Trick or Treachery by Jessica Fletcher

across the school foyer right after the Halloween pageant and before that, I believe was when you went to investigate the report of the missing Wandowski child and I tagged along. As you know, we hardly spoke with her at the time.”
    “She was kind of a contradiction, wasn’t she?” Mort mused, making a note to himself. “She had those cold eyes, but she baked cookies with the little girl.”
    “Some people find it easier to communicate with children than they do with other adults. Perhaps she was lonely, and the child offered her a bit of companionship.”
    “Maybe. See anything out of the ordinary tonight?”
    “Other than a hundred people in costumes and masks?”
    Mort looked down at his fringed shirt and shook his head. “Any ideas where we should start with that group out there?”
    “We?”
    “I hate to keep you up, but I’d be obliged if you’d stay in here and listen to what they have to say. Wouldn’t be the first time you picked up on something I missed. I mean, that hasn’t happened often, but I just figured—”
    “Of course, Mort. You know I’ll do anything to help.”
    “Let’s do some of this in batches before we have a revolt on our hands,” he said. “Harold, bring in the Lerners. And give these car keys to my wife.” To me: “If Maureen doesn’t get some sleep tonight, I’ll feel the sharp side of her tongue tomorrow. She’s got a meeting of the School Lunch Committee first thing in the morning.”
    “Sure you want to interview couples together?” I asked. “I thought you always preferred one-on-one interviews.”
    “I do, Mrs. F., under most circumstances. But considering the time of night, and the fact that the couples we know wouldn’t be murdering anybody, I’d like to get it over with as fast as possible. Just want to know what they might have seen.”
    I removed my shawl, folded it over the wig, got up and went to a cushioned window seat. As an unofficial observer, I wanted to be as unobtrusive as possible. Mort was right. It was unlikely that one of our group was a murderer. Except for the Lerners, who were recent arrivals, we’d known one another for years. But perhaps someone did see something that would provide a clue to the perpetrator. Of course, I didn’t know Wandowski to speak to, and certainly not Tremaine. It would be interesting to hear what they had to say.
    Harold escorted Joan and Ed Lerner into the room, followed by Mort’s wife, Maureen. All that was left of her elaborate makeup were dark arcs under her eyes where the mascara had smudged. “Sure you want me to leave?” she asked.
    “Yup, you go on home, honey. I can ask you all the questions I need to over breakfast.” He grinned. She came behind the desk, kissed him on the cheek and left.
    Mort said to Harold, “Go see how the state cops are doing down at the crime scene. And check to make sure Jerry has enough guys to cover the shifts guarding the taped area.”
    “Sure thing, Sheriff.”
    Mort repeated to the Lerners the few questions he’d asked me. Ed Lerner tried, and failed, to stifle a series of yawns. He gave Mort a wan smile and said, “I’m not much of a witness, Sheriff. I can’t think of anything that would be helpful. We never even met the lady who was killed. What about you, Joan?”
    “Well, let me think,” his wife said. “You know, we’re new here, so we don’t know everyone. And with all the costumes, especially the moose ones . . .” Her eyes narrowed as she concentrated on the evening’s events. Being a witness in a murder investigation had given her a second wind. I raised my glasses and glanced at my watch. It was two-thirty.
    “I do recall seeing one of the moose walking away from the party. I remember wondering why he was leaving so early,” she said.
    “And where did you see this moose?” Mort asked.
    “Well, he was walking toward the cemetery. I didn’t know about the cemetery then, but I do now, since we ran through it before finding the body. I