imagine a less inviting inn. Except on Halloween. Tonight it would be just about perfect.
Mick was a real estate agent. He’d been trying to sell the house for two years, since the former owner had died. But nobody with any common sense would want it. Talk about white elephants. It had needed tons of work a decade ago…he couldn’t imagine how the house looked now. “Probably just right for a murder party.”
Mick might be the theatrical one, but Jared was up for a challenge. His cousin’s invitation had been a thinly disguised gauntlet. Since he’d known Jared was supposed to be gone until January, he was daring him to come home to Derryville early.
Derryville. Funny, he’d once considered his hometown a two-stoplight dump, from which he’d longed to escape. Somehow, his feelings had mellowed once he’d built a new life elsewhere. He’d enjoyed his few trips home over the years, even if he hadn’t been able to resolve a few longstanding family issues.
A trill of his cell phone interrupted his thoughts. “Hello?”
“Jared! I didn’t wake you, did I? Not sure what time zone you were in. Moscow—is that ahead of us or behind?”
He recognized the voice of Alice McCoy, his literary agent and friend. “Ahead. Eight hours. But it’s okay, I’ve been home almost two days. And I’ve readjusted to all things American, except the tendency to supersize portions of absolutely everything.” He sipped from a Super Big Gulp he’d picked up when stopping to gas up for the trip. “But I’m remembering why I like it.”
“Well, I’m glad you’re back. We’ve got tons to do.”
A truck swerved too close from the other lane, nearly cutting Jared off the road. As he tapped the horn, he hoped his secretarial service had paid up his insurance. They hadn’t done much else right—hadn’t even forwarded his damn mail, for weeks.
Alice obviously heard the horn. He could almost hear the muscles of her face pull into a frown. “You’re in your car.”
She sounded as disapproving as his fourth-grade teacher, who’d liked to make him write, “I will not make up stories that frighten other children,” a half-million times on the chalkboard.
“Yes.”
“Why aren’t you sitting at your desk writing this fabulous new book that’s going to make you rich…er?”
“I’m taking a brief trip. Going to my hometown.”
“Haven’t you traveled enough?”
“It’s my favorite holiday. Don’t I deserve a break? I’ve been invited to a murder mystery party for Halloween weekend.”
She laughed, her smoky voice thick from decades of cigarettes and expensive bourbon. “Right up your alley, so I guess you’re allowed. Does your family know you’re coming?”
He heard the unasked question. Does your grandfather know you’re coming? “No.” And it was probably just as well since his relationship with his grandfather had grown decidedly strained over the years. Another reason for accepting Mick’s invitation. It was past time to mend that fence, to fix that broken relationship.
Jared had gotten friendly with a grizzled old Russian lieutenant over the past several months. On Saturday nights, Nicolai liked to drink vodka and reminisce about the family he’d lost because of his obsession with his career. Every word he’d spoken had reminded Jared that it was time to extend an olive branch to his grandfather before it was too late.
“You’re going to show up unannounced?” She sounded surprised that her reserved client would do something so impulsive.
Yeah, it was slightly out of character, which was what he needed. “Actually, I’m not going to show up unannounced. Miles Stone, the secret agent who’s a cross between James Bond, Austin Powers and Maxwell Smart is showing up unannounced.”
Another low laugh. “Bond I get, given your looks.”
He grinned. It wasn’t a compliment. A disgruntled Alice had once told him he was much too good-looking to be taken seriously as a brilliant criminalist.
“And I guess you probably like women as much as Powers. But, I gotta tell ya, you’re too young to remember, but I’m not. Maxwell Smart wasn’t the best secret agent in the world.”
“Which is why my obnoxious cousin mentioned him.”
“Gotcha. Is that why you didn’t RSVP? To get even?”
“Nah. Mick has no idea I’m back. He knew I was supposed to be overseas until after Christmas. He sent the invitation to taunt me about missing my favorite time of year. Again.” He smiled evilly. “He deserves to have a guest crash the party.”
“Hope he doesn’t kick you out of his house.”
“It’s not in his house. The party’s taking place in the house of my childhood nightmares.”
As expected, the bloodthirsty sixty-year-old, who loved his books, was immediately intrigued. “Tell me more.”
After he had, she said, “Is your cousin in the habit of having private parties in the houses he’s got listed for sale?”
Actually, he didn’t imagine Mick would give something like that a second thought. “The house is in trust with a lawyer. I’m sure he got permission.” Since he and Mick hadn’t spoken in ages, Jared didn’t know how he’d finagled the use of the house for the weekend. But he’d bet there was some back-scratching involved.
In Derryville, back-scratching was involved in every deal. From which fireman would drive the big rig for the Labor Day parade, to who got to flip the switch for the Christmas tree in town square, Derryville was a microcosm of the good old American barter system. It didn’t trade in goods…just favors.
God, it all sounded so appealing. The very sameness, the normalcy that had made him long to escape years ago was exactly the balm his battered spirits needed right now. Home. It was so blissfully, soul-soothingly simple. Easygoing and peaceful. Exactly what he needed after a year of crazy but wonderful Russian cops, and just plain crazy criminals. Which is exactly what had made him decide to accept his cousin’s invitation.
He could hardly wait for the weekend to begin.
“HURRY HOME NOW. It’s after nine. Chief Stockton won’t want to see any ghosts and goblins on the street so late.”
Gwen Compton waved at one last straggling group of trick-or-treaters as they skipped across her front lawn. They laughed and yelled, kicking crunchy brown leaves out of the way in their haste to make it to just one more house before heading home.
The full moon cast gentle illumination on the road leading down the hill, so she didn’t fear for the children’s safety. The road wasn’t busily traveled. Only their guests—all of whom were already settled in for the night here at the bed-and-breakfast—used it. The moon was aided in its quest to brighten the night by softly glowing streetlights, which had miraculously escaped the mischief night BB guns that had taken out many of those downtown.
She watched the kids dart from puddle to puddle of light, pausing beneath the lamps to grab one more bit of candy, to toss out the odd apple or exchange a lollipop
