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“Reminds me of the Halloween parties we used to go to as kids,” Sophie said, sounding reminiscent.
Caroline nodded in satisfaction. “It’s supposed to. Though, things have changed a little bit since the old days.” She shook her head and emitted a heavy sigh. “We’ve had to replace the apples in the barrel already because some kid kept biting into them but dropping them back into the water. Another little girl was horrified, saying they would all get streptococcus germs and die if they bit from the same apple.”
“Welcome to the twenty-first century, land of ten-year-olds who watchC.S.I.”
“Don’t go dissing my favorite show,” Sophie said, pointing her index finger at Mick.
“Besides,” Daniel added, “it’s only fair that the kids get into the spirit, right? This isKilling Time. Isn’t dying the whole point of the thing?”
Caroline shook her head. “No, solving themysteryis the whole point of the thing. That, and backstabbing your way to a million dollars and fifteen minutes of fame doing spots on all the morning TV shows when it’s over.”
“Any frontrunners?” Sophie asked. “I’ve been hearing the odds at the nail salon are heavily on the fireman. But I have a feeling that’s because all the women in the salon are picturing him naked, rolling around in a million one-dollar bills.”
“Sticky,” said Mick.
Before she could reply, the director of the show, Renauld Watson, approached them. Like Caroline, he wasn’t dressed in costume, though his Hollywood designer outfit probably appeared more costume than reality to most of the residents of Derryville. Especially since it probably cost more than the average Derryville resident’s car.
“This is perfect,” Renauld said, giving them all a beneficent smile. “Imagine the ratings on Halloween night.”
Mick shrugged. “Sorry. I’ll be trick-or-treating.”
Sophie nodded. “Me, too.”
Renauld shot them each an annoyed look. “It’s a 9:00p.m. show. Evenchildrenwill be finished by then.”
The guy really got on his nerves, which made it way too tempting to push his buttons. Mick couldn’t help saying, “By then I’ll be busy with the toilet paper and soap.”
“And shaving cream,” Sophie piped in.
Renauld shook his head, muttered something and walked away.
“You two are incorrigible,” Caro said.
“You should see them when Jared’s around,” Daniel said with a heavy sigh. “They try so hard to make him stop being serious that they never let up.”
“Speaking of which,” Mick said, “what’s he dressed up as?”
Sophie answered. “I’ll give you one guess.”
Mick didn’t have to think twice. “A secret agent.”
“Uh-huh. And Gwen’s Mata Hari. But the real kicker is Hildy.”
Sophie nodded toward someone in the crowd, and Mick snorted a laugh. “Good grief, she’s dressed up as a little old lady?”
Hildy’s costume included a cane, gray wig in a bun, oversized flowered dress and granny glasses.
“She’s certainly dressed up as somebody other than herself,” Caroline said as she admired the costume.
“Okay,” Mick said. “Let’s go celebrate Halloween before Renauld decides to deck the inn in holly for Christmas.”
JACEY DIDN’T HAVE to attend the party in costume. She was working, after all, her camera in hand as she cruised the party, capturing moments, big and small. But for some reason she couldn’t explain, she’d given in and looked through the prop room for something. She hadn’t had any luck and had given up when she’d run into Gwen Winchester, the owner of the inn. Gwen, who’d been incredibly gracious, had invited Jacey to come up to the attic and search through some old trunks of clothes for a costume. Hence the outfit.
“A flapper?”
The low, deeply timbered voice at her shoulder made Jacey shiver a bit, which even the chill in the night air hadn’t been able to manage. She paused her camera—which had been zooming in on Willie P. in a sheikh costume trying to pinch the butt of dancing girl Ginger.
“Well, there’s a stretch,” she said when she looked at Digg in his fireman costume. He looked good, incredibly good, but then again, he always did.
