Trick or Treat Murder: A Reporter Roland Bean Cozy Mystery, #4

1

Roland Beanie Bean stared at the email on his computer sent to him several minutes ago from Vivian Thomas-Bronson, his boss, the Managing Editor of the Palmchat Gazette, the award-winning newspaper where he worked as an investigative reporter.

Need Davenport story before end of day

Beanie typed a reply, letting Vivian know he’d completed the story and was sending it to her as an attachment. After receiving confirmation that his boss had received the article, he leaned back in the creaky leather chair behind his small desk in his tiny cubicle.

The Davenport story was a detailed timeline of events surrounding the sentencing trial of Belinda Davenport, a St. Killian socialite and boutique owner accused of murder. Several months ago, Belinda had been found guilty, but the punishment phase of her trial had wrapped up yesterday. A jury of Belinda’s peers had decided she should spend the next fifteen years in prison.

Beanie had been in the courtroom when the sentence was handed down. His heart slamming, he’d kept his focus on Belinda, standing next to her team of high powered, high-priced lawyers. As the judge recited the number of years the mother of three would spend in prison, Beanie felt apprehensive. His testimony, among many others, including Belinda’s husband, Bob—notably absent from the hearing—had been instrumental in securing Belinda’s conviction. For one bizarre moment, Beanie imagined Belinda looking over her shoulder at him, giving him the evil eye, and mouthing that she would put him in the dirt for testifying against her.

He’d worried for nothing. Belinda showed no emotion when her fate was sealed. Just as she had been when the verdict in her murder trial was read, Belinda was expressionless.

Beanie dragged a hand down his face, thinking about the story: EASTER EGG HUNT KILLER GETS FIFTEEN YEARS. Despite being a crucial part of the narrative, Beanie hadn’t wanted to write the story. Belinda Davenport had almost killed him, but Vivian believed his near demise made for great copy. She was probably right. The Easter egg hunt murder articles were still trending.

Nevertheless, Beanie thought the sentencing trial would be a good assignment for the Palmchat Gazette’s new intern, Joshua Howard. A journalism major at the University of St. Killian, Joshua was smart, scrappy, always eager, and willing to help Beanie with anything he needed, no matter how menial or seemingly trivial. The kid reminded Beanie of himself. When he’d interned at the Palmchat Gazette, Beanie had been flexible, adaptable, and ambitious. He’d wanted to soak up as much real-life experience and knowledge about the newspaper business as he possibly could. From day one, two months ago, Joshua had been the same way.

Vivian had agreed to allow Joshua to shadow Beanie and write the article, with Beanie’s supervision. The intern had been beyond excited for the opportunity.

Or so Beanie had thought.

Two days ago, on Monday, he and Joshua had discussed background details about the story. Over lunch at Beanie’s favorite food truck in Pourciau Square—which also happened to be a fav of Joshua’s—they brainstormed approaches and angles for the article. On Tuesday, he and Joshua planned to drive to the courthouse together, but the intern hadn’t shown up to work. Beanie had called and texted several times to no avail. Beanie had finally given up and headed to the sentencing proceedings without the intern. Sitting in the courtroom gallery, Beanie continued to surreptitiously text the intern. Realizing Joshua had ghosted him, Beanie accessed his note-taking app to jot down details for the story. He couldn’t believe Joshua had pulled a ‘no-call, no-show.’ The intern had always been dependable. Reliable. Despite having a second job at a local delivery company, Joshua had never missed his shift at the newspaper before.

Beanie sat forward. Actually, that wasn’t right. Joshua had called in sick once. But the point was, he’d called Beanie to let him know he wouldn’t be at work. Beanie glanced at the clock on his computer. Almost six o’clock. Wednesday was winding down. Once again, for the second day in a row, Joshua hadn’t called or shown up at the Palmchat Gazette.

As a result, Beanie was forced to write the article on Belinda’s sentencing because Joshua had flaked out on him. Beanie sighed. Didn’t make sense that Joshua would blow off an assignment, especially a story he’d been stoked to write. Beanie hated to think he might have been wrong about the kid. He liked Joshua. The student was pleasant and attentive. Always in a good mood, but also serious about learning how to be a great reporter.

Though Joshua received assignments from all of the staff reporters, Beanie had taken the student under his wing, and thus, Joshua was referred to as his intern. Unofficially, he’d been showing Joshua the ropes, guiding him, giving him pointers, and answering all of his questions. Beanie didn’t mind being a mentor to a guy he’d bonded with, felt connected to, and genuinely liked.

Now Beanie worried he’d been wrong about the intern. He hoped the kid wasn’t a flake. Joshua’s interest in reporting for the Palmchat Gazette seemed real, and Beanie wanted to help him secure a permanent position. But maybe the kid wasn’t really committed. Or was only pretending to be interested.

Turning to his computer, Beanie closed the files he’d been working on and powered down the machine.

If Joshua was having some personal problems that prevented him from working, then Beanie could understand. The intern just needed to be honest. But if the kid didn’t want to be a reporter, then Beanie supposed that was fine, too. Again, he just wanted Joshua to be straight with him.

Determined to get answers, Beanie planned to call the intern.

But, contacting Joshua Howard was on his to-do list for tomorrow.

Making a note on his desk calendar, Beanie glanced at today’s date. October 31. Halloween. The night for ghosts and goblins and all things scary and spooky. Grabbing his keys and phone, Beanie left his cubicle, thinking about the evening ahead, looking forward to taking his kids trick-or-treating.

Daddy! Daddy!

Beanie smiled at his boys, Ethan, and Evan, as they ran into the kitchen, squealing and laughing, dressed for an evening of tricks or treats. Four-year-old Ethan, who’d decided to be a Caribbean pirate, complete with an eyepatch and a fake sword, lunged at him. En garde, daddy! Argh!

Laughing, Beanie pretended to feint with his oldest son, dashing back and forth around the kitchen as Ethan chased him, demanding that Beanie walk the plank. The kid looked more like a cross between Captain Jack Sparrow and Captain Morgan than Blackbeard, but Beanie had to smile. The little swashbuckler was beyond cute. Evan, the two-year-old, was a little T-Rex, waddling around, giggling, and following his brother, mimicking Ethan.

I surrender! I surrender! said Beanie, chuckling. Dropping to his knees, he held his hands up. The boys converged on him with hugs that made Beanie’s heart swell with indescribable love and joy. Kissing his boys’ foreheads, Beanie pulled them closer to him, squeezing them tightly.

You guys ready to go trick-or-treating? asked Beanie, thinking about the wonderful memories he would make with his boys tonight.

Yes! the boys chorused in raucous delight. Come on, daddy! Let’s go! Come on!

Wait, wait, before you go … The melodic voice of Beanie’s wife reached the kitchen before she did, dressed as, ironically, a mummy. Beanie smiled at his wife’s costume, giving her a suggestive wink. The frayed straps of white fabric wound around her body couldn’t hide her slim curves. Beanie couldn’t wait to unwrap her, later when the boys were tuckered out and fast asleep and enjoy his very own Halloween treat.

We have to get pictures! said Noelle, returning the wink before turning her attention to the boys. And some video!

For the next ten minutes, Beanie and the boys created various poses, directed by Noelle, and then documented their excitement about trick-or-treating. After Noelle finally put the phone down, she gave the boys plastic child-sized pails decorated like orange pumpkins to collect candy. Then she dispensed behavioral instructions, sinking to her knees in front of the boys to admonish them about holding Beanie’s hand at all times, and making sure they didn’t run away from Beanie.

The boys nodded solemnly, but Beanie knew the kiddos were getting restless when Ethan said, Okay, mommy, can we go now? They will run out of candy if we don’t hurry!

Please, mommy, can we go? pleaded little Evan, his lower lip trembling.

As she hugged the boys, Noelle glanced up at Beanie. The unshed tears in his wife’s eyes nearly broke his heart. Noelle was overprotective, which was an understatement, and Beanie worked overtime to put her mind at ease and her fears to rest.

As his wife rose to her feet, she gave him a small smile.

Beanie told the boys to run to the door and wait for him. Alone with Noelle, Beanie grabbed his wife’s hands and said, It’s gonna be okay, Elle. I promise, babe. We’re going to be careful, and we’re only trick-or-treating on our street with our neighbors that we know. And trust.

Nodding, Noelle pulled one hand from his to brush a strip of fabric from her face. Looking up at him, she said, I know everything is going to be okay, and you’re going to have a good time.

Wish you could come with us, said Beanie, and he stole a quick kiss.

Me, too, said Noelle. But I have to stay here and pass out candy to everybody else’s kids, and I’m totally fine with that, it’s just …

Just what?

Noelle shook her head. Nothing. It’s silly.

What’s silly? asked Beanie, sensing that something was troubling his wife. Tell me.

Something Old Wilson told me. Noelle exhaled. He was talking about some wolf that people in the neighborhood have seen.

Beanie groaned inwardly. He wished Noelle wouldn’t talk to Old Wilson as their neighbor Edward Wilson was known, but avoiding the nosy widower was impossible. The septuagenarian always had some wild, implausible story designed to cause unnecessary fear and worry.

Beanie sighed. Babe, there’s no wolf on this island.

But Old Wilson said the wolf bit Mrs. Washington.

Shaking his head, Beanie said, I doubt that.

Noelle said, But⁠—

Daddy, daddy! Shouted Ethan and Evan as they ran back into the kitchen. Come on! We want to trick or treat! Let’s go!

Beanie laughed, allowing the boys to push and pull him out of the kitchen, down the hall, and into the living room. Noelle followed them, repeating her safety instructions, which Beanie thought were unnecessary. Of course, he was going to make sure his little guys were safe. Part of Beanie was more than a little peeved that his wife felt the need to tell him how to take care of their kids, but he wasn’t going to let her smothering ruin the evening.

He picked up Evan, grabbed Ethan’s hand, and after a cursory kiss on his wife’s cheek, he left the house, determined to make sure his boys had a great Halloween.

2

Remember what Mommy said, Beanie called to the boys, who ran ahead of him along the wide sidewalk paved between the green manicured lawns of the modest single-family homes in Oyster Farms. Comprised of one-story bungalows painted pastel colors with white trim, the enclave was populated with a mix of white, blue, and pink-collar workers with a smattering of retirees.

Don’t run too far away from Daddy, instructed Beanie, though he wasn’t worried about losing sight of his kids, or them running out into the street and getting hit by a car, or anything catastrophic. His little tykes were two of what looked like a hundred kids milling about, laughing, and squealing, and carefree. And there seemed to be just as many adults supervising and keeping an eye on the kiddos. Beanie felt secure that his boys were safe. He didn’t need to hover.

Still, when he and the boys had walked out of the house, Beanie carried little Evan in his arms and held Ethan’s hand. He’d known Noelle was watching. Worrying. After they’d visited the first three houses and had walked some distance from their corner house at the beginning of Dolphin Lane, Beanie had put Evan down and released Ethan’s hand. Untethered and unrestrained, the boys alternated between running and skipping and hopping in front of him. Ethan, his little dervish, was wild and rowdy. Evan, the baby, waddled along, encumbered by his T-Rex costume, but giggling and squealing, determined to keep up with his brother. Now and then, the boys would turn and run back to him, commanding him to hurry, pulling him along to the next house.

Hands in the pockets of his jeans, Beanie smiled to himself as Ethan brandished his sword at the other kids he and his little brother came in contact with, challenging them to en garde, laughing with his neighborhood friends.

Dozens of other families were out, enjoying the balmy atmosphere and the cool, salty ocean breeze. Those who didn’t have little ones were giving out candy, standing on their porches, dispensing sweets. It was a nice night for trick-or-treating.

Strolling along, Beanie reflected on the neighborhood. The three-bedroom house he shared with Noelle was nicer than the two-bedroom house where he and his twin sister Robyn had grown up. Their Dolphin Lane bungalow had been newly constructed by a home builder who’d purchased a large tract of untamed jungle. Unofficially, it was referred to as new Oyster Farms, but Beanie didn’t think it merited the designation just because the houses had been built twenty years after the original track houses were built.

At one time, Beanie had contemplated leaving Oyster Farms. Not that he and Noelle had the finances to pull up stakes. But he’d dreamed of one day making a residential upgrade. Beanie hoped to write a true-crime book detailing a high-profile case he’d covered about an engineer who’d been decapitated. Noelle was thinking of teaching full-time at the university. Career advancement would bring the money they needed to move on up.

Montmarch, the enclave of the superrich and one percent, was out of the question—unless they won the lottery. Avalon Estates had once been on his list. But not anymore.

When he’d discovered a dead body at an Avalon Estates mansion during an Easter egg hunt earlier that year, Beanie had changed his mind about the luxurious neighborhood. The exclusive suburb was worse than Peyton Place. Too many secrets and lies.

For now, he and his family would stay put in Oyster Farms.

Minutes later, Beanie herded the boys up the flagstone path to the front porch of Old Wilson, dressed like Gandalf the Gray from the Lord of the Rings. Standing behind a large barrel of candy, the man known as the most prolific gossip in the neighborhood encouraged the kids to take as much candy as they desired. Naturally, Ethan used both hands to fill his pail, laughing and jostling with other neighborhood boys his age. Beanie lifted Evan in the air and picked out a few pieces for the little one.

No, let me do it, Daddy! Protested Evan, squirming in Beanie’s arms.

Laughing, Old Wilson said, How about I hold your pail while your daddy holds you over the barrel and you can dig in?

Evan clapped his hands, obviously excited by Old Wilson’s idea, which Beanie appreciated. Carefully holding his youngest over the barrel, Beanie laughed as Evan’s little fingers grasped the candy.

I’ve been meaning to ask you, said Old Wilson, his voice lowered beneath the squeals and laughter of the children converged around the barrel.

What’s that? asked Beanie as Evan plunged his hands into the sea of plastic-wrapped candy pieces.

You heard about the wolf, right? asked Old Wilson, whispering the words from the side of his mouth.

Beanie suppressed an annoyed exhale as he moved Evan away from the barrel, ignoring the little guy’s protests, and put him on the ground.

Is it really a wolf? asked Beanie.

Daddy, I want to get candy! said Evan, pulling on Beanie’s jeans.

Oh, for sure, it’s a wolf, said Old Wilson.

Taking Evan’s pail of candy from Old Wilson, Beanie crouched in front of his son and gave it to him. Here’s your candy, little man.

Thank you, Daddy! Evan smiled.

Rising to his feet, Beanie asked Old Wilson, Did you see the wolf?

Didn’t have to see it, said Old Wilson. Heard about what it did. Attacked Mrs. Washington. Lunged at her and bit her wrist while she was walking her cat the other night.

Walking her cat? asked Beanie, even more skeptical of the story.

Nodding, Old Wilson said, "And Mr. Turner, the jitney driver, had just gotten off work and was going into his house when the wolf got