They heard a subtle sound, metal against metal.
It sounded as if another knight had moved.
“These stupid things must have some kind of motion sensor,” he muttered.
Roger Newsome murmured, “That one wasn’t me.”
“Here!”
To Angela’s surprise, David Andre produced an apple.
“You’ve been carrying that around? I admit, you’re good. You went to the hospital to kill Veronica and Ray—figuring that managing to be a doctor would be a good disguise. You knocked out a cop to steal his uniform and gun—and you had a poisoned apple on you all the time?”
“I’m really good at what I do. And tonight, I am proving it!”
“A poisoned apple?” she asked. “Aren’t you mixing up your fairy-tales, or . . .”
“Take a bite,” he said.
“I can’t.”
“Then you’ll take a bullet,” he said.
“Look, either way, you ruin your whole purpose,” she told him. “A bullet in me, and I can hardly stand here. And if you poison me . . . well, I’ll gasp and gag and vomit all over everything.”
He stared at her frowning. He didn’t realize the zombie-knight that had moved was now almost behind him.
“Ah, that knight is Jackson! I got this, I got it!” Roger Newsome said, hurrying to the group of knights on the steps and pushing with all his power.
Another crashed to the ground.
David Andre turned to shoot at the sound.
And as he did, Angela seized the opportunity, just as Jackson did. He knocked down David Andre’s arm, forcing his bullets to fly into the ground.
And Angela pushed the man.
He screamed as he fell into the pit, landing hard on the ground below, probably breaking several bones.
And it was then police and agents burst out of the surrounding shrubbery from the areas in front of the display.
Jackson looked down into the pit.
“Game over!” he said, lifting the visor on the helmet he wore. He looked at Angela, shaking his head.
“You do make a beautiful zombie princess,” he told her. “I really should have been the prince, but I couldn’t mingle in a prince costume as easily. I had to get up here once you were almost here, and I didn’t have time for make-up and the knight’s . . . well.”
She smiled, listening to David Andre swear and moan below. “Always my prince!” she assured him.
*
They were exhausted, of course. Still, wrap-up, clean-up, and paperwork—they were home by five in the afternoon, not sure how to proceed with their private lives.
They’d discovered, too, David Andre hadn’t really wanted to die. He’d been grateful to the paramedics who had come to get him out of the hole.
He’d admitted to Angela that prison was where he needed to be.
They had been long days, but somehow, the case had ended.
And they still had kids, and it was Halloween.
The baby was too young to care about Halloween. But Corby was ten years old.
Of course, they needed to tell him they’d been able to save other lives because of him—and the ghost of Roger Newsome.
But still, it was Halloween, and he was still ten . . .
“So, Corby,” Angela said cheerfully, sitting with Jackson, the ghost of Roger Newsome, her son, daughter, and Mary Tiger, “There are still some options this year. I mean, we can dress up . . .”
She glanced at Jackson. At that moment, neither of them wanted to dress up. They’d had enough of Halloween costuming.
“What would you like—”
“Beetlejuice,” he said, grinning as he interrupted her.
“Pardon?” Angela said, glancing at Jackson.
“I’d love to stay home—eat some candy—and all of us watch a good movie that is silly and fun and not really spooky at all. Will that be okay?”
Angela smiled at Jackson.
They had a great kid.
“You like movies, right?” Corby asked Roger Newsome.
The ghost smiled at him. “Well, I have somewhere to go, I think. But . . . sure! I think I can stay for a Halloween movie!”
“And our deepest thanks!” Angela said.
“Happy Halloween!” he said, and they echoed the words all around.
About The Author
Heather Graham
New York Times and USA Today bestselling author, Heather Graham, majored in theater arts at the University of South Florida. After a stint of several years in dinner theater, back-up vocals, and bartending, she stayed home after the birth of her third child and began to write. Her first book was with Dell, and since then, she has written over two hundred novels and novellas including category, suspense, historical romance, vampire fiction, time travel, occult, sci-fi, young adult, and Christmas family fare.
She is pleased to have been published in approximately twenty-five languages. She has written over 200 novels and has 60 million books in print. Heather has been honored with awards from booksellers and writers’ organizations for excellence in her work, and she is the proud to be a recipient of the Silver Bullet from Thriller Writers and was awarded the prestigious Thriller Master Award in 2016. She is also a recipient of the Lifetime Achievement Award from RWA. Heather has had books selected for the Doubleday Book Club and the Literary Guild, and has been quoted, interviewed, or featured in such publications as The Nation, Redbook, Mystery Book Club, People and USA Today and appeared on many newscasts including Today, Entertainment Tonight and local television.
Heather loves travel and anything that has to do with the water, and is a certified scuba diver. She also loves ballroom dancing. Each year she hosts a Vampire Ball and Dinner theater raising money for the Pediatric Aids Society and in 2006 she hosted the first Writers for New Orleans Workshop to benefit the stricken Gulf Region. She is also the founder of “The Slush Pile Players,” presenting something that’s “almost like entertainment” for various conferences and benefits. Married since high school graduation and the mother of five, her
