The Third Daughter's Wish

The little runt had better be nice to Josie.

Turning toward his mother, Gabe muttered, “Who’s he?”

“The Thing? Accountant in Kurt’s business office. Graduated cum laude from Wichita State’s business school.”

“When—last week?”

“Maybe five, six years ago? He’s probably close to thirty, Gabriel.”

“He’s okay? Nice to his mom? Avoids drugs and orgies?”

Furrows formed on his mother’s brow. “I think so. You never know, really.” She looked horrified for a moment before her expression cleared. “Oh, no. I remember meeting his parents once. He’s fine.”

As if a meeting of parents meant anything. Serial killers had parents, didn’t they? “Hope so.” Gabe forced his attention to the party decorations. “I love the crashed witch. You get the details right, don’t you?”

“Guess you got that from me,” she said, examining his mustache. “Is that real?”

Gabe had seen his mom a few days ago for dinner. Did women not realize that a decent mustache took weeks to grow? “Nope,” he said. “Mine’s as fake as Josie’s.”

Those twin lines creased his mother’s face again. “You two haven’t broken your ‘just friends’ pact, have you?”

“No. Why?”

“You’re acting a bit odd, son. Sort of…overprotective. And you two did come dressed as a couple.”

Gabe scanned the crowd, noting that Josie had left The Thing and was headed toward the dance area. “We’re both dressed as men, Mom. Men who I presume were straight. And I only watch over Josie because she doesn’t have anyone else to tackle the chore.”

“Oh, okay, then,” his mother said. “Well, the best costumed couple takes home the trophy, same as every year. Vote at the box near the snacks. Maybe you can woo the crowd and win.”

“Yeah, right. Where’s Kurt?” Gabe scanned the room.

“That fisherman dancing with one of the sexy bunnies.”

Gabe followed his mother’s pointed finger and spotted her husband. Slightly stouter and a decade older than Gabe’s mother, Kurt Connolley had lost his hair ages ago. He nose was huge. He wasn’t handsome, especially when compared with Gabe’s late dad, but his mother so obviously loved her second husband. She always said she’d been lucky twice.

Kurt’s costume was pretty standard—hip waders, multipocketed vest and floppy hat. However, the fishing pole he carried had a humongous hook, covered with sea-green glitter and baited with a pair of fluffy pink bedroom slippers.

To catch a mermaid.

Gabe laughed. “Nope. You’ll keep another trophy.”

His mother glided away to greet some new arrivals behind him, and Gabe noticed that Josie had perched herself cross-legged on a hay bale. She sipped from her bottle and watched the dancing couples.

Very un-Josie-like behavior.

Gabe followed her and plopped down one bale over. “You’re not mingling?”

“No.” She sighed.

“Want to talk about it?”

“No.”

“Want to dance?”

“No.”

He nodded, but remained near her for a moment longer in case she decided it was time to blab out her woes.

“Make your rounds,” Josie said after another long, loud sigh. “I’ll join you once I finish my drink.”

Having two sisters and a mom, Gabe was very aware that “leave me alone” was often a veiled request for extra attention.

Josie generally said what she meant, though. He’d back off and let her brood awhile.

“I’ll check back in a bit,” he promised.

He returned to the bar for a soft drink before making his way through the crowd to greet his colleagues and survey the costumes. Josie wasn’t ready to budge a half hour later, so he approached the dance area and was immediately snagged by a Minnie whose Mickey didn’t dance. He danced one song with her, then another with the famous Kansas Dorothy.

Dorothy was otherwise known as Alana Morgan, one of his mother’s Augusta acquaintances from way back. She and Cindy Connolley had worked together on the theater’s planning board for a few years, and they still played cards on occasion.

After his waltz with Alana, Gabe’s sisters arrived to drag him away from the dance floor. Once more, Nadine and Livy had dressed as a pair—of salt and pepper shakers this year. Even with molded tinfoil hats and plastic-enclosed bodies, they were stunning. Blond and blue-eyed, like Gabe and his parents.

“You didn’t bring anyone?” Gabe asked Nadine.

“Just me,” Livy answered. “Frank stayed home with the kiddoes.”

The twins practically spoke as one when they were together. Gabe rarely noticed.

“You know he hates crowds,” Nadine explained.

Gabe had meant Nadine’s teacher friend, not her husband. It didn’t really matter, though. With Josie in a deep funk, he’d probably feel guilty if he danced the night away with a potential new girlfriend.

As he danced one song with each sister, Gabe watched Josie get up to nab another drink and talk to a couple of people. But she was still spending most of her time warming that bale of hay.

Josie had always been energetic. Easygoing. Even when she was upset about something, she carried on her normal activities and tried to ignore the problem.

But she didn’t mope.

Gabe attacked her from behind, simultaneously grabbing an elbow and the hand holding her drink. He managed to haul her off the hay bale without splashing either of them with beer.

“What are you doing?” she demanded.

“Taking you to Mom’s terrace.”

“Why?”

“To talk.”

“Don’t need to.” They passed a werewolf, a scrawny Arnold Schwarzenegger and the impaled witch.

“Going to.” Gabe released Josie’s hand outside the barn but kept hold of her elbow until they were rounding the corner to the terrace. After nudging her onto a cushioned lounge chair, he sat at its foot and studied her face under the glow of some ghost string lights.

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