheduled the same weekend as the annual Haunted Hamlet, one of the town’s biggest fund-raisers of the year. While the pregame psych-out is a time-honored tradition in our little corner of the world, this year, with the matchup of historical rivals, both undefeated, the pranks, it seemed, had been steadily escalating for days.

I
made a left-hand turn in front of Trish’s Treasures—think touristy-type establishment selling a variety of objects with
Ashton Falls
branded on the front—when I noticed my best friend, Levi Denton, talking to the boys in question. Levi is the coach at the local high school. An athletic jack-of-all-trades, he coaches football in the fall, basketball in the winter, and baseball in the spring. Levi and I, along with the other member of our triad, Ellie Davis, have been best friends since kindergarten, when everyone sat at round tables of three, alphabetically by last name.

“Trouble?”
I asked as Levi approached the parking lot where I had pulled in next to his 4Runner. Although he looked tired, Levi is a handsome man: six foot two, thick brown hair, sun-kissed skin from the hours he spends outdoors, and muscles that prove he walks his talk and pays a visit to the gym almost every day.

“
Warren Trent was in an accident last night.” Levi referred to his star running back. “He’s going to be okay, but he broke his leg in three places, so it looks like he’ll be out for the season.”

“What happened?”

“Some idiot in a truck swerved toward him while he was riding his bike home from practice. Warren tried to avoid a collision and ended up in the drainage ditch that runs along the highway. The moron in the truck didn’t even stop to see if he was okay.”

“You don’t think
…” The biggest game of the season and the teams’ star running back is involved in an accident?

“I don’t know. I hope not
. But maybe.” Levi sighed. I frowned as I noticed the worry lines around his dark green eyes making him look much older than his twenty-four years. “The guys on the team think it might be payback for the skunk incident.”

“Skunk incident?”

“Monday, after the guys saw the field, one of the guys on the team caught a skunk and locked it in Kirby Wall’s gym locker after stealing his jersey. I guess it completely destroyed Kirby’s gear, as well as stinking up the whole locker room.” I knew that Kirby was the starting quarterback for the Beavers, and one of the most obstreperous idiots in the whole county. Kirby had been trash-talking the Bulldogs for months. I really wasn’t surprised that the guys had chosen Kirby as their victim, but I wasn’t thrilled they used an innocent skunk as their weapon.

“Field?
” The entirety of what Levi had just said finally hit home. While the dance to gain one-upmanship was, as I said, a time-honored tradition, it looked like the familiar waltz was taking an early toll on the normally energetic and enthusiastic coach.

“The g
uys from Bryton Lake painted a giant beaver giving the one-finger salute over the top of the Bulldog in the center of the field.” Levi sighed again. “Principal Lamé isn’t happy about any of this and is threatening the suspension of any and all students involved if the pranks continue.”

I knew that Principal Joe
Lamé—pronounced La-mae with an exaggerated accent—was new to Ashton Falls this year, a transplant from a school in the valley who apparently woke up one day and decided to embrace the mountain way of life. While I understand the desire one might have to live in this beautiful place I call home, I’m afraid the yuppie simply doesn’t get our small town ways. The difference in perspective has resulted in a sort of low, humming tension, between the man and his staff and students.

“
I’ve tried taking to the boys,” Levi continued, “but honestly, I don’t think my warnings of ‘severe consequences’ for random acts of vandalism are really sinking in. If you want my opinion, I think the guys are intentionally trying to raise lamebrain’s blood pressure.”

“So who exactly started
the whole thing?” I tucked a stray lock of hair behind my ear as I tried to work out the sequence of events in my mind.

“I think I may have.”

“You?” I was surprised. Levi is an easygoing sort of guy who normally isn’t inclined toward bellicose acts of unsportsmanlike conduct.

“Not intentionally,” Levi defended himself. “Last Friday I was a guest on that morning show,
Wake Up Timberland
, and I made a sarcastic remark about the Beavers new wide receiver, Samantha Collins.”  I knew that Samantha was the first female in the county to play high school ball after her parents had challenged her right to do so in court and won.

“I thought I was being funny, but I guess Coach Griswold didn’t see it that way.  Later that morning he called my office and left me a scathing phone message,” Levi continued.

Coach Griswold had spoken out quite passionately during the court hearing in opposition to Samantha’s inclusion on the team.  I had to admit that I was impressed that he was sticking up for Samantha in spite of the fact he’d been quite vocal in his campaign to have her removed from the team.

“I realized that my joke, while not intended to be malicious, was actually mean-spirited and un
called for,” Levi continued. “I called Griswold and apologized. I thought that was the end of it until we showed up at practice on Saturday and saw a giant beaver where our bulldog used to be.”

“So the kids on your team put a skunk in Kirby’s locker and stole his jersey as payback for the graffiti,” I guessed.

“Sounds about right.”

“And you think Warren was run off the road as a return of the symbolic volley?”

“Personally I can’t imagine that anyone
would do such a thing, but Warren remembers the vehicle that swerved into him was a white truck, and Coach Griswold drives a white truck. Everyone knows Griswold is a narcissist who will do anything to win.”

I
wrapped my arm around Levi’s waist and laid my cheek against his chest. “I’m sorry. Anything I can do?” Levi isn’t just a babe; he’s sweet and thoughtful and considerate as well. There are those in town, including my father, who don’t understand why we haven’t moved our relationship to a more intimate level. The thing is, I love Levi way too much to risk screwing up what we have with a messy romantic encounter. Besides, with Ellie in the mix, a three-way friendship is an easier dynamic than a couple and a third wheel.

“No
, but thanks for asking.” He kissed the top of my head. “How about you? Any luck finding zombies for the run?”

“Afraid not,” I s
aid. “If there’s anyone who could use a zombie apocalypse right about now it would be me. I’m not sure what I’ll do if I can’t scare up some willing brain eaters.”

This year I
’m in charge of the annual zombie run. For those of you who are unfamiliar with this awesome event, it’s sort of like a regular 5K fun run, except you’re chased by hungry, merciless zombies who want to eat your brain. You’re given flags at the beginning of the race that the zombies want to steal. If you lose all your flags, you’re dead. Only the most cunning and agile can make it out alive. Normally the guys from the football team are happy to tap into their inner zombie and chase willing participants through Black Bear Woods, but this year, with the big game scheduled for the same weekend as the run, most are too preoccupied to sign up.