*
Bobby had flown into the Dane County Regional Airport. He’d been told it was five miles northeast of the business district. He hadn’t cared since he wasn’t staying.
“Anne McKenna lives on State Street,” he said. They were headed southeast on Interstate 94. Late Sunday morning traffic was moderate. “Is that the business district?”
“Depends what kind of business you’re talking. The university is huge—over forty thousand students, add professors and support staff, that’s a lotta business. The capitol is right smack in the center of town—even more business.”
“Are the university and the capitol far apart?”
“They’re connected by State Street.”
That hadn’t really answered his question. State Street could be ten miles long.
“I’ll direct you,” she said. “We’ll have to park a few blocks away, if we’re lucky. State Street is pedestrian traffic only.” She laughed at his expression. “Don’t look so sad. It’s nice not to have to look for cars while you stroll.”
It sounded like she knew the area well. “Did you go to college there?”
“I went to Eau Claire. Closer. Cheaper. Easier to get into. But I knew people who went to Madison. I visited. It’s the place to be for college students all over the state.”
“They don’t like their own colleges?”
“Sure. But Halloween in Madison is a two-day party. There’s also a spring street festival called Mifflin.”
“What’s a Mifflin?”
“The name of the street.”
“Clever.” He passed a slow-moving semi.
“Mifflin’s pretty wild; the city has clamped down on it. But they couldn’t do much about Halloween on State Street. People dress up. They go from bar to bar. Sometimes they climb the sidewalk like it’s a mountain.” She held up a hand. “Don’t ask. They did start charging admission, figuring that would cut down on the attendees. It didn’t.”
“I take it you’ve been there for the Halloween party?”
“Once. When Jenn insisted. It was insane. So many people. So close. There was one point where I got picked up by the crowd and carried along. My feet didn’t touch the sidewalk. Freaked me out.”
“I’ve seen that happen at Mardi Gras. It can be scary.”
“I pushed my way to a store stoop. Everyone was drunk and not very accommodating.” She rubbed her arms as if she were cold. He wanted to hold her, to warm her. “I haven’t been back since.”
She stared out the window, her fingers curled so tightly around her own arms they’d gone white.
“What did you wear?” he asked.
Her breath rushed out. She’d been holding it. He didn’t like the idea of her in a crowd, panicked, alone. He should probably have changed the subject completely, but he’d also been intrigued by the idea of her in costume. What would Raye Larsen wear to the Halloween party of the year?
“I was a witch,” she said, as if it were a new and interesting revelation.
He made a soft sound of amusement, and she smiled, letting her arms fall back to her sides. Mission accomplished.
“I had the choice of being a black cat or a witch. As the cat costume consisted of a black bodysuit with a studded collar and leash, very Jenn, I picked the witch outfit.”
“Pointy hat?”
“Check.”
“What else?”
She slid a glance in his direction. At least she’d stopped holding her breath and rubbing herself as if she’d been dumped out of the car in the middle of a snowstorm.
“The last time someone asked ‘what are you wearing?’ I hung up on them.”
“I promise not to breathe too heavily.”
“You won’t want to. My costume consisted of a puffy black dress that reached to my knees, purple and white striped wool socks, ruby slippers, a broom, and green makeup.”
“Wart?”
She touched the tip of her nose. “Yep.”
“Very ‘I’ll get you, my pretty.’ With that getup, Jenn should have dressed like Toto and not a cat.”
“Jenn would never consent to being a dog.”
“Good point.”
They continued in silence for several miles. The sign for the next exit proclaimed a variety of fast food choices. “You want something to eat?”
They’d dressed and left without bothering to down anything more than coffee. He was fine; he’d done the same a thousand times before, but she looked pale.
“McDonald’s,” she read. “Taco Bell. Dunkin Donuts is tempting. But if I’m going to blow the diet I’d rather go to State Street Brats.”
He eyed her. “Diet?”
“Not so much for weight loss as for health.”
“You’re twenty-seven. Don’t you have a few years before you need to watch your food choices?”