Perfectly Pumpkin Killer Read online

  “Did Detective Mannor already interview you about the murder?” she questioned, walking up to him.

  “No, he hasn’t, but I was starting to get hot and itchy in this blasted outfit.” He scratched his face where some of the glued-on fur was. “Thankfully, since he knows me, he’s trusting me to run home and shower and change and then come back to give my statement.”

  The previous Halloween, there’d been a murder in the church parking lot during the Trunk or Treat. As a result, this year the church Halloween party had been renamed the Harvest Party and was held the last weekend of September instead. In that way, it felt more separated from the scary events of the year before.

  It had been the request of a few of the mothers in the congregation who already felt troubled that the church was celebrating such a dark holiday in the first place. The pastor had been more than willing to oblige for the comfort of his flock. At the same time, that didn’t stop him from volunteering at the Halloween Carnival or inviting other members of the church to do so as well.

  After all, when something was for a good cause, people were more willing to contribute.

  Still, the murder the previous year had come as a surprise, and Harry had been the detective on the case. That was before he and Bert had really begun dating.

  “Anyway, it’s disappointing, almost as if there is a curse over this holiday,” he commented.

  “I don’t think that’s it, Pastor Chimney. I just think sometimes these bad things happen, even around good people—to good people, in fact,” she commented, thinking of how nice the dentist had been.

  “It saddens my heart, I’ll tell you that much, Bert. I was really looking forward to this evening. As it is, we only got one performance in before this tragedy.”

  “Isn’t the play supposed to run tomorrow as well?” she inquired, remembering that the amusement park owner had announced that the carnival would run for two nights. Bert had only signed up to make pies for the first night, knowing she might not have the energy for a second round with the business of the holiday on top of her dental appointment that week.

  Pastor Chimney sighed. “We wouldn’t have a Dracula for the part, but I suppose it’s for the best. I doubt some of the congregation would approve of their own pastor acting on the Lord’s Day.”

  Bert chuckled.

  “What?”

  “Oh, nothing. It’s just that the church members who would find fault in you doing charity work on Sunday by acting in a play are also the ones who would likely be upset that you were playing a werewolf in the first place.”

  At this assertion, the pastor laughed out loud. “I suppose that is very true. Still, I think it’s a good cause. Also, if it allows children to enjoy and celebrate Halloween in a safer space, then I’m all for it.”

  “As am I.”

  “I know I may not be the most conventional pastor there is, but I know there is good to be found in even the most obscure of places.”

  “Is that the sermon for tomorrow?” Bert joked.

  “No, but it should be, shouldn’t it?” he agreed.

  “Maybe,” she admitted.

  Pastor Chimney sighed. “I still can’t believe Craig is gone. He was such an energetic and kind man.”

  “You were in the theater the entire time between shows?” she asked. “I mean after your first show ended and . . . it happened.”

  “Yes, as a matter of fact, I was.”

  “You didn’t see anyone odd, who didn’t belong, hanging out there?” Bert pressed, realizing that if anyone had honest inside information about this murder case, it was Pastor Chimney.

  “Well, of course, I did.”

  “You did? Who?” Bert expelled excitedly.

  “Well, that young woman I asked you to talk to. She was the only person I saw that was out of place.”

  “Oh,” Bert said, her expression falling. It seemed more and more that all roads led to Wyn as the culprit. In truthfulness, the W drawn on the mirror seemed the most condemning piece of evidence.

  “Now, that isn’t to say someone else couldn’t have snuck in when I wasn’t looking, you understand. It wasn’t like I was standing guard at the dressing room or anything.” He shifted his feet. “I enjoy just walking out among the seats of the playhouse and being in the theater itself.”

  Bert had heard rumors that Pastor Chimney had given up a career of theater in New York to become a preacher.

  “But she was the only one you saw?”

  “That’s right. She seemed anxious and out of place. She may very well be our culprit, you know.”

  “I know. That’s what the police think as well, and I don’t necessarily disagree. I just worry that everyone will jump to a conclusion and stick with it before we have all the facts.”

  “It’s happened before, but if she’s guilty there is nothing we can do about it. Her behavior was so odd, after all.”

  “Can you think of anyone else who might have wanted to harm Doctor Penrue?”

  “Well, you know I look down upon speaking ill of others.”

  Bert refrained from rolling her eyes. “You know this is a murder case. I’m sure the Lord would understand if you shared info that might help catch a criminal.”

  “That’s true.”

  “So?” she urged him to come out with it.

  He closed the trunk where he’d deposited his duffle bag. “Well, Hanson Johnson, the director of the carnival, seemed pretty unhappy with him.”

  “Hanson Johnson? I thought Spunky was in charge.”

  “Well, he was, but Johnson was overseeing the city’s involvement in the event. He took care of the grant and the funds for everything.”

  “He didn’t like the doctor?”

  “Not one bit. Whenever he was around, you could bet he would be harping on Craig.”

  “But, why?”

  “He was one of his patients, you know?” the pastor revealed.

  Bert’s eyes widened with shock. “Wait a minute, was he threatening to sue the practice?”

  Pastor Chimney paused, thinking back. “Now that you mention, I think so. He claimed he had some damaging work done and that the practice wouldn’t do anything to fix it. He was popping pills like a madman.”

  The reason he didn’t get help was that Wyn was trying to cover up her mistake and not get fired, Bert thought internally. “Is some poor dental work really grounds for murder?”

  The pastor shrugged. “People have killed for much less.”

  Bert knew he was right. Could it be that Hanson killed the doctor and then drew the W to frame the assistant who’d wronged him?

  This case had just gotten more interesting.

  Chapter Ten

  Blinking her eyes and waking up, Bert realized she was still lying on the couch in the living room of her apartment. Heat from the gas flame fireplace warmed the area. The dull sound of voices brought her further out of her daze. Her vision focusing, she saw that the television remained on from the previous evening’s marathon with Carla. The Vampire Bat, an old black and white movie from the thirties, was running. The public television station had been running old horror movies as a weekend-long Halloween event.

  They’d watched this same movie the night before (Bert had enjoyed it thanks to the added mad scientist sci-fi element) and it seemed the station had made a full loop of their lineup.

  She saw that there was a lone slice of pizza left sitting in an open box, the remnants of what had been a jack-o-lantern pattern made from pepperoni as a topping. Sitting up, a wave of pain passed through her jaw and neck, pounding upward behind her eyes as well. “Oh, gosh,” she moaned, forcing herself to stand and run into the bathroom to grab the bottle of pain killers. Shaking out three of the pills, she took them, leaning down into the sink for a drink of water to wash them down.

  Heading back out into the living room, she grabbed the final piece of pizza to accompany the medicine. She’d heard how bad painkillers could be on an empty stomach and the cold slice was an easy and conven
ient thing to eat, even if it wasn’t the healthiest breakfast choice.

  She noticed the tattered copy of Malinda’s book on the table. Thinking back to the evening before, she vaguely remembered her friend trying to convince Bert to read it. Carla left it behind in case she changed her mind.

  Bert chuckled. She had plenty of copies of the book if she wanted to read it. She owned a bookstore after all. Still, it was funny to see how her friend pushed her to try it. Picking it up, she shoved it inside her purse to give back to Carla later at church.

  She quickly popped into the kitchen to prepare a pot of her favorite dark rich coffee. It was called Black Death and had a skull and crossbones on the bag. She found the logo cute and the contents invigorating.

  She was grateful it was Sunday. It was the only day out of the week that the shop was closed. The thought of having to get up and start making pies sounded horrible for once—but she knew that was the pain talking.

  The dentist had told her that it was normal for the residual ache from a filling to last up to two or three weeks. It was only the second day after her visit to the office. If this really did last another two and a half weeks, she was going to be very unhappy.

  However, thinking of the dentist again got her thinking about the evening before. She wondered if Harry had ended up arresting Wyn for the murder or not. He could only do that if he’d found more solid evidence that she’d been in the dressing room.

  According to Wyn’s own admission, she hadn’t had the gumption to go in yet. That was why Bert had gone in for her to break the ice. If Wyn had gone in of her own accord, would she have found him already dead? Would it have made her less of a suspect?

  The business and romantic motives combined seemed minimal on the surface but could ultimately incriminate her.

  As the coffee brewed, Bert showered, letting the warm water soothe her muscles. Thinking of Wyn, she wondered who else could be the culprit in this case.

  Could it really be possible that Hanson Johnson, the event director for the Carnival, had committed the murder? That seemed so unlikely. Who killed their doctor or dentist over some residual pain?

  On the other hand, she tried to imagine her pain being ten times worse and asked herself how desperate she might be in that situation. “Pretty desperate,” she chuckled to herself, drying off and getting dressed in a burnt orange floral patterned skirt and black blouse for church. It was formal and yet festive.

  Braiding her grey hair behind her back, she put on a touch of lipstick, mascara, and rouge, and grabbed her purse to head out the door.

  The morning had an uncomfortable chill in the air that not even the cardigan Bert threw on could keep out. A slate grey covering blanketed the sky, hiding any hints of blue that might be there. The wind was blowing, which made it colder, and the last of the red, brown, and orange autumn leaves were being torn from their branches to rush down alleyways and into gutters.

  Bert hadn’t checked the weather recently, but she had the distinct sensation that they were going to get some early snow. They’d already been hit once in early October, but it had all melted away the next day.

  If it snowed again, she wondered if it would be sticking around until spring.

  Driving north toward the other side of Culver’s Hood where her church was, she caught sight of the carnival. The oversized orange balloons from the night before were still up in the air, bobbing relentlessly in the morning wind.

  A sudden urge to stop in and see if Harry was still there came over her. She knew in many murder cases her detective boyfriend ended up working through the night. Being a criminal investigator was often a stressful and thankless job. Bert had the sudden question in her mind about retirement. Would Harry consider quitting the only thing he’d ever really known? If he did, what would he do afterward?

  It was a conversation for another day. Pulling down into the empty parking lot, she couldn’t help but feel a strange sense of desolation grip her chest. Bits of trash and food wrappers blew across the pavement. Through the fence, she could see the darkened booths and silent rides.

  It was like looking at one of those apocalypse films where everyone vanishes.

  Parking in the closest spot (she had her pick of the litter) she opened her door and got out. She’d brought extra coffee in a thermos to drink throughout the day’s sermon but decided Harry would need it more.

  She suddenly questioned whether she’d be able to get in or not, realizing the gate would be locked and no ticket master or guard on duty.

  However, as luck would have it, she saw someone walking toward her from inside the park. He was a short fat little person with a bald head and an expression like a sour grape.

  “Hi,” she waved at him, trying to get his attention.

  He blinked a few times as if in a haze, looking at her. “Sorry, lady. The park is closed until this evening.”

  “Oh, I know that. I was actually wondering if any of the police were still here working on the murder case.”

  The man’s eyes widened in an unhappy surprise. “How did you know about that? Someone let it out to the news, didn’t they?” he grumbled.

  Bert put up her hands. “No, no. Not at all. I was backstage in the theater when the body was found. My boyfriend is Detective Harry Mannor.”

  A sense of calm washed over his face. “Ah, okay. That’s better than I thought.”

  “Is he here?”

  “I haven’t the faintest idea, my dear. I was just chatting with the owner about tonight’s carnival. I think we’re going to try to get a last-minute volunteer to play Dracula since we lost our other one. I just hope that the police are done with the playhouse by then.”

  Bert looked at the man with interest, piecing clues together. “Are you Hanson Johnson?” she inquired, leaning on the wrought iron bars of the gate.

  He blinked again. “Have we met?”

  “No, we haven’t, but I just guessed based on the fact you were here to talk to the owner during the off hours about the carnival.”

  “Well, you caught me,” he joked putting up both hands.

  “Do you mind letting me through to see if the detective is here?”

  “Sure thing. I’ll just walk you over there myself.” He unlatched the gate and let her through. The squeak of the metal made both of them cringe. Hanson grabbed his jaw.

  “Dental pain?” she asked, basically already knowing the answer.

  “Yeah, unfortunately. I don’t want to speak ill of the dead—”

  Bert suspected he was going to anyway.

  “But, that jerk of a dentist and his dental assistant did a number on me. I’ve been on constant meds since.” He rubbed the jaw. “I’ve been taking three or four I every couple a’ hours.”

  “I understand. I just had a dentist appointment with Doctor Penrue this week as well.”

  “You did? Well, I guess we’re in the same boat.”

  “Maybe. I think he did okay work on me.”

  “Not on me,” he grumbled, turning to start walking further into the empty park. “I swear, he did something wrong to my gums because they are all messed up. Then, when I went back in to get it fixed, that dental assistant made things worse.”

  “She got fired over that, did you know?”

  “She better have. It took me days to finally get through to that dentist and give him a piece of my mind.” He continued to rub his face. “After this, I’m planning to head straight back home and go to bed. Maybe I’ll take a hot bath first or something, but I’m in so much pain.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that,” Bert said as they passed by the booth Malinda had been selling out of the night before. The shutter was closed, but the sign was still up.

  “I couldn’t even show up last night.”

  “You couldn’t?” Bert gasped, her jaw dropping open and her eyes wide.

  “Nope. I’ve mostly been managing everything from home ever since I started having all this pain.” He pointed at the booth. “But I have been reading that woman�
��s book. It took my mind off my face for a while. Good stuff. And considering it’s about a killer dentist makes it all too timely, don’t you think.”

  Bert agreed silently.

  “Anyway, it wouldn’t be my usual pick of book, but my wife is the owner at Johnson and Jackson Publishing. That’s how I get most of my books, you know?” he shrugged. “And thanks to my wife, that author agreed to run a charity booth here.”

  As they continued the walk to the playhouse, her thoughts were on what he’d just said before chatting on about Malinda’s new book.

  He’d been at home all night resting when the murder happened. That meant he couldn’t be the killer.

  So, who was?

  Chapter Eleven

  Harry hadn’t been in the park. According to the police who were guarding the crime scene he was at the police station that morning with a suspect. Bert had a good idea who that suspect was. Wyn.

  It was looking more and more like Wyn was the culprit in this case. She’d seemed like a nice enough girl, but you just never knew about people.

  Still, as Bert got back into her car to continue onward to church, she had a strange feeling in her stomach—and it wasn’t from the medication she’d been taking. No, sometimes she got these gut feelings when something was wrong or out of place. While she really thought Wyn could easily be the person responsible for the murder, she knew deep down that something was wrong.

  Then she got to thinking.

  According to Hanson, he’d been home all night in pain. However, that was just his version of the story. He could very well be lying. He may have left his home, come into the park through a back way, and killed the dentist. Could he prove he’d been home all night?

  Had someone else been there with him to verify that alibi?

  His wife, maybe?

  She dug out her phone and looked up the address for Johnson and Jackson Publishing.

  Bert had no idea there was a local publishing house in Culver’s Hood. Honestly, as an independent bookstore owner who specialized in local authors, she felt a little bad about not knowing. She’d assumed that Johnson and Jackson Publishing was in New York or some other east coast city where most publishers kept house.