Trick or Treat Murder, page 2
“What’s that?” asked Beanie as Evan plunged his hands into the sea of plastic-wrapped candy pieces.
“You heard about the wolf, right?” asked Old Wilson, whispering the words from the side of his mouth.
Beanie suppressed an annoyed exhale as he moved Evan away from the barrel, ignoring the little guy’s protests, and put him on the ground.
“Is it really a wolf?” asked Beanie.
“Daddy, I want to get candy!” said Evan, pulling on Beanie’s jeans.
“Oh, for sure, it’s a wolf,” said Old Wilson.
Taking Evan’s pail of candy from Old Wilson, Beanie crouched in front of his son and gave it to him. “Here’s your candy, little man.”
“Thank you, Daddy!” Evan smiled.
Rising to his feet, Beanie asked Old Wilson, “Did you see the wolf?”
“Didn’t have to see it,” said Old Wilson. “Heard about what it did. Attacked Mrs. Washington. Lunged at her and bit her wrist while she was walking her cat the other night.”
“Walking her cat?” asked Beanie, even more skeptical of the story.
Nodding, Old Wilson said, “And Mr. Turner, the jitney driver, had just gotten off work and was going into his house when the wolf got ahold of him. Took a chunk out of his leg. Had to get fifteen stitches.”
“C’mon, Daddy, let’s go!” demanded Ethan, grabbing the tail of Beanie’s T-shirt.
Knowing that Ethan wanted to keep up with his friends, most of whom had already moved on to other houses, Beanie nodded at Old Wilson and thanked him for the candy.
“Might be something you should write about in the paper,” called out Old Wilson as Beanie scooped up Evan and grabbed Ethan’s hand. “Folks need to know to be careful, especially at night.”
As Beanie walked away, he shook his head at Old Wilson. The injuries to Mrs. Washington and Mr. Turner were concerning, but Beanie wasn’t convinced a wolf was the culprit. More likely, it was a large dog. Probably a German Shepherd. At night, that breed of dog might be mistaken for a wolf.
After handfuls of candy from the next three houses, Beanie and the boys approached the doorway of Dr. Walter Zeller. A retired psychiatrist, Zeller was pleasant, polite, and quick to dispense unwanted parenting advice. Despite having no children of his own, the man had a knack for telling you how you were raising your kids wrong. Beanie tried to ignore the man’s two cents, but Zeller had spent years getting into people’s heads and presented himself as a credible authority. A slight hesitation or a frown from Zeller could make Beanie question his parenting skills. According to Zeller, too much discipline and negative reinforcement and insufficient structure and guidance might be the difference between a philanthropist and a psychopath.
Though he wasn’t in the mood for Dr. Zeller’s latest opinion, Beanie followed the boys up the pathway leading to the porch. Moments later, Dr. Zeller engaged the boys in conversation, making them laugh as he dropped candy into their pails.
“Looks like you little gentlemen have quite a haul,” remarked Dr. Zeller, smiling at Ethan and Evan.
“We got lots of candy!” exclaimed Ethan. “We have candy for a long, long time!”
“Lots of candy!” echoed Evan.
“Maybe too much candy,” said Beanie, wondering if Dr. Zeller disapproved of how permissive he’d been with the sweets.
As Ethan protested, Dr. Zeller laughed and said, “Well, if there’s a time for too much candy, it’s definitely Halloween.”
Nodding, Beanie said, “Guys, tell Dr. Zeller, ‘thank you.’”
“Thank you, Dr. Zeller!” chorused the boys.
“Where are you off to next?” asked Dr. Zeller.
“We’re off to get more candy!” shouted Ethan as he turned and skipped down the pathway.
“More candy!” said Evan, waddling behind his brother.
“Guys, wait up,” Beanie called to the boys.
“Before you go …” said Dr. Zeller.
Beanie cringed, trying to prepare himself for the parenting tips he hadn’t requested.
“You might want to avoid the Volkov house,” said Dr. Zeller, apprehension in his dark eyes.
“The Volkov house?” Beanie frowned. “Why?”
“Well, you know, they just moved to the neighborhood,” said Dr. Zeller, glancing away. “They might not be giving out Halloween candy. I wouldn’t want your boys to be disappointed.”
Shrugging, Beanie said, “Well, we’ll just check anyway, and if they’re not, then—”
“I really think you should stay away from that house,” said Dr. Zeller. “Don’t take your boys there.”
Before Beanie could ask the retiree to explain exactly what he meant, Dr. Zeller retreated into his small bungalow and closed the door behind him.
“Daddy! Come on! Let’s go!” shouted Ethan.
Turning from the door, Beanie jogged down the porch steps and hurried to his kids. Resolved to put Dr. Zeller’s strange warning out of his mind, Beanie figured the retiree was taking the spooky, Halloween spirit a little too far.
Leaving the retired psychiatrist’s house, Beanie and the boys strolled toward the cul-de-sac, stopping at four more houses. The next stop was the home of Mr. Mendez, who’d moved to the neighborhood three years ago. The George Hamilton lookalike was a confirmed bachelor with lots of lady friends, one of whom stood next to him. Arguably twenty years younger than Mendez, the buxom blonde was dressed as a Playboy Bunny as she doled out candy. Beanie didn’t mind the risqué outfit, but he knew Noelle would be pissed, so he didn’t plan to tell her. Mr. Mendez was dressed as Hugh Hefner, complete with velvet smoking jacket, a fake cigar, and a smug, smarmy smile. Their costumes were ridiculously inappropriate for a neighborhood of families, widows, and retirees.
Mr. Mendez waved at Beanie. After returning the greeting, Beanie glanced at his watch. Almost a quarter to nine. Beanie thought it might be time to head home when he caught snatches of the conversation between a group of teenagers huddled behind him on the street.
“I bet you fools won’t go to Mason’s house,” said one of the boys, cackling with laughter.
“I ain’t trying to get killed and cut up!”
“That’s what he did to his wife,” said another, chuckling, though his voice held notes of wariness.
“And then he buried the body parts under that mango tree in his backyard!”
The boys erupted into laughter as they lumbered down the street, hooting and calling to other friends.
Beanie turned his head, staring at the rowdy group, disappointed and disturbed by their unabashed glee at the demise and dismemberment of another human being. But he couldn’t throw stones. He’d been a teenager once, full of piss and vinegar, laughing inappropriately at inopportune moments. And in a few years, his boys would be part of a group of rowdy youths. Beanie shuddered at the thought. He wasn’t ready for the boys to be teens, rebellious one moment, and sullen the next. He was content to enjoy his kids as they were right now.
The “Mason” the teens had been laughing about was Rufus Mason, the old man who lived in the center of the cul-de-sac. Beanie remembered being a kid when he’d first heard the rumors about the former science teacher murdering his wife. He wasn’t sure how the stories had started, but they stemmed from the fact that Mason’s wife, Daisy, disappeared without explanation. Mason never filed a missing person report. He’d gone on with his life as though his wife’s absence wasn’t strange or suspicious. Whenever he was asked about his wife, Mason would mumble a cryptic comment about the woman being long gone and unlikely to return.
Beanie wasn’t sure he believed the rumors, but it wasn’t hard for neighbors to assume the worse. Mason hardly left his house, and when he did, the tall, pallid man—a dead ringer for Lurch, the character from the Addams Family—never spoke to anyone. Granted, the man looked like a ghoul and was socially awkward, but that didn’t mean he deserved to be branded as a killer.
When the boys came back, Beanie crouched down and said, “Guys, I think we need to head on home.”
“No, Daddy, no!” Ethan and Evan chorused their protest with quivering lower lips.
Ethan said, “Please, can we go to just one more house?”
“Please, Daddy!” said Evan, near tears as he rushed into Beanie’s arms and gazed up at him.
Unable to resist his boys’ blatant emotional blackmail, Beanie conceded to visiting one more neighbor.
“We don’t want to get in trouble with Mommy,” Beanie warned as they strolled along the circle. He suspected Noelle was already upset that they hadn’t returned at eight o’clock. His wife hadn’t given them a curfew, but the boys were usually bathed and tucked into bed by eight-thirty. Halloween had fallen on a weeknight. Ethan had preschool in the morning while Evan would be taken to Noelle’s mom’s house before attending an early childhood development center.
The boys were already off schedule and might be cranky and sluggish in the morning, but Beanie didn’t mind. Sharing these moments with his boys, making memories that would last a lifetime, was more important to him than well-rested, obedient kids.
“Let’s go to this house, Daddy!” said Ethan, taking off across the manicured lawn of a peach-colored bungalow. Evan followed his brother, laughing and squealing as he joined Ethan on the wide porch.
Beanie frowned as his son ran toward the house Dr. Zeller had warned them to avoid—the Volkov house, occupied by Ivan and Natalya, a young Russian couple who’d moved to the neighborhood a year ago. Ivan Volkov was a pharmaceutical salesman, according to Old Wilson, and his wife worked from home. Old Wilson hadn’t been able to determine exactly what kind of work Natalya did, but Beanie was sure the old man wouldn’t rest until he found out.
As Beanie walked up the pathway toward the porch, he smiled at Mrs. Dishman, and her three girls, all of them dressed as Disney princesses, who were leaving the Volkov’s place. At the door, Ethan and Evan were holding their pails up, receiving several pieces of candy.
After waving to the salesman, who barely nodded and gave him a perfunctory smile, Beanie regarded the lanky, pale man. His shoulders hunched, he seemed tense and furtive, eyes darting back and forth. His hand shook as he dropped candy into Ethan’s pail. Beanie wondered if something was wrong with the guy. Or, was he putting on an act for Halloween?
Dr. Zeller’s warning whispered through Beanie’s mind. Had the former psychiatrist been trying to tell him that Volkov was weird? Or slightly off? Or maybe…? Beanie wasn’t sure what Dr. Zeller’s warning was about. Maybe Zeller had talked to Volkov and detected some underlying psychosis. Some mental issue that might scare children.
Ethan and Evan thanked the salesman, then turned and headed back toward Beanie, who was starting to think that maybe the guy was—
Evan let out a high-pitched scream, dropped his pail of candy, and ran toward Beanie. “Daddy! Daddy!”
His heart exploding with panic, Beanie picked up Evan as Ethan shouted in terror and scrambled between Beanie’s legs. What was that—
Deep guttural barking sent trepidation racing through Beanie’s veins. More horrifying screams split the air, followed by shouting and yelling, warnings to get back and stay away.
Confused, Beanie turned.
A huge Siberian husky charged toward the porch, barreling toward Beanie and his boys, growling. The dog’s ice-blue eyes seemed to glow as the animal bared its teeth and lunged. Determined to protect his boys, with his own life, if it came to that, Beanie scooped up Ethan and told both boys to hold on tight to him.
“No! Stop!” screamed Volkov, running toward the dog, stepping in front of the beast, blocking its attack. “STOP!”
The husky halted, stared up at Volkov, and then sat on the lawn.
Volkov spoke to the dog in Russian, admonishing the animal, pointing his finger at the husky as though the dog was a recalcitrant, disobedient child.
His panic subsiding, Beanie put the boys down but continued to hold their hands as Volkov pointed toward the door, continuing to fuss at the dog. Rising on all fours, its head hanging, the dog whimpered as it walked toward the door, followed by Volkov.
As relief flooded Beanie, he exhaled and crouched down between his boys. “You guys okay?”
“Mean doggie, Daddy,” said Evan, frowning, a hint of righteous anger in his tremulous tone. “Bad doggie!”
“It’s okay, buddy,” said Beanie, kissing Evan’s forehead. “Daddy wasn’t going to let the mean dog hurt you.”
“I wasn’t scared, Daddy,” said Ethan, though his wild, wide-eyed stare proved otherwise. “I have my sword to protect you!”
Beanie let out a nervous chuckle. “Okay, guys, let’s find your candy.”
For the next ten minutes, Beanie and the boys, along with the help of a few other neighbors and their kids, searched the lawn for the candy the boys had dropped when the husky lunged at them.
“I am sorry about dog,” said a voice behind Beanie.
Beanie faced Ivan Volkov. “Maybe you should keep him on a leash.”
“She,” said Volkov, his gaze contrite, but still furtive.
Beanie frowned. “What?”
“The dog,” said Volkov. “It is female.”
“Regardless,” said Beanie, pissed that the man thought it necessary to point out the dog’s sex, as though that would have mattered if the dog had attacked the boys. “This neighborhood does have leash laws.”
“I am aware,” said Volkov. “However, it was not my intention for dog to get out, but she is very crafty girl. She is to stay in house but—”
The door opened, and a woman rushed out of the house. Her face flushed, she seemed out of breath as she hurried over to Beanie and Volkov. Turning to the woman, Volkov spoke harshly to her in Russian—the same manner in which he’d spoken to the husky. She glared at him, but stayed quiet, shaking her head and hugging her thin arms around her bony torso, which was clad in baggy clothes that hung from her frame.
With an angry exhale, Ivan Volkov faced Beanie and introduced the woman as his wife, Natalya.
When Beanie shook her hand, it was strong and heavy. As her fingers grasped his painfully, Beanie caught a pungent whiff of cloves and pepper.
“Nice to meet you,” said Beanie, and as he pulled his hand from her death grip, he stared at her eyes. The ice blue irises, glowing in the fading sunlight, sent an odd chill through him.
“Please forgive dog,” said the woman, wringing her hands as she stared at Beanie. “She is usually not aggressive. She has trouble with new environment. New surroundings. Please, do not be upset.”
“I would not let her hurt children,” said Volkov, slipping an arm around his splotchy-faced wife.
Still disturbed by the woman’s strange eyes, Beanie said, “There are a lot of young kids and older people with limited mobility in this neighborhood, so I hope you’ll make every effort to keep the dog from getting out.”
3
“Mommy, a wolf tried to eat us!” exclaimed two-year-old Evan as Beanie handed him to Noelle.
“It came running at us, Mommy,” said Ethan, whirling around the kitchen, thrusting and parrying at invisible opponents with his cardboard cutlass. “But I wasn’t afraid of that crazy wolf! I had my sword, and I was going to cut his head off!”
Beanie groaned inwardly as Noelle glared at him. He’d known the boys wouldn’t be able to keep the Siberian husky pseudo attack to themselves. After refilling their pails with the candy they’d accidentally dropped, the boys had chattered on and on about the husky, which they were convinced was a wolf despite Beanie’s attempts to correct them. As they’d walked home, Beanie had tried to think of how he would explain the incident to Noelle. What words and phrases could he employ to convince her that the situation wasn’t as dire as the boys would make it out to be? Beanie couldn’t think of anything.
Standing in the kitchen, staring at his wife, who stared at him with the fierce anger of a proud lioness, Beanie knew he was in trouble. Might as well just take his punishment.
“It wasn’t a wolf,” Beanie told his wife, though he doubted it matter to her. The fact that anything had threatened her kids was, in Noelle’s view, beyond horrible. The fact that Beanie had allowed something to threaten her kids was, in Noelle’s view, a fate worse than death. Beanie’s death.
Rolling her eyes, Noelle held Evan close, kissing his face and whispering soothing words against his forehead. “It’s okay, sweetheart. Mommy’s here.”
Beanie resisted the urge to roll his eyes. He didn’t like Noelle’s tone when she’d said, Mommy’s here. It was like she was telling Evan things would be okay because Mommy was there, but Daddy hadn’t been. Daddy had almost let a wolf eat them, but Mommy would make everything alright. Beanie knew that was what Noelle was thinking, but she was wrong.
Daddy had been there for his boys. He would always be there for Evan and Ethan. Everything he did was for his boys to be safe and happy and healthy, so they could have the best life he could give them. When that husky had charged them, all Beanie could think was that he would give his life to save his boys. He’d been prepared to throw the boys to the ground and cover them with his body. He’d been willing to let the dog bite a chunk out of his backside to keep the beast away from his kids.
“It was a dog,” said Beanie, taking a seat at the table. “Not a wolf.”
Sighing, Noelle joined him at the table, maneuvering Evan onto her lap. “Are you sure?”
“Elle, I was there, okay,” said Beanie. “I saw it when it came running at us—”
“So, the wolf did attack you?” demanded Noelle, a blatant accusation in her tone.
“It was not a wolf,” said Beanie through gritted teeth. “It was a Siberian husky. You know how they look? Like wolves. But I saw it, and it was a dog. A huge dog, but definitely a dog. Not a wolf.”
“Mommy!” Ethan ran to Noelle and wrapped his arms around her. “Can we have candy now?”
“Candy, Mommy, candy!” said Evan, wriggling in Noelle’s arms.
