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LATER THAT EVENING, we returned to the general store. “Halloween decorations, Walter’s store, a man named Hamburg, and a kill list. Mind telling me how those four components add up to spending Halloween night here?”
“Her source from the pen says your guy Hamburg takes an evening stroll after dinner.”
“If that’s true, he’s looking for one of us.”
“Our money’s on you,” Ida Belle said.
For the first time, I was glad Ally had gone to New Orleans for their annual Cake on your Fruit Convention or maybe it was Fruit on your Cake. Regardless, she wasn’t in Sinful. With Hamburg strolling around, it was for the best. Francine’s festive Halloween Haunt, a trickster’s favorite stop on the treat trail, was already packed. If Ally had been in town, we would’ve planted ourselves in front of her orange donuts.
“I asked Carter for a mugshot,” Gertie said, pulling me away from pastry daydreams. “We don’t even know what Hamburg looks like. It was dark in the bayou. For all I know, he was wearing a mask.”
“There’s an idea.” Ida Belle unlocked a closet and a large box of costumes tumbled to the floor. “Like these?” She plucked a hanger from the floor and Little Red Riding Hood’s cape fell down her arm. Full costume kits, dresses, and swords were neatly packed in the back.
Some of the masks were displayed on wig stands. From presidents to rock stars and literary greats like Shakespeare and Poe, there was a ‘face’ for anyone who wanted to conceal their identity. Additional props added to costume accuracy.
“Walter has a weird sense of humor,” Gertie said.
“His sense of humor didn’t have anything to do with this ridiculous purchase. He bought these from a sales lady who wore a tight skirt.”
“How cute. She’s jealous.”
Ida Belle blushed. “I’m not jealous. He bought this junk so the saleslady would leave town. She arrived in Sinful with intentions of selling inventory but wanted a man to take stock in her new company.”
“Looks like Walter did that,” I said, staring out at the well-decorated store. “Guess these are extras?”
“Think he has enough?” Ida Belle asked, disgust in her tone.
“For a decade anyway,” I said.
“You have to pay if you’re not going to play, dear.”
Ida Belle grimaced. “I’d forgotten how lifelike these things look in the dark.” She flipped a switch and a yellow bulb lit up the closet. Racks of capes, gowns, and camouflage crowded the upper wall. Shelves were lined with seasonal doodads.
Gertie held a George Washington mask to her face. “Did he look like this?”
Before I could answer, a rattling noise at the door startled us. We all turned. A fellow hammered out repetitive knocks.
Six-foot-one, two-hundred pounds, spiderlike arms with spindly fingers. Curly dark hair matches the strands on Poe’s mask. Thick red lips—bright red as opposed to neutral—and slightly crooked but not disfigured. If he wants to blend, he’s out of luck. If he’s out of luck, we stand a chance.
The door rattled again. With his hands cupped at his eyes, the fellow peered inside.
“Now what?” I didn’t want him to leave but I wasn’t first in line to answer the door.
“Think that’s him?” Gertie asked, keeping her back against an endcap filled with plastic pumpkins.
“It’s him,” Ida Belle confirmed.
“How would you know? You didn’t even hear the scream.” Gertie rolled her eyes.
“Are we doing this now?” Ida Belle put her finger to her lips.
“What do you think, Fortune?” Gertie asked. “Is it him?”
The guy traipsed in front of the store. I watched for signs of familiarity. Nothing stuck.