indeed fly the skies on Halloween.
The image was enhanced when a cat with its fur
standing on end suddenly appeared out of the mists.
The animal hurtled straight for Judith. In fright, she
flung herself against the wall of the house, and only
recognized Sweetums when he hid himself between
her feet.
“P-p-poor k-k-kitty,” she stammered, glancing
down at the cat. “P-p-poor m-m-me.”
Then she looked up, and the eerie apparition was
gone.
A frowning Renie was standing on the steps.
“Where’ve you been? The back door blew shut, and I
thought maybe you got locked out.” Seeing Judith’s
pale face under the porch light, she gasped. “Hey,
what’s wrong? You look like you’ve seen a ghost!”
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295
“A witch, actually,” Judith said, clinging to the
porch rail as Sweetums crept along beside her. She felt
dizzy, her teeth were chattering, and her feet seemed
glued to the steps. “I may be having a nervous breakdown. I need a drink.”
“I’ll fix it,” Renie volunteered, but first put a hand
under Judith’s elbow. “You are a mess. Easy does it.”
Carefully, she guided her cousin through the back door.
“How does Bill describe his patients who’ve gone
mad?” Judith asked, slumping into the nearest kitchen
chair.
“Clinically?” Renie responded, going to the cupboard where the liquor was kept.
With vacant eyes and mouth agape, Judith nodded.
“Crazy as a loon,” Renie replied, pouring her
cousin’s drink. “Tell me about the witch.”
It took Judith two big sips just to get started. She
scowled at the glass before she spoke. “I’m not only
insane, I’m turning into a drunk.”
“Hardly,” Renie said. “You’ve been through a lot the
last few days.”
“So I have.” Judith sighed, beginning to pull herself
together. “But I’m not seeing things. I don’t think.”
She proceeded to tell Renie about the apparition in the
driveway.
“A witch?” Renie said when Judith had finished the
horror story. “Maybe it was. It’s Halloween.”
“At this hour?” Judith glanced up at the schoolhouse
clock, which showed eleven on the dot. As if to underscore the time, applause and cheers could be heard
coming from the living room. “Then why didn’t whoever it was come to the door?” Judith asked, clutching
her drink as if it were a talisman against evil.
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Mary Daheim
“Maybe the witch went to the toolshed,” Renie
replied. “Your mother was probably still up, and with
the TV on and the lights out in the front of the house,
whoever it was may have thought everybody had gone
to bed.”
“That’s possible,” Judith allowed, then gave her
cousin a piercing look. “You don’t believe that. You’re
just trying to make me feel better.”
Renie winced. “Well—I’d like to make you feel better. Frankly, you look like bird poop.”
“Thanks. I feel like bird poop.”
“I’d better go home,” Renie said as the movie
watchers broke up and headed for bed. “Is there anything I can do before I leave?”
Judith slumped farther into the chair. “We still don’t
know who Crappy Pappy is.”
“Does it matter?” Renie asked gently as she stood
up.
“No.” Judith’s voice was lifeless. “Nothing does.”
“Coz!” Renie gave Judith a sharp slap on the back,
then let out a little yip. “I keep forgetting, I’m supposed to favor that arm and shoulder for a while
longer.”
Judith looked up. “Are you okay?”
Cringing a bit, Renie moved her right arm this way
and that. “I think so.” She sat down across from Judith.
“Maybe I should wait a couple of minutes. I only
started driving again in July. Even though the surgeon
assured me I couldn’t dislocate it again, I don’t want to
take a chance and wreck the car.”
“Don’t mention dislocating our body parts,” Judith
said, though there was evident relief in her voice. She
hadn’t wanted Renie to leave just yet. “I worry about
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297
my hip all the time. Unlike your shoulder, there are
certain things I can’t do because it’ll dislocate. I suppose that’s next—more major surgery.”
“Oh, coz!” Renie shook her head. “Don’t fuss so.
You’ll only—”
A banging at the front door startled both cousins.
“The witch?” Judith gasped.
“Dubious. Stay here, I’ll get it.”
“No,” Judith said, already on her feet. “Rest your
shoulder.”
With considerable trepidation, she went through the
dining room and the entry hall. Except for the small
Tiffany-style lamp on the table by the stairs, the rest of
the house was dark.
“Who is it?” Judith called through the door.
“Me,” came the voice on the other side. “Dade.
Dade Costello.”
“Oh!” Relieved, Judith hurriedly unlocked the door.
“Come in. I thought you had your key.”
“I did,” Dade said, rubbing at the back of his head.
“I guess I lost it.”
“Oh, dear,” Judith sighed. “Do you think it’s in your
room? When did you use it last?”
Dade shrugged. “I don’t know that I’ve used it at all.
Or did I?”
Judith couldn’t remember, either. But she didn’t
want a key to Hillside Manor in the wrong hands. Disconcerted by the latest calamity, she said the first thing
that came into her head: “Wasn’t it kind of miserable
for a walk this evening?”
“I didn’t walk that much,” Dade said in his soft
Southern drawl as he started for the stairs.
The response further muddled Judith. “Wait,” she
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Mary Daheim
called after the screenwriter. “Do you have your room
key or was it with the one to the house?” Guests were
always given the two keys on a simple ring with their
room number taped on the room key.
“Let me see.” Dade rummaged in the pockets of his
cargo pants. “Here,” he said, holding up a single key.
“It says Room Two. That’s me.”
“Yes,” Judith answered. “But you’re sure you don’t
have the house key lying loose in your pockets?”
“I already checked.” He shrugged again. “Sorry.”
Once more, Dade started up the stairs.
“One other thing,” Judith said, standing by the banister. “Who was C. Douglas Carp related to?”
He paused, frowning. “Hunh. I think Carp was some
relation of Bruno’s.”
“Are you sure?” she pressed.
“Well . . .” Dade looked up into the stairwell. “Carp
was his father-in-law at one time. Yes.” He nodded to
himself. “Bruno was married to somebody whose
maiden name was Carp. C. Douglas must have been
her daddy. Bruno always referred to him as Pappy.”
“The father of which wife?” Judith hoped she didn’t
sound eager.
Again, Dade looked puzzled. “It wasn’t the second
wife,” he said slowly. “I met her at the Cannes Film
Festival a couple of years ago.”
“That was the actress?” Judith prompted.
“Right. Taryn, Taryn McGuire. But she doesn’t act