You know that saying "the bigger they are, the harder they fall?" If you ever had any doubts about the truth of that saying, you wouldn’t have after you heard the 250-plus-pound pirate fall past the window behind me and hit the rocks below. The thunk was loud enough to hear above the sound of the band, at least for everyone on my side of the second-floor reception hall. Most looked puzzled, but a witch, a fairy, and a zombie pinpointed the sound as coming from outside and moved to the window. They looked down, and a second later, the scream coming from the witch drowned out the band for everyone in the room. The playing stopped.
I guess I should explain, lest you think I’m hallucinating thanks to overindulging in Southern Comfort. The witch, fairy, zombie, and assorted historical figures, cartoon celebrities, and aliens were all gathered in the large reception room on the second floor of the warehouse that stands between the Top Shelf and the Ohio River. The Shelf had been hired to cater the wedding reception of Madison Fisher and Danny Cartwright. Madison’s father, George, an Ohio University professor who lived in town, had hired us a couple of months back. After we’d accepted the job, the lovebirds decided it would be a blast to have a masquerade reception since their wedding was taking place Halloween weekend.
No judgment—although I told them they were on their own for the trick-or-treat bags they wanted placed on the tables for wedding favors. I was just glad they hadn’t asked us to provide a washtub full of water for apple bobbing.
In case you’ve never stopped in the Shelf for a drink before, I guess I should introduce myself. My name is Ricki Fontaine, and you’re in Waterton, Ohio, a town that sits on the northern bank of the Ohio River about halfway between Indiana and the northwestern West Virginia line. Don’t worry if you’re not in costume like the guests. If anyone asks, just tell them you’re with the catering crew. Although considering everyone’s attention was on the aforementioned pirate lying motionless on the rocks bordering the patio below, I doubt anyone is going to care what you’re wearing.
A glimmer of hope perked me up for a few seconds. It was Halloween weekend, and other than treats, nothing screamed “Halloween” more than tricks. Maybe the body lying on the rocks wasn’t really an injured or dead man. Maybe it was a dummy, and this was just a trick to make the night even more memorable. I mean, anyone who thought a Halloween party was a great way to celebrate a wedding might be capable of anything, right?
Not to mention the groom, the best man, and more than a few of the invited guests were college football players. In my nearly thirty years of life, I’ve often found that male humor tends to run to the tasteless and bizarre, and the more macho the male, the more tasteless and bizarre. Football players? Yeah, plenty of free-flowing testosterone, so maybe…
“Ricki?”
I snapped back into the moment and turned. Ruby Fogarty, my friend and the woman I’d put in charge of the Shelf’s fledging catering business, stood at my elbow, her eyes wide.
“Should I call the police?”
I looked around the room. Several of the guests had moved to the windows and were holding up their phones, recording the scene below. A Frankenstein monster, a sailor, and a gorilla had turned away from the windows and were running toward the door to the hall that led to the stairs. They were all huge, so I guessed them to be football player friends of the groom. I saw a clown join them just outside the door. No one in the room was laughing or yelling “Trick!” and the hope I’d had that this was just a tacky joke faded.
“Yeah,” I said. “I think you better.”
Not for the first time in the past couple of years, I wished I’d stayed in New York. I’m from Ohio originally, but after my dad died in a traffic accident and my mom finished a nursing refresher course at Ohio University, we’d moved to Philadelphia where she’d found a job. I moved to NYC after college, but Ohio called me back when my father’s brother died and left me his bar, the Top Shelf. I had been managing a diner in Queens, which wasn’t exactly my dream job, so I’d been thrilled when Uncle Lymon left the Shelf to me in his will.
Mom and I had lived with Lymon while she’d finished her nursing course, but I’d been a child then. I hadn’t remembered what a dive the Top Shelf was. When I recovered from the shock, I set to work changing its image. I cleaned, sanded, refinished, patched bullet holes (yeah, it was that kind of place), and stopped carrying draft and all domestic beers. I have nothing against domestic beer, but stocking only imported ones with their higher prices was the fastest way to change the clientele. It worked, and until I opened one morning and found my ex dead on one of my barstools, I thought Lymon had done me a favor by putting me in his will.
The Top Shelf was no longer in its old location, but changing its address hadn’t stopped the murders. I’ve decided that instead of doing me a favor, Lymon had passed on a curse. Maybe it didn’t pass directly from him to me. Maybe it was attached to the liquor license, but however it passed, I was sure it existed. If I’d only stayed in New York…
Waterton had one good thing going for it, though. The men. I pictured a scale in my mind—gorgeous men on one side and murderers on the other. Silver lining on one side, dark cloud on the other…
“Oh, my God—Danny!”
The shrill voice emanating from the pretty blonde princess belonged to the bride, Madison Fisher Cartwright. She was standing one window down from mine, her hand to her mouth, her skin the palest I’d ever seen on a living person. I watched as her legs seemed to fold up on her, her eyelids fluttering, and she started what seemed like a slow-motion fall to the floor. Halfway there, her father caught her, saving her like he’d probably done a hundred times before while she was growing up. But this wasn’t a fall from a bike or out of a tree, and the damage this time wouldn’t be as easily fixed.
I guess I should explain, lest you think I’m hallucinating thanks to overindulging in Southern Comfort. The witch, fairy, zombie, and assorted historical figures, cartoon celebrities, and aliens were all gathered in the large reception room on the second floor of the warehouse that stands between the Top Shelf and the Ohio River. The Shelf had been hired to cater the wedding reception of Madison Fisher and Danny Cartwright. Madison’s father, George, an Ohio University professor who lived in town, had hired us a couple of months back. After we’d accepted the job, the lovebirds decided it would be a blast to have a masquerade reception since their wedding was taking place Halloween weekend.
No judgment—although I told them they were on their own for the trick-or-treat bags they wanted placed on the tables for wedding favors. I was just glad they hadn’t asked us to provide a washtub full of water for apple bobbing.
In case you’ve never stopped in the Shelf for a drink before, I guess I should introduce myself. My name is Ricki Fontaine, and you’re in Waterton, Ohio, a town that sits on the northern bank of the Ohio River about halfway between Indiana and the northwestern West Virginia line. Don’t worry if you’re not in costume like the guests. If anyone asks, just tell them you’re with the catering crew. Although considering everyone’s attention was on the aforementioned pirate lying motionless on the rocks bordering the patio below, I doubt anyone is going to care what you’re wearing.
A glimmer of hope perked me up for a few seconds. It was Halloween weekend, and other than treats, nothing screamed “Halloween” more than tricks. Maybe the body lying on the rocks wasn’t really an injured or dead man. Maybe it was a dummy, and this was just a trick to make the night even more memorable. I mean, anyone who thought a Halloween party was a great way to celebrate a wedding might be capable of anything, right?
Not to mention the groom, the best man, and more than a few of the invited guests were college football players. In my nearly thirty years of life, I’ve often found that male humor tends to run to the tasteless and bizarre, and the more macho the male, the more tasteless and bizarre. Football players? Yeah, plenty of free-flowing testosterone, so maybe…
“Ricki?”
I snapped back into the moment and turned. Ruby Fogarty, my friend and the woman I’d put in charge of the Shelf’s fledging catering business, stood at my elbow, her eyes wide.
“Should I call the police?”
I looked around the room. Several of the guests had moved to the windows and were holding up their phones, recording the scene below. A Frankenstein monster, a sailor, and a gorilla had turned away from the windows and were running toward the door to the hall that led to the stairs. They were all huge, so I guessed them to be football player friends of the groom. I saw a clown join them just outside the door. No one in the room was laughing or yelling “Trick!” and the hope I’d had that this was just a tacky joke faded.
“Yeah,” I said. “I think you better.”
Not for the first time in the past couple of years, I wished I’d stayed in New York. I’m from Ohio originally, but after my dad died in a traffic accident and my mom finished a nursing refresher course at Ohio University, we’d moved to Philadelphia where she’d found a job. I moved to NYC after college, but Ohio called me back when my father’s brother died and left me his bar, the Top Shelf. I had been managing a diner in Queens, which wasn’t exactly my dream job, so I’d been thrilled when Uncle Lymon left the Shelf to me in his will.
Mom and I had lived with Lymon while she’d finished her nursing course, but I’d been a child then. I hadn’t remembered what a dive the Top Shelf was. When I recovered from the shock, I set to work changing its image. I cleaned, sanded, refinished, patched bullet holes (yeah, it was that kind of place), and stopped carrying draft and all domestic beers. I have nothing against domestic beer, but stocking only imported ones with their higher prices was the fastest way to change the clientele. It worked, and until I opened one morning and found my ex dead on one of my barstools, I thought Lymon had done me a favor by putting me in his will.
The Top Shelf was no longer in its old location, but changing its address hadn’t stopped the murders. I’ve decided that instead of doing me a favor, Lymon had passed on a curse. Maybe it didn’t pass directly from him to me. Maybe it was attached to the liquor license, but however it passed, I was sure it existed. If I’d only stayed in New York…
Waterton had one good thing going for it, though. The men. I pictured a scale in my mind—gorgeous men on one side and murderers on the other. Silver lining on one side, dark cloud on the other…
“Oh, my God—Danny!”
The shrill voice emanating from the pretty blonde princess belonged to the bride, Madison Fisher Cartwright. She was standing one window down from mine, her hand to her mouth, her skin the palest I’d ever seen on a living person. I watched as her legs seemed to fold up on her, her eyelids fluttering, and she started what seemed like a slow-motion fall to the floor. Halfway there, her father caught her, saving her like he’d probably done a hundred times before while she was growing up. But this wasn’t a fall from a bike or out of a tree, and the damage this time wouldn’t be as easily fixed.
