I sprinted next door expecting the worst. I’d only been gone a little over an hour. What could have happened since I left? An explosion in the kitchen? A customer in the throes of the Heimlich maneuver? Henry reading a positive review of the La Famiglia menu?
I burst into the restaurant. “What happened?” I practically shouted. Luckily, the place was empty except for the elderly Banger sisters, tucked into a booth away from the entrance. Their hearing was suspect anyway. They smiled at me and bobbed their identical, curly gray perms, waving their hands to flag me down.
“Hello, Dodie,” said one as I walked calmly to the kitchen.
“We’re ready for the Halloween party tomorrow night,” said the other.
“Good to hear.” I eased away from their table.
“We’re going as two peas in a pod.”
They both beamed.
Despite Benny’s traumatic text, I stopped in my tracks. “You are?” I visualized two green beach balls.
One narrowed her eyes and squinted at me. “Unless there’s trouble tomorrow and the celebration is canceled.”
The other nodded solemnly.
I had to get to the kitchen, but I couldn’t resist. “What kind of trouble?”
“We saw a black cat in front of the theater today.” The first sister.
“The dogs on our street have been wailing at night.” The second sister.
“We’re keeping our necks covered.” They both tightened the scarves under their chins.
If I wasn’t so stressed, I would have erupted in giggles.
“To avoid…”
“Vampire bites?” I asked.
They withdrew garlic necklaces from their purses, holding them up for approval. “Would you like to borrow one?”
“No, thanks.” Geez. The town’s inner daffy was rising to the surface, but their garlic reminded me of the Windjammer menu for the weekend. “You have a good night.”
I pushed against the swinging door into the kitchen as Benny, on the other side, attempted to push it in the opposite direction. “Oof!” he said, driven backward.
“Sorry!” I grabbed his arm.
He jerked a thumb over his shoulder. “Check it out.”
I’d been prepared for a bloody limb, a body on the ground. I was greeted with Benny shaking his head, Enrico’s face and hair covered in a splatter of powdered sugar, pieces of fried doughnuts scattered on the stove and floor, and Henry standing arms akimbo, glowering into the pot of boiling oil.
“What happened in here?” I stared at the mess.
“Dodie,” Enrico murmured, “the oil got wet.”
How did that happen? What did that even mean? “Henry?”
Slowly, he swiveled, his face dark and threatening. This was all my fault. “I hate Halloween.”
It took twenty minutes to clean up and to convince Henry that Enrico and I could manage the frying process, minus the moisture that had mistakenly ended up in the oil and caused the doughnuts to explode. Glad I wasn’t in the Windjammer to see that… Henry agreed to come in early to prepare the spiced apple cider before the Windjammer opened. We ushered him out of the restaurant, then set to work with the hot oil, monitoring the temperature, vigilantly turning the bobbing circles of dough, letting them drain on paper towels before sprinkling them with powdered sugar. It was a slow and tedious process, but two hours later, Enrico and I had produced and packaged two hundred doughnuts.
Benny had closed the dining room at nine o’clock, wiping down the bar and flicking off the lights. I sent Enrico home at eleven and finished cleaning the stove and swabbing the floor. A manager’s work was never done, I thought ruefully, as I swished the mop back and forth. When I’d called Bill to inform him that I had to cancel our date night, he was sympathetic, said he was sorry to eat the gourmet cheese and drink the cabernet alone, amused when he asked how doughnuts could explode. Did we use gunpowder instead of baking powder? Very funny, I told him.
Sheesh.
I was beginning to regret my theme food plan for Dracula. I had initially proposed a hearty Eastern European dish that suited the play. “Hungarian goulash!”
“Dracula’s from Transylvania, not Hungary,” Lola had said.
I was at a loss. Until I spied an article in the Newark Star-Ledger about a new restaurant in South Jersey that used garlic in every entrée. In appetizers and desserts too. Every single one. Garlic! Bane of a vampire’s existence! I was intrigued and did some research. I came up with a list of recipes Henry could use this week: roasted garlic and anchovies on focaccia bread, garlic roasted baked brie, garlic roasted prime rib, garlic mashed potatoes, shrimp in garlic sauce, garlic chicken, pork chops with sweet garlic relish, even garlic ice cream…the list was endless. Perfect theme food. At least it was, until the town took this whole vampire thing to the next level. Was it a good idea to serve garlic-infused specials during the run of the show?
At eleven thirty I grabbed my jacket and bag, left the restaurant, and locked the front door. The temperature had plummeted during the hours I was in the Windjammer and now there was a nip of frost in the air. Early for fall in New Jersey. A gust of wind sent the streetlight outside the restaurant swinging, casting a yellowish glow on the sidewalk below. A sliver of moon the only light in the sky. A “new moon” my father called this kind of lunar event. I wondered about the weather in Naples, Florida, where my parents now lived after decamping from the Jersey Shore a few years ago. Warmer than here. I strode to my red MINI Cooper, parked in a space beyond the restaurant.
Somewhere down Main Street a dog barked. A shadow flitted in front of the theater, pausing by the red oak. My skin crawled, the little hairs on the back of my neck trembling. It was my radar system, which activated whenever something was amiss. The theater was dark, its occupants having closed up shop after the tech rehearsal. Although I had known Lola and Walter to hang around well into the night when an opening was imminent—
“Good evening,” a deep baritone rumbled behind me.
I whirled to my left, my heart leaping into my mouth. I faced a tall shape draped in black. Even in the dim light he was instantly recognizable.
“H–hello, Carlos,” I managed to squeak out. “You’re working late.”
“So are you,” he said, bowing his head slightly. An otherworldly gentleman.
“Making doughnuts for the kids’ parade tomorrow.” I laughed nervously. Why was I nervous? He’s an actor, not a paranormal monster. “Halloween.”
“Ah, yes. Halloween. An ancient pagan festival. The Celtic population believed that the dead could walk among the living at this time.”
I shivered.
“Did you know that?” he asked.
“No. I didn’t.”
Carlos leaned toward me and I shrank back. He reached out and tugged my collar up around my ears. “You look cold.”
My teeth chattered. And not because the temperature was dropping. “Yes. Guess so.” And then my curiosity got the better of me. “Are you coming to the costume party tomorrow night?”
He smiled widely, his teeth white and shiny in his ghostly face. “I wouldn’t miss the festivities.”
“You already have the costume. Dracula,” I said, a fake laugh bubbling out of me.
“I do.” He shrugged. “We’ll see.”
“Bella is reading palms for entertainment. Should be fun,” I added.
He regarded me for a moment in the sinister half-light. “She is very good at predicting the future.”
“Everybody will love it. Maybe she can tell if the show will be a hit.”
“A hit?” He paused. “Yes, I think Dracula will be a hit.”
I said good night, hopped into my MC. I swear he glided away and disappeared into the night. My hands trembled as I turned the ignition key.
* * * *
“So you think he’s what…a supernatural creature?” Bill asked, buttoning his blue uniform shirt and eyeing me, amused, as I pulled on my Wonder Woman miniskirt. He worked hard to keep a grin out of his voice. Not sure if it was due to our discussion of my encounter with Carlos last night or my efforts to cover most of my body. I was into the Halloween costume thing and WW had appeared to be the perfect choice. Still, I had no intention of scaring little kids or sending Windjammer customers into gales of hysteria. I slipped on my leather jacket and zipped up the white go-go boots I’d bought at a vintage clothing store years ago. “I know he’s only a guy acting a role. But if you had seen him…let’s just say he looked a lot like Dracula would have looked if he’d really lived.”
“According to history, he really did live.” Bill knotted his tie. “Not Count Dracula; the historical person Bram Stoker based him on. His name was Vlad the Impaler. Had a real taste for blood.”
“Since when are you studying the history of vampires?” I asked.
“I read that article in the Etonville Standard. Preshow publicity. Quotes from Walter and Lola. And Penny.” He chuckled. “She claimed vampires exist in parts of Europe today.”
“She said that?” I tied a gold headband around my wavy auburn hair, the result of Irish ancestry on both sides of my family, and studied my reflection in the mirror. Not too bad.
Bill put his arms around my waist and kissed my ear. “What’s it going to be like engaged to Wonder Woman?”
“Step out of line, buster, and I’ll show you,” I teased, twisting in his arms.
He planted a good one on my lips. Yowza!
“That should hold you until tonight,” he said.
“Speaking of tonight, you’ll make it to the costume shindig, right?”
“I’ll try. I have my first Police Chiefs meeting in Trenton late this afternoon.”
“You have to wear a costume—”
“I’ll go as—”
“And you can’t go as—”
“—a cop,” we both said in unison.
Bill put on his pouty, little-boy face. “I hate wearing costumes.”
“Didn’t you trick or treat as a kid?”
“Back then there was candy at stake.”
“Think of the grand prize as a ten-year-old’s bag of goodies.”
He looked skeptical. “What’s the grand prize?”
“It’s a surprise.” I trailed Bill out of the bedroom. “I put the Superman costume in the front hall closet.”
“Superman? Oh no—”
“You said you’d go as my hero,” I said sweetly.
“I thought that meant I could wear my uniform,” he complained, hunting for his car keys.
“There’s a shirt, cape, boots…”
“I might have to work late.” He kissed me quickly and darted out the door.
“…and tights,” I said to his disappearing back. Bill was as bad as Henry when it came to dressing up. Hell might have to freeze over before the town of Etonville would catch sight of Bill in tights and the equivalent of Speedos.
As I climbed into my MC and drove from the north end of town, where Bill’s two-story Colonial was located, to Main Street, I considered his comments about the real Count Dracula—Vlad the Impaler. In the bright sunshine of this morning, it was hard to envision Carlos as anything weird even if he did unnerve Lola. And me. Good thing the show opened tomorrow night. The sooner it was up, the sooner it would close. Hopefully without incident and with a healthy box office.
Etonville had awakened early this morning. Main Street was already jammed with cars stopping and starting as they crept into and out of town. By three o’clock the main drag would be blocked off to allow the youngsters’ parade to proceed from the Municipal Building down several blocks past Coffee Heaven, the Etonville Little Theatre, and the Windjammer, ending at the Etonville Library. The littlest tots might not make it all the way, but for the kids who did, the library was handing out its own special treats: books and DVDs.
I had arranged to meet Lola for breakfast at Coffee Heaven, Etonville’s nod to the old-fashioned Jersey diner. A handful of booths and a wide variety of comfort food. My go-to favorites were heavily iced, warm cinnamon buns and caramel macchiato, my obsession. Enough sugar to accelerate my day. I found a parking space directly in front of Coffee Heaven, put some coins in the meter, and, in keeping with my costume, strutted into the diner. The welcome bells jingled as I entered, and heads turned and stared at my boots and miniskirt.
I smiled bravely as I accepted comments on my way to a back booth.
“Morning, Dodie!”
“That’s some getup.”
“Who’re you supposed to be?”
“I know! A cheerleader!”
“Where’s your pom-poms?”
Geez. Maybe Wonder Woman wasn’t such a terrific idea—
“Love the costume,” said Lola. She sat opposite me. “Wish I had the nerve to wear something like that. In public.”
Was it that revealing? I eased my leather jacket closed to conceal exposed chest. “You’re going as Cleopatra. Not too shabby in the cleavage department.”
“She’s a queen. My costume’s royal,” Lola said serenely.
“You’re in a better mood. Must have had a good tech rehearsal.”
“That and a full night’s sleep. Forget what I said about Carlos yesterday. My imagination was on overdrive. He’s doing a spectacular job and is a nice guy. An ordinary nice guy,” she said.
Who was creepy in the moonlight. Never mind, no sense in revving Lola’s engine with my overactive imagination.
“In fact, Carlos offered to help clean up the props.”
“That’s unusual?”
“For an actor.”
“So you all left the theater together last night?”
Lola yawned. “Actually, I cut out with most of the cast. Walter and Carlos and a few others stayed behind.” She picked up a menu.
“You gals want your regulars?” It was Jocelyn, the Coffee Heaven waitress. She pulled a pencil out of her red French twist.
“Absolutely,” I said.
“Make my coffee black and my eggs over easy.”
Jocelyn wrote up our orders, then scrutinized my costume. “Hmm. Tried to get Walter to saddle up with me and go as zombies.”
A zombie? Jocelyn had decided last summer that she was gunning for Walter—cranky, anxious, full-of-himself, insecure Walter. She was a woman on a mission. Walter, gobsmacked by her attention, tended to run the other way when he spotted Jocelyn. She was nothing if not persistent.
“That’s sweet,” I said. “Zombies…”
“Nope. Walter had another costume in mind. He keeps me on my toes. Must be why we’re so good together.” Jocelyn sashayed her buxom self to the kitchen.
“Poor Jocelyn. What parallel universe is she living in?” I asked. “She still thinks Walter has it bad for her.”
Lola tittered. “Anyway, his costume has nothing to do with zombies.” She raised her coffee cup and eyed me over the rim. “Wait and see.”
* * * *
By four o’clock Main Street was packed with ghosts of all sizes, cowboys with and without ten-gallon hats, princesses galore—including Benny’s daughter—and ninja warriors. Plus a variety of animals and characters from popular movies. They popped in and out of shops, loading up brown bags and pillowcases with treats. I manned the refreshment table, handing out doughnuts to hungry kids and providing apple cider for their thirsty parents. I’d told Benny to go and have fun with his own little princess while Gillian kept an eye on the dining room. Early diners wouldn’t surface for another hour. Henry had resolutely remained in the kitchen, preparing tonight’s rollout of the garlic specials: roasted garlic and anchovies on focaccia bread, garlic mashed potatoes, and shrimp in garlic sauce. I hoped I hadn’t gone overboard with the theme food.
Ralph Ostrowski, a member of the Etonville Police Department, was usually assigned traffic management and crowd control. He sauntered over and sized up the doughnuts, putting his hands on his hips, and selecting three. Ralph was a walking cop cliché.
“Mmm.” He gave his seal of approval and headed back into the crowd.
Benny’s little girl, swathed in pink, flouncy layers of taffeta and tulle, had tired of the parade and promptly sat down in the middle of Main Street. She waved her wand at her dad. He ran over to the doughnut table, his pirate costume complete with frilly shirt, eye patch, hoop earring, and a mascara-drawn mustache.
“Cute. And the princess too,” I smirked.
“Funny.” Benny picked up two doughnuts and a cup of cider. “Like she needs more sugar! I’ll be back in time to handle dinner.”
“Take your time. I can cover for a while. Before the dress rehearsal.”
He looked at his daughter slapping her magic wand on the ground. “Gotta rescue the street.” Benny raced away.
Henry stuck his head out the door of the Windjammer, harried. “Georgette is asking about the garlic ice cream!”
Georgette’s Bakery supplied the desserts for the Windjammer, and she’d graciously offered to handle the ice cream as well. “Coming.” The parade was winding down, the last of the kiddie procession dragging their tails as well as their candy. They could help themselves to the remainder of the doughnuts.
On to the next event.
* * * *
“Hey, these have garlic in them too,” said Vernon, stabbing a fork into a mound of mashed potatoes.
Mildred, choir director at the Episcopal Church and Vernon’s wife, poked him gently. “That’s the point. All of the specials have garlic in them. It’s part of the theme.” She delicately speared a shrimp dripping garlic sauce. “You’d better not breathe on anybody tonight.”
Etonville might be hit with an epidemic of halitosis.
The Banger sisters pulled out their ropes of garlic, dangling them over their dinner plates. “We’re protected!” said one.
“From what?” Vernon was truly mystified.
“Vampires,” said the other Banger sister.
Vernon shook his head.
“The Hanratty place is supposed to be haunted,” Mildred said.
“I wouldn’t be caught dead in that old rattrap. Gives me the willies. They should have declared it a 10-7A,” Edna said firmly. As dispatcher of the police force, she loved her codes.
“Translate please,” begged Mildred.
“Out of service.”
“It must be livable. Carlos and Bella have been there for three months,” I said.
“Who knows where they lived before.” Mildred’s tone was ominous.
Abby had been silent until now, chowing down on one of Henry’s special burgers. No garlic for her. “What’s that mean?”
Vernon defended his wife. “It means we don’t know where they came from. What kind of place they lived in before.”
“You mean like a coffin? You believe in this vampire stuff too?” Abby asked, not amused.
So it wasn’t only Lola who was bitten by the vampire bug…
“That’s nuts,” Abby added.
“You can’t be too sure,” said a Banger.
The conversation was in danger of going off the rails. “You all have your costumes for tonight?”
Mildred and Abby nodded. Vernon ploughed into his potatoes. Only Edna was truly excited. “Got a feeling I might haul in the grand prize.”
“Who’re the judges?” Mildred asked. Everyone exchanged looks that said not me.
Roving anonymous judges had been chosen by the city council. After roaming through the crowd for most of the night, they would announce the winners: funniest, most dramatic, most creative, scariest, and the grand prize.
“That’s a 10-36,” Edna said. “Confidential information.”
“Dodie, what do you think about Carlos and Bella?” Mildred asked, sincere.
“Me?”
“Yeah, you. Wonder Woman!” Abby cracked.
“I don’t know them. He’s certainly terrific in the role of Dracula, according to Lola.”
“A real natural,” Edna announced.
Silence for a moment.
“What’s for dessert?” asked Vernon. “I hope nothing with garlic.”
Yikes.