Candy Corn

“So she’s planning to go as a vampire,” explained Schanke.  “Myra’s running her up a cape from an old black skirt; but what we’re going to do about fangs I haven’t a notion.  How do you home-make something like that?”  He shrugged.  “Don’t go telling me to buy fakes at the corner store.  I dare say there are places that’ll have something—but we’re talking about my kid’s mouth, you know?”

Natalie nodded, suppressing a smile.  “You don’t know where it’s been,” she agreed.  She felt an almost irresistible temptation to glance towards Stonetree’s office.  This was definitely a conversation that Nick should be around for.  “Or where it will be, come to that.  She’d have to wear it all the time she’s trick-or-treating; and you know what kids are.  The thing would never fit quite right; so she’d keep taking it out, and like as not drop it. It’s not as though you’re about to get something specially fitted like on a movie set.”

“I know!” replied Schanke.  “And Jenny just got bands on her teeth, too.  You can imagine trying to fit some plastic doohickey over them.  At least the year I went as a pirate the whole costume was scrounged round the house.  Barring the patch over the eye, which I bought out of my paper route money but didn’t get to wear.”

Nick came out of Stonetree’s office, saw the two of them conversing, and sat down.  “Hi, Nat,” he began.  “What’s that about eye patches, Schank?  Got an infection coming on?”  He opened his desk drawer, took out an Occurrence form, and rolled it into his typewriter.

“One year,” said Natalie reminiscently, “I can’t remember just how old I was, but I wanted to go as a fairy.  My cute little ballet tutu was fine, of course … that was no problem.  Wings were wire and paper:  my dad put the things together, without a pattern and crooked but definitely they were wings.  Trouble was, my mother insisted I wear a sweater underneath.”  She added, with pointed emphasis, “It was warm thick navy wool.”

“Oh, no!” said Schanke, hand over his eyes.  More than a little puzzled, Nick paused in rolling the form round the platen.

Natalie giggled.  “That’s right.  Not even a nice fluffy white.  Not remotely like any fairy I’d ever seen in a book!”  She managed to straighten her face.  “Well, Mom told me just before dinner.  I wanted to go … straight after school, you know what kids are; but she insisted we had to eat ahead of trick-or-treating.”

“Oh, Halloween,” Nick muttered under his breath.  He looked up with a faint sigh and sat back.

“So I came down already dressed up.  Obviously.”

“Obviously,” put in Schanke with a nod.

“She saw my bare arms and laid down the law.  There was this big argument, of course.  I swear I did more begging than eating.  No way was I going out in that sweater!  It totally spoiled the look.”

Nick smiled faintly.  “Who won?”  He leaned forward in his seat and settled the form in place, ready to type.

She turned to him with a snort.  “Who do you think?  She watched like a hawk as I wore the sweater out of the house; and I was hardly going to strip in the street, quite apart from the fact that my dad was the one taking us round the houses.”

“Of course, she was absolutely right,” put in Schanke.

“Of course,” Natalie agreed.  “After dark, end of October?  By the time we got back I was glad of it.”  She chanced a look at Nick.  He had that over-innocent bland expression.  “You got two cents?” she asked suggestively, and then twinkled,  “We can pop them in Jenny’s UNICEF box.”

Nick looked from one to the other.  “If the dead walk on the eve of All Saints’ Day,” he said with sober consideration, “you don’t placate them by begging for apples and popcorn.”

“Apples and popcorn?” scoffed Schanke.  “What century are you from?”

“Candy corn and kisses!” Natalie corrected.

“Kisses?!” said Nick incredulously.

She rocked back, howling with laughter.   “Not those kisses,” she managed to say, and then got enough of a grip on her hilarity to add, “Chewy molasses candy.  Tastes good but gets in the teeth.”

“Don’t tell me they don’t have Halloween where you’re from,” Schanke put in.  “You’re only from the States, after all.  Anyway, no one gives apples nowadays, not since some nut jobs stuck razor blades in them.”

“I heard of that,” Nick said.  Rather ostentatiously, he picked up his notebook and flipped to the last entry.  Natalie reached across the desk and plucked it from his hands.

“I carved the pumpkin last night,” Schanke went on.  “It’s sitting in the window right now, candle and all, being as how it’s after dark now I’m back on night shift.  We’ve got some cut-out bats in the front window, too.  That way the kids’ll know Myra’s on shell-out duty.”

“It must look very festive,” said Nick, and forced a grin.  “Nat, give me that back.”  He reached out for the notebook, and she swung away.

“Do you actually take real notes in this thing?” she asked.  She flipped it open to the last filled page, and then took a quick step out of reach as he snatched for it.

“I’ve a good memory,” he said pointedly.

“Oh, I know you do!”  For another long moment she held the notebook out of reach and then handed it back.  She turned to Schanke.  “If you’re here and Myra’s got the candy and pennies, who’s taking Jenny round?  She’s hardly old enough—”

“Oh, her best friend’s Dad’s taking them both,” Schanke answered hastily.  As his partner reopened the notebook to the right page, he reached over the desk to slap it flat with a broad concealing hand.  “Leave off the reports, Knight.   We’re talking important stuff here.”

With a sigh, Nick sat back in his chair, clasping his hands, and looked up.  “Yes, Schank,” he said dryly.  “I get it.  Important.  Right.”

“So what was your best Halloween costume?” challenged Schanke.  “Or your worst, if you dare.”

Nick went very still and silent.  Just a little too late he said, “I can’t remember.”

“R-i-i-ight,” scoffed Schanke.  “And you’re the guy with the memory.”  He gave Nick a close knowing look, and nodded.  “Okay, Knight, I’ll bite.  Why’s the outfit bother you?”

Nick looked startled; and Schanke crowed.  “Hah!  I bet Jenny’s not the only one.  At least once you went as a vampire.”

Natalie’s lips twitched.

“Come to think of it, Schank,” said Nick wryly, “you may be right.”