Page 47 of Trick or Tease

We were trying to create a professional operation and a chicken-scratched sign was not screaming professional. No one was going to post our maze on social media bragging about it with a dinky sign like that.

We had to get better.

“Makes sense,” Garrett said, and I was surprised by how normal he sounded. Not snooty or dismissive. “You want people to know they’re entering something special. The spectacle is part of the experience.”

“Exactly!” Billy practically shouted. “That’s exactly what we’re going for. But here’s where we’re stuck.” He walked over to our current scarecrow, which was leaning at a precarious angle despite my best efforts with the zip ties. I grimaced because Billy was going to see I put the mask back on the scarecrow. “We can’t figure out what this guy’s face should look like.”

I knew Garrett was never going to be okay with the clown mask. His reaction in the parking garage made that clear.

I watched through the cornstalks as Garrett studied our creation. We’d been debating the face. I put the mask on. They took it off. I put it on. I wasn’t really all that invested in the damn thing but I liked messing with them, telling them the mask kept reappearing on its own.

“The thing is, we want spooky but not scary, you know? This is supposed to be fun for families. Little kids. We don’t want some five-year-old having nightmares about our scarecrow.”

“I know a little something about that.” Garrett walked directly over to our scarecrow and, without any hesitation, pulled off the clown mask.

“Jack-o’-lanterns,” he said simply, holding the mask at arm’s length like it might bite him. “Use carved pumpkins for the heads. You’ve got an endless supply, it fits your whole pumpkin theme, and it’s Halloween-appropriate without being too intense for little kids.”

I had to admit, that was actually brilliant. Why hadn’t we thought of that? We’d been so focused on finding the perfect scary face that we’d completely overlooked the obvious solution sitting in our fields.

Billy’s eyes lit up. “Holy shit, that’s perfect! Sabrina’s going to love⁠—”

“I’m right here,” I called out, pushing through the cornstalks with what I hoped was a casual smile. “And you’re absolutely right. That’s a great idea.”

Both brothers turned toward me. I caught the way Garrett’s jaw tightened slightly when he saw me approaching. I couldn’t resist reaching out and snatching the clown mask from his hand, holding it up between us.

“Though I have to say, I’m a little disappointed you don’t appreciate my artistic vision here,” I said, waving the mask playfully in his direction. “This is a genuine vintage piece. Probably worth dozens of dollars.”

Garrett took a deliberate step backward, his expression stone-cold serious. “It’s not funny, Sabrina.”

The edge in his voice made me pause. I’d been teasing, the same way I would tease Billy or Lucy about anything, but there was something in Garrett’s stance that said he really didn’t like the mask.

Poor guy.

“Just throw it away,” he said, turning back to Billy. “The pumpkin idea will work better anyway. More cohesive branding.”

Lucy pulled up on a four-wheeler, a box of supplies strapped to the back. “What’s up, party people?” She spotted the mask and rolled her eyes. “Not him again. Someone douse that thing in holy water.”

“Pumpkins, babe!” Billy grinned. “We’re going to have jack-o’-lanterns for the scarecrow heads.”

“Hey! That’s a good idea!”

“Garrett came up with it,” Billy said, eyebrows waggling. “He’s getting into the Halloween spirit.”

“Let’s not go that far,” Garrett said.

“Where are we getting these jack-o’-lanterns?” I asked.

Billy flashed that boyish grin. “We’ll carve them. Like we used to. Best one goes on the main scarecrow at the maze entrance. Worst one goes by the toilets.”

I rolled my eyes. “Your designs are always lame. I’m going to win. Get ready for toilet town, pal.”

Within twenty minutes, we’d assembled quite the pumpkin-carving crew. Lucy had called Tyler and Madison, two of the high school kids who’d been helping us set up the maze. They showed up with three more friends in tow. The carving station was part of the festival, so it was already set up. We had eight people gathered around it with carving knives and spoons, surrounded by pumpkin guts.

“Okay, ground rules,” I said, picking up my carving tool. “No peeking at other people’s designs until we’re done. And no copying.”

“What’s the prize?” asked Tyler, a lanky seventeen-year-old who’d been helping us move hay bales all week.

“Winner gets bragging rights and their pumpkin becomes the official scarecrow head,” Billy declared. “Plus, I’ll throw in a hundred bucks.”