The Big Chili Page 14

  Cam leaned forward, almost spilling the contents of his plate. “Lilah said this before, but how can you be sure it’s cyanide? You can’t just Google something like that and assume you know.”

  I pointed at Serafina. “She’s the chemist. I told her the symptoms and such, and she told me the type of poison.”

  “Ah.” Cam nodded, sending an appreciative smile to his girlfriend. “She is smart.”

  Serafina shrugged her well-shaped shoulders. “Our laboratories are often consulted by the police.”

  We all sat quietly for a moment and ate our food. “Some Nights” started playing. A weird time to hear a song by Fun, I thought as I studied my plate. I wondered how it must feel to eat a favorite dish in all innocence, not realizing that something evil and deadly is hidden within. And by the time you realized that you had been poisoned, it was far, far too late. . . .

  “Oh, look at the dessert table!” Serafina cried.

  Cam laughed. “Fina’s got a terrible sweet tooth.”

  “It’s true,” she said, shaking her head. “Someday I will be very fat.”

  “If there is justice in the world,” I said, and Serafina laughed and patted my head.

  “Your sister is so funny, Cam. Let’s go find some cheesecake,” she said. My brother followed her away like a puppy.

  I was tempted to wander back toward the jukebox, but Terry ran into the room. He looked around, spied me, and ran over.

  “Lilah! I’ve been looking for you, babe. I’ve got the karaoke set up, and Britt’s going to turn off the jukebox in a minute. We’re going downstairs for a show, and you’re up first!” He pulled me up from my chair. “Come on. Time to be a star!”

  And so we relocated to Terry’s basement, which was a grand, carpeted, cedar-beamed space that Terry had turned into a party area. He had DJ equipment and a dance floor, but right now there were a bunch of folding chairs set up in front of a stage where karaoke hopefuls could jump up and choose their favorite song.

  Terry went to the mike and spoke to the crowd of about forty people. “Hey, everyone! We’re ready for some Halloween karaoke! I’m going to start us off with my favorite duet partner, Lilah Drake. Lilah, come on up here—I’ve picked out something I think will be perfect for you and me.”

  I looked apologetically at the audience and ran up onto the steps. I lived a solitary existence, but when Terry got out the song machine, I became a ham. I was wearing a mask, anyway, so it was even easier to lose myself in a stage persona. Catwoman sings.

  Terry handed me a mike and pointed at the song he’d selected: “Stop Draggin’ My Heart Around,” the great Stevie Nicks and Tom Petty duet. “Perfect!” I said.

  The song began, and Terry strutted around, doing his best Tom Petty swagger and getting a big laugh from the crowd. The vocals started with me, and I tried to put a lot of Stevie Nicks’s grit into my voice as I sang. Then Terry joined me on the refrain and we harmonized, our heads together. By the end of the song the audience was singing with us, and we got a big burst of applause. I hugged Terry and ran down the stairs. Terry called for the next volunteer and an older man, someone Terry worked for, climbed on the stage and requested the Sinatra songbook.

  “You wear that outfit well,” said a man’s voice at my shoulder.

  I turned. A man I did not recognize stood there; he was perhaps thirty years old, and he sported a Luke Skywalker outfit, complete with a lightsaber holstered on one side. I would have labeled him as the world’s biggest nerd if I hadn’t coveted his outfit so much. Didn’t everyone want to be Luke Skywalker?

  “Thanks,” I said. “It’s not super comfortable, and yet Halloween comes but once a year.”

  He laughed. His face was nice enough—sort of round and earnest—but I wasn’t in the mood to encourage any suitors, if that’s what he was trying to be. “Are you a friend of Terry or Britt?” he asked.

  “Both. I’ve known them for a couple of years.”

  “That’s cool.” He watched the older guy onstage as he launched into “Strangers in the Night.” “So what’s your name?”

  “Catwoman.”

  He laughed, sort of uncomfortably. “I mean your real name.”

  Terry had just said it, but apparently this guy hadn’t been paying attention. “Lilah.”

  “I’m Steve. Steve Ralston.”

  “Nice to meet you.”

  Now Terry spoke into his mike. “Who’s next?” he called.

  Serafina climbed up, looking like any man’s fantasy come true. She glanced over the song selections and finally settled on some Adele song that I only vaguely recognized, especially once Serafina started singing. In an instant I liked her even more because she had proven to be human after all. She was almost entirely tone-deaf, but she didn’t seem to realize it. I found Cam’s eyes in the crowd, and he sent me a wry look. Even love-blind Cam recognized that his girlfriend couldn’t carry a tune in a trick-or-treat bag. We all suffered through the song and Serafina stepped back down to some polite applause. I gave her a big hug; it was so nice, really, to know that she hadn’t made some kind of deal with the devil.

  Steve Ralston was edging closer to me; I just wanted to hang out with my brother. I waved at Steve in a friendly fashion but quickly followed Cam and Fina upstairs when I noticed that they were leaving the karaoke scene. “Sorry to be a third wheel,” I said to them on Terry’s stairway, “but that guy was about to hit on me, and I’m not in the mood.”

  “How will you meet someone, then?” Serafina chided.

  “I’ll stick with my dog,” I told her, and she laughed, because she thought I was kidding.

  Some people had started a trivia game in Terry and Britt’s parlor, so we formed a team of three and joined up. This whiled away a pleasant hour, and I learned that my brother’s girlfriend was truly a whiz when it came to math and science questions. Cam and I did fairly well on the humanities questions, but none of us fared well in the sports categories. Still, we came in second, and Britt suddenly appeared to award prizes to the winning teams: tasteful black cat statuettes with orange rhinestone collars. They had sort of an art deco look and cried Britt in every detail. “Thank you!” I told her. “This is lovely. It’s going on my mantel. I always wanted a cat, but I don’t think Mick would share the house, so this is as close as I’m going to get.”

  Britt laughed and darted out again. Our trivia team of three wandered back to Terry’s beautiful dessert table, where Serafina began filling her plate with chocolate strawberries and a white-coated server appeared again to put out a new cheesecake and some sort of chocolate fondue. In addition to that were an almond torte, frosted hazelnut cookies, a blueberry cobbler, a pan full of bread pudding with caramel sauce, and amazingly moist-looking brownies with Dracula heads painted on them.

  The server left again and Britt appeared to survey the table. “Who does your catering?” I asked Britt, trying to hide my drool.

  “Haven of Pine Haven.”

  They were the biggest name in catering in town, even in Chicagoland. They were classy, sophisticated, and, from what I’d heard, fairly affordable.

  “Do you know they’re closing down, though?” Britt asked.

  “No!”

  Britt pursed her pink lips. “The owner is retiring. I don’t know what I’ll do without them. I throw a lot of parties.”

  “I have an idea for you,” I said, before I could think about it further. “Can we talk sometime this week? Maybe have lunch?”

  Britt tucked a silky wave of hair behind her diamond-studded ear and sent me a bright, inquisitive look. “Sure! This sounds fun and mysterious! I’ll call you tomorrow.”

  “Okay, great.” The doorbell rang, and Britt looked distressed. This was not surprising, since she had been doing about five tasks simultaneously.

  Britt said, “Oh, shoot. More trick-or-treaters. Darn Pine Haven and their generosit
y. Lilah, could you get that one for me? The candy’s in a bucket by the door.” Pine Haven, unlike most local towns, had no set trick-or-treating hours, except that everyone had to be off the street by midnight, and children under thirteen had to be with parents. Lots of people, even the parents of grade-school children, made it a tradition to not even start until about ten o’clock.

  “Sure,” I said, and I went to the door to find Mike and Maura Sullivan, with their two boys, looking surprised to see me in a catsuit, answering the door of a large and stately house.

  “Oh—hi!” said Maura. “Lilah—do you live here?”

  “No, no,” I said. “This is a costume party, and I was invited.” I found Britt’s bowl of giant candy bars and gave one to each of the Sullivan boys. Their eyes goggled appropriately.

  “I know, right?” I said to them. “The hosts here are very generous with the candy. I think I’m going to slip one of these in my purse before I leave,” I said. The boys both laughed, because they thought I was kidding.

  The boys started down the steps, followed by their father. Maura leaned toward me. “The police were at Alice’s house today. Well, Hank’s house now, I guess.”

  “Really? Why?”

  She shrugged. “God knows. I feel bad for Hank. He’s a friend of ours, you know? More than Alice ever was. And we know he didn’t do it, because the guy is broken up. He feels bad about his wife’s death, especially now that he got the news about his inheritance.”

  “Oh?” I asked.

  Maura looked behind her, then edged even closer to me. “He inherited her house and a bit of money. But he was also still the designated beneficiary on her life insurance policy, to the tune of five hundred thousand dollars. He’s going to be very wealthy, assuming he can get the cops to leave him alone. I guess it looks like a good motive for murder—unless you know Hank.”

  “Sure,” I said. But I was thinking that, when murders happen and reporters interview the neighbors of the people who get arrested, they always say that same thing: We never would have thought Bob was capable of this. Carol was not that kind of person. Trevor wouldn’t kill his wife—he loved her and was devoted to her.

  That was the common denominator—no one ever saw it coming—because no one ever bothered to look for murder under a seemingly placid domestic exterior. And yet, based on the people Parker was haunting like a determined ghost, the domestic spaces were the likeliest ones to hide a killer in plain sight. I thought of Hank’s dog again, potentially deprived of his voice. Tammy had said that Hank had been angry. . . .

  “I’ll see you around, Lilah,” said Maura, following her sons. “Probably next Thursday!” she called over her shoulder.

  “See you, Maura.” I was about to go in when I saw a little figure marching down the sidewalk in a knight costume—sword and all. He held his sword in one hand and his treat bag in the other, and his mother’s hand, resting on his faux-metal shoulder, guided him up Britt’s walkway. Once they came into the light I recognized Mariette, Jenny Braidwell’s sister, who happened to be Henry’s mother.

  “Henry!” I cried. “You’re a knight!”

  Henry lifted his little visor and looked at me. “Hi, Lilah.”

  “Are you Sir Henry of Weston?”

  “Yes. My mom made the costume. I’m a real knight, actually.”

  I gave Marietta a quick hug and she said, “What are you doing here?”

  “I live back there,” I said, pointing at my house. “And Terry is my landlord. He’s having a party.”

  She smiled. “Henry told me he wanted to go to the really big houses. He thinks that they give proportionally larger candy, about which, so far, he has been wrong.”

  I bent down and peered at Henry’s cute little face. “This house is your jackpot, Sir Knight. Britt and Terry have got your back.”

  “Good! This other candy is hideous.”

  “I don’t know, Hen. You’ve got an iron grip on that bag—I’m guessing something in there is valuable.”

  Henry glanced to his left and right, where other trick-or-treaters scuttled in the night. Someone in monk’s robes moved past in the shadows. “That guy smells like markers,” he said.

  This non sequitur had us all laughing, and I gave Henry a giant hug before treating him to two of Britt’s giant candy bars. I figured she wouldn’t mind.

  I went inside and returned to the buffet table, where there was quite a line now as people discovered the desserts—people dressed in a variety of bizarre costumes. A very tall Frankenstein was dipping pound cake into the chocolate fountain; a SpongeBob SquarePants was taking a generous helping of bread pudding; and a brown M&M was dipping into a bowl of M&M’s. She smiled at me through the face-hole. “Life imitates art,” she said.

  I moved back toward the red sofa where Cam and Fina had once again taken up residence. Suddenly the room was plunged into utter darkness, except for the glow of carefully placed orange lights. Terry’s voice spoke into a microphone somewhere, or perhaps a PA system? He did his best spooky laugh, and then said, “If you want light, you must dance in the dark!”

  Suddenly a throbbing bass was playing loudly, and Eurythmics were singing “Sweet Dreams.” Everyone was up and dancing, so I joined, too, enjoying the anonymity of darkness, which allowed me to do whatever dorky dance I wanted to do. It’s much more fun to dance, I realized, when you can be totally free with your movement.

  Terry’s disembodied voice forced us to dance in the dark for four more songs, and by the time the lights went back on, people were breathing hard and sweating but in a great mood. Serafina and Cam had apparently spent the time kissing, and now they looked eager to leave.

  Cam left the room and came back with a pretty little wrap for his Cleopatra, and then he told me, “Fina and I have to get going.”

  “Right,” I said. “Let me guess why.”

  “Don’t smirk at me. She has to get up early to write a paper.”

  “Fine. Do me a favor and walk me to my house on your way out. It’s dark out, and I’m just a wee fair maiden.”

  Cam laughed. The three of us thanked Terry and Britt and made our way out their mighty oaken door and into the cold darkness.

  “It smells great out here,” Cam said. “Like someone’s fireplace. Nice and woodsy.”

  He had an arm around me and one around Serafina, and he looked quite content with his life.

  “It does. I love fall,” I said. We started down Terry’s long driveway, and I laughed. “I can hear Mick barking from here. Do you think he heard your booming voice, Cameron?”

  My brother tried to strangle me with one hand, then gave up. “He’s probably just lonely. Does he usually bark while you’re gone?”

  “No.” I stepped on a crackly leaf and enjoyed the satisfying crunch. “He’s normally a perfect gentleman.” I looked at Cam and Serafina, wondering if I should invite them in. Clearly they wanted to be alone, but it was still polite to ask. . . .

  “Lilah, stop,” my brother said.

  “What?”

  “Stop. Don’t go any farther.” He tightened his arm around my shoulder and Serafina gasped.

  “What the hell . . .” I started to say, but then I followed his gaze and saw the message scrawled across the white siding on the front of my pretty house:

  You’re Next.

  “Oh my God,” I said.

  Cameron’s face was grim. “Don’t go any closer. I’m calling the police. In fact—Serafina, you call them. I’m going to check on something.” He darted away into the dark, producing a tiny LED flashlight from his key chain and heading for my backyard.

  Serafina was dialing 911 on her cell phone. “They’ll be busy tonight,” I said. “It’s Halloween. Ask them to tell Jay Parker. Tell them it’s related to the poisoning case.”

  But was it? Is that what the message meant—that two people had died of poisoning, and
I would be the next to die? Or was it just some crazy Halloween prank, some kids doing graffiti on a dare?

  Serafina spoke into the phone in her lilting accent, her voice solemn. I liked the way she said, “Jay Parker.” Coming from her, they sounded like beautiful words.

  Minutes later Cam was back, and he and Serafina stood with me, contemplating my house. Cam said, “I didn’t see anyone, but I think they must have just been here, right? Otherwise why would Mick be barking?”

  I shook my head. I hated to contemplate someone wishing me ill, especially to the extent that they were willing to vandalize my home, my sweet and private space. Why me? What had I done? What had Bert or Alice done? Why was this happening?

  “That is scary stuff,” Cam said, echoing my thoughts. “Lilah, I know there’s a murderer in this town, but I didn’t think it had anything to do with you!”

  “Neither did I!” I said. “I don’t know what it’s about.” I could hear Mick whining at the hallway door; he had heard our voices and he wanted to join us.

  “Not yet,” Cam said, restraining me.

  We waited for a few minutes. The first car on the scene was Parker’s. He jumped out and strode toward us; even in my shaken state I found myself glad to see him.

  Before he said a word to us he went close to my house, looked at the graffiti, and then spoke into his phone. Then he came back and looked at me. “Are you all right?” he asked.

  “Yes. I wasn’t home—I was at Terry’s Halloween party until about fifteen minutes ago.” I pointed at Terry’s house. Parker nodded. His eyes flicked up and down, taking in my outfit.

  Cam said, “I think the person was just here. I can smell that spray paint strongly, as if particles of it were still floating on the air. And we heard Mick barking when we came down the driveway.”

  “Don’t touch anything,” Parker said. Then he turned and walked swiftly into my backyard, as Cam had just done. When he returned he said, “No one there. This seems recent, though, as you said.” He sniffed the air.

  “Henry!” I yelled.

  They all looked at me.