Haunted Hamlet (Zoe Donovan Mystery) (13 page)

“I’m not sure,” Zak answered. “
They arrived together a little while ago. I overheard a bit of their conversation and got the impression that the man is somehow involved with the camp, either as a volunteer or an investor. I suppose the man could even be a parent, although they were talking about long-range consequences of one sort or another. It looks like Levi is getting the runners lined up; I should head over. I’ll meet you at the finish line.”

“Okay, and thanks again for getting up early and getting everything handled.”

“No problem. It’s what awesome boyfriends do.”

“You didn’t take a q
uiz in a men’s magazine, did you?”

Zak just smiled as he walked away.

I looked back toward where Paul was speaking to the man I’d noticed before. I was certain I didn’t recognize him, but I felt the familiar tingling I often do when trouble is brewing. The man looked to be in his early- to midthirties. He wasn’t dressed like a businessman, so perhaps he was a volunteer or even a parent. Of course, it was early on a Saturday morning. Maybe investor types didn’t even dress like investors at that hour. I was debating about whether to go over and introduce myself when Darla waved me to the sign-in table, where a late arrival was demanding to be allowed to participate even though the race was seconds from starting. I would have liked to assuage my curiosity about the man Paul was speaking to, but when duty calls, it’s only polite to answer.

“How can I help?” I asked as I approached the sign
-in table.

“I’m running a little late
, but I’d still like to participate,” a man dressed as a zombie answered.

“The race has already started
, but if you run real fast, I guess you can try to catch up.”

“Thanks.” The man took off running at a pace that was never going to catch him up to the others
, but if he didn’t mind running the race a good quarter mile behind the pack, who was I to stop him?

I looked back toward the location where I’d seen Paul talking with the man I
’d had a feeling was someone I should talk to. “Did you see where Paul went?” I asked Darla.

“He headed toward the parking area. I think he
was leaving.”

“Do you know who that was he was talking to?”

“No, he didn’t say, but I got the feeling the guy was from out of the area. When he arrived, Paul looked surprised to see him. He went right over and shook his hand, so I assume they know each other from before today.”

“Did Paul say anything at all that might indicate who he was or where he knew him from?” I asked.

Darla frowned. “Why? Do you know him?”

“No
. I just have a feeling I might have seen him somewhere before.”

Darla shrugged. “Paul didn’t say much at all
, really. We were talking, he looked up and saw the man, said something like ‘what is he doing here?’ and then walked over and started talking to him. If you want to know who he is, I guess you can call Paul.”

“I just might do that.”

After
the zombie run wrapped up, Zak and I headed back into town to have some lunch and attend the kiddie carnival. Hazel and the other members of the events committee who’d helped decorate the community center had done a wonderful job. Children of all ages, most dressed in costume, were dispersed around the room, playing the twenty or so games the committee had come up with. The lines wound through the room as tykes tossed beanbags through the face of a giant jack-o’-lantern made of plywood or rolled plastic bowling balls at plastic pins. The longest line of all, much to my surprise, was the fishing booth, where the participants cast strings attached to a pole over a blanket hung on a line in the hopes of catching prizes.

“Do you remember doing this when you were a kid?” I asked Zak
as I watched the mother of a couple of little boys who were standing in line wrestle with a toddler who had other ideas.

“No, I don’t think my parents ever brought me to a kiddie carnival when I was growing up.”

I looked at Zak with pity. “Not even when you were little?”

“My parents didn’t really go in for the whole
play thing. Our family outings tended to be educational in nature. We’d go to museums or lectures at the university.”

I scrunched my face in disgust. “You never even went to the carnivals they held when you were in elementary school?”

“Nope. I went to a private school until Mom and I moved here when I was in the seventh grade, and by that time I was really too old for kiddie carnivals.”

“Come on
.” I grabbed Zak’s hand and led him toward the dart toss. “You have to play at least one game. It’s not natural to go your whole life without ever throwing a dart at a balloon.”

I thought Zak might argue that he was too old for the kiddie games
, but he just smiled as I led him across the room. Of course, he was way overqualified, so he won one of the big stuffed animals in no time, but Zak being Zak, he handed Willa a couple of large bills as a donation to the cause and then gave the stuffed giraffe to a little girl who had been trying to win her own toy the entire time we’d been there. Based on the adoration in her eyes when Zak handed her the giraffe, I was pretty sure the six-year-old had a new love in her life.

“That was fun,” Zak announced as we walked toward the park
where the pumpkin-carving competition was taking place. “When we have kids we’ll be sure to take them to every carnival within a fifty-mile radius.”

“It looks like a good turnout for the big event
.” I decided to ignore Zak’s comment about
our
kids as we made our way through the crowd. Not that I didn’t want kids someday, but to be honest, thinking about them made my hands sweat.

“How many entrants d
o we have this year?” Zak asked.

“I’m not sure. Let’s head over
to find out.”

In Ashton Falls
, we take our pumpkin carving seriously. Not only is each creation judged on its merit within the category in which it’s entered, but overall size and presentation are taken into consideration as well. The self-titled “king” of pumpkin carving in town is Gunnar Rivers, one of the twin brothers who work for me at the Zoo covering the night shift. Gunnar has won Best Pumpkin Overall the last three years in a row, and six of the past ten.

Gunnar’s brother
, Tank, is a close contender. I believe it’s the rivalry between the two that fuels the long hours they put into choosing the perfect design and carving every detail until it’s just right. I’m fond of both brothers and have shown my support for both of their efforts, but secretly, I hope Tank wins this year because I understand the pain of coming in second year after year, no matter how hard you try.

Long tables
had been set up around the gazebo in the park. Each contestant was assigned a table where he or she was allowed a half hour before the competition to set up. The actual carving of the entry was timed, but I knew after watching both Gunnar and Tank prepare that they’d carved many practice pumpkins with the design they’d selected in advance.

The entries were usually intric
ate carvings that in no way resembled the jack-o’-lanterns with three triangles and a crooked mouth that are my specialty. After the contest, the artful gourds are displayed on tables that had been set up inside the gazebo. In addition to the official ranking set by the judges, spectators were given the opportunity to vote for their favorite, and a people’s choice ribbon was presented at the end of the day. In my experience, the winning of this particular ribbon tended to be more of a popularity contest than a contest of skill.

“It looks like there are twelve people entered,” I commented
as I counted the number of pumpkins that were set out, waiting to be carved.

“Looks like a competitive pool.”

“Gunnar is pretty certain he’ll win, but I wouldn’t mind seeing someone else. I know he’s been practicing; he’ll be hard to beat.”

“How come you don’t do a pumpkin?” Zak asked.

I shrugged. “Too busy. Maybe you should enter next year.”

“Maybe I will.”

I looked around the crowd to see if I could catch a glimpse of Ellie or Levi, both of whom should have been in the area. I didn’t see either of my friends, but I did spot someone else.

“There’s the man I saw talking to Paul this morning. I’m going to go over and start up a conversation with him.”

“Remind me why you want to talk to him?” Zak asked.

“I’m not sure
; I just know that my Zodar went off this morning when I saw him. I really don’t know why, but I figure it can’t hurt to head over and say hi.”

“Okay, let’s go.” Zak took my hand and led me across the park.

I tried to
figure out whether I knew the man from somewhere. He seemed familiar, and yet he didn’t. He could just be a visitor I’d come across in passing, but somehow I didn’t think so. There was this nagging memory in the back of my mind that couldn’t quite make its way to the surface.

“I’m sorry
; do I know you?” I began after approaching the man.

Zak looked at me and rolled his eyes. Okay, so I’m not really all that proficient at starting conversations.

“My girlfriend, Zoe, saw you at the zombie run this morning and thought she recognized you from somewhere,” Zak added.

“I’m sorry
, but I don’t recognize you.” The man smiled. “My name is Drake Bollington.”

Drake Bolling
ton was the name of one of the counselors who had been at the Henderson house party.

“Actually, when I saw you this morning
, I thought you seemed familiar, but now I realize I must have just recognized you from your photo.”

“Photo?” the man asked.

“I have a friend who has a photo of the counselors who were employed at the summer camp he worked at one year. When you mentioned your name, I put two and two together. You worked at that camp the year all those people died,” I continued. “I guess you heard that Adam Davenport was also back in town. Or at least he was.”

Drake
’s face became guarded. “I heard Adam was in the area. I guess he had an accident.”

“
He was murdered.”

I watched the man’s face. He didn’t
get defensive at my bold statement, but he didn’t seem surprised either.

“I know
we just met, but I was wondering if you would mind filling me in on some of the details of the night in question.”

The man glared at me. He appeared to check me out before answering. Not that I blamed him
; my delivery was just a tad awkward.

“Why
are you interested in finding out about that night?” he asked. “You a cop?”

I s
hook my head. “No, just an interested party. I’ve been doing some research into the events of that evening. Talking to people; that sort of thing. I guess uncovering mysteries is sort of a hobby of mine.”

“
I don’t know you, so to be honest, I’m not all that comfortable having this conversation. I’m sorry, but I really have to go.”

“My name is Zoe Donovan,” I added as the man turned to leave. “Ask Paul about me
, if that would make you feel more comfortable. I work at the Zoo, an animal rehabilitation shelter in town. Call me there anytime. If I’m not on the premises, one of my employees will be able to tell you how to get hold of me. And I’m really not a cop. Like I said, I’m just an interested party.”

The man frowned and walked away.

“I think you might need to work on your interrogation skills,” Zak commented.

I shrugged. “I accomplished what I intended. I found out who he is, gave him something to think about, and told him how to get hold of me. He’ll call.”

“You seem certain about that.”

“I am. He’s as curious about what I know as I am about what he knows.
If he’s involved in what happened at the Henderson house, he’ll want to know what I know. He just needs some time to think it through. He’ll call when he’s ready.”

I decided to head to the Zoo early on Monday morning. Between the Haunted Hamlet the previous weekend and the murder investigation
, I was behind on my paperwork. I knew that Jeremy would take up the slack if I asked him, but I really love my job and have missed spending time with the animals I’ve vowed to serve.

O
f the eight kittens we’d acquired the previous week, six had been adopted. I decided to let the two that were still with us have some extra people time, so I took them out of their cage to play on the floor of my office while I sorted through the pile of mail I’d acquired over the past few days. I hoped the kittens would find homes sooner rather than later. They were fuzzy and pure black, with huge blue eyes and the sweetest personalities, and they were working their way into my heart. If too much more time went by, I’d probably end up bringing them home, and even I knew that the last thing I needed were more pets.