“We have to call,” said Mars. “We can’t just let them run around by themselves.”
“Suppose we let Sophie in on what we’re talking about,” I suggested.
“Maybe we should wait an hour or so. See if they come home on their own,” Natasha said.
“Maybe we should call the police and let them help us find the girls,” I said, lifting the phone.
“No police!” They said it in unison, and Natasha swiped the phone from my hand.
I stared at them. “Where are they?”
Natasha pulled the belt tighter on her robin’s egg blue silk bathrobe. “Last time, Vegas snuck out to meet Blake. Patrick was a complete jerk about it. You can’t imagine how awful he was.”
Actually, I could.
“If we call the police, they’ll think there’s a connection between Patrick’s murder and the fight we had over the kids,” said Natasha. “Of all the people to die at our party. We couldn’t have handpicked a worse candidate.”
“Why did you invite him, then?”
Natasha scowled. “Guest lists are impossible. I didn’t want to include Patrick, but I couldn’t invite Maggie without inviting him. You know, Maggie is quite influential because she owns fifty percent of that car dealership.”
“Seemed okay to me. Making amends, you know,” said Mars.
Wonderful. They’d had an ugly argument with Patrick, invited him to their party, and someone had murdered him.
That wouldn’t reflect badly on them
. “Just for the record, I think you should know that finding Jen is more important to me than hiding your argument with Patrick from the cops.”
Mars nodded as though he understood, but Natasha gasped, “You wouldn’t!”
“You bet I would.”
Mars rested his hand on my arm. “There’s another reason we don’t want the police involved. It might throw Vegas into the juvenile social services system. Nat and I aren’t perfect parents, but we’re getting along. I really don’t want to open that door with her mother missing and her dad overseas.”
Unfortunately, I understood that. Vegas wasn’t a bad kid. If she were living with me, I would feel the same way. “How about if I call Maggie to see if the kids are there?”
Mars nodded again and picked up the phone, but Natasha pressed her hands to the sides of her head like she thought her world would end.
“We have to do it. We can’t just let Vegas run wild,” he said, dialing the number.
I took the phone from him. It rang and rang, and finally kicked over to voice mail. I left a message. “Do you have Blake’s number?” I asked.
Natasha left the kitchen for a moment and returned with a yellow sticky note on which a number had been scribbled. I dialed the number, but it, too, rolled over to voice mail. I was beginning to hate the person who invented voice mail.
I stashed the sticky note in my pocket. “I’m going over there. Do you know the address?”
“I know where they live. Give me a second to change, and I’ll come with you.” Mars left the kitchen at a jog.
“Is there anywhere else she might have gone?” I asked Natasha.
“There’s always the possibility that your perfect Jen wanted to sneak out to meet some boy.”
She said it in a snarky tone that I didn’t appreciate, but I had to concede that it was a possibility. “Are you sure Vegas doesn’t have her phone? She was texting when I said good night to the girls.”
“Not unless she bought a new phone that we don’t know about.”
Mars bounded into the kitchen. “Let’s go.”
Daisy pranced ahead of us in the dark, delighted about her nighttime stroll.
Mars yanked at the zipper of his jacket uncomfortably. “I’m sorry about this, Soph. I never should have listened to Nat. We should have told you. Nat has her good sides, but keeping up appearances at all costs is getting painfully old.” He took Daisy’s leash from me. “Our relationship might not have been perfect, but I never gave a single thought to leaving fingerprints on anything.” He smiled at me. “We had some good times, didn’t we?”
We walked six blocks, mostly in silence. I debated telling him about the attack on me, unsure why I was reluctant to tell him. Due to the late hour, no lights glimmered in windows. A bone-chilling wind blew along the old brick sidewalk, scuttling dead leaves past our ankles and whipping them up around our heads. Rushing air howled by us, and as we hurried past historic houses, I was overcome by an awareness of the people who had walked the same streets two hundred years before. Except for the pumpkins and Halloween decorations, the historic houses and brick sidewalks probably hadn’t changed very much. It wasn’t hard to imagine the ghosts of decades gone by brushing past us.
Or a contemporary murderer lurking around a corner. For our mutual safety, I finally told him what had happened to me. He stopped and even in the dim light of the moon and the streetlamps, I could see his shock.
He hugged me. “Why didn’t you call? I could have helped.”
“I’m fine. Once he was gone, there wasn’t anything anyone could do.”
We continued walking. “Why would Patrick’s murderer want to kill you?”
“I wish I knew. Wolf thinks he feared I could identify him.”
Mars cut a sharp glance at me. “I had a chat with Wolf. He’s not such a bad guy.”
“I wouldn’t date him if he was.”
Mars smiled. “You always did have good taste in men.”
“Very funny.”
“The current assumption is that the killer planned ahead. This wasn’t a random murder. Someone had it in for Patrick and took advantage of the party to wear a costume and hide his identity. But his attack on you puts all that in a different light. He’s a chilling character, Sophie—think how much moxie it took to kill someone right out on the sidewalk in the open where anyone could see.”
“He did a good job of concealing his identity. I saw him up close twice, but I can’t tell you anything that would help identify him. He was covered head to toe.”
“What about his shoes?”
“I don’t even know what kind of shoes you’re wearing right now. Who looks at shoes?”
“He obviously knew Patrick and was able to lure him outside, but he must have been waiting for you. Did he go after your neck like he was planning to bite you?”
“Not at all. He held his hand over my nose and mouth, and I couldn’t breathe.”
“Then why bother leaving bite marks on Patrick when it would have been so much easier to bash him over the head or stab him?”
Mars turned and walked up a short flight of stairs to a red brick town house with dark shutters. Beautiful ironwork mini-balconies accented long windows that looked out to the street.
“Nice house,” I said.
“Maggie got it in the divorce. There’s a lot of money in car dealerships.” Mars rang the bell.
“She’s not into Halloween.” Not even one pumpkin sat by the door.
Moments later a light illuminated an elegant fan-shaped window over the door, and I heard movement inside. A drowsy Maggie opened the door crying, “Marsie! You came back.” She reached for him and held on.
I took Daisy’s leash from him, and we stepped inside. An elaborate mirror hung over a console, reflecting us and making the foyer appear larger.
Mars unwound Maggie’s arms from his neck, apologized for waking her, and explained that we had called first. “Jen and Vegas are missing, and we wondered if they might be here.”
She leaned against him as though she could barely stand. “I don’t know a Jen, and Patrick told Blake he wasn’t allowed to see Vegas anymore.”
As sweetly as I could, I asked, “Would you mind checking Blake’s room to see if he’s there? Maybe he knows where they are.”
As though she was drunk, she flung one arm in the direction of the stairs. “Be my guest.”
I handed Daisy’s leash to Mars and seized the opportunity to dash up the stairs, even though I didn’t have a clue where Blake’s bedroom might be.
I could hear Maggie cooing, as if to a baby, “You have a doggie. I like doggies.” She gasped. “I should get a dog!”
I turned right and peered into what was clearly the master bedroom. She’d left the light on, and it reflected in an entire wall of floor-to-ceiling mirrors. I thought I heard someone scuttle away. “Blake?” I called. “Blake?”
When no one answered, I flicked on the light in the next room. The nautical decor suggested I’d found Blake’s bedroom. Either Maggie had a knack for decorating, or she’d hired a good designer. A blue palette offered a backdrop for red accents and seashore memories. The bed, however, looked amazingly like the girls’ bed had. Pillows were lumped in the middle, and Blake was not tucked in like he should have been.
I swallowed hard and gazed around, looking for a clue that would let me know he wasn’t the killer. It was stupid of me, but I couldn’t help thinking that the girls had probably met the prime suspect in Patrick’s murder by themselves in the dark of night. This couldn’t be happening.
I turned off the light and called Blake’s name again. He had no reason to hide from me. “Blake? The girls won’t be in trouble. I just need to find them. Can’t you help me?”
If he was there, he didn’t come forward. I pulled out my cell phone, pressed in Blake’s number, and listened. Either he had turned it off or it wasn’t nearby.
I rushed down the stairs and found Mars seated in the living room. Maggie roamed, flipping open one decorative box after another, complaining about not finding any cigarettes.
Mars shrugged at me and made a little circle near his head with his forefinger, like he thought she was nuts.
“Maggie,” I said. “Blake’s not in his room.”
She looked at me and held onto an accent table to keep from swaying. “He’s probably with that girl, Vegas. They’re working together on the haunted house. Patrick tried to put a stop to that, but Blake threw a fit.” She sank into a chair covered in a gorgeous floral print on a black background, and grunted in a most unladylike manner. “Blake hated Patrick. Did you know that? Patrick took such good care of us. He was our protector, and my little Blakey hated him. There’s no one to watch over us now.”
She sounded drunk. I shot a glance at Mars, who lifted his eyebrows like he hadn’t a clue.
He leaned toward Maggie. “Where would he have gone?”
“I don’t know,” she whispered. “Do you think they really sleep in coffins?”
That was too weird for me. “Maggie!” I raised my voice to get her attention. “Where is Blake?”
Maggie dug in the pockets of her dressing gown. She pulled out a plastic medicine bottle and stared at it.
Mars launched to his feet and gently removed it from her hand. He read the label. “Sleeping pills. That explains a lot.” He handed them back to Maggie, who promptly opened the container and shook half a dozen into her hand. “Maybe we should leave these where she won’t find them.”
“Good idea.” I took the pills, located the kitchen, and stashed them under a bag of peas in the freezer. I shouldn’t have been snooping, but was it really snooping if something was right out in the open? Two aperitif glasses stood on a drying mat next to the sink, along with an ornate, serrated spoon. I sniffed the air, but it didn’t smell of licorice. I bent closer to the empty glasses. They must have been washed. I couldn’t pick up a scent. Aside from the fact that she shouldn’t have been mixing sleeping pills with alcohol, Maggie had every right to a drink, and given what she’d been through with Patrick’s death, who could blame her for having a nightcap with a friend? It gave me pause, though, and bolstered my suspicion that someone was hiding from us upstairs.
When I returned, Maggie had stretched out on the sofa and was holding Mars’s hand. He tried to withdraw it, but that prompted her to moan, “Don’t leave me. Please!” Her voice shrank to a tiny whisper. “I’m next.”
“You’re next for what?” I asked, but she had drifted off to sleep.
“Think she’ll be okay?” asked Mars.
I nodded and opened the door. Outside on the stoop, I said, “There’s someone else in the house.”
“Who?”
“Don’t know. There were two wineglasses in the sink, and I thought I heard someone hiding from me upstairs. It could have been Blake. He doesn’t have a reason to avoid me, but I guess it could have been him.”
We walked down the steps to the brick sidewalk. A couple strolled by us, their arms around each other. Across the way, a man walked by in the other direction. A frigid wind blew along the street. The lights in pumpkins had been doused hours ago, and none of the cute electric lights glowed, leaving shadowy images of witches and skeletons. Definitely creepy—the kids would have loved it.
“What about Jesse? Do you know where he lives?” I asked. “Oh, wait! Do you think they would have gone to Blake’s dad’s house? What’s his name? Dash?”
We strolled to the next block as we spoke.
“Soph, I don’t want to worry you, but kids don’t sneak out at night to go where there are adults who will make them go home.”
Mars was right. As I tried to imagine where they would have gone, a familiar license plate on a parked car struck a chord with me. I whipped around and looked back at Maggie’s house, half a block away. Nudging Mars, I said, “I guess when you don’t want people to know you’re sleeping over, you should park farther away.”
FIFTEEN
Dear Sophie,
For years, my husband has hung cute little ghosts from a tree by our front steps. When our children were small, they were perfect. Now that the kids are older, I’m wondering how to make those friendly ghosties a little scarier. Bwahahaha!
—Wicked Mom in Dead Mans Crossing, Indiana
Dear Wicked Mom,
Search for an old suit and a gauzy or lacy white dress in secondhand and thrift shops. Stuff them with newspapers or biodegradable packing peanuts. Attach stuffed gloves for hands. Notice what’s missing? Now you have a headless couple to greet your kids and their friends. Want to make them a little bit more gory? Dribble red paint around the collars and down the front.
—Sophie