Pennsylvania, but he was first a survivor and would save himself whatever the cost.
“I don’t do pumpkins, you know that,” Sid said. “But no, I wouldn’t go downstairs dressed like this. Do I ever?”
“I’m just reminding you,” said Dylan as he straightened magazines on the coffee table. It was part of a fastidiousness bordering on obsession. He turned to Sid suddenly and asked, “Are we doing the right thing? After Teddy, I mean? Is this all too unseemly?”
Sid went to Dylan and put his large, comforting arms around him. He felt Dylan slump into him, letting his body lean against the older, bigger man.
“Teddy would be completely disappointed if we didn’t,” Sid said. “And really, do you think he’d want us bringing even more attention to how he died? Some alcoholics just can’t make it.”
“Most, from what I’ve read. I just feel so bad for him.”
“We all do.”
“Oh my God,” Dylan said, pulling away. “Who’s going to tell Happy? They’d broken up, but still . . . “
“Nobody knows where Happy is,” Sid said. “It’s not something we can worry about. He’ll find out however he finds out. Now let’s get ready and go downstairs. I won’t carve, but I can watch.”
Sid headed for the closet to pick out something appropriate for joining his guests. As he stood flipping through his slacks, he reflected on the timing of it all: Sam’s death, someone coming after him, Teddy’s drunken fall into the pool. And Happy, of course, but Happy was young and impetuous and had probably just run off for a few days.
Sam’s death.
Someone coming after him.
Teddy’s drunken fall into the pool.
Sid wondered if there could possibly be a connection, and if anyone else was making it, too.
Chapter 13
All the Jack-O-Lanterns
T here were two main events required for the success of the Halloween weekend at Pride Lodge. One was the costume party on Saturday night, when the lower level karaoke room and the adjacent piano bar were turned into one large dance floor with the busiest bar of the year, and the other was the annual pumpkin carving held in the Lodge’s great room. Tables, carvers and pumpkins would spill over onto the porch in good weather or into the restaurant if it was raining. And while some of the guests skipped the pumpkin carving, most showed up and picked out one of several pre-drawn pumpkin designs or, if they were really in the spirit, brought their own pattern.
The pumpkins were lined up on temporary tables set out in a U-shape jutting from the fireplace. There wasn’t any fire yet—that would come later in the year—so no one was in danger of running out of the door in flames. Next to each pumpkin was a small serrated metal stickpin used to saw along the lines of the Jack-O-Lantern pattern. There were also several X-Acto knives for the more experienced and determined. Dylan, who oversaw the carving (which was also a contest with first prize being a weekend for two at the Lodge), warned everyone to only use an X-Acto knife if they knew what they were doing and if they were prepared for the loss of blood—the Lodge assumed no liability.
Ricki had displayed the paper patterns along the top of the check-in desk and was offering them up with the occasional suggestion. “That’s not you, really, try the witch,” or, “This might be a little too complicated for someone of such simple tastes. Here’s a cat, it has your name on it.” Ricki loved Halloween more than any other time of year at Pride Lodge, so much that he’d temporarily forgotten about poor Teddy and the horrifying events of the morning. He had meant to call that detective and tell her about an argument he’d heard the night before between Sid and Teddy, but it surely meant nothing. Besides, he’d mentioned it to both Kyle and that strange woman, Bo, when each had stopped by the desk after lunch. He had the feeling they were pumping him for information, though he couldn’t imagine why, and all he
“I don’t do pumpkins, you know that,” Sid said. “But no, I wouldn’t go downstairs dressed like this. Do I ever?”
“I’m just reminding you,” said Dylan as he straightened magazines on the coffee table. It was part of a fastidiousness bordering on obsession. He turned to Sid suddenly and asked, “Are we doing the right thing? After Teddy, I mean? Is this all too unseemly?”
Sid went to Dylan and put his large, comforting arms around him. He felt Dylan slump into him, letting his body lean against the older, bigger man.
“Teddy would be completely disappointed if we didn’t,” Sid said. “And really, do you think he’d want us bringing even more attention to how he died? Some alcoholics just can’t make it.”
“Most, from what I’ve read. I just feel so bad for him.”
“We all do.”
“Oh my God,” Dylan said, pulling away. “Who’s going to tell Happy? They’d broken up, but still . . . “
“Nobody knows where Happy is,” Sid said. “It’s not something we can worry about. He’ll find out however he finds out. Now let’s get ready and go downstairs. I won’t carve, but I can watch.”
Sid headed for the closet to pick out something appropriate for joining his guests. As he stood flipping through his slacks, he reflected on the timing of it all: Sam’s death, someone coming after him, Teddy’s drunken fall into the pool. And Happy, of course, but Happy was young and impetuous and had probably just run off for a few days.
Sam’s death.
Someone coming after him.
Teddy’s drunken fall into the pool.
Sid wondered if there could possibly be a connection, and if anyone else was making it, too.
Chapter 13
All the Jack-O-Lanterns
T here were two main events required for the success of the Halloween weekend at Pride Lodge. One was the costume party on Saturday night, when the lower level karaoke room and the adjacent piano bar were turned into one large dance floor with the busiest bar of the year, and the other was the annual pumpkin carving held in the Lodge’s great room. Tables, carvers and pumpkins would spill over onto the porch in good weather or into the restaurant if it was raining. And while some of the guests skipped the pumpkin carving, most showed up and picked out one of several pre-drawn pumpkin designs or, if they were really in the spirit, brought their own pattern.
The pumpkins were lined up on temporary tables set out in a U-shape jutting from the fireplace. There wasn’t any fire yet—that would come later in the year—so no one was in danger of running out of the door in flames. Next to each pumpkin was a small serrated metal stickpin used to saw along the lines of the Jack-O-Lantern pattern. There were also several X-Acto knives for the more experienced and determined. Dylan, who oversaw the carving (which was also a contest with first prize being a weekend for two at the Lodge), warned everyone to only use an X-Acto knife if they knew what they were doing and if they were prepared for the loss of blood—the Lodge assumed no liability.
Ricki had displayed the paper patterns along the top of the check-in desk and was offering them up with the occasional suggestion. “That’s not you, really, try the witch,” or, “This might be a little too complicated for someone of such simple tastes. Here’s a cat, it has your name on it.” Ricki loved Halloween more than any other time of year at Pride Lodge, so much that he’d temporarily forgotten about poor Teddy and the horrifying events of the morning. He had meant to call that detective and tell her about an argument he’d heard the night before between Sid and Teddy, but it surely meant nothing. Besides, he’d mentioned it to both Kyle and that strange woman, Bo, when each had stopped by the desk after lunch. He had the feeling they were pumping him for information, though he couldn’t imagine why, and all he
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