Chicory Up: The Pixie Chronicles (43 page)

“A
UNT DUSTY, YOU REALLY NEED to do a final walk through the maze before it opens to the public,” Hope said. She bounced from foot to foot in eagerness. “It’s the professional thing to do.”

“I suppose you’re right.” Dusty watched the girl for signs of an agenda besides the opportunity to be the first one through the maze. She really had two dozen things to do in the next ten minutes, including counting the cash for the admission box, sorting the tickets, making sure the museum had all of its fake (and real) cobwebs in place, that the extra flashlights and light wands were fully charged at the rental table…

“Miss Carrick!” M’Velle hailed her coming up the path from the street. Her multiple black braids with beads woven into them chimed and clicked together with each step. She was dressed as a dancehall girl, in opposite colors to Dusty’s white-and-green costume. “We really need to talk to you.”

“What’s wrong?” Dusty gathered the long skirts, ready to run to the rescue. A lacy wool shawl covered her nearly naked shoulders and a long feather bobbed annoyingly in her hair.

“We’ve got a proposition,” Meggie added breathlessly as she joined her friend. Her blonde hair was bound tightly into a bun tonight, and she wore a prim missionary wife’s calico gown.

The two girls should have swapped roles if they wanted to fit their personalities. But then they wouldn’t really be costumes. And that was the whole point to Halloween!

Dusty wanted to giggle at her observation. She forced herself to soberness to address the girls as an adult and professional.

“Such as?” Dusty eyed her helpers suspiciously.

“You know that we’re on the senior prom committee?” M’Velle asked. She bit her lip in unconscious imitation of Dusty’s nervous habit.

“Yes.”

“We’ve raised a lot of money so we can have the prom at the Dockside Ballroom on the Columbia River,” Meggie said.

“But with the bad economy and all, a lot of kids can’t afford the tickets,” M’Velle finished.

“So?”

“We thought, and we talked to the rest of the class, that maybe we should hold the prom in the school gym.”

“It’s supposed to be ready to reopen at the end of April. The smoke damage isn’t as bad as we all thought at first. Most of the fire was contained in the front lobby.”

“And this concerns me how?”

“We thought that the school really is as much a part of this town and its traditions as the museum, the maze, the parades, and the other festivals. We should make the reopening of the gym a community event.”

“The jazz band wants to play swing dances and pop music, so we won’t have to hire a DJ.”

“We should have torn down the building and built a whole new one,” Phelma Jo grumbled from behind Dusty. She seemed to be hiding there as Ian McEwen wandered the grounds inspecting electrical cables and placing fire extinguishers in convenient locations. “The insurance would have paid for most of it, and it’s about time this town moved on from the glory days of their high school years. Life really is much better after graduation, but some people will never grow beyond the football field or pompoms.”

“I don’t know about that,” Dusty mused. “Chase’s football skills helped a lot yesterday.”

“And your childhood dance classes stood you in good stead too, baby sister.” Dick dropped a kiss on her hair, batting away the stupid ostrich feather. Then he straightened
and turned back to Phelma Jo. “Still running away from your past, Phelma Jo?” He held Thistle’s hand, as he’d done almost continuously since that spectacular mating flight yesterday. He also stayed near Hope as much as possible, frequently with an arm thrown around her shoulders, as he did now.

“I’ve moved onward and upward. I’m not letting memories—bad ones mostly—hold me back.” Phelma Jo glared at him smugly. But she also moved around the admissions table, keeping distance and bodies blocking her from having to watch Ian McEwen.

“I think turning the prom into a community celebration of the reopening of the high school front wing is a marvelous idea,” Dusty said. “It will be something for this town to look forward to since we lost big chunks of the All Hallows Festival.”

“But not the most important part of it. The maze,” Chase reminded her. He wore his pioneer sheriff’s costume. The big silver star on his chest and the modern gun on his hip served as reminders to one and all that he was back on duty. He’d accept some pranks; it was Halloween after all, but nothing outrageously stupid or dangerous.

“Aunt Dusty!” Hope whined. “You really need to tour the maze. Now. While you can still see… things.”

“Oh, all right.” She stepped onto the gravel path lighted by a string of white LED bulbs.

“Can I come, too, or is this a girl thing?” Chase asked, capturing her hand.

“You are always welcome.” Dusty reached for his hand.

“I understand there are a lot of private little nooks and dead ends where couples can step aside,” Dick said, looking longingly into Thistle’s eyes.

“Go find a tree,” Chase muttered.

“Maybe we should, too,” Dusty giggled.

“Later,” Chase said, raising his eyebrows in speculation.

“This way. Come quickly,” Hope beckoned them from the first shadows of the tree canopy. She stayed a few yards ahead of them as she wound through the trees along the barely lighted path.

“Hey, Dick!” Judge John called from his station behind
a replica gallows. His ghost makeup made his eyes seem to burn in the fading light. He represented the first judge in town who was well known for convicting men and women to hang on the barest of evidence.

“What’s up?” Dick replied.

The entire group paused, even the anxious Hope.

“I got your paperwork late last night. Looks like the Bureau of Vital Statistics has approved Thistle’s petition. You’ll be getting a birth certificate in the mail within the week.”

“That is wonderful. We won’t have to wait much longer to get married.” Dick shook the judge’s hand.

Thistle snuggled close to Dick and nibbled on his ear. “But we’re already married,” she said softly.

At least that’s what Dusty thought she said. A clamor of voices at the beginning of the path distorted the words.

“Are you coming or not?” Hope called at the next bend in the path. “We’re running out of time.”

“What is so important… Oh.” Dusty paused, hand to her heart. A long white blob drifted from a hanger within a huge cedar tree. In the ghostly light it looked like the headless spirit of a long lost bride.

But it wasn’t.

“My wedding dress!” she gasped, realizing that the gown she had longed for, the bias-cut silk that draped and swirled so beautifully on the store mannequin now drifted within the haunted maze, taunting her with its unobtainable beauty.

“Look, there’s a note,” Hope chortled, holding up a slip of paper hanging from the folds of heavy white silk.

“To Desdemona, from your mother.”

Dedication:

This book is dedicated to all those who believe in magic;
whether in the miracle of a baby’s smile or modern
medicine that saves lives every day. May you
find Pixies in the park or in your attic
or in the eyes of the ones you love.