Halloween Hijinks (A Zoe Donovan Mystery Book 1) (3 page)

“Hey
, squirt.” My arch nemesis, Zak Zimmerman, walked into the room and sat down beside me.

“What are you doing here?
” I wasn’t pleased at the unexpected arrival of our local computer genius and all-around pain in my ass.

“I r
an into Levi at The Pub last night and he encouraged me to join your little group.”

“Terrific,” I groaned
.

My disdain for Zak
is one of long-standing, with historical roots planted as far back as the seventh grade. In retrospect, I guess the incident, which led to months of uncontrolled sobbing and persistent feelings of self-loathing on my part, wasn’t entirely his fault. He beat me quite soundly in the mathathon, for which I’d been studying relentlessly for almost three months. Yes, I was humiliated when I discovered that he’d only just found out about the event the previous day, indicating that he had spent virtually no time wallowing, as I had, in academic angst. Yes, I’d invited my maternal grandparents, a scary couple I’d met only a handful of times yet still inexplicably wanted to please, and yes, miracle of miracles, this untouchable couple, who valued achievement above all else, actually agreed to come to this lowly competition after being assured by my overachieving mother that I was the brightest student in the class and would win by a landslide.

“Perhaps your time would be better spent on one of the other to
wn committees,” I suggested. “I hear they always need volunteers for litter control.”

“
Is that your way of saying you missed me?”

It had
been over a year since Zak had been home. While I spent most of my high school years studying my brains out in an attempt to beat Zak at—well, pretty much anything—he was busy building a software company in his garage. Seven days after his twenty-first birthday, he sold the enterprise to Microsoft for tens of millions of dollars, and he’s been dividing his time between Ashton Falls and the rest of the world ever since.

“
About as much as I miss the stomach flu I got last winter,” I shot back. Truth be told, I did sort of miss the gadfly, but I’d sooner spend the winter cleaning the grease pit at the Burger Barn than admit it.

Zak just smiled and winked
. A familiar gesture he knows I hate. The thing about Zak is that he knows I loathe him and yet he goes out of his way to be sugar and spice and everything nauseating. It drives me totally insane, which, I have decided, has been his plan all along. Deciding not to fall victim to the egghead’s little mind games, I changed the subject to the one thing we both actually agree on: our love for our four-legged best friends.

“How’s Lambda?
” I asked, referring to the shelter dog Zak adopted four years ago.

“He’s good
. He developed a bit of arthritis in his bum leg, but I got some medication and he seems to be doing better. I’ve been working up his endurance by walking him along the lakeshore since we’ve been home.”

“That’s a good idea
, but don’t overdo it,” I warned. “Other than the leg everything seems to be okay?”

“Yeah, he seems happy
. He’s glad to be home. I think he missed you.”

“Yeah, I missed him
, too,” I said and meant it. Lambda, a chocolate lab, had been involved in a run-in with a black bear. Near death when I found him, I brought him to the shelter and nursed him back to health with the help of my assistant, Jeremy Fisher, and our volunteer shelter veterinarian, Scott Walden. Lambda was a young dog at the time of the attack and healed quickly, but his altercation left him with some permanent disabilities, and I worried about his ability to age gracefully.

“I’l
l bring him by the shelter sometime this week,” Zak volunteered. “I know he’d love to see you.”

“That would be nice
. I’m sure Scott and Jeremy would love to see him, too.”

I was spared the
need to make further chitchat by the arrival of Ellie and my dad, both of whom greeted Zak with warm hugs and heartfelt wishes. Sometimes I feel awash in a sea of Zak lovers. No one really gets why the guy irritates me so much, and most think my disdain for his very existence is petty and mean-spirited. Sometimes even I don’t understand why the guy pushes my buttons the way no one else can. Sure, I came in second to his first in every science fair, math Olympics, and spelling bee I entered from the day I first laid eyes on him in the seventh grade to the day we both graduated in the twelfth. But that was years ago, and you’d think I’d be over it by now. Could it be that everyone is right and I really am being spiteful?

I was saved the agony of
further self-analysis by the arrival of the other members of the Ashton Falls Events Committee. I receive a good 30 percent of my budget from fund-raising activities, so I have a good reason to be involved. Other committee members include Levi, whose after-school sports program is largely supported through the high school booster club and local fund-raising events; Ellie, who runs an after-school dance program; Hazel Hampton, our local librarian, who like me, depends on a myriad of income sources; Tawny Upton, who owns and runs the Over the Rainbow preschool; Gilda Reynolds, who owns Bears and Beavers and runs a local theater arts program; Frank Valdez, who owns Outback Hunting and Fishing and runs a summer camp for teens; my dad, Hank Donovan, who owns Donovan’s, a sort of general store, and represents the volunteer firefighters; and our leader and Ashton Falls town representative Willa Walton.

The money earned from fund
-raising activities is funneled through the town’s discretionary account. In theory, the money can be used in any way the town sees fit, but custom dictates that the funds generally are funneled back to the programs whose representatives earned the money in the first place. Willa’s job as a representative of the town is to act as a mediator between the committee and the town council, which has final approval of all budgetary decisions. The Haunted Hamlet is one of our biggest- netting events and the members of the committee take their planning seriously.

“Does anyone have anything to add to the minutes of the last meeting?
” Willa began once we had all given Rosie our breakfast orders. Willa is a good match for the job she performs. Controlled and professional in both dress and behavior, she runs a tight ship and can be counted on to cross all the t’s and dot all the i’s. Sometimes this makes for unbearably long meetings as she carefully and methodically makes her way through every step of the process, but having accurate records has saved more than one friendship over the years.

“The m
inutes state that forty percent of the kids at the preschool attended with scholarships provided by this group,” Tawny, a thirty-two-year-old single mother of two, began. “I updated my spreadsheet and realized that we were up to forty-six percent after this year’s enrollment was completed. With the current economic trend, I expect the percentage of parents requiring full or partial scholarships to increase by as much as ten percent next semester. Therefore I’d like to adjust the dollar amount of my funding request, if it’s not too late.”

“Any objections?
” Willa asked, although I noticed a furrowing of the neatly maintained brows framing her medium brown eyes. She ran a hand impatiently through her short hair as first Hazel and then my dad objected, and the debate commenced.

I listened and Willa took notes as the group discussed the impact Tawny’s request would have on the other projects the committee had agreed to fund
. It was the same every year. Donations were shrinking at the same time needs were increasing. Holding a carnival, festival, or some other fund-raising event every few weeks was taking its toll on all of us, and as of late, the money we raised simply wasn’t enough. We needed another strategy, and fast.

I watched as faces around the table changed from friendly to, in some cases, hostile, as representatives from each
group fought to protect its territory. Were the needs of the preschoolers really more important than a free public library or food for the hungry? And if we cut the volunteer firefighters, how many homes and businesses would be left unprotected? The arguments were the same and therefore predictable, so I averted my attention to Levi, who snuck in during the debate and sat down across from me. He looked troubled and tired and appeared to be paying no more attention to the debate than me.

M
y heart ached for him. Lamé would be on him to put a stop to the pregame hazing, and I knew the guys weren’t going to give up the battle if the ball ended up in their proverbial court. I gave him “the look,” sort of a shorthand we’d developed over the years to communicate during the endless meetings we both attended.

My phone vibrated as he texted me from under the table
. I don’t know how he does that. If I didn’t look at what I was texting, I’d end up with gibberish, but Levi is quite proficient at the art. I looked down at my phone. The message read:
jsy’s dstry’d.
B r up 4 PB.

I knew from reading Levi
’s shorthand over the years that the game-day jerseys somehow had been destroyed and the Ashton Falls Bulldogs were on a rampage. I glanced at Zak, who was totally invading my space by reading my very private and personal text over my shoulder. He frowned, brows that matched the sun-bleached blond of his shoulder-length hair pursed in concern. His blue eyes met mine as we shared an unspoken message. Then I noticed Ellie was watching our silent exchange. I sent her a quick text, she nodded, and I looked at Zak, who shot a text to Levi just seconds before Willa asked Hazel to go over the official schedule for the weekend.

“The
Haunted Hamlet opens on Wednesday with the haunted barn and spooky maze,” Hazel began as Zak shifted his tall frame beside me. While I’m a bit on the petite side, Zak is a monster. We’re talking Frankenstein freakishly tall. Given the fact that both of Zak’s parents are on the diminutive side, it has long been speculated that Zak’s father isn’t really Zak’s father at all. According to town gossip, Zak’s mother, had been keeping company with a retired basketball player from out west while Zak’s father was overseas on business. Zak was born only eight months after his father’s return. The family moved away until Zak was in the seventh grade, when his mother moved back to Ashton Falls with a new man who, it’s rumored, is actually the younger brother of Zak’s real dad. Confusing? You bet. And probably complete fiction.

“
Both events will be open daily through Saturday, as will the pumpkin patch, the hay rides, and the haunted marathon at the theater,” Hazel continued. “Due to the fact that the biggest game of the decade happened to fall on the same weekend as the Haunted Hamlet, the high school is sponsoring a special Halloween-themed pep rally on Friday morning. The game is Friday evening,” Hazel added. “We’re asking everyone to wear costumes to both the pep rally and the game.”

Levi frowned
. I knew he was less than thrilled with the fact that the biggest game of his career was being turned into a freakish spectacle, with zombies on the sideline, but I also knew he’d be too polite to say anything.

“On Saturday,” Hazel continued, “we start off with the annual zombie run at eight. There will be a chili cook-off in the park and a jack-o’-lantern stroll Saturday evening. Because Halloween is on Saturday this year, the town council voted to hand out candy along Main Street so the kids could trick-or-treat while their parents enjoy the jack-o’-lantern display.”

“And the pumpkin
-carving contest?” Tawny asked.

“Saturday afternoon in the park,”
Hazel answered. “The only event that will be held on Sunday is the community picnic. Ellie is in charge of the picnic, so I’ll turn the floor over to her.”

Ellie went through
the list of duties that had been assigned to everyone at the last meeting and requested updates. Levi was in charge of organizing a flag football game and my dad was procuring volunteers to man the BBQs, while Hazel was handling the potluck. My contribution to the weekend, in addition to helping man the pet adoption booth at the community picnic and providing zombies for the zombie run, is to organize carnival games for the kids. I have no children myself, and although I have little idea what types of games would entertain the minimally skilled youth of our town, my plan is simply to replicate the offerings that have been presented in the past.

I made a mental note to
add a stop during my rounds today to ask Ernie Young, the not-so-young owner of the local market, if he’d be willing to donate balloons for the dart toss and candy for the fishing booth. Personally, I don’t really get why tossing a string attached to a pole over a blanket-covered line is considered by the five-and-under crowd to be a boatload of fun, but based on last year’s data, of which I have familiarized myself in the interest of boatloads of quarters, the fishing booth brought in more donations than any other booth, so I went ahead and included it in this year’s selection.

I watched Levi as he got up to answer a phone call
. This week was going to be hard on him. It was only Tuesday and the game wasn’t until Friday. He was going to have a tough time keeping the guys out of trouble between now and then, and I wouldn’t put it past Lamé to suspend key members of the team, as he’d threatened to do.

“
Early Hump Day?” I texted him.

“Totally,” he texted back
.