4. Tricked
Tricked
The hot toddy had not only made me feisty, it had made me contemplative. “Who do kids say ‘trick or treat?’ It would make more sense to say ‘treat or trick.’”
“Why?” Francie asked.
“Because a trick is the consequence you get if you don’t provide a treat.
It’s an if-then scenario. If the person provides a treat, then no trick will be played on them.
If they don’t provide a treat, then they’ll be tricked.
The ‘if’ question of the treat determines whether there will ‘then’ be a trick. ”
She tilted her head one way, then the other, considering. “Maybe it’s the other way around. If you don’t want to be tricked, then you must provide a treat. In that case ‘trick-or-treat’ makes sense.”
“It’s like the philosophical chicken and egg question. Which came first.”
Francie put the back of her hand to her forehead, as if she had a headache.
“This conversation is much too deep for my rum-addled mind.” She plopped down on the couch, holding her drink in one hand and picking up the remote with the other.
She aimed it at the television. “Let’s watch ‘Practical Magic.’”
The chick flick was the perfect movie for the evening.
Though it had been largely panned when it was first released in the late 1990’s, the movie later became a cult classic.
I’d first watched it with my mother years ago.
I planned to introduce Lila to the movie next year, when she was officially old enough to watch a PG-13 movie.
Over the next hour, a never-ending parade of children came to the door seeking candy.
They ranged in age from toddlers to teens, and were dressed in costumes that varied from darling to creepy to so sexy I was tempted to ask “Does your mother know you’re wearing that?
” Meanwhile, I sipped on my second hot toddy, one with just a dash of spiced rum.
Every time the doorbell rang and I got up to hand out candy, Francie paused the movie so I wouldn’t miss any of the action.
At half past seven, the doorbell rang again.
I opened it to find a single trick-or-treater dressed as a ghost, the Peanuts Gang type, wearing a simple white bedsheet with small holes in the fabric to see out of.
With the sheet billowing out around the child inside, it was impossible to tell exactly whether the ghost was a boy or a girl, but the fact that the top of their head came only to my chest said the kid was likely around six or seven.
The fabric puddled around their feet, hiding their shoes and creating a tripping hazard.
Not only had this child come to the door alone, but no parent waited on the sidewalk.
The child seemed too small to be out on their own.
The ghost held out their plastic pumpkin, their fingers gripping the handle through the white sheet.
With their head tilted down, I couldn’t see the child’s eyes through the cutouts.
I could only see the pale skin of their lids.
“Twick or tweet!” the kid called in a squeaky, high-pitched voice that sounded like something out of a cartoon.
I fished a pack of Skittles out of my bowl and was about to place it into the pumpkin when the kid fell forward onto their knees in my foyer.
At least I assumed they’d fallen to their knees.
It was impossible to tell exactly what was going on underneath that enormous sheet.
The child dropped their plastic pumpkin as they fell.
The pumpkin landed on its side and rolled across the floor, its contents spilling onto the tile.
“Oh no!” the child cried, putting their sheet-covered hands to their cheeks.
The poor kid would never be able to collect the spilled candy in that get-up. “Don’t worry,” I assured them. “I’ll get it.”
I knelt down on the floor and scooped up the candy, returning it to the pumpkin.
The candy was cheap, off-brand stuff, mostly hard cinnamon and butterscotch candies.
The neighbors seemed to have gone cheap this year.
When I’d finally collected it all, I cradled the pumpkin in the crook of my arm. “Where are your parents, hon?”
The child hesitated a moment, then turned back and gestured to a couple approaching on the sidewalk. The father pulled a toddler in a Radio Flyer wagon. The mother pointed at my spider. “Look,” she told her little one. “A spooky spider!”
The ghost must have been excited and run ahead of the rest of their family. My worries quashed, I held out the pumpkin. The ghost grabbed it and turned to go, waddling awkwardly, the fabric gathering around their feet and threatening to trip them again.
“Be careful!” I called after them before shutting the door.
My buns had barely touched the sofa when the doorbell rang again.
This time, two skinny teen girls dressed as mummies stood at the door.
They’d wrapped their torsos, limbs, and faces in ace bandages, leaving gaps for their mouths, nose, and eyes.
The costume was simple yet fun. “Trick or treat!” they called in unison.
After I gave each of them a pack of candy, one of them held up an orange box with the UNICEF logo on it. “Would you like to make a donation to UNICEF?”
“I’d be happy to.” I admired these girls for doing something good for the world while they collected half their body weight in candy. Besides, thanks in part to Officer Steele’s big tip, I’d had an especially good day at the restaurant. I could spare a few bucks for the less fortunate.
I turned to the console table and opened the drawer where I kept the cash envelope. Other than a ballpoint pen and a small pad of sticky notes, the drawer was empty. What the?—?
I bent over and peered into the drawer to see if the envelope might have somehow gotten stuck in the back.
Nope. I reached inside and felt around above the drawer, too.
Nothing. I looked on the floor under the table.
It wasn’t there, either. Finally, I pulled the drawer completely out of the table and peered into the space.
It was empty. The cash envelope wasn’t there.
Where could the envelope have gone? Could I have carried it off without thinking? I doubted it. I wouldn’t be so negligent with nearly three-hundred dollars in cash.
“Hold on,” I told the mummies. “I’ll have to write you a check.”
I hustled to my bedroom, where I’d stashed my purse, and retrieved my checkbook.
I scurried back to the front door. By then, six other trick-or-treaters had gathered on my doorstep and Francie had taken over candy distribution duties.
I wrote out a check to UNICEF for fifteen dollars, folded it into quarters, and tucked it into the slot on the girl’s box.
Once the group had gone, I turned to Francie. “My cash envelope has disappeared!” I pulled open the drawer and pointed into it. “I normally keep it right here.”
She cocked her head. “Are you sure Lila or Landon didn’t take it?”
“They know better,” I told her. “The rule is that I’m the only one who can take cash from it. They have to ask if they need money, and I get it out for them.”
“When did you last see it?” she asked.
“This afternoon, when I put my tips in it.”
“Who’s been in your house since then?”
“Only you, and I know you didn’t take it.” I bit my lip. “I just don’t see how it could be gone. Not unless someone broke in while I was changing my clothes.” There’d been no sign of forced entry, though, and nobody other than me and my kids knew the code for the keypad.
Francie cocked her head to the other side. “What about Dakota?”
I shook my head. “I changed the passcode the night I threw him out.”
“Think the kids told him the new code?”
“He has no reason to need it,” I said. “Besides, they’d probably have told me if he’d asked for it.”
“Maybe he saw them enter the number on the keypad when he brought them home.”
It was possible, I supposed. Still, it seemed highly unlikely. “I just can’t see Dakota stealing from me.”
Her face soured. “He cheated on you. Did you see that coming?”
She had a point, but taking my hard-earned money would be low, even for him.
I racked my brain but came up with nothing.
I pondered aloud. “There were a few people who came to the house recently that saw me take cash from the drawer—the guy who delivered the box of Halloween candy and two kids who were fundraising for the high school band.” Though I’d paid the college kid who’d cleaned my gutters with a twenty from the drawer, he’d been outside working when I’d rounded up his payment along with the tip for the delivery driver.
Francine’s brows formed a V as she contemplated the theft.
“Delivery trucks are all over the neighborhood all the time, right? You probably wouldn’t have paid much attention if a truck was sitting across the street.
Maybe the driver used binoculars to watch you or your kids open the front door, and obtained your passcode that way. ”
Though it was an interesting theory, I didn’t think it was a viable one. “We normally stand in front of the keypad when we push the numbers. I think our bodies would have blocked the view. Besides, the delivery driver wasn’t pale. Neither were the band kids. The ghost had pale eyelids.”
“What about your security camera?” she said. “You think someone might have hacked into the feed and obtained your lock code that way?”
Again, I shook my head. I pulled out my phone and showed her the feed from the camera mounted over our front door. From the angle, the keypad was not visible.
I raised my palms. “It’s like a ghost took it.”
Then it dawned on me. Maybe a ghost actually did take it. A ghost in a cheap white bedsheet, who’d distracted me by dropping their candy in my foyer. A ghost who’d done all they could to keep me from seeing their eyes. Could they have been brown eyes with amber flecks a girl could get lost in?
I turned to look at my kitchen window. Though all I could see now was the reflection of the steaming pot of cider in the dark glass, when Joey climbed the ladder to clean the gutters over the window he could have easily spotted me taking cash from the drawer.
He’d had trouble walking under the sheet earlier tonight because he’d been crouched down. It all makes sense now!
To confirm my suspicions, Francie and I reviewed the footage from my porch camera.
After I closed the door and the ghost turned to go, he stood up, gaining at least two feet in height.
The sheet no longer reached the ground and revealed a pair of distinctive, expensive sneakers, the same ones Joey had been wearing when he’d cleaned my gutters.
It’s him! He pulled the envelope out from under the sheet and slid it into his pumpkin.
He must not have noticed the security camera behind the bats hanging on the porch.
I turned to Francie. “I can hardly believe it. I paid him double what he asked for to clean my gutters, and this is the thanks I get?” If he thought he’d get away with this, he was sorely mistaken. “Keep passing out the candy,” I told her. “I’m heading out to bust a ghost!”