Halloween Party Murder

Book 0: Lucy Stone Mystery

by Leslie Meier, Lee Hollis, Barbara Ross

Genres: Mystery Anthologies & Collections; Mystery

Synopsis

Small town traditions are celebrated throughout Maine during the holiday season. But when it comes to Halloween, some people are more than willing to reap a harvest of murder . . .
 
HALLOWEEN PARTY MURDER by LESLIE MEIER
Tinker’s Cove newest residents Ty and Heather Moon turn their Victorian home into a haunted house to raise funds for charity. But the Halloween fun turns to horrific fright when Heather overdoses on tainted drugs—and Ty finds himself accused of murder. Digging deep into the story, journalist Lucy Stone uncovers some sinister secrets in the Moons’ past linked to a conspiracy in her hometown . . .
 
DEATH OF A HALLOWEEN PARTY MONSTER by LEE HOLLIS
Everyone attending Island Times Food and Cocktail columnist Hayley Powell’s Halloween bash is dressed as their favorite movie monster from the Bride of Frankenstein and Jaws to Chucky and Pennywise the clown. But when partygoers stumble upon Boris Candy’s bludgeoned costumed corpse, it falls to Hayley to discover who among her guests wanted to stop the man from clowning around permanently . . .
 
SCARED OFF by BARBARA ROSS
Three teenage girls having a sleepover on Halloween night get spooked when high schoolers crash the house for a party. But no one expected to find a crasher like Mrs. Zelisko, the elderly third floor tenant, dead in the backyard—dressed in a sheet like a ghost. With her niece traumatized, Julia Snowden must uncover who among the uninvited guests was responsible for devising such a murderous trick . . .


 

Release date: August 31, 2021

Publisher: Kensington Books

Print pages: 320

Sample

“Lucy, you were really wrong about Ty Moon,” said Bill, stepping into the kitchen and taking off the barn coat that was his autumn uniform. “He’s a really nice guy,” he continued, hanging the tan jacket on one of the hooks beside the kitchen door. He crossed the kitchen to the fridge and took out a beer, then joined his wife at the round golden-oak table.

Lucy, who had been doing a crossword puzzle, looked up and smiled at her husband, even though she felt the slightest bit defensive. “I wasn’t the only one who suspected he was up to no good,” she said, remembering how most people in town had reacted to the strange noises and flashing lights emanating from the old Victorian house Ty and his wife, Heather, had bought a year or so ago. “I admit I may have overreacted,” she continued, thinking back to the frightening afternoon when her grandson Patrick disappeared inside the Moons’ house, a once-grand Victorian that had become so derelict that townsfolk suspected it was haunted. “But it wasn’t all my fault. Things kind of spiraled out of control.”

“You can say that again,” said Bill, popping the top on his can of beer. “It’s a miracle nobody got shot once the SWAT team arrived.”

Lucy put down her pencil. “All’s well that ends well,” she said. “If Ty hadn’t been so unfriendly and downright secretive about his work, people wouldn’t have been so suspicious.”

“He’s been real successful; he told me he’s got a huge job coming up that’s gonna make him a lot of money.”

Lucy knew that Ty created computer-generated special effects for TV and movies, and was able to work from home in the quaint seaside town of Tinker’s Cove, Maine. “And I think I was entirely justified in thinking he was abusing Heather,” she said, warming to her subject. “How could we know she was undergoing chemo for cancer?”

“Well, she’s in remission now, and they’re ready to start a family,” said Bill. “And they’ve hired me to renovate that old monstrosity of a house and restore it to its former grandeur.” He took a long swallow. “With some modern improvements.”

Lucy was definitely interested. She and Bill had recently expanded their former bedroom into a luxurious master suite, and she was nurturing plans for a kitchen reno, obsessively watching the home improvement shows on TV. “What have they got in mind?” she asked.

“Well, they want to keep all the old moldings, the doors and fireplaces, all the stuff that gives the place character. The rooms are big and have high ceilings, which is great. We can’t go all-out open plan, but there are double doorways between the two living rooms and also from the hall into the dining room. I’m thinking of moving the kitchen into one of the living rooms, making the dining room a living room, and turning the old kitchen into a solarium.” He paused. “What do you think?”

“I’m jealous,” said Lucy, glancing around at their antique farmhouse, with its small rooms, cramped staircases, and dormered bedrooms where they had raised their four children, who were now grown. “I love our house, I always have, but it would be nice to have a kitchen island, and a laundry room instead of having to go down to the basement, and,” she looked at the messy collection of coats and boots by the kitchen door, “a real mud room, with plenty of storage.”

“Well,” said Bill, shrugging philosophically, “if the Moons go ahead with this reno, maybe all your champagne dreams will come true.” He fingered his beer can. “They’re talking big, and that means a big paycheck for me.”

“When will you know?” asked Lucy.

“Soon, I hope. I’ve got to draw up a plan and give them an estimate, but I don’t anticipate any problems. They were very clear about what they want, which makes it easy for me.” He drained his beer. “And, oh, you’ll love this, Lucy. Before we start demo, they want to have a big Halloween party. They said everybody thought the house was haunted, so why not throw a big bash? Heather said it could even be a fundraiser for your Hat and Mitten Fund.”

Lucy was definitely revising her opinion of the Moons. “That’s a great idea.” She and three friends had created the fund years ago to provide warm winter clothing for the town’s less-fortunate kids, collecting outgrown clothing and distributing it to those in need. Through the years, the fund had grown, and it now provided back-to-school backpacks, holiday parties, and even summer-camp scholarships, in addition to its original mission of providing gently used jackets, boots, hats, and mittens.

“Yeah, Heather said you should give her a call, see what you can work out.”

“Will do,” said Lucy, reaching for her phone. She was still talking to Heather, inviting her to the next Hat and Mitten Fund meeting, when her youngest child, and the only one still living at home, arrived. Zoe was finally finishing up her degree at nearby Winchester College, ending a protracted higher-education career in which she’d sampled practically every major the small liberal-arts institution offered, finally settling on communications. She dropped her backpack on the floor and shrugged out of her bright pink Winchester hoodie, hanging it on the hook beside her father’s jacket.

“What was that all about?” she asked, extracting a yogurt from the fridge and leaning against the kitchen counter to eat it. “I didn’t know you were friends with Queen Heather.”

“I don’t know what you mean,” said Lucy. “As it happens, your father got a job fixing up the Moons’ old Victorian, and they want to have a big Halloween party there before the demo starts. A haunted house in the haunted house! It should be really popular, and it’s going to be a fundraiser for the Hat and Mitten Fund; that’s why I called her.”

“Wow, Mom, I guess your suspicions about Ty Moon were way wrong,” she said, causing Bill to chuckle as he beat a hasty retreat to the family room.

Lucy took a deep breath. “As I told your father, I was not the only person who had doubts about Ty Moon. If you remember, everybody thought he was abusing Heather and probably conducting all sorts of ungodly goings-on in that spooky house.”

“Yeah, well, now he and Heather are the most popular couple in town,” said Zoe, licking the last of the yogurt off her spoon and tossing the cup into the trash.

“Really?”

“Yeah. They’re part of this young crowd of smart, hip creative types.”

This was news to Lucy, who thought she and her friends were the smart, young crowd. After all, the population in Tinker’s Cove definitely skewed upward, with a large percentage of elderly citizens in their eighties and even nineties, which allowed Lucy and her friends to think of themselves as comparative youngsters. “Who are these people?” she asked.

“Oh, you know. There’s Matt and Luisa Rodriguez, from the Cali Kitchen restaurant. That’s where they all hang out, especially for Sunday brunch. The Moons are regulars, and Juliette Duff shows up if she’s in town.”

Lucy knew the Rodriguezes, a brother and sister who ran the restaurant created by their father, renowned chef Rey Rodriguez. Juliette Duff was a supermodel who had inherited her extremely wealthy grandmother’s estate on Shore Road, where it occupied a spectacular piece of property overlooking the ocean. “Who else?”

“Well, Rosie Capshaw, she’s always there.”

Lucy, who was a reporter for the Courier weekly newspaper, had interviewed Rosie, a recent arrival who was distantly related to Juliette and was living on the estate, where she created spectacular puppets in a disused barn.

“What about Brendan Coyle?” Lucy knew the director of the local food pantry was a good friend of Rosie’s.

“Yup, he’s there a lot, and so is Kevin Kenneally. They give the place a real happening vibe; you’d almost think you were in Portland or Boston.”

“Kevin doesn’t seem to fit in with the others; they’re all creatives, and he’s pretty conservative, being the assistant DA and all,” said Lucy, trying to picture the group.

“They love teasing him, and he’s a really good sport about it all.”

Lucy suddenly wondered how her cash-strapped student daughter had come by this knowledge. She certainly couldn’t afford to frequent the expensive Cali Kitchen Sunday brunch. “How do you know all this?” she asked. “Since when have you been eating brunch?”

“I wish,” said Zoe, sighing and rolling her eyes. “Don’t you remember? I filled in at Cali Kitchen for my friend Catie a couple of weeks ago. It was brutal hard work; that bunch had me running my feet off getting them mimosas and Bloody Marys, but they were generous tippers. Especially Ty.”

“Well, I better get supper started,” said Lucy, pressing her hands on the table and pushing herself up off her chair. She had to admit it; she wasn’t as young as she used to be, what with her aching back and diminished energy. “I could use some help,” she suggested, hopefully.

“Sorry, Mom, I’ve got a paper due,” said Zoe, zipping up the back stairs and leaving Lucy to peel the potatoes.

Lucy and her Hat and Mitten Fund friends had been meeting at Jake’s Donut Shack on Thursday mornings for years, beginning when their kids had gone off to college and they no longer ran into each other at sports practices and school events. The four women had shared advice and offered emotional support as their kids entered their tricky twenties and launched their own careers and families. But now, as she glanced around the table, she realized they were no longer the young, hip bunch she’d always considered them to be.

Nowadays, they were on the far side of middle age, and it was beginning to show. There were streaks of gray in Rachel Goodman’s shoulder-length black hair; Pam Stillings still wore her reddish hair in a ponytail, but bags had begun to appear under her eyes. Sue Finch, always the most stylish member of the group, worked hard to maintain her slim figure, but Lucy had noticed the slightest beginnings of a muffin top around her waist, and one day her chic ballet shoe slipped off, revealing an orthotic arch support. As for herself, Lucy knew she was fighting a losing battle when she smoothed on her drugstore moisturizer every morning and faithfully applied night cream before going to bed.

The years were definitely taking a toll, but they’d also given the four friends the gift of friendship. They formed a tight group, having shared so many experiences, and Rachel was quick to remind them when they gathered at their usual table that Heather might find them a bit intimidating. “She’s a newcomer,” began Rachel, who had majored in psychology in college and had never gotten over it, “and we need to make her feel welcome. No inside jokes, no references to past events she knows nothing about, that sort of thing. Also, I would imagine she’s still dealing with the emotional effects of her cancer diagnosis and treatment, even though she’s now in remission and may even be cured.”

“I don’t know about that,” said Lucy, signaling to Norine, the waitress, that she wanted a cup of coffee. “Zoe calls her ‘Queen Heather’ and says she and Ty are the most popular couple in town. They’re part of a group of bright young things that regularly gather for Sunday brunch at Cali Kitchen.”

Lucy felt Sue bristle beside her as Norine approached to fill their mugs and take their orders: a sunshine muffin for Rachel, hash and eggs for Lucy, granola and yogurt for Pam, and black coffee for Sue. When Norine went off to the kitchen, Sue practically exploded.

“Queen Heather? That’s ridiculous!” she exclaimed, tucking a glossy lock of hair behind one ear with a perfectly manicured hand. “And since when did these upstart social climbers—millennials who, I can guarantee, don’t know the first thing about writing a thank-you note or a proper letter of sympathy—when did they become the most popular social set in town? And who decided that anyway?”

“Shhh,” cautioned Pam, nodding toward the door, where Heather had paused, checking out the room. “Remember,” she whispered, “this fundraiser could mean some big bucks for the fund.” Then she lifted her head and made eye contact with Heather, waving her over.

“I’m so glad you could come,” she said, as Heather seated herself. “Are you famished? Do you want to order?” she asked, looking for Norine.

“Oh, no. Nothing for me. No food,” replied Heather, sounding horrified at the thought. “I wouldn’t mind some herbal tea, if they have that here.”

Sue snorted. “It’s a donut shop. They have coffee.”

“I guess then I’ll just have a glass of water,” said Heather, shrugging out of her stylish fake fur coat to reveal a painfully slim body and tossing back her long, silvery hair. “As you probably all know, I’m Heather Moon, and I live in that big, old haunted house on School Street.”

“We’re so glad you could come this morning,” began Rachel, “and we’re so excited about the fundraiser, which is so generous of you.” She smiled. “I’m Rachel Goodman, and I know you’ve met Lucy . . .”

“We’ve met,” said Heather, without much enthusiasm.

“I just want to say that I’m sorry about any misunderstandings in the past,” offered Lucy. “I’m looking forward to working with you and publicizing the haunted house. I know Ted is always eager to promote local events, right, Pam?”

“Absolutely,” said Pam. “I’m Pam Stillings, I own the Courier, along with my husband Ted, and I can guarantee that the paper will provide plenty of free publicity.”

“That’s great,” said Heather, turning to Sue with a questioning expression.

Sue took a sip of coffee, narrowed her eyes, and gave Heather a tiny smile. “I’m Sue Finch,” she said, “and it’s an absolute pleasure to meet you.”

“Same here,” said Heather, as Norine arrived with their orders.

“Ohmigosh, I didn’t see you,” she apologized to Heather, distributing the plates and then pulling her order book out of her apron pocket. “What can I get you, hon?”

“Chamomile tea with lemon,” said Heather.

“Oh, sorry. No can do. We’ve got Tetley.”

“I’ll just have a glass of water. Thank you.”

“Okay.” From her tone, it was clear that Norine did not approve of her choice.

Heather pressed her lips together, but whether she was suppressing a smile or a thought wasn’t clear. She glanced around the table, then began speaking. “Well, as you know, my husband and I are hosting a grand Halloween party, including a haunted house, before we start modernizing the old place.”

“It’s the perfect venue for a haunted house,” said Pam, enthusiastically.

“That’s what we thought,” said Heather. “And my husband has the technical skills to provide amazing special effects. You wouldn’t believe what he can do with light and sound.”

“Oh, I think we have an idea,” said Sue, as Norine arrived with a tall glass of water. A clear plastic straw topped with a white paper casing was in the glass.

“Oh, oh. No plastic straws!” exclaimed Heather. “But what can I do with it? It’s already been opened, and now it’s going to go in the ocean . . .”

“No big deal,” said Norine, extracting the offending straw.

“But it is a big deal. Some sea turtle will eat it and die, and they’ll all become extinct.”

“I’ll make sure it doesn’t get in the ocean,” promised Norine, furrowing her brow.

“But how?” demanded Heather.

“I just will,” said Norine, hurrying off to the kitchen.

“Plastics, they’re terrible,” said Heather. “They last forever.”

“So true,” agreed Pam. “But we really need to talk about the fundraiser. Do you have a date in mind?”

“Well, I certainly don’t want it to conflict with the children’s party you ladies always have for the elementary school kids.”

“That will be on Halloween, which is a Friday this year,” said Pam.

“I think the haunted house party should be on a weekend, but maybe not the weekend just before Halloween. If we hold it a week earlier, it will kind of set the tone and get people in the mood, if you know what I mean.”

“I assume you’ll need lots of volunteers to help construct the scary effects, and it will take some time to organize, too,” said Rachel.

“Absolutely. Maybe Lucy can put out a call for volunteers in this week’s paper,” said Heather.

“We’ll all be glad to help,” said Pam.

“Well, I’m not sure how much I can do,” said Rachel. “My husband is running for state rep, and I’m pretty busy with his campaign.”

“You get a pass,” said Sue. “But for the rest of us, it’s all hands on deck, right?”

“Righto,” said Lucy, as they all nodded their heads. “And don’t worry,” she told Rachel. “I’ve been covering the campaign and Bob’s a shoo-in, running as an independent. Nobody ever heard of the Democrat, Andi Nardone, and George Armistead, the Republican, is ninety years old if he’s a day.”

“I hope you’re right,” said Rachel. “You can’t ever be too sure; things can change in a minute in a campaign.”

Lucy decided Rachel’s fears were unwarranted when she stood outside the IGA grocery store on Saturday morning, handing out leaflets for Bob. It was a brisk fall morning, and she enjoyed being out in the fresh air and sunshine, which she knew would soon be only a memory, along with the bright yellow and orange leaves that were already starting to fall. The store was busy; many shopping carts were loaded with pumpkins, potted chrysanthemums, and jugs of apple cider. She knew most of the shoppers, who were friends and neighbors, and everybody seemed pleased to learn that Bob was running for state rep.

“It’s about time George Armistead took to his rocking chair,” said retired kindergarten teacher Lydia Volpe. “He’s been a state rep for over forty years, and I don’t think he even bothers to attend the sessions, or vote. And when he does vote, it’s always against anything that might raise taxes, like improving the schools or health care. I’ll gladly vote for Bob; I think he’ll be a great state rep.”

“That’s great. I know he’ll appreciate your vote. And while I’ve got you, Heather and Ty Moon have offered to hold a haunted house fundraiser for the Hat and Mitten Fund, and we’re looking for volunteers . . .”

“Say no more,” said Lydia. “I’ll be happy to help, but you know I’m already on the committee for the children’s party, and I really don’t want to go to any more meetings.”

Lucy laughed. “Anything you can do would be appreciated. How about taking tickets on the night of the event; that’s just a couple of hours.”

“Okay, put me down for that,” said Lydia, giving her cart a push and heading across the parking lot to her car.

As Lucy watched Lydia’s progress, her attention was caught by a young mother struggling with a toddler on one hand and what looked like a four-year-old girl on the other. The toddler kept going limp, impeding their progress, and the mom finally just picked up the tot, telling the little girl to hang on to her jacket.

“Why, Mom?” asked the girl.

“Because I don’t have a free hand. I’ve got to carry Benjy, and I want you to be safe in the parking lot.”

“Why does Benjy have to be carried?”

“He’s little and gets tired.”

“Well, I’m big, and I can take care of myself.” With that, the little girl darted away from her mother and ran ahead, just as a zippy sports car rounded the line of parked cars.

Seeing that the little girl was directly in front of the approaching car, Lucy ran into the parking lot, waving her arms and screaming “Stop!” The car braked and stopped mere feet from the girl, who burst into tears and ran back to her mother. She fell to her knees and enfolded the girl into her arms, along with the toddler brother.

“It’s okay, you’re okay,” crooned the mom, smoothing the little girl’s hair.

The driver of the car climbed out, and Lucy was surprised to recognize Kevin Kenneally, whom she’d frequently covered at press conferences. Kenneally, who was dressed in freshly ironed jeans and a North Face windbreaker, angrily confronted the little family. “You know, lady, you really ought to keep that kid under control.”

“Well, maybe you should drive a little more carefully. If it wasn’t for this lady here, we would’ve had a real tragedy,” declared the mom.

“This is a parking lot, not a playground,” insisted Kevin, turning to Lucy. “That girl was in no danger. I saw her and was braking.”

Lucy was trembling, and her heart was pounding, but she wasn’t about to let Kevin have the last word. “Maybe so, but it didn’t seem like that to me. There’s no excuse for speeding in a parking lot where there are elderly folks and children. If a cop was here, you would’ve been cited.”

“I’m not so sure about that, Lucy,” he said, with a knowing smile. On second thought, Lucy figured he was right; it was doubtful that a local cop would cite an assistant district attorney. “And if I were you,” he added, “I wouldn’t be so quick with the accusations.” Having said his piece, he hopped back in his fancy sports car, backed away too fast into a three-point turn, and zoomed out of the parking lot. As she watched him go, Lucy wondered exactly how much assistant district attorneys made these days, and whether his salary would stretch to cover such an expensive car.

“Well, I never . . .” said the shocked mom, picking up the toddler.

“What a reckless driver,” said Lucy, rolling her eyes. She took the little girl’s hand and began walking to the entrance. “My name’s Lucy, what’s yours?”

“Stella. Stella Rose Levitt.”

“And how old are you, Stella?”

“Four.”

“Well, remember to be extra careful in parking lots and to mind your mom, okay?”

Stella scowled. “I’m a big girl.”

“Yes, you are, but cars are bigger.” Lucy turned to the mom. “By the way, I’m campaigning for my friend Bob Goodman. He’s running for state rep. Can I give you a brochure?”

“Sure, thanks,” said the woman, who was settling the toddler into the seat of a shopping cart. “And thanks so much for stopping that car and saving Stella. I can’t even imagine . . .”

Lucy gave her a big smile. “No problem. And don’t forget to vote for Bob.”

Lucy recounted the episod. . .