It was the day before Halloween. Richard Winningham and his crew were on their way to The Carousel on Melrose, the largest and best-known costume shop in the city. It would be teeming with kids and their moms, dads, nannies, and pals, picking out costumes, trying them on, choosing accessories, buying trick-or-treat bags, makeup kits, wigs, glitter, glue, and what have you.
As a crime reporter, it sickened Richard to have to report after Halloween stories of youngsters biting into razor blades in cupcakes, or becoming ill from poisoned cookies, or being struck by cars. This season he decided to do a Halloween piece before the fact, to warn parents not to let their little ones go out alone, not to let them nibble on their goodies before adults had a chance to sort through them, and not to let them eat anything that wasn’t prepackaged and properly sealed.
His cameraman, Greg Ross, was acting like a kid himself in the huge emporium, trying on masks, scaring little kids and getting them to giggle. The colorful, festive scene would make good visuals, Richard knew.
As Greg was laying out his shots, Richard was laying advice on some of the kids. To a little girl in an Olympic gymnast outfit, “You’ll be cold in that costume tomorrow night, be sure you wear a sweater under it,” and to a boy in an oversize bat mask, “Have your mom make the eye slits bigger so you’ll be able to see in that.”
“Hey, when are you going to have kids of your own?” Greg asked him. “You know, you’re getting up there, old man.”
“I have you to bring up,” Richard countered. Greg was looking up at him through the eyes of a huge, hairy lion’s head.
“Better get on it, buddy,” Greg tossed back, “before you’re so ancient you can’t remember your little tykes’ names.” Richard took a swipe at him but missed, as Greg dropped to all fours and did his lion act for a couple of five-year-olds. He roared, and they shrieked.
Greg shot B-roll inside the shop, lots of little faces in scary masks, and cute kiddies modeling the gamut of costumes. Then he and Richard took the gear out front to do a stand-up. While Greg rolled, Richard stood on the sidewalk with a gang of kids around him, witches and Spidermen, princesses and ghosts, several Barney Rubbles, two kids dressed up as one horse. Looking straight into the camera, he ticked off his warnings, one by one, hoping parents would heed them.
As he was finishing, Maxi Poole pulled up to the curb in her black Corvette. “Hey, that looks like fun,” she called out the window. Richard lit up. He told the kids to stay put on the sidewalk, and he walked around to the driver’s side of her car.
“Hi. What brings you down here?” he asked.
Maxi was smiling, but he could see the strain of the past few harrowing days behind her eyes. “I just left Remy Germain’s art studio down the street,” she said. “I found out that she was at the auction of Jack’s things, and she happened to make some sketches of Meg Davis buying that cross.” She showed Richard the copies of Remy’s sketches.
“Do they tell you anything?” he questioned, leafing through them.
“Only that Meg Davis was there with a friend.” She pointed out the sketches of the two women together. “I’m on my way back to Sotheby’s now to see if they can identify this other woman. Maybe I can contact her and see if she knows anything.” Richard looked dubious.
“Oh, I know it’s probably a wild-goose chase,” Maxi conceded, “but I can’t just do nothing.” Then she half whispered, “I’m so scared.”
“Where are you staying tonight?” he asked.
“I don’t know. I can’t stay at home. Alison Pollock offered me a suite at the Beverly Hills Hotel, but with Janet Orson’s murder there last night, that feels eerie….”
“Stay at my place,” Richard offered. “Hell, you almost know how to work the shower.” He grinned, trying to lighten her mood.
“Thanks,” she said. “Maybe I’ll take you up on that, just for tonight, till I figure out what to do. I can’t stay with Debra; she’s not any safer than I am—”
The kids were jumping up and down on the sidewalk now, shouting, “Mr. Winningham, come on, Mr. Winningham, we want to be on television, Mr. Winningham!” Maxi looked toward the youngsters, and suddenly the color drained from her face. She was staring up at the shop window.
“What is it?” Richard demanded.
“That…that costume!” she said, pointing to a mannequin dressed as Dracula, its arms extended, displaying a wide black double cape. Richard followed her gaze to the black-clad figure. “That’s what my intruder wore,” Maxi whispered.
He turned back to face Maxi. He was afraid the accumulated stress of the last weeks might be wreaking havoc with her imagination. “What makes you think so?” he asked gently.
“The… the seams. The double-stitched seams in red thread,” she breathed, her eyes still locked on the black costume. “I was closer to it than this, at home in my study. I’m sure—”
Richard turned to take another look. The long, wide sleeves, the mandarin neckline, the buttonholes, the seams, and the flowing hemline of the garment were all edged in thick, bright red stitching on the black fabric. The shop owner he interviewed told him that the new kids’ movie about Dracula that had recently come out was making the costume his biggest seller this Halloween.
“I’ll quiz the owner about his ‘Dracula’ customers, and I’ll call some of the other costume shops in town, see if anything comes of it,” he said to Maxi. “You’re going back to the auction house?”
“Yes. And I’m going to look in on Yukon on the way. He’s right around the corner on Robertson.”
“I know, remember?” Richard smiled. “Tell him I’ll come by on Saturday and watch the Laker game with him.”
“Thanks, Richard—you cheer me up. Are you going back to the station when you’re through here?”
“Yes—I have to edit this piece for the Four.”
“Do me a favor? Take these phone records in and have one of the editorial assistants check them against the crisscross—they’re all the calls Janet Orson made from the Beverly Hills Hotel.” She handed Richard the printouts that Alison Pollock had given her.
“Sure thing—they’ll be on your desk when you get in.”
“Great. See you back in the newsroom.”
“Don’t forget, you can bunk at my place—I actually like sleeping on my leather couch.” He smiled. “And Maxi? Be careful.”