Free Halloween III - Season of the Witch by Jack Martin Page A

detail to her attention. Her knuckles were already white on the steering wheel.
    She took her foot off the gas and braked.
    There was the plume of smoke and there was the factory. It was visible from all vantage points, but now they were in position to view it head-on. The front of the plant loomed a hundred yards ahead—and loomed was precisely the word—huge and eerie, bathed in light that was rapidly deepening to crimson.
    “Looks a little spooky,” she said.
    He did not like the hunch in her shoulders, the contentiousness in her eyes. “What do you expect? They make Halloween masks.”
    “I’m not ready for this.” She sat back. “We need a plan.”
    Challis reached for a cigarette but his jacket pocket was empty. He remembered that it had been empty for a long time.
    “How about this?” he suggested. “We drive down that road, get some more beer, and go to the beach?”
    “I’m serious.”
    He was feeling fresh and awake now and was determined not to let the day end on a note of despair, no matter what. There was always hope. I for one don’t need to drive all afternoon to find more doom and gloom, he thought. I can get that at home.
    He tried another tack.
    “All right, here’s one. We go back to that gas station and see if they know anything. We could pose as buyers. Maybe even rent a room at that motel.” That sounds eminently reasonable, he thought. Realistic. And realism is what we need. “Then we’d have someplace to talk without the whole town watching.”
    She accepted that without a blink. “Good point. It’s getting late, anyway.” She drew her jacket liner closed, pulled her sweater sleeves down over her arms.
    They bounded back over the railroad tracks. He thought of taking over the driving for her, letting her rest. But it was a little late for that. Besides, she was doing fine on her own. And he did like that. He liked it a lot.
    “What’s that?” she said, her eyes riveted to the rearview mirror.
    Challis stretched around.
    A winglike metal garage door in the side of the factory was lifting, reflecting like a signal mirror. A long silver limousine purred out into the street, hovered to get its bearings. It was impossible to see the driver behind the tinted windows.
    “Probably the boss,” said Challis.
    They drove on.
    The Irishman at Rafferty’s Deluxe saw Ellie’s car coming. Now his flushed face was all smiles, all charm. As if he were expecting them.
    Ellie smiled back.
    “Good day to ye! Fill ’er up?”
    “Please.”
    “Ahh, and another grand day it’s been in Santa Mira, where the sun smiles down and takes care of its own. A grand day, so it is!”
    He chuckled his way to the pump.
    My God, thought Challis, is he for real? He’s more Irish than that guy who sells green deodorant soap on TV.
    “You’ve got to be kidding,” said Ellie under her breath.
    She and Challis met each other’s eyes.
    Challis grinned. “Welcome to Santa Mira, yourself,” he told her. “Dublin West.”
    Rafferty, if that was his name, poked his head back in, quick as an elf.
    “Just passing through?”
    He was all spongy red nose and uneven teeth from this close. A drinker, thought Challis. That fit the stereotype. Perhaps too well.
    Ellie kept her eyes down so as not to let go. She touched her mouth with her fingers and pretended to cough. “No, I—my husband and I—”
    Challis chewed his lip.
    “—Own a toy store. And we’ve come to pick up some more masks.”
    “Ah,” waxed Rafferty, “and beauties they are, too!”
    Challis could not let the moment pass. He had been biting down for too long. He surprised himself by sliding his left arm around Ellie’s shoulders. She was small but soft beneath the jacket liner. He liked that, too.
    “You can say that again!” he said too loudly, getting into the role. “Selling like hotcakes, too!
    Rafferty fairly davened at the news. “Good! Good!”
    Challis slid even closer. He left his leg against hers. She did not resist. Good