The Skeleton Haunts a House (4 page)

“Normally, yes, but it looks as if he or she was standing behind the curtain that ringed the room—”

“The scrim,” Deborah said.

“Excuse me?”

“The curtains? They're called scrim. From the customer side, they look opaque, but people on the back side can see through them. So whoever was behind the scrim in the zombie party would have been able to see Kendall.”

“How do you spell that?” Louis said, and wrote her answer. “As I was saying, the scrim had spatter, but the killer would have stayed mostly clean. But if he or she was wearing gloves, those gloves might show some evidence.” He looked to some of the other cops, but they all shook their heads, which I took to mean that they had no other questions for the group. “Okay, now we want to speak to each of you individually. Deborah, I'd appreciate it if you could help us with names.”

She went to join the cops, and the rest of us sat down to wait some more. It wasn't long for me. I was the next one called, and after Deborah explained I hadn't even come into the building until after the body was discovered, I was shooed away. I suppose that I could have insisted on staying, since Madison was a minor, but I knew Deborah would watch out for her favorite—and only—niece.

So I went outside to the quad and found a bench to sit on to brood. Had the police found Sid? If not, then where was he? And how long could a grown skeleton in a Scooby-Doo
suit hide? After maybe ten minutes of my thoughts going round and round like a carousel, I got part of my answer. Two state troopers walked by. One was carrying Scooby's head and the other the body. There was no sign of Sid.

I thought about making a break for it, but it would only have postponed the inevitable. As Madison and Deborah had pointed out, I'd been seen with Scooby and my outfit made it patently obvious that we were connected. Plus I'd announced I'd be waiting for my daughter, so leaving would look more than a little suspicious.

I figured I had five or ten minutes before the police came for me. Since I was an intelligent, educated woman who was able to think on her feet, surely I could come up with an explanation in that length of time.

Maybe I could pretend that I'd dressed as Velma on a whim and just happened to run into a stranger dressed as Scooby-Doo and— It wasn't even worth finishing the scenario. The ticket takers at McHades Hall had seen me talking to Scooby, the tags inside the suit identified the store it had been rented from, and the store had all my information.

That's where my brain stopped. Neither education nor native intelligence helped at all, and as for thinking on my feet, I was sitting down. I was almost relieved when I saw Louis come outside the building, look around, and then walk toward me.

“Excuse me, Dr. Thackery?” Calling me Dr. Thackery instead of Georgia was a dead giveaway. “I understand that you were seen in the company of someone wearing a Scooby-Doo costume. Can you tell me who that person was?”

I have no idea what I would have said, though I was fairly sure it would have included a lot of
um
s,
uh
s, and at least one
well, you see . . .
But before I could begin to babble, a bass voice behind me said, “That would have been me.”

I turned around and blinked. Twice.

Louis said, “And you are?”

“Dr. Thackery.”

Louis looked confused.

“Dr. Philip Thackery,” I explained. “My father.”

F
or a man over six feet tall, my father isn't particularly imposing. Maybe it's the way he gently stoops to speak to others, or the elastic suspenders he usually wears to hold up his loose-fitting jeans, or the way his glasses magnify his light blue eyes. Certainly his amiable smile that night didn't hurt.

Louis said, “Can you tell me how you came to leave your costume inside McHades Hall, Dr. Thackery?”

“Inside McHades Hall? I'm afraid I don't know what you mean.”

“Your Scooby-Doo costume was found behind some curtains along the wall of one of the rooms. Or rather, a Scooby-Doo costume was found.”

“How extraordinary! It very likely is mine. That's why I came looking for the police, to report that it was stolen.”

“Perhaps we should go inside to talk. Both of you, if you don't mind.”

“Of course,” Phil said. He gave me a wink as soon as Louis turned his back, and we followed him into Stuart Hall.

Deborah and Madison were standing next to each other inside, and neither of them looked surprised to see my father, even though he and my mother had been on sabbatical for over a year and weren't expected home for two more months. Obviously they knew more of what was going on than I did.

“Hello, Deborah, Madison,” Phil said. “I wanted to report that my costume was stolen, but it seems it's already been found.” He looked to where the fur suit was being examined. “Look, there it is. I was so worried we'd have to pay for it. I can't imagine that a suit of that quality comes cheap.”

Louis escorted us to one of the interview stations and turned his pad to a fresh page to write down Phil's name. “Now you say you weren't in McHades Hall?”

“Actually, I was there earlier in the evening. Perhaps it would be best if I started at the beginning?”

“Please do.”

Phil smiled the warm professorial smile that had made so many undergraduates adore him. “I suppose you know my wife and I have been on an extended trip out of town. Circumstances dictated that we return tonight, somewhat sooner than expected, to deal with an emergency with one of my wife's students. And of course I called Georgia to let her know about our imminent arrival.”

I nodded, unsure if nodding along with a lie counted as lying.

“Georgia mentioned that Madison was going to be working at McHades Hall with Deborah, and we came up with the idea of my surprising them both by showing up incognito. Georgia rented my costume, and as you see, assembled one of her own to accompany me. So after I got into town, we came to the Howl and went to McHades Hall in order for me to infiltrate.” He chuckled. “It's quite exhilarating to be someone else for a night, even a cowardly Great Dane.”

Louis didn't seem inclined to discuss the joys of cosplay, so Phil went on.

“Georgia opted to stay outside to keep from inadvertently giving the game away to Madison, while I went inside and had a wonderful time. The young people—I believe they call them scare actors—do an amazing job. At the last minute I made myself known to Madison, and she was completely flabbergasted. I'm convinced she never guessed it was me.”

I was convinced of that, too.

“Afterward Deborah kindly provided me with another ticket, but I had to attend to a call of nature. I realized I'd never be able to fit into a porta-potty in my costume, so I decided to leave it in Georgia's car.”

“So you and your daughter went back to the car?”

“No, actually, Georgia was running some sort of errand.”

“I was getting hot dogs,” I said, happy that I could speak a true sentence.

“How did you get into the car?” Louis asked. “Wasn't it locked?”

“Of course. Georgia is very safety conscious. However, I know where she hides a spare key. So I divested myself and put the costume into the backseat, but here's the embarrassing part.” He looked properly embarrassed. “I was in such a hurry to make it back to the conveniences that I must have forgotten to lock the car door behind me. By the time I returned, the costume was gone.” He turned to me. “Don't worry, dear. Nothing else was taken.”

“Did you call 911?” Louis asked.

“No, though I probably should have. I rather thought that the theft must be on the order of a prank—there were a lot of students drinking. I hoped that if I wandered through the crowd, I'd locate the costume and retrieve it myself.”

“It would have been wiser to call for help,” Louis pointed out.

“Indubitably, but I hated the idea of a prank getting a
student into serious trouble. At any rate, I never spotted it, and had decided to go find Georgia when I heard rumors of an incident at McHades Hall. Then I saw the police presence here, and thought I'd make my report of the missing costume in person, arriving just in time to hear you ask Georgia about it.” He beamed at his good luck. “Now you say somebody took my suit into McHades Hall? Does that mean you caught the thief?”

“I'm afraid not. We found the costume abandoned, and have been trying to find who was wearing it.”

“Why would anybody take off a costume in the middle of a haunted house?” Phil asked innocently.

“That's what we'd like to know.”

There were a few more questions, during which Phil elaborated on his tissue of lies. Had I not known he was making it all up as he went, I'd have been taken in completely. My father was a law-abiding guy for the most part, but he was also a child of the sixties. So while he didn't mistrust the police as a general rule, neither did he feel they needed to know every little detail in every circumstance.

The only thing I thought Phil had overlooked was the ticket the imaginary thief had used to get into McHades Hall without having to wait in line, but when Louis asked, he said he'd left it on top of the costume because he didn't need it in the bathroom. Louis seemed convinced, though obviously annoyed that Phil hadn't immediately called the police. Eventually he decided that Phil and I could go, though Deborah and Madison had to stay with the rest of the McHades crew. I didn't like leaving my daughter, but I thought it would be good to get Phil out of there before he added any more quirks to his story.

I did insist on hugging Madison good-bye, and she whispered, “What about Sid?”

“Sweetie, he was smart enough to dump the costume—he's smart enough to stay still while cops are around. There's nothing we can do other than keep our fingers crossed that nobody realizes he's a real skeleton. We'll get him back as soon as we can.” I wasn't happy about the situation, and figured that Sid wouldn't be, either, but I didn't have any other options.

T
he crowd at the Howl had dwindled to nearly nothing, with the midway shut down and the parking lot mostly empty. Still, I waited until we were safely in my car before saying, “Phil, what are you and Mom doing back in town? Not that I'm not delighted to see you, of course, but we weren't expecting you until after the first of the year.”

“I know, we should have warned you, but it was a sudden change in plans. Your mother and I had intended to return to Edinburgh and to possibly spend more time in Cardiff as well, but one of Dab's doctoral students called with an emergency. They tried to work out the problem by e-mail and phone, but Dab realized that nothing short of a personal appearance would rectify the situation. She offered to return alone, but I was ready to come home. As lovely as the trip was, I've missed sleeping in my own bed. So we traveled home by the fastest route available. Dab was going to meet her student at the house so they could devise a strategy, but since I wasn't needed, I asked the car service to drop me off
here so I could enjoy the Howl. I did attempt to call your cell phone when I arrived, but it went straight to voice mail.”

“My battery died.”

“I thought as much. I went to McHades Hall to look for you three, and heard about the murder. Then I texted your sister to find out what had happened and was in mid-text when the police carried out the Scooby costume. When I relayed that to Deborah, she explained that some creative prevarication would be required. I think I met that challenge.”

“Oh, you nailed it.”

“As for the costume being left at McHades, I expect that they'll eventually chalk it up to the thief not wanting to be caught with stolen goods.”

He looked inordinately pleased with himself, and I couldn't blame him. “I missed you, Phil.”

“I missed you, too.”

We exchanged hugs as best we could while I was driving. Then he said, “Can I safely assume that it was our skeletal friend Sid who was wearing the Scooby-Doo costume?”

“Got it in one.”

“An interesting choice. At some point, I need to hear more about your activities since your return to Pennycross.”

I winced. The year I'd been back in town had been fairly eventful, but Deborah, Madison, and I had agreed that it would be better not to go into too much detail about some of the things Sid and I had become involved in, especially the more dangerous aspects. Of course, there were some things we'd had to tell my parents, and they had other sources of information as well. I expected they already knew more than I wanted them to.

Phil said, “I trust our early arrival won't disrupt you and Madison too much.”

“Phil, it's your house!” My daughter and I had been living in the Victorian house where Deborah and I had grown up
for over a year, and the fact that it had been rent free had meant that I'd been able to pay off my credit cards and sock away some extra savings, but I'd never forgotten that it was a temporary situation. Admittedly, I'd hoped to get through Christmas shopping without the burden of rent, but if I had to break out the credit cards again, I would.

Traffic was considerably less bothersome than it had been earlier in the evening, and we were soon back home. Byron came running when we went in the door, and woofed suspiciously at Phil.

“Oh, coccyx!” I said. “I hope Byron didn't give Mom a hard time when she came in.”

Phil chuckled.

“What?”

“I see you've picked up your old habits, using bone names as invective.”

“I'm afraid I have.” When Sid had first come to live with us, his language had been a little salty, which we attributed to his coming to life in the middle of a carnival. Mom and Phil had asked him to tone it down around Deborah and me, and Sid had developed his own style of cussing, which I'd adopted, too. I stopped when I left home, but once I moved back to Pennycross and started spending more time with him, I'd reverted.

Byron paid no attention to our walk down memory lane. He started to leave the room, looked back at me, went a few steps, looked again, and repeated until I got the hint that I was supposed to follow him. He impatiently led the way to the kitchen, where my mother was sitting with a solidly built woman in black yoga pants and a grey sweatshirt. No wonder Byron was annoyed—there were strangers in what he considered his domain.

The two of them were talking earnestly when we came in, but as soon as Mom looked up and saw me, she broke
into a smile and jumped up for a big hug. I returned it, with interest, then we leaned back to beam at each other. “You look great,” we said in unison, then laughed.

Mom's gray hair was longer than I'd seen it in years, and she looked so bright eyed and trim that I knew the sabbatical had agreed with her. We hugged again, and I heard Phil blowing his nose behind me, though I knew he'd deny it if I accused him of getting choked up. He's a lot more sentimental than he'll ever admit.

“I want to hear all about how you and Madison have been doing,” Mom said, “but can it wait a little while? Roxanne here is in mid-crisis, and we're plotting strategy. You remember Roxanne Beale, don't you?”

Now that I got a good look at her, I did. Roxanne had been a fixture at McQuaid for over a decade, first as an undergraduate and then as one of those perpetual grad students who was always on the verge of finishing her doctorate. Mom had actually inherited Roxanne from another professor who'd given up and retired before managing to get her to graduation.

“Hi, Roxanne, how's it going?”

“It's a disaster, a total disaster. I cannot believe this is happening to me.” She looked so distraught I was thinking cancer or some other deadly disease.

Mom said, “I'm afraid Roxanne has nearly reached the time limit for completing her dissertation. She expected to be granted another extension, but she got a letter from the department that she has to be finished by the end of the semester.”

“Oh, my,” I said, horrified on her behalf. Okay, it wasn't cancer, but anybody who'd gone through the process of getting a doctorate had had the nightmare of never finishing and going through life with the letters ABD—All But Dissertation—as an ignominious end to a once-promising academic career.

“It's Dr. Eberhardt!” Roxanne said. “He hates the Romantic poets!”

“It's just a misunderstanding,” Mom said. “I'll talk to him Monday and we'll get this all straightened out.”

Roxanne nodded, but I don't think she was convinced.

“It's getting late, so why don't you go home and get a good night's sleep. Take the rest of the weekend off and relax for a change.”

“Wait, what time is it?” Roxanne said, looking at the clock on the microwave. “I'm supposed to go down to the Howl and meet a friend. She's helping me crunch my research numbers. Has the haunted house closed yet?”

“As a matter of fact, it closed early,” I said. “There was an incident. A woman was killed.”

Roxanne went from disconsolate to panicked. “My friend Linda was working there tonight. It wasn't her, was it?”

“No, it wasn't any of the people working at the haunt. It was a customer named Kendall Fitzroy.”

“Oh, good,” she said, and sank back into her chair.

I'd felt the same when finding out that Madison was safe, though I was expecting her to add something like
Oh, but I'm so sorry that woman is dead.

Instead it was, “If anything happened to Linda, I'd never finish my dissertation.”

Mom winced, but said, “I'm glad your friend is safe. Here, let me get your jacket.” In a moment, she had Roxanne out of the house.

“Wow,” I said. “Was I that oblivious when I was working on my dissertation?”

“I think Roxanne has a special gift for being oblivious,” she said.

“What's her dissertation on, anyway? Since when does a literature student need numbers crunched?”

“She's comparing word use and evolution of language across a number of Romantic Era poets. It's fascinating work and she has mounds of data, but has never been able to put it
together in any useful way. I gather that this girl Linda is a gonzo statistician.” She waved it away. “Enough of that. Come tell me what happened at the Howl.”

While I told her, Phil started puttering around the kitchen, and soon a grilled ham and cheese sandwich and a soda appeared in front of me.

“Phil, you didn't have to do that. I should be taking care of you—you two must be jet-lagged out of your minds.”

“Not a bit of it,” he said. “I've traveled so much the past year that I never worry about what time zone I'm in anymore, and I'm delighted to have my kitchen back. Now eat up before it gets cold.”

“I respect you too much to argue,” I said, and dug in.

Some people would have bristled at suddenly having “their” kitchen reclaimed, but I admit to a complete lack of territoriality over cooking. I'm not a bad cook, and I do my best to keep Madison fed appropriate nutrients, but it's because it's part of my job, not because I particularly enjoy it. Phil, on the other hand, has always loved cooking and admitted one of his favorite parts about Madison's and my visits home was having people other than my mother and mooching grad students to feed.

Just as I finished eating, the door opened and Madison and Deborah came in. A bevy of hugging ensued.

“Any word about Sid?” I asked after we disengaged.

Deborah shook her head. “If they've found him, Louis didn't mention it to me. We may have lucked out.”

“I wanted to go back and get him,” Madison said, “but Aunt Deborah said we couldn't.”

“The police wouldn't even let the crew get their street clothes,” Deborah explained. “All they would let them do is get things like keys and wallets and phones, and they watched us the whole time. There was no way to sneak out a skeleton.”

“It won't hurt him to spend the night in whatever hiding place he's found,” I assured Madison.

She looked as happy about it as I felt, which was not very, but Deborah knows the best way to distract teenagers. She said, “Anything to eat around here? I'm starved.”

“Coming right up,” Phil said happily, and got busy grilling more sandwiches.

“What happened after Phil and I left?” I asked.

“Not much. It turns out some of my people knew the girl, but nobody saw anything that would help the cops.”

“The awful thing is that I realized that I knew her, too,” Madison said. “Or at least I met her. Her younger sister Bianca is part of choral ensemble and Kendall came to our Christmas show last year.”

Madison was sitting between Mom and me, and we both reached over to offer hugs. Phil delivered a sandwich just then, too, which may have been more on point for a tired teenager.

“This is great, G-Dad,” Madison said between bites. “So was that story you told the cops. How did you come up with it that fast?”

“Phil has years of study from all the excuses he's been given for why papers haven't been graded on time,” Mom said affectionately.

“Of course it usually isn't a good idea to lie to the police,” I said, realizing that we might not be setting the best example for my daughter. “Not that I'm saying that Phil did anything wrong, but this was a very unusual circumstance. You get that, right?”

“Yes, Mom,” she said, and I knew she was resisting the urge to roll her eyes.

Deborah showed no such restraint, and followed an excellent demonstration of eye-rolling by saying, “Now that we've enjoyed our teachable moment, maybe we should make some
plans. Once Sid gets back, you know he's going to want to involve himself in this murder.”

“Don't worry. I'll tell him that the cops have got this one. They've got a body to work with, and Sid wasn't a witness, so there's no reason to interfere. I know the last thing you want is for him to be messing around McHades Hall. Right?”

“Wrong. I want Sid on the job. And you, too.”

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me. I want you guys to investigate the murder.”

“Who are you, and what have you done with my sister?”

Though Deborah had come through for me when I needed her help the other times I'd stuck my nose into police work, she'd made it plain that she'd have been considerably happier if I'd stayed out of it.

“Here's the thing,” she said. “I was watching the cops mill around after you left, and it's pretty obvious that they think the guy in the Scooby suit was involved. I'm not blaming you or Sid—”

“Thanks so much.”

“I said I'm not blaming you, all right! But you and I both know the police wouldn't be going in that direction if it weren't for them thinking a nonexistent thief snuck out of the haunt.”

“Doesn't that make it my fault?” Phil said mildly. “Should I have come up with a different explanation?”

“No, Dad, you were great. If it weren't for you, the police would be leaning on Georgia, trying to find out who she rented that costume for. Now she's safe, but the police aren't going to be able to find the real killer.”

“You don't know that,” I said.

“I know every minute they spend searching for Scooby is a minute wasted. Look, Georgia, I'm not asking you to do anything you haven't done before.”

“Ahem!” I said, looking at our parents.

Phil and Mom started one of their silent conversations, the kind made up of lifted eyebrows and significant glances that had infuriated Deborah and me while we were growing up. In fact, they still infuriated me.

“Georgia,” Mom said gently, “we don't have all the details, but we do know that your recent research projects haven't been entirely academic.”

“You do?” I said, eyeing both my sister and my daughter speculatively.

Before I could decide who'd spilled the beans, Deborah said, “Look, it's late and we're all tired. Just think it over, okay?”