Free Trick or Treachery by Jessica Fletcher

said. Take off that head!”
    Jeremy Scott slowly removed his costume head and dropped it next to Erica’s.
    “You were here with Erica?” Wilson said, the anger in his voice rivaling Marshall’s.
    When Jeremy didn’t respond, Erica’s father repeated the question.
    “No, sir,” Jeremy said nervously. “I just got here, a few seconds before—”
    “Hey, you there,” Mort interrupted as he spotted a moose standing behind Jack Decker’s broad pirate hat. “Take off your head right now.”
    The tall figure hesitated, but with all eyes upon him, he realized he didn’t have any choice except to follow the order. He reluctantly pulled on his snout until the head slid off, revealing Robert Wandowski. His face was pale, and his dark hair stood on end from static electricity. “I . . . I . . . I didn’t do anything,” he stammered. “I swear I didn’t. Even though I didn’t like her, after she lured my daughter into her house—”
    “Just calm down,” Mort said, “and be quiet. And don’t leave until we get your statement.”
    “I will, Sheriff. I’ll stand right here.”
    I wondered where Wandowski’s wife was. Mort patted his back pocket. “I got my beeper, but the phone’s in the car.” He took in the group. “Somebody call nine-one-one,” he said. “Tell ’em we’ve got a dead body on the Paul Marshall estate and to send my deputies and an EMS team on the double. And rustle up the ME.”
    Jeremy started for the front door of the cottage.
    “Where are you going?” Mort demanded.
    “To call nine-one-one,” Jeremy replied.
    “Not in there, you don’t. That’s part of the crime scene. Go up to the house.”
    “How did you know there’s a phone in there?” Jack Decker asked Jeremy.
    Jeremy held up his hands in a gesture of bewilderment. “I just assumed there’s one,” he replied nervously, taking off at a run up to the main house.
    “Stay away from the cottage,” Mort told us. “I don’t want any more footprints added to the scene here.”
    Mort was right not to allow anyone into the cottage without police supervision. It was always possible that some piece of evidence might be inadvertently compromised or tainted, including the phone.
    I shifted my position to try to see through the open door into the cottage, but my attention was directed back to Mort, who was addressing the crowd. A few curious people had begun to inch closer to the body. While some averted their eyes from viewing it directly, like watching a gory scene in a motion picture through slightly spread fingers, others faced it head-on, moving in for a better look. Since, to my knowledge, none of them knew the deceased well, the shock that energized the crowd was the result of a murder having been committed, not the loss of someone they cared about.
    “Get back,” Mort shouted, directing the group away from the body. He turned to Erica. “You see anybody down here, Ms. Marshall?”
    “No! I mean, no one but . . . her.” She pointed at the body and turned away, the fingers of her right hand hovering in front of her mouth, her eyes still wide with fear.
    “Anybody see anything unusual tonight?” Mort asked.
    “Why are you asking us, Sheriff?” Paul Marshall demanded. “This was obviously the work of a madman who strayed onto the property. Surely, you don’t think anyone invited to my party might have killed her.”
    Mort ignored Marshall and faced Seth, who remained on his knees; I didn’t know whether he’d stayed there next to the body because he was still examining it or was having trouble getting up. Mort knelt at his side. “Well, Doc, what do you think?” he asked loud enough for us to hear.
    “Somebody hit her pretty hard,” Seth said, adjusting his position to better see where she’d been struck in the head.
    “What sort ’a weapon?” Mort asked.
    “Hard to say,” Seth replied, continuing to scrutinize Matilda. “I’m no medical examiner, but it was a pretty large object, something