Standard Disclaimer: I own nothing and make no profit.

This is just a silly piece done as a challenge between myself and Melchy using one phrase and three words from each of us and being less than 1,500 words. The best I can say is I got the eight words and phrases into the story and managed to get it posted only a day late!

Tricks and Treats

Peter Gunn offered a second glance at the peculiar body he and Lieutenant Jacoby had stumbled upon. Literally. The still form of the lanky man lay awkwardly within the gaping maw of a freshly dug grave meant for someone else. Jacoby, who'd tripped over the foot of the dear deceased and almost tumbled down to join him, plunked down on a nearby bench.

"Wealthy people are usually put in extravagant mausoleums," Pete mused. He pulled up the collar of his raincoat to guard against the damp night air.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Jacoby had his right shoe off. He touched his sock-covered big toe and grimaced in pain.

"Just a passing thought. Something I read recently." The private investigator peered through the gloom of the cemetery. "I have a feeling there's some hocus-pocus going on here."

"Really?" The policeman eased his shoe onto his throbbing foot and gingerly stood up. "Hocus-pocus? I suppose that's your weak attempt at some Halloween humor." His tone was mild but a large hint of sarcasm seeped through.

"Simmer down, Lieutenant. I'm the one doing you a favor here, remember?"

"Sorry, Pete." Jacoby uttered a melancholy sigh and briefly dug his hands deep into the pockets of his grey tweed overcoat, just long enough to warm them. "The entire situation is just a little aggravating to me. You'd think Captain Clark could have passed this along to one of the uniforms." He reached up to push his hat back, leaving it at an awkward angle, and rubbed his forehead. "Maybe he's looking to sit me behind a desk. Or put me out to pasture altogether." Lines of worry creased his forehead. "You might not have to put up much longer with me calling for your help on a whim – "

"Get a grip on yourself, Lieutenant! You're just out of sorts because work cut into your trick-or-treating time." Pete held back a smirk.

"Speaking of which – " Jacoby pushed back his sleeve and tried to get a look at his watch. "I can't see a thing. Has it gotten darker in the last few minutes?"

"You know how this old cemetery is," the PI reminded him. "This time of year, when the fog moves in from the river, you can barely see a hand in front of your face."

"I don't suppose you happen to have a candle on you?"

"Now, Lieutenant – " Pete released an exasperated breath.

"I forgot my flashlight – "

"So you keep telling me." Pete dug into his pants pocket and came up with a book of matches with the slogan of a local service station on the flap. He struck one and held it close to the watch on Jacoby's proffered wrist.

"Twenty-five minutes until midnight," the policeman observed. "We need to hurry."

"What should we do about him?" Pete nodded toward the motionless figure in the dank grave, now almost obscured by mist and the eerie shadows of night.

"Leave him. We'll take care of him later."

Lieutenant Jacoby, limping slightly, struck out in the direction they'd been headed since entering the cemetery. Peter Gunn trailed a few feet behind, stepping nimbly amongst the tombstones. Upon reviewing the evidence they'd received earlier that evening – clues in a cryptic note delivered to Captain Clark – they'd come to the conclusion that the scene they were looking for would be located within the smaller of the three mausoleums located in the city's largest and oldest cemetery. Some of the plots which lay within the cemetery, which was entirely enclosed by tall wrought iron fencing, dated back to the very early days of the eighteenth century. The silhouette of the granite mausoleum, notwithstanding the darkness and fog, was faintly visible in the distance.

"Wait! Did you see that?" Jacoby came to an abrupt stop, Pete nearly running into him from behind.

"See what? It's dark as pitch out here. You forgot your flashlight, remember?" This time Pete couldn't hold back a smirk.

"A jack-o-lantern. A few yards to your left..." Jacoby's voice trailed into silence. "It was glowing."

The PI looked in the direction indicated but saw nothing but the outlines of tombstones. Once again he retrieved his matchbook and the tiny flame of a paper match lit up the darkness. He took a few steps, eyes searching the shadows. The match fizzled out against his fingers and he quickly lit another. Then he chuckled.

"I don't think you need to worry about Clark making a paper-shuffler out of you." He bent toward a grave marker and held the match close, lifting an amused eyebrow in his friend's direction. "He'll probably have you carted off to the closest sanitarium."

Jacoby moved closer and looked toward the marker as Pete struck a third match. A large, round, bright orange cat crouched close to the ground, wide oval eyes glimmering, his right paw gripping a hapless mouse. The policeman released a breath he didn't know he'd been holding and his shoulders slumped in relief.

"Be afraid, be very afraid..." Pete whispered the words but his voice reverberated around the cemetery.

"Shut up!" Jacoby growled. "You're such a comedian. Come on, we're almost there."

The tall double oak doors of the mausoleum loomed before them. Pete grasped a big ornate knob, gave it a turn and pulled. Hinges creaked and groaned, loudly proclaiming the need for some lubricant. The room they stepped into was large and gloomy. The PI ran a searching hand along the wall.

"The caretakers had electricity installed a few years back, maybe I can find the switch."

"How do you always know these things?"

"Like I keep telling tell you, Lieutenant. I get around."

A soft light suddenly filled the high-ceilinged room, causing both men to blink at the unaccustomed brightness. Sealed crypts lined the walls, most with the names of occupants ostentatiously engraved, though a number of them seemingly awaited their final residents.

"Right side, first column, third from the bottom."

Pete located the crypt and peered at the name.

"Witch?"

"I told you, Pete – third from the bottom."

"That's the one I'm looking at. The name on it is Witch." He rubbed at the engraving and blew some dust away. "Sorry, make that Welch."

"Witch, Welch, whatever. According to the note the vault is unsealed and empty of a body. The cover plate should be easy to remove. But we need to get it done in a hurry..." Jacoby glanced at his watch. "...the cemetery gates are always locked at midnight on Halloween to keep certain segments of society from conducting their mischief."

"Famous last words." Pete fiddled with the cover. "Certain segments of society?"

"Believe me, Pete – you really don't want to know."

"I have an imagination, Lieutenant. A very vivid one." The cover wiggled and came off. "Did the note happen to tell us what we can expect to find inside? Popcorn balls, Candy Corn, Tootsie Rolls?"

"Just that it contains a certain item that will be of interest to the police."

Upon removing the cover, Pete went to his knees to get a better view inside the receptacle. Reaching a long arm inside, he retrieved a single article and handed it to Jacoby. It was a plain white envelope, not too thick and not too thin. The cop slid open the flap and pulled out the contents – six $500 bills and another note. It was certainly not what he expected to find.

"For the Police Benevolent Fund". That's all it says. No name, just a plain sheet of white paper, no markings." Jacoby stared at the portrait of President William McKinley that graced the bills. "Doesn't that beat all."

Pete got to his feet with a grimace of pain. The floor was hard and cold.

"Come on, Lieutenant, let's get out of here before the gates are locked. Tomorrow you can turn that money over to Captain Clark and be hero for a day. Who knows, he might be so appreciative of your good work that he'll put you in charge of the Policeman's Ball."

The PI smiled at the expression of agony that crossed his friend's face.

"And let's not forget to pick up that department store dummy on our way out." Jacoby added. "Kids..."

-finis-