“Come to think of it, it happened exactly one year ago tonight. On Halloween.” “What happened?” Theo Theodorakis asked impatiently. He was late for work in the coffee shop. “Tell them, Otis,” Sandy urged. The delivery boy stroked the gray stubble on his pointed chin. “Seems it all started with a bet; somebody bet them a dollar they couldn’t stay in that spooky house five minutes. One measly buck! The poor kids hardly got through those French doors on this side of the Westing house when they came tearing out like they was being chased by a ghost. Chased by a ghost—or worse.”
