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through town.
    I started walking, letting the crisp air clear my head.
    A neighbor was dead, and a killer was loose in Misty Falls. If the mailman actually suggested I was the killer, rather than someone believable, that ruled him out as my prime suspect. With no wife or girlfriend, and no children going after his will or insurance money, that cut out the obvious leads. Because I’d grown up next door, I knew Mr. Michaels was a cranky loner who didn’t pay or receive many social calls.
    Therefore, because there were zero people on the list of obvious suspects, that meant the killer could be anyone. The entire town of Misty Falls was populated with suspects.
    As I walked past a costume rental store, my eye was caught by their elaborate window display. It was an outdoor scene, with fake snow and a winter scene. A female mannequin in formal wear held a snowman’s head in her hands. I felt my gag reflex trigger at the scene, which wasn’t meant to be gruesome. I wondered if the store owner would change the display once the news of Mr. Michaels’ chilly demise spread throughout town.
    I leaned in to take a closer look at the display snowman, which was made of carved white foam. He appeared to be wearing the exact same top hat I’d posed in earlier that day. I pulled out my phone and checked the picture, since the actual top hat was currently in my car. It appeared to be the same hat.
    I stepped back from the window and took a few steps toward the costume rental shop’s front door. I had my first suspect. My pulse quickened at the idea of going in and asking questions.
    The top hat was a pretty good clue.
    Mr. Michaels had become my father’s neighbor years ago, before I’d turned ten. I didn’t know him well, but he wasn’t the kind of festive guy who’d splash out on high-end seasonal decorations. He didn’t even hand out candy on Halloween. One year, he put out a stack of old paperback Westerns and a sign telling kids to help themselves. Nobody did.
    So, if Mr. Michaels didn’t buy a fancy top hat for a holiday display, that meant the killer did. I stared at the glass front door, my feet not yet convinced to get moving. What if the owner of the costume shop was the killer? I couldn’t walk in there unarmed.
    Sure, I’d accidentally removed the top hat from the crime scene, so I felt some responsibility for that piece of evidence, but to what end?
    As I stood there debating my next move, a woman and her two teenage daughters excused themselves as they walked past me and into the shop.
    There was my opportunity. With them as a safety buffer, I followed the trio in and started looking around the costume shop, pretending to be browsing.

Chapter 7
 
    I poked around the dimly-lit, cramped interior of the costume rental store.
    “Can I help you with anything?” asked the tall man working behind the counter.
    “Just browsing!” I ducked shyly behind a display carousel of sequined costume ball masks. I picked out a glittering purple mask with green feathers and brought it up to the counter.
    “You’re not browsing,” the man said.
    “I’m not?” My heart started pounding so hard, I could feel my pulse throbbing in my throat. The man was so tall, with long fingers, perfect for strangling.
    He reached out with one long arm, and I stepped back with a gasp. His eyes narrowed behind his frameless square glasses, making his long, thin face look more gaunt. He must have picked up on my apprehension because he quickly softened his expression with a polite smile.
    I tried to return the smile as I nervously took another half step back, clutching the mask to my chest.
    “You can hang onto that if you like,” he said. “I know the code for those masks by heart.” He tapped away at a computer keyboard as he hummed a little tune. “Still snowing out there?”
    I swallowed down my paranoia and set the purple costume ball mask on the counter between us. Out of the corner of my eye, I watched the woman with her teen