The Skeleton Haunts a House (17 page)

I wasn't sure if he was making fun of me or not, but he didn't seem to be. “Unfortunately no. My partner will let me know if anything else arises.”

“Your partner? Tell me you're not talking about Charles.”

“No, not Charles. Not that he wouldn't give it his best if asked.”

“Would this be a romantic partner as well as an investigative one?”

“Definitely not.”

“Good. Then would you care for a stroll around the carnival?”

“Yes, I would.” I knew Sid would be annoyed that I'd abandoned my post, but I didn't have any more leads to follow anyway. He or somebody else would text me if anything came up, and in the meantime, why shouldn't I enjoy the carnival, especially in the company of a man with gorgeous blue eyes?

We started at the games, not to play, but so Brownie could show me how they were subtly gaffed.

“See the basketball hoop? From the front it looks round, but actually it's oval, which is why it's hard to get the ball in.”

“Sneaky.”

“And the balloons on the dart toss? They aren't inflated all the way, which is why they're hard to pop. If you aim for the tighter ones, and also arc up in your throw, you've got a better shot.”

“What about the fact that your darts are crap?” I'd dated a serious darts player once, and we spent a lot of time at pubs.

“It's not a tournament target—it's a balloon.”

“Fair enough. What about the duck pond? Is there some way you force ducks on people like magicians do with card tricks?”

“Nope, everybody is a winner. It's just that out of a hundred ducks, ninety win slum—”

“They win what?”

“Cheap prizes bought in bulk. Whistles, friendship bracelets, stuff like that. Anyway, of the other ten, eight are the next level up of prize and only two are flash prizes. Everybody wins, just not very much. Now in a rigged show, they'll let a plant win the flash, then pretend to throw the grand prize duck back into the water when what they've really done is throw in another dud. We don't do that here. Our games are fair, as long as you pay attention. Want to play one?”

“No way,” I said. “I spent nearly fifty bucks winning my daughter a stuffed Powerpuff Girl doll a few years back, and my wallet has never been the same. Though I think I've still got the Scooby-Doo I got at this carnival when I was a little girl.”

“You're a sentimentalist.”

“Or a pack rat. I wouldn't be if I didn't have my parents' house to store stuff in. I've moved too often.”

“I bet I've got you beat.”

“Sure, but you take your house with you.”

“Would you like to see it?”

I wasn't sure if that was an invitation just to view or to do something more active, but I wasn't ready for either. “Maybe another time.”

We strolled farther, and he bought us an enormous piece of fried dough but warned me against patronizing the chili and churro booth, not that the juxtaposition of those two items appealed anyway. As we munched, conversation turned toward work, and the aggravations of the adjunct life. At least I was talking about aggravations—Brownie was mostly listening.

Eventually we reached the midway. “I like the way a midway sounds,” I said.

“What? Loud pop music and screaming?”

“Okay, the music isn't always great, but the screams are mostly happy screams. Usually babies and toddlers are the only ones who scream for joy. Anybody older than that is too self-conscious.”

“What about teenagers at a concert?”

“Equally loud, but carnivals have brighter lights, shorter lines for the bathrooms, and a better exit strategy. Once you're in a teen idol concert, you're stuck for hours.”

“The voice of experience?”

I nodded. “Do you enjoy the midway? Or are you sick of the rides?”

“I only ride most of them to test them out, but I have one favorite. Want to see?”

“Sure.”

Given his earlier invitation, I wondered if he'd suggest a dark ride or a scream fest like the Matterhorn. Instead he led me to the Ferris wheel. It was a big one, and since it was featured in the show's logo, I figured it was their centerpiece. I expected him to butt in line, but we politely waited our turn, though being the owner's son had some perks. When we got to the front of the line, the tattooed young man with a
World of Warcraft
ball cap didn't ask for tickets.

“Georgia, this is Gameboy.”

We exchanged pleased-to-meet-yous, and then he handed us into a gondola.

As Gameboy checked that the gate was secured, Brownie said, “Don't rush the trip, okay?”

He gave us a knowing grin, and stepped back to start the ride moving.

“Do this often, do you?” I asked.

“If you mean coming onto the Ferris wheel, the answer is yes, at least once per stand. If you mean bringing a friend along, the answer is reserved.”

“Fair enough.”

I've never been a huge fan of Ferris wheels. Most of the ones I've ridden spend an endless time loading each gondola, meaning that you move a few feet, stop for loading, move a few feet, stop, and so on. But there weren't many people riding this Ferris wheel, probably because it was chilly to be up in the open air, and presumably Brownie's status as son-of-the-boss helped. We went around the whole way, only stopping at the very top.

I wondered if Brownie would make a move once he had me all alone, but what he did was lean over and look down. “Hello, Pennycross.”

I mirrored him. “This is a great view.”

“Every town is different from above. Down below, you see all the similarities—the duplicate malls and McDonald's and houses that could be anywhere in New England. Plus we set up the lot the same way every stand, or as close to it as we can given the space we've got. It's hard to tell where we are. When I come up here, I can see the shape of the town.” He pointed toward downtown. “That's the oldest section—look at how the buildings are clustered around that dark spot. Town square?”

“Complete with a Civil War cannon. Not that there was fighting here. Somebody brought it home from the war as a souvenir.”

“The cluster around the college is brighter, newer. How long has McQuaid been here?”

“Founded in 1950.”

“McQuaid Hall looks older than that.”

“That's because it predates the college. It was a defunct art school owned by the McQuaid family, and when somebody got the idea of creating a college, the McQuaids donated the building and grounds, along with some nasty strings.” I explained the odder provisions of the bequest. “What is it about making big donations that inspires people to add strings?”

“If I ever have enough to give, I'll try to be less picky,” Brownie said. “The more modern stuff is over there, by the highway. All those big box stores, and a mall.”

“They aren't very pretty from up here, are they?”

“Not so much.”

The wheel started downward.

“Want to go around again?” Brownie asked.

“Can we?”

He gave Gameboy a thumbs-up as we reached the bottom, and up we went, stopping a quarter of the way from the top this time.

“What else do you see?” I asked him.

He looked straight down at the midway. “Lots of people at the games, which is good for us. The bounce house is deflating, which means it's getting late enough that the younger kids have gone home. We have to close it or the partying college kids will go in, and since they've probably been drinking, at least one would barf in there. Nobody wants to clean that out.”

“I can't blame you for that.”

“No line at the haunted house, even this close to Halloween—they'd rather go to McHades. There's a long line at the popcorn stand, which means that JoJo is goofing off again. Look, my mother is going to read him the riot act.”

Sure enough, I saw Dana Fenton striding in that direction, and even from above, her body language showed that she was not amused.

“From the macro to the micro,” I said. The wheel started up again, but only went as far as the top before stopping. “And back to the macro.”

This time Brownie leaned back and looked up at the sky. “This is the part of the view that gives me perspective.”

I looked up, too. There were clouds around, and the lights of the town and the midway caused enough glare that I couldn't see many stars, but the moon was full and bright. “I could use a little perspective.”

“I kind of thought so.”

“Have I been whining?”

“Maybe a little. Can I ask you a question?”

“Sure.”

“Do you like your job?”

“Of course.”

He didn't say anything.

“Mostly,” I said. “I like the work, but being an adjunct is tough.”

“Why don't you do something else?”

“I don't know how to do anything else.”

“Crap.”

“Well, I could draw on my experiences to enter the exciting world of fast food.”

“Don't you have a doctorate?”

“Sure, who around the adjunct office doesn't? It doesn't mean much.”

“It means that you know how to learn, how to do research, and how to formulate an original thought. Apply that to another line of work.”

“It's not that simple.”

“Probably not,” he agreed, “but it seems that way from up here.”

“You can't see my bills from up here. Or my daughter, who I adore, but who keeps me from being footloose or fancy-free. I don't feel that I can take many chances with Madison depending on me.”

“Is that why you're chasing ninjas? Giving yourself a chance to take chances?”

I stiffened, suddenly uncomfortable. I'd blithely eliminated Brownie from my list of possible murderers, but now I was feeling less sure. Being alone with him on top of a Ferris wheel didn't feel as comfortable as it had seconds before.

“Seriously,” he said, “why are you sticking your neck out?”

“Why do you care?” I countered.

“I'm curious. Most of the time you've seemed focused on your work, your daughter, and yeah, sometimes your troubles. The only time I've seen you color outside the lines is this murder stuff.”

“Okay, now I don't know if you think I'm really boring for doing my usual stuff, or a weirdo for my crayon techniques.”

“Neither,” he said with a laugh. “Your focus is admirable,
and if I had a kid as great as Madison must be, I'd give up a lot for her. As for the other, it's intriguing. Kind of hot, really.”

“Yeah?” Nobody had called me hot in a long time, except for that one boy at Madison's high school, and that was just weird.

“Definitely hot. But if you don't want to talk about it, that's okay.”

The wheel started turning again, and I enjoyed the view for a few moments before deciding I should color outside the lines a bit more. “It's complicated, but the short version is that my sister Deborah asked me to investigate and I don't believe the girl who the police arrested is guilty.”

“Who do you think it was?”

“Maybe one of the other employees, or the real ninja, or some other customer. We've even been looking at the McQuaids.”

“Why them?”

“That bequest I told you about. It turns out there's a missing heir.”

“Really?”

I nodded. “So we've got all kinds of theories.”

“I still don't understand why your sister wanted you to get involved.”

“Would you believe that I've done this kind of thing before? And for some reason, I like it.”

“I've seen you chasing a ninja while dressed as a calavera, so I'd believe just about anything about you.”

That was said in such a nice way that I knew he meant it as a compliment, and it seemed like a great time for a kiss. Though Brownie's touch was gentle, he warmed me all the way down to my toes. The second kiss was nice, too, and I'd have been willing to bet that the third would have been even better, but there was a squawk from Brownie's walkie-talkie.

“Hey, College Boy, how's that ‘break' going? You resting up there or wearing yourself out?”

Brownie sighed, and looked down at the ground. His father was standing below us, grinning. “I've got to go back to work.”

“So I see.”

Treasure Hunt was waiting to open the gondola when we got to the bottom. “College Boy, you've got some makeup on your cheek.”

Brownie put his hand against his cheek dramatically. “I'll never wash it again.” Then he took my hand and kissed it. “Farewell, señorita. I'll think of you every time I chase a ninja.”

There was nothing I could say to that, so I pulled the flower from my hair, brushed it against my lips, and handed it to him. Then I glided away. At least I was trying for a glide, but I had to step over a spilled box of popcorn.

Treasure Hunt, for once, had nothing to say.

M
cHades Hall was still doing blockbuster business when I got back there, and since neither my ninja chase nor my Ferris-wheel-granted perspective had provided investigational inspiration, I asked my parents if there was anything I could do for them. They nearly dragged me into the ticket booth so I could spell one and then the other for bathroom breaks, and then enlisted me to bring back food. My idea of adding food delivery service to my resume was looking better and better.

The rest of the evening passed reasonably smoothly, if not quietly, considering the screams coming from both the midway and the haunt. Deborah kept a careful eye via security camera, and caught a pickpocket to turn over to the police, tossed out a guy who was trying to get too friendly with one of the scare actors, and stopped an argument between drunken customers before it came to blows.

When time came to cut off ticket sales, there was so much
protest that Deborah kept McHades open an hour longer than originally planned, and given the reaction when she did shut things down, she could have kept it going all night long.

We were in my minivan and gone ten minutes after the haunt closed. Though I'd been prepared to keep Deborah company while she oversaw cleanup and bookkeeping, I was just as glad when she shooed the rest of the family off so she could work in peace.

Since Phil confessed that he was so tired that for once he had zero interest in cooking, we went through the Aquarius Drive-In for burgers and throat-soothing milkshakes on the way back to the house. As soon as he and Mom finished their share, they were off to bed, but Madison, Sid, and I lingered at the kitchen table to compare notes.

“So your exciting chase led to naught?” Sid said.

“I did trace the ninja suit back to lost-and-found at McQuaid, and I've got an excuse to visit the student center to see if I can find out where the outfit was abandoned. That's a little more than naught.”

“Not to mention getting a chance to hang with that guy Brownie,” Madison said. “That's the first time you've had anything like a date in a looooong time.”

“Hey! It hasn't been that long.”

Funny how Madison and Sid, who I would not normally describe as resembling each other, made the exact same expression of disbelief.

Sid followed up with, “You know she's had the hots for him ever since he showed up at McQuaid.”

“Sid! I never said one word—”

“Oh, please. As if I can't tell when you've got the hots for somebody. I remember that first crush you had on Steve Jones—your eyes sparkled every time you said his name.”

“They did not. As for Brownie—”

“Sparkle sparkle sparkle,” he said.

“Fine, be that way. I won't tell you about the sexy skeleton I saw.”

“Big deal,” he scoffed. “All skeletons are sexy.”

Since there was no way I was going to win that argument, I said, “Did you two hear or see anything helpful?”

“I spotted the cowboy!” Madison said proudly.

“Why didn't anybody tell me?”

“Because it happened when you were off sparkling.”

“I was not— Never mind. What happened?”

“Not much,” she admitted. “I saw the guy, let Aunt Deborah know, and she had Sergeant Raymond meet him at the exit to question him. He didn't know anything—he hadn't realized he was running out on a lockdown last week because he thought it was all part of the McHades experience. Since he doesn't live in town, he didn't even hear about the murder until the middle of the week, and since he'd been drinking before he went into the haunt, remembered almost nothing about it.”

“That would make a great cover story,” I said.

“It would, but the guy had been drinking again tonight, so I don't think he was capable of making up stories.”

“I don't know why Deborah tipped off the cops instead of letting us take care of him,” Sid said.

“Be glad she did. He barfed all over Sergeant Raymond's shoes.”

“Better his than mine,” I said with malicious glee. I was still holding a grudge for Louis arresting Linda. “How about you, Sid? Anything good eavesdropping?”

“Nothing. I think I was able to spy on just about everybody, and nobody showed any signs of anything suspicious. Not that I expected anybody to start monologuing about how he or she had gotten away with murder, but I was hoping for some clue from body language.”

“You're fluent in body language, too,” I said, especially considering he didn't have a body.

“There is one thing. Maybe. I think I should stay overnight at the haunt tomorrow.”

“Why?” I asked.

“To see if the rumors are true.”

“What rumors?

“Georgia, you know I'm a skeptic. I've always been a ‘I'll believe it when I see it with my own eye sockets' kind of guy. But I heard several of the actors telling stories . . . What if the place really is haunted?”

“Sid, Deborah says every haunted house has rumors about being haunted. Okay, that didn't come out right. I mean, every haunt has rumors. They're usually old buildings, people are screaming, there's creepy makeup, it's dark. Add a real murder to that, and of course people are going to be a little uneasy. That's no reason to start believing in ghosts.”

Madison started laughing. “Do you know how ridiculous it is to hear you two talking about skepticism and whether or not ghosts exist? I mean, just look at Sid!”

“I am not a ghost,” he said haughtily. “Ghosts are intangible, tied to specific locales, and haunt people, whereas I'm tangible, go wherever Georgia takes me, and never haunt.”

“But—” she started to say.

“Why don't we table the idea of whether or not ghosts exist?” I said. Sid didn't like to talk about why it was he was alive, and I was afraid that if he thought about it too hard, he might just stop living. Like Green Lantern, he was powered by force of will. “The question is whether or not this particular location is haunted. Madison, you've spent more time there than we have. What's your take?”

“I did hear that one of the McQuaids committed suicide in there when the original art school was running because
she wasn't a good painter or her father was making her give up art or she had a broken heart or something.”

“Vague much? Sid, you've climbed up and down the McQuaid family tree. Any family suicides?”

“Not a one,” he said, “but remember what Paige McQuaid said at that meeting? According to her, a guy died from a knife fight at that building, and a girl fell down the stairs. And we know for a fact that Kendall died there.”

“If those first two fatalities led to spirits haunting the building, it was a long time ago, and finding those ghosts wouldn't help us any. As for Kendall, didn't the ghost rumors predate her death?”

“Yeah,” Madison said, “but things really have gone missing.”

“You mean the bat and the rubber gloves that the murderer took?”

“Okay, that part wasn't a ghost. Still several cast members said they were hearing noises tonight, like something was moving behind the scrim when nobody was around.”

Sid said, “I overheard a couple of people say that, too, but I didn't hear anything when I was back there.”

I waited for them to connect the dots, but when it was clear that they weren't going to, I said, “Guys, did it ever occur to you that it was Sid who was making noises?”

Madison put a hand over her face. “Wow, I am an idiot.”

Sid protested, “I was being quiet.”

“I'm sure you were, but there's a limit to how quiet bare bones on the floor can be. We'll get you some socks or slippers to wear tomorrow, and see if we can exorcise the ghost. In the meantime, you guys have reminded me of an interesting question. If the killer wasn't a member of the cast or crew, then how did he or she get the bat and gloves?”

None of us had an answer to how somebody had gotten onto the third floor of a locked building, so after kicking it
around uselessly, Sid went to play computer games overnight while Madison took Byron to her room and I took my memories of Brownie's kisses with me.

*   *   *

I
t was late when the breathing members of the family dragged themselves out of bed the next day, and none of us had the energy to do much more than get prepped for the next night's stint at the haunt. When we got to McHades, Deborah was in a state because a pair of her scare actors had canceled on her, so she had to shuffle the people she did have. Mom ended up helping out in the greenroom while Phil and I handled ticket sales, and since the crowd was even larger than it had been the night before, we were so busy we probably wouldn't have noticed if the killer had paraded by wearing a sash with sequined letters spelling out
It was me! Bwah ha ha!

The worst part of the evening was when Louis came by and reported that they'd identified the other people he'd been trying to track down. He'd run into the witch himself, and found out that she'd zoomed out to get to a hot date, and the two guys without costumes had called the station to confess that they'd left because their parents had grounded them and they shouldn't have been at the haunt. As for the loser who'd tried to put the moves on Madison, Louis had cleared him days before. He'd left the haunt only to get back in line to go through again, thinking he'd be able to convince Madison to go out with him if he kept trying. Louis said he'd explained the difference between flirting and harassing.

I delicately brought up Scooby-Doo, and Louis said that he'd concluded he'd never be able to tie up that particular loose end, and had returned the costume to the rental place.

Though I was relieved the cops were no longer trying to find Scooby, and that my deposit would be credited to my
charge card, the rest of the news was hardly cheering. We were running out of people to investigate, and the more time passed, the less likely it was that we'd ever get Linda out of jail.

Once again, we stayed open an extra hour, which meant that by the time Deborah chased off the last people insisting that she sell them a ticket, everybody was exhausted. Even Sid said he was tired, though he may have just been commiserating in his own way. None of us even had the energy for food, so we went home to collapse.