by Edith Maxwell
This is our first Halloween short story of the season. Last week though we did have a Spooky one. You can find all of our Halloween/Spooky stories for this year in our Terrific Tales Section. This story has never before been published.
Maybe All Hallow’s Eve should be called All Hallow’s Evil, Dot Henderson mused as she watched the costumed Bostonians parade by that October night in 1926. A leering Harlequin slid into the shadows. A dark-hooded Death carried a scythe over his shoulder, while a red-forked tail sprang out from behind a statuesque Egyptian queen wearing a grotesque mask.
Dot gave her head a shake. “Shall we join in?” she asked her friend Amelia Earhart.
“Let’s.” The tall aviatrix held a broom and wore a shapeless black dress tied loosely at the waist with a cord.
“How did you decide on that getup?” Dot asked.
Amelia held up the broom. “Witches fly on brooms. I figured this wasn’t that different from the Kinner I take up on weekends.” She gave Dot’s costume a glance. “And you’ve clearly joined the Navy.”
“You like it?” Dot swaggered into a pivot, tugging her white sailor’s Dixie Cup cap into a more rakish angle over her bob. “I already had the middy blouse, and Aunt Etta helped me find these wide white trousers.”
“They suit you.”
Dot patted her pants to be sure she had her ciggies and silver lighter in one pocket, plus a clean handkerchief, and her slender flask in the other. Her stalwart maiden aunt, who lived in a brownstone on Beacon Hill, hadn’t let the wretched Volstead Act get in the way of enjoying a drink, and she didn’t mind Dot dipping into her stash of spirits.
“To the Halloween parade, my friend,” Amelia said.
The two friends walked arm in arm along the cobblestones of Beacon Hill toward the Boston Common. The gas streetlights flickered on this moonless Halloween night. Candles lit up the sly carved grins of jack o’ lanterns on doorsteps. Paper skeletons and black cats hung in windows. Three short figures––a clown, a ghost, and a prince––dashed along the side of the parade, snickering as they ran.
“Isn’t nine o’clock a little late for urchins to be out?” Amelia asked.
“It’s All Hallow’s Eve, my friend. Anything goes. Speaking of which, did you bring a mask?”
The pilot whisked a rubbery half-mask out of her pocket and slid the elastic over her tousled reddish-blond locks. “Do I look scary enough now?” The mask featured heavy dark eyebrows drawn into a frown over an enormous hooked nose with a wart on the end. She grinned.
“Like everyone’s nightmare of a what a witch looks like, except your gap-toothed smile rather spoils the effect.” Dot took a swig from her flask. She knew better than to offer it to teetotaler Amelia.
“Where’s your mask?”
“I decided to go without,” Dot said. “I don’t want to impede my eyesight in the least.”
“Spoken like a true lady PI.” Amelia pointed at a garden gate now hanging from a lamp post. “Somebody was getting up to hijinks last evening.”
“That’s why they call it Mischief Night. All tricks and no treats.”
“Rascals put a wagon on the roof of my mother’s garage in Medford. She was hard put to find a man who could lift it down.”
In their section of the parade, spooks walked alongside ballerinas and a soldier escorted a lady in a narrow Chinese dress. A cowboy strutted next to a colonial dame. Lanterns bobbed, and several shorter participants carried poles holding candles flickering inside metal jack-o’lanterns.
Dot lit up a smoke and puffed as they strolled. She offered a cigarette to Amelia, but she shook her head and pointed to her rubber nose. Both women started when a series of firecrackers went off on the sidewalk, which added the smell of sulfur to the air.
Soon they reached the Common, where the parade ended at the domed Parkman bandstand. Dark shadows lurked behind the surrounding trees, although the players on the circular stage and their instruments were well-lit.
A too-thin Santa Claus with red horns poking up from his white hair, his face covered by a red mask in a gruesome smile, stepped in front of Dot and Amelia.
“A treat, ladies?” he growled, proffering candy in an open burlap sack.
“No, thank you.” Dot took a step back.
Those sweets could be poisoned or contain sharp objects. She shot Amelia a glance to warn her off the man, but her friend had already turned away. A news article earlier in the week had addressed increased poisonings in the city, but the police hadn’t yet brought the culprit to justice. A brief clip in this morning’s Boston Herald mentioned a suspicious death after last night’s vandalism and mused that poison might be the cause.
The band struck up a tune with “Bogey Wail.” There was no dance floor, but Dot couldn’t help moving in place to Jack Hylton’s catchy number.
Amelia sang along to the chorus.
Dot laughed. “At least they’re not playing ‘Undertaker’s Blues.’ That Halloween number isn’t a dance tune in the least.”
“You’re right. It’s more of a dirge. By George, there’s Smitty.” Amelia gestured across the crowd toward a man in a British bobby’s costume. “I’m going to pop over and say hello.”
“I’ll wait here.” Dot had met the newspaper reporter last summer and found something untrustworthy about him, but Amelia had struck up a friendship with the man.
The next tune was just as lively. Dot did love dancing, but this wasn’t the venue. Everyone seemed to be using the tunes as a backdrop for their merriment. She took another swig from her flask. She wasn’t the only one imbibing, either.
Dot leaned against a lamp post smoking and tapping her toe to the music. She’d returned to her PI agency in Pasadena, California in August after she and Amelia had first solved an arson case, and then figured out who was attacking and killing young immigrant women in Boston and surrounds.
Aunt Etta had recently requested her niece return east when several women associated with Denison House, the settlement house where Amelia worked, had fallen ill from poisoning. Dot had arrived a week earlier. So far, she hadn’t made much progress in solving the crimes, but she’d interviewed the victims––who’d all blessedly survived––and made several inquiries.
The unsavory Saint Nick still went from person to person, offering whatever it was he carried in his bag. He approached a park bench and leaned toward a pirate complete with eyepatch, headscarf, and a stuffed parrot on his shoulder.
The pirate seemed to accept the treat, and Santa turned away. On reconsideration, Dot made her way toward him.
“I’d like a treat after all, sir, if I might,” she said, holding out her palm.
“For you, good-looking, anything.” He fished out a candy wrapped in cellophane and laid it in her palm, folding her fingers over it and squeezing.
Dot concealed her shudder and pulled her hand away. At least he wore white gloves, which she’d forgone for herself, thinking they wouldn’t be a good fit with her sailor outfit.
“Eat it now, doll,” he growled. “That’s the rule.”
“I’ll decide what I eat when.” She flashed him a cool smile as she slid the candy into her pocket.
He extended his hand. “Then give it back.”
Dot, taking a quick step to her rear, found Amelia and Smitty at her side and raised her voice. “I’m surprised at you. The real Santa Claus never reneges on a gift.”
A dozen faces around them turned toward the red-clad man. He grumbled and trudged away with a hitch in his gait.
“Are you all right, Dot?” Amelia asked.
“I am, thank you, but that candyman is downright creepy.” She stared at his back until he melted into the crowd. “I think I’m ready to leave.”
“It’s too early for gorgeous gals like yourselves to go home.” Smitty twirled a whistle on a cord. “What say we three head over to Big Buster’s dance hall and cut a rug?”
“Not for me, Smitty.” Dot glanced at the bench. The pirate had keeled over sideways and was vomiting on the ground. “Oh, no.” She hurried to the person’s side.
Amelia rushed after her. “What’s happened?”
“Fake Saint Nick gave this man a sweet.” Dot, avoiding the smelly puddle below, pressed two fingers into the smooth skin of the pirate’s neck below the jaw. “The pulse is faint. He’s unconscious but alive, thank goodness.”
“Um, Dot? This pirate is a woman.” Amelia pointed to the face, unmarred by any hint of a beard, and at the faint swelling of her chest beneath the full-sleeved shirt.
“You’re right.” Dot frowned.
“What’s a lady doing on a park bench by herself on Halloween night?” Smitty pulled out a small notebook and a pencil and began scribbling.
“Good question,” Dot said. “A now severely ill lady, unfortunately. Smitty, how about you take a step away from us and blow that whistle until some real policemen arrive?”
He grimaced but pocketed his writing gear and did as Dot suggested. Soon enough a uniformed constable hurried up.
“What’s the meaning of this, sir?” he asked Smitty.
Dot stepped forward, her words rushing out. “A man dressed as a combination Devil and Santa Claus has been handing out candy to all takers. He convinced this lady to take one. Now she’s unconscious and barely has a pulse.”
The policeman blinked, then gazed at the poor pirate. “That’s a girl, then?”
“Seems so,” Dot said. “You and your force need to urgently summon medical help and then mount a search for the Santa with the devil’s horns and mask. He walks with a limp and is about your own height, officer. He headed toward Beacon Hill.” She pointed up toward the gold-domed statehouse.
He cocked his head, frowning at her. “Observant you are, then.”
“She’s an accomplished private investigator, sir.” Amelia beamed with pride.
Another policeman strolled up, swinging his night stick into his palm. “Need assistance, McGuire?”
“In fact, yes.” He pointed at the bench. “That lady there appears to be in dire straits. You watch her and make sure she doesn’t expire. Can you do that?”
“My ma’s a midwife,” the officer said. “Leave the pirate to me. I won’t let her die.”
“Please alert the doctor for traces of poison in her stomach,” Dot said.
The newcomer’s eyebrows flew up.
“She’s a lady PI,” his colleague told him. “I’m off to fetch an ambulance wagon and then reinforcements to look for the villain, apparently a Santa Claus in a Devil’s mask.”
“And horns,” Amelia added.
Dot quickly gave the first officer her name and Etta’s address. “I hope you’ll act with alacrity to avoid further poisonings.”
McGuire squinted and rubbed his brow as if confused by the fancy word.
“She means to hurry.” The second officer knelt near the victim and loosened the pirate’s neckerchief.
“Yes, miss,” McGuire said. “You folks be careful this evening.”
“Always, sir.” Amelia pulled off her mask and gave him her trademark smile.
He gaped. “You’re Miss Earhart, the lady pilot.”
“At your service, officer.” Amelia loved it when people recognized her.
“Sir, you might want to preserve that candy wrapper that’s on the ground,” Dot told the officer next to the pirate.
“Yes, miss.” He picked it up with a handkerchief and slid it into his pocket.
“It’s a pity we don’t have a megaphone handy,” Amelia said.
“To warn people not to eat the candy the Devil offered them?” Smitty asked.
“Precisely.”
Dot grabbed Amelia’s elbow. “Let’s go. I have an idea,”
“Come with us, Smitty,” Amelia urged.
He looked tempted but begged off, saying he needed to stay and file the story about the candy-bearing devil.
“What’s your thought?” Amelia asked as Dot hurried her toward Etta’s townhouse. “And why didn’t you give the cop the candy Santa pressed on you?”
“I’m not entirely sure those two policemen can be trusted not to lose it. My aunt knows a man with a laboratory at Massachusetts General Hospital, which isn’t far from her home. Let’s see if we can get the candy analyzed right away. Maybe that poor lady pirate will stay alive long enough for a doctor to administer an antidote.”
“I like a girl with a plan.” Amelia tossed her mask into a bush she passed.
“You’re all done being a witch?” Dot smiled.
“The mask is too hot and too ugly. And I’m desperate for a ciggie.” She pulled a crumpled smoke out of her pocket and tried to straighten it out. “Lend me your lighter?”
“Sure. You know, if you had a cigarette case or the original packet, that thing wouldn’t look like a piece of trash.” Dot flipped open her lighter for her friend. Amelia never carried a handbag and was ever fishing cigarettes out of her pockets, which invariably looked like this smoke – or worse.
As they walked, the music from the bandstand faded along with the commotion of the carousers.
“That poor girl,” Amelia mused. “I wonder why she was sitting alone like that. She couldn’t have been much older than we are, if any.”
“I agree. She was certainly no more than thirty.”
“And her costume was in good repair,” Amelia added. “She didn’t look like a person down on her luck.”
“Who knows? Maybe her beau or her sister went off to fetch smokes or refreshments.”
“Could be.”
Dot glanced behind her. She whipped her face forward.
“Amelia,” she whispered. “Evil Santa Claus is back there.” Dot pulled the pilot into the next recessed doorway and whispered a plan even as she untied her sailor scarf and readied it.
Amelia nodded, gripping the broom handle with both hands. Dot gave a quick peek around the corner of the building.
“He’s alone a half block away and muttering,” she murmured. “Doesn’t seem to have seen us. Ready?”
Amelia gripped the boom handle. Dot listened for the plodding of the black boots, the grumbled curses.
She gave Amelia a nod. The second his forward leg appeared, Amelia braced herself and stuck the pole in front of his shins.
He cried out, tripping, arms wheeling as he fell forward onto the pavement. His bag went flying. Dot planted her shoe on his back. Amelia laid the broomstick across his ankles and sat on them. He struggled, cursing, but Dot managed to grab both his hands and wrap the neckerchief around his bony wrists several times, knotting it as tightly as she could pull it.
He reared his head up and to the side. “What are you evil tarts doing? Get away from me.” He’d removed his Devil’s mask somewhere along the way. Unmasked, his face was painted with vitriol.
“We’re making sure you don’t poison any other people in Boston,” Dot said.
“I never!” He spat at her foot but the spittle fell short.
“We’ll let the police be the judge of that, them and the courts.” Dot kept her voice calm. “The last woman to whom you gave candy is dead, I’ll have you know.” Or she might be by the time she got to the hospital.
“Good damned riddance,” he growled. “May she rot in hell.”
“What do you have against ladies?” Amelia asked, her tone curious.
He scowled at her. “My mother hated me. The nuns at school couldn’t stand me. My wife left me. They’re all sluts and whores.”
“Unlike Smitty, I didn’t bring my whistle tonight,” Dot said to Amelia, “How about you go look for a passing policeman, since this area doesn’t seem to have one patrolling his beat?”
The Santa Devil began kicking and twisting.
“I shall, but it’s not a good idea to leave you alone with him.” Amelia untied her makeshift belt. She wove the cord in a figure eight around his ankles and gave the knot a good tug. “This should help. Just stay clear of him, all right?”
As she pushed up to standing, a cop came toward them at a trot, followed by Smitty.
“You girls okay?” Smitty called out.
“Everything’s under control,” Dot replied.
The young patrolman slowed to a walk, his jaw agape. “I should say it is.”
“Please secure this man,” Dot said to the cop. “I believe he’s responsible for the spate of recent poisonings, including a woman tonight at the festivities on the Common.”
“Yes, miss. You and your friend did good work here.” He knelt and handcuffed the brute, then returned Dot’s scarf to her.
“I don’t need that old cord.” Amelia flashed him a big smile. “Keep it if it’s useful to you to keep this fellow under control.”
He blushed. “Thank you, miss.”
“Watch the man, now,” Smitty said. “He’s escaped you lot before.”
“Yes, sir.” The young officer held his night stick at the ready.
Uniformed reinforcements arrived, and it didn’t take long before the devil was bundled into a paddywagon.
Dot invited Smitty to walk with them toward her aunt’s. She still wanted to have the candy analyzed.
“How’d you know to follow us?” Amelia asked the reporter.
“I was composing my story on the spot when I realized I recognized his voice,” Smitty began. “I grabbed the nearest real cop and came at a run in the direction you two had gone.”
“Who is the gent?” Amelia asked.
“An escaped criminal, as I mentioned to the copper.” Smitty raised his eyebrows. “The scoundrel was in jail for assaulting a nun, if you can imagine. Except he managed to conk his guard on the head and escape.”
“He told us how much he hates women,” Dot murmured. “All of them, apparently.”
“There are men who have no luck in love, whether from their mothers or in finding a girfriend or wife,” Amelia said. “They act the part of the revengeful victim and blame their situation on the ladies who reject them. It’d be sad if they weren’t so malicious.”
Dot nodded. “What’s the fellow’s name?” she asked Smitty.
“An odd one, Miss Henderson,” he said. “He’s called Hildreth Garp.”
Her eyes widened. “One of the Denison House ladies who fell ill mentioned that she thought Garp was the culprit.”
“Do you know what kind of poison acts that quickly and can be put in a piece of candy?” Smitty asked Dot.
“Not for certain. I don’t have extensive experience with toxins, but I’m sure the hospital laboratory will inform us.”
“The pirate vomited,” Amelia said. “That could be an important symptom.”
“Yes,” Dot agreed. “Smitty, have most of the victims ultimately survived? The ones at Denison House have.”
“Yes, most of them.” The reporter nodded. “Two didn’t, but they lived alone and likely couldn’t summon help in time.”
The threesome arrived at Etta’s brownstone.
“This is my aunt’s home. Would you like to come up with us?” Dot asked Smitty.
“No, thank you. I’m off to file the story, and I hope to grab the scoop.”
“You’ll be sure to include a warning?” Dot asked. “Anyone who accepted a candy from Hildreth Garp, whether he was dressed as Santa Devil or not, should not eat the sweet and should relinquish it to the police.”
“At the very least, throw it away where no child or animal can ingest it,” Amelia added.
“I shall.” Smitty’s expression was somber. “This is a horrible crime, isn’t it? Passing off poison as candies.”
“It certainly is. I hope you get your scoop.” Dot held out her hand.
Smitty shook it, and Amelia’s too. “Thank you, ladies. I’ll be seeing you.” He jogged down the hill toward the elevated train.
“We’ll take a raincheck for that dance,” Amelia called after him.
He waved an acknowledgment without turning back.
“I rather think Smitty has gone up in my estimation.” Dot smiled as she watched him go.
“He means well. Shall we inquire about a laboratory, Sailor?”
“Aye-aye, Hag.”
They needed to be sure no one else would fall victim to an evil poisoner.
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What a fun short story! Thank you!