Trick Or Treat Murder. Leslie Meier
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my mom.”
“And you, Billy?”
“I don’t know yet.”
“Well, be sure you don’t go alone,” said Culpepper. “Here’s tip number two: Don’t wear a mask that covers your eyes and makes it hard to see. What can you use, if you’re not wearing a mask? Samantha?”
“Makeup?” Samantha was enchanted with the idea.
“That’s right. Makeup is better than a mask. Now for tip number three. If you go out after dark, carry a flashlight. Why should you carry a flashlight, Billy?”
“So you can see where you’re going?”
“You got it. And so the drivers of cars can see you. Ready for tip number four? Here it comes. You’ve heard it before. Have your parents check your candy before you eat it. Only one tip left. Sara, can you guess what it is?”
“You shouldn’t smash pumpkins or throw eggs or things like that,” said Sara, nodding virtuously. She obviously remembered an unfortunate incident last Halloween, when Toby had been caught toilet-papering the principal’s hedge. Lucy felt a blush rising from her turtleneck and studied her shoes as her cheeks reddened.
“That’s very true,” agreed Culpepper, winking at Lucy. “Trick or treating is more fun if you leave out the tricks.” He flipped to the last page, where a glowing jack-o’-lantern had the letters HAVE FUN carved into its face. “Tip number five is to have fun. Everybody, what are you going to do on Halloween?” he asked.
“Have fun!” the children chorused back.
“Thank you, Officer Culpepper, for visiting our class,” said Mrs. Volpe in her teacher’s voice. “Class, how do we thank Officer Culpepper?”
“Thank you, Officer Culpepper,” they shouted in unison.
“We have a Halloween treat for Officer Culpepper and our other visitors today,” announced Mrs. Volpe. “If Officer Culpepper will go to the back of the room with the others, the children can stand in the front.”
Culpepper joined the handful of mothers in the back of the room, placing himself next to Lucy, while Mrs. Volpe quickly arranged the children in front of the blackboard. “First, we have a finger-play. Ready?” The children raised their hands in front of their faces. “Begin.”
“Five little pumpkins sitting on a gate,” chanted the children.
“The first one said.” They each raised a finger. “My, it’s getting late.”
“The second one said.” Another finger went up. “I hear a noise.”
“The third one said.” Three fingers were now up. “It’s only some boys.”
“The fourth one said.” Only the thumbs were folded. “Having Halloween fun.”
“The fifth one said.” Out popped the thumbs. “Let’s run, let’s run!”
“When, OOH went the wind, and OUT (here they all clapped) went the lights, and away they all RAN (the hands went behind their backs) on Halloween night!”
The mothers applauded, smiling and beaming with pride.
“Now for our song.” Mrs. Volpe clapped her hand once and the children began singing to the tune of “Frere Jacques.”
“Pumpkin moonshines, pumpkin moonshines,
Where are you? Where are you?
Here I am this evening.
Boo, boo, boo! Boo, boo, boo!”
The mothers all laughed and clapped enthusiastically. Lucy caught Sara’s eye and gave her a wave and a smile.
“That’s the end of our program, thank you for coming,” said Mrs. Volpe, indicating the door.
Leaving the room, Lucy walked down the corridor with Officer Culpepper. They had been friends for a long time, and they’d gotten to know each other when they had served together on the Cub Scout Pack Committee.
“So, Barney, what can you tell me about the fire?” asked Lucy.
“Not much,” he said, smoothing back his hair and setting his cap on his head. “The chief’s taking this kinda personal. He likes to think he’s got a quiet, law-abiding town. The fires are bad enough, but now that nice lady Mrs. Mayes got herself killed. He’s doubled nighttime patrols—we’ve got two cruisers out instead of one—and he’s got the state troopers helping out. But arson’s tough. You can’t prove anything unless you catch ’em in the act. We don’t have enough manpower to cover every building in town.”
“Come on, Barney. That’s the official line. I want to know what you really think.”
“Trouble is, nobody thought too much about it at first. Just figured it was kids.”
“You don’t anymore?”
“Nope. School started for one thing. Vandalism always drops once they go back to school. Don’t have as much time to get into trouble. Fires oughta stopped, but they didn’t. If anything, they’ve been coming closer together. The frequency is increasing.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means we’ve probably got a nut on our hands. A pyro.”
“That’s what I think,” said Lucy. “And he seems to go for old buildings. It makes me nervous. After all, our house is pretty old.”
“I wouldn’t worry too much. Guy from the fire marshal’s office said he thinks we’ll get this nut pretty soon. The more fires he sets the more likely he is to get careless. He’ll make a mistake and we’ll catch him.”
“Somehow that doesn’t make me feel a whole lot better. How many fires is it going to take? And it won’t bring Monica back.”
“That was a real shame,” said Barney, holding the door for her.
“It sure was. See you around, Barney.”
Lucy paused on the steps and watched as Barney climbed in his cruiser and pulled out of the school driveway. The holiday program hadn’t taken long, it was only ten o’clock. There was no need for her to hurry back; Sue wouldn’t mind keeping Zoe a bit longer. Making up her mind, Lucy crossed the street to the Broadbrooks Free Library.
The library had changed quite a bit since Miss Tilley’s retirement. The polished wood floors that creaked whenever anyone moved, earning the transgressor a baleful stare from Miss Tilley, had been covered with carpet. Fluorescent lights had been installed, and it was now possible to read the titles in the stacks; readers no longer had to guess which was the right book and then take it to the window to check the title. These changes were all instigated by Miss Tilley’s successor, perky little Bitsy Howell.
“My replacement” as Miss Tilley insisted on calling her, was breezy and casual. While Miss Tilley had emphasized order, and tolerated nothing out of place, Bitsy thrived on chaos. Her office was a mess, overflowing with papers and books waiting to be cataloged.
Bitsy greeted everyone who came in the door cheerfully, waived overdue fines with abandon, and resolutely ignored the three-book limit. Under her management, circulation had dramatically increased, donations were up, and a building drive was underway.
“Lucy, I haven’t seen you for a while. We have some wonderful new children’s books—I’m sure Sara would love them.”
“I’ll have to bring her in,” promised Lucy. “I’m doing some research today. Tell me, do you keep old copies of The Pennysaver?”
“Sure do. All the way back to 1837. It was called the Advertiser in those days. Fascinating reading, if you’ve got the time.”
“I’m only interested in some recent issues. The last few months.”
“Sure.