Death by Jack-o'-Lantern
HALLOWEEN MURDER
After snapping a selfie to prove she’d made it to the end, Abby circled the perimeter of the clearing. Still no sign of the farmer anywhere—not that she was surprised by that, as quiet as it was. Finally, she approached the closed door on the front side of the shed and called out, “Mr. Minter, are you in there?”
The only sound was the splash of raindrops hitting the mud puddles. Finally she opened the door and peeked into the dim interior. At first, she didn’t see anything except a large basket of mini pumpkins sitting on a rickety-looking table, no doubt the promised prizes. Then she noticed a boot lying on the dirt floor below the table. On second look, the boot was attached to a leg sticking out from beneath a patchwork quilt.
She retreated several steps as her mind flashed back to that day in her backyard when she and Tripp had discovered a dead body wrapped in a quilt. A bad feeling settled in her stomach, and there was no way she wanted to take one more step deeper into that shed.
Hovering near the door, she softly called out, “Mr. Minter, is that you?”
As tempting as it was to believe that the leg and boot were part of the decorations in the maze, meant to scare the visitors, her gut instincts had her convinced otherwise . . .
Books by Alexis Morgan
DEATH BY COMMITTEE
DEATH BY JACK-O’-LANTERN
Published by Kensington Publishing Corporation
DEATH BY JACK-O’-LANTERN
Alexis Morgan
KENSINGTON BOOKS
KENSINGTON PUBLISHING CORP.
www.kensingtonbooks.com
All copyrighted material within is Attributor Protected.
Table of Contents
HALLOWEEN MURDER
Books by Alexis Morgan
Title Page
Copyright Page
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
KENSINGTON BOOKS are published by
Kensington Publishing Corp.
119 West 40th Street
New York, NY 10018
Copyright © 2019 by Patricia Pritchard
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the Publisher, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.
To the extent that the image or images on the cover of this book depict a person or persons, such person or persons are merely models, and are not intended to portray any character or characters featured in the book.
If you purchased this book without a cover you should be aware that this book is stolen property. It was reported as “unsold and destroyed” to the Publisher and neither the Author nor the Publisher has received any payment for this “stripped book.”
Kensington and the K logo Reg. U.S. Pat. & TM Off.
ISBN: 978-1-4967-1954-6
ISBN-13: 978-1-4967-1957-7 (eBook)
ISBN-10: 1-4967-1957-3 (eBook)
Chapter One
“Do you want to run that by me again?”
Abby McCree focused her temper on beating some innocent egg whites into a froth while she waited for her tenant to explain himself. She noticed he’d made sure to put the width of the old oak kitchen table between them. That was smart on his part, because otherwise he might just end up wearing the meringue if she didn’t like what he had to say.
Meanwhile, Tripp Blackston leaned back in his chair, his legs stretched out in front of him and crossed at the ankles. His relaxed look didn’t fool her for an instant. The former soldier had blazing-fast reflexes. If she went on the attack, he’d be out the door and running before she could stop him.
He reached down to pet her traitor of a dog, who was sprawled on the floor by his feet. Sometimes she suspected that the mastiff mix preferred Tripp’s company to hers, but maybe it was because Zeke knew a soft touch when he saw one. She glanced up just in time to catch Tripp slipping the dog another treat—the third since the pair had invaded her kitchen.
“Well?”
After patting Zeke’s massive head again, Tripp finally started talking. “As I already told you, my veterans group wants to hold a fundraiser sometime next year. The goal is to substantially increase our budget in order to fund some new projects we want to take on. Important ones.”
She didn’t doubt that for an instant. The group was known for pitching in to help whenever they could.
Evidently Tripp found explanations to be thirsty work, because he stopped talking long enough to help himself to a can of pop from the refrigerator. Rather than waiting for him to gather his scattered thoughts, she tried to help the conversation along.
“So have a garage sale. That’s what all the other groups here in Snowberry Creek do.” She pointed at him with her whisk. “I’ll even donate all the stuff I’ve cleaned out of the attic to the cause. I was going to call one of the local charities to come pick it up, but all those boxes can sit out in the garage until you’re ready for them.”
Tripp settled back in his chair and tossed Zeke another treat. “Sorry, but the board has already rejected that idea for a couple of reasons.”
“Which are?”
“Like you said, every group in town holds garage sales. The frequency results in diminishing returns. There’s no way we can raise enough money that way.”
“And the other reason?”
“Well, we’d like to combine the fundraiser with a special event of some kind. You know, as a way to thank the people in town for their support of our group.”
Abby rolled her eyes. “So what you really hope to do is shake everyone’s hand and raid their wallets at the same time.”
“That’s a cold-blooded way to look at things.” Then he grinned. “However, I can’t argue with your assessment of the situation. The idea is to make the event so inviting, folks won’t notice what we’re up to.”
She added vanilla and sugar to the bowl and resumed beating the egg whites. “So what does this nefarious plan have to do with me?”
Tripp shifted position, leaning forward, elbows resting on the table. “Well, that’s where it gets interesting.”
She picked up speed with the whisk, almost splashing the egg whites out of the bowl. Since when was “interesting” a synonym for “infuriating”?
“How so?”
“Well, they asked us if we knew anyone who was both really creative and really organized. Of course, I immediately thought of you.”
It would be a real shame to waste all her hard work, much less the eggs and sugar. However, the temptation to cut this conversation short by dumping the entire bowl full of fluffy white goo on Tripp’s head was almost too strong to resist.
“Why would that be?”
“Several reasons. First, the ladies of the quilting guild are still raving about what an amazing job you did organizing their big garage sale. From what Glenda and Jean said, it was the best one they’ve ever had. I know the fire department and police department appreciate all the extra quilts the group has made for them to give to kids when they respond to an emergency.”
He wasn’t wrong. The garage sale had turned out better than anyone had expected, especially her. “Yeah, well, you can write it off to beginner’s luck.”
He shrugged his shoulders. “I also know that since you took on Mayor McKay’s Committee on Senior Affairs, the whole group feels reenergized. I was talking to Connie Pohler at city hall. She said this is the first year that committee has taken on organizing the annual trick-or-treating event on Main Street. They’re expecting such a huge turnout that she asked if the veterans group could help with escorting the grade school kids on their rounds and with chaperoning the games at the middle and high schools.”
Abby had to laugh. “That sounds like her. I bet Rosalyn McKay is grateful every day that she was smart enough to hire that woman to be her assistant. Connie has a real talent for ‘volunteering’ people. I swear, you walk into city hall to ask a simple question about property taxes and somehow walk out in charge of a major town event. You’re even grateful for the chance to help out.”
She should know. That’s how she had ended up working on the trick-or-treat event in the first place.
Tripp was still talking. “I think Connie missed her calling. If she’d gone into the military, she’d be running the Pentagon by now.”
He might just be right about that. “At least she uses her powers for good and not evil.”
“Yeah, she does.” Tripp’s smile faded a bit. “So back to our fundraiser. We all agreed you’d be perfect to head up the committee.”
She sighed and set down her whisk. “I’m sorry, Tripp, but you of all people know that I’m not in a position to take on any more commitments right now. First of all, I still have the rest of my term on the quilting guild to serve out. Thanks to the sudden influx of money from Dolly
Cayhill’s estate, the group has become a lot more active than it was. As for the seniors group, the mayor originally asked me to fill in just until Fred Cady, the next chairman, recovers from hip replacement surgery. He was supposed to take over back at the beginning of September, but now it looks as if he won’t be up to it until mid-November at the earliest.”
A less trusting person might think that was deliberate on Fred’s part. The postponement meant he wouldn’t be taking over until well after all the hustle and bustle of the town’s upcoming Halloween Festival celebration.
She did her best to look sincerely regretful. “Please tell your friends that I’m flattered they thought of me, but I really can’t take on anything else right now.”
Tripp clearly wasn’t buying her excuses. Either that or he didn’t care how busy she was. “Sorry, Abby, but it’s too late. I already accepted on your behalf.”
Okay, maybe it was time to start pelting him with globs of meringue. “What were you thinking? You know you can’t make a commitment of that magnitude without asking me first.”
He slowly rose to his feet, came around to her side of the kitchen, and planted his size thirteens right in front of her, his massive arms crossed over his chest.
“I was thinking you owe me, Abby. You know, what with the dead body in the backyard, not to mention my rushing to the rescue when you managed to put yourself right in the crosshairs of a killer. The stress alone probably shaved five years off of my life expectancy.”
Darn, he had to go and play the hero card. Still, he was exaggerating. After all, he had spent twenty years as a former Special Forces soldier, which probably put him somewhere in his late thirties. Despite his claim to the contrary, she figured he’d lost two years—three at the most.
That didn’t mean she would make it easy for him. “Fine, you win, but only if you agree to be my cochair. I’m not doing this by myself.”
He looked as if he was about to argue the point. She did her best to look as serious as death and gave him an ultimatum. “You and me as cochairs—that’s the deal. Take it or leave it.”
While he mulled over her offer, clearly still looking for a way to weasel out of it, she started spreading the meringue on the coconut cream pie she’d made with Tripp in mind. Right now, she still wasn’t sure if he was going to end up eating it or wearing it. After sliding the pie into the oven to brown the top, she set the timer.
“Well, what’s it going to be?”
“Fine. Cochairs. The first meeting is in a week. They’ll expect at least some preliminary suggestions of what we can do.”
She started cleaning up the mess she’d made on her baking spree. “Okay then. You make a list of ideas, and I’ll do the same. We’ll get together before the meeting to narrow it down to the most viable suggestions.”
“Sounds good.”
He started toward the door but then turned back. “I know this isn’t what you wanted, Abby, but there is one bit of good news. At least the members of this group are used to taking orders and working as a team.”
“That would be a nice change. I’ll deny saying this, but I swear it’s like herding kittens with the other two groups.”
Meanwhile, Zeke had parked himself right in front of the door, and he whined softly. Tripp gave him a good scratching. “I didn’t forget, boy.”
The two males looked at her with the exact same hopeful look on their faces. “I promised Zeke I’d take him for a run at the park this afternoon. Is that okay with you?”
Evidently Tripp wasn’t the only soft touch in the room. “That’s fine. And the pie should be cool enough for you to take home by then.” She shot him a nasty look. “Not that you deserve a treat right now, but I’d hate to see all my hard work go to waste.”
He clipped on Zeke’s leash. “Thanks for taking on this project, Abby. You won’t regret it.”
So not true, but it was too late to back out.
“I have a couple of errands to run, so make sure you have your key with you so you can let Zeke back in and get the pie. If it’s still here when I get back, I might just decide I made it for me.”
He winked at her. “Not a chance of that happening. See you later.”
She watched from the window as Zeke led the charge up the driveway with Tripp right on his heels. A few seconds later, the timer dinged, and she set the pie out on the counter to cool. It looked delicious. Too bad she’d already promised it to Tripp, but then, she’d made coconut cream knowing it was one of his favorites. Like many of her other friends, he frequently benefited from her love of baking. In this particular instance, however, if he hadn’t dropped by with his little bombshell about the committee, she would’ve used delivering the pie as an excuse to check in on him, not that she would admit that to him.
They hadn’t known each other all that long, and Tripp was clearly a man who valued his privacy. Still, discovering a dead body in the backyard had a way of bringing people closer together. She liked to think that they were now friends, maybe even with the occasional hint of the possibility of something more when he’d surprised her with a kiss. Not that she was looking to dive into the deep end of the dating pool so soon, but the couple of times he’d kissed her still replayed in her dreams on a regular basis.
Abby had only moved to Snowberry Creek a few months back after the sudden death of her favorite aunt. She’d also just gone through a tough divorce. As part of the divorce settlement, her now ex-husband had bought out Abby’s half of the small import business they’d built together, leaving her in her early thirties, single again as well as unemployed. She was still working on what came next in her life. Aunt Sybil had always rented the small mother-in-law house on the back of the property to a college student, so Abby had inherited both of her aunt’s houses along with her dog and her tenant.
But back to Tripp. Lately, he’d been acting withdrawn. She wouldn’t exactly say he’d been avoiding her, but she missed the time they’d spent working in the yard together or just enjoying a cold drink out on the back porch at the end of the day. Tripp’s college classes kept him busy, but she had good reason to think there was something else going on in his life right now.
Back when she’d been caught up in trying to clear her late aunt’s name, Tripp had confessed that he sometimes had trouble sleeping at night. When that happened, he prowled the yard trying to vanquish his inner demons so he could go back to bed. The one time she’d seen him during one of his midnight patrols, he’d been barefoot and wearing a T-shirt and flannel pajama bottoms.
But twice lately, Zeke had woken her up after midnight to draw her attention to Tripp slipping out of his house dressed in his old uniform and combat boots. He’d been carrying a heavily laden backpack as he’d headed up the driveway. She and Zeke had followed his progress from window to window until he disappeared into the shadows. They’d ended up sitting at her window in the dark watching for Tripp’s return. He’d stayed gone for almost three hours, finally returning shortly before dawn. The only change she could see was that his pack looked empty.
So both weird and worrisome.
It didn’t help that she hadn’t been sleeping well since discovering his nighttime escapades. The least little noise, real or imagined, jarred her awake. Then she’d sit on the edge of her bed and watch out the window for any sign that Tripp was out wandering around again. Eventually, she’d give up and lie back down until something else woke her up. It didn’t make for restful nights.
Sighing, she checked the depressingly long list on the front of the refrigerator to see what she should be doing next. At least she could cross off a few things. The laundry, vacuuming, and dusting were all done. The pie hadn’t been on the list, so she added it at the bottom and immediately drew a line through it. Maybe that was cheating, but she got a lot of satisfaction from seeing that the completed jobs outnumbered the ones left to do.
With that done, she gathered up everything she needed to take with her as she made her rounds through town. Her first stop would be the fire department to drop off the latest batch of quilts for the first responders to hand out to children at accidents and fires. She had another bunch for the police department, but she’d drop those off when she got to the meeting at city hall regarding the Halloween Festival, which was now just over two weeks away.