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‘Certainly,’ Martin said. ‘Have you checked tonight’s specials board? Our main dish is blood pudding. And the second most popular dish, stake and kidney pie.’

‘Anything else?’

‘Heart-shaped chicken escallops with chips and lots of blood-red ketchup.’

‘Have you got ham and chips?’ Kelly said.

‘Well, yes, of course. But wouldn’t you rather have something a little more seasonally appropriate?’

Kelly grinned. ‘I’ll have ham and chips and then a slice of pumpkin pie.’

‘Very well. Esmeralda, dear? Can you come and take our guest’s order?’

A gong sounded, followed by piped funeral-march music.

Esmeralda, dressed in a black maid’s outfit with a funeral veil over her face, glided around the end of the bar and lifted a notepad.

‘She has declined our blood pudding,’ Martin said, much to the amusement of Lars and Ambrose, while Esmeralda suppressed a small smile.

‘Ham, egg and chips, please,’ Kelly said. ‘Give me a generous side portion of beans.’ Here she glanced at Martin and gave him a wink. ‘And do you have any garlic bread?’

Martin grimaced. ‘Oh, the horror.’

‘It’s good for one’s immune system,’ Kelly said.

‘One garlic bread,’ Esmeralda said in a deathly whisper, fingers with black-painted nails scribbling on the notepad with a pencil that had a Disneyland Paris Halloween logo on the side. ‘Certainly.’

With Kelly’s order completed, she disappeared through the door behind the bar.

Kelly ordered a beer, made herself comfortable on a stool and then turned to Lars and Ambrose.

‘I went up to visit the Carnival of Horrors today,’ she said. ‘I bumped into Edward Dawkins, but I couldn’t find his father. I heard that Clive Dawkins has gone missing. I had a look online and couldn’t find anything about it. Is there any local gossip that you’ve heard?’

Lars and Ambrose exchanged a glance.

‘Who knows?’ Lars said. ‘Perhaps there was some trouble behind closed doors.’

‘What kind of man was he?’ Kelly asked.

Ambrose raised an eyebrow. ‘You mean, what kind of man is he? No one is suggesting that Clive Dawkins might be dead. It’s just possible he’s gone away for a while.’

Kelly, who had been hoping to perhaps catch a slip of the tongue, smiled. ‘Of course,’ she said. ‘I’m sure he’ll show up just fine. Weren’t you friends?’

Ambrose smiled again at her second attempt.

‘I can’t say I’ve had much dealing with him,’ he said. ‘I offered my services a few years ago. Offered to do some guided tours on behalf of the Carnival, or maybe even do a little paranormal investigating around his site just to see if I could unearth anything curious that might add a little spice to his business.’

‘And did you?’

‘He told me in no uncertain terms that I wasn’t welcome. Therefore, I can’t say that I’ve had much to do with him since. If I saw him in the street, I would probably nod hello. But I wouldn’t cross the street to talk to him, if you get my meaning.’

‘Intriguing,’ Kelly said. ‘How about you, Lars?’

Lars narrowed his single eye. From the way his crow’s feet tensed, Kelly was sure he was narrowing whatever was hidden beneath the eye patch too.

‘Clive Dawkins,’ he said. ‘Well, I have to say, like Ambrose here, I don’t know him with any great familiarity. I only know him by reputation. And his reputation is one of a man not to be trusted.’

‘You see, he came into his fortune in rather dubious circumstances. And there are some folks around here who felt like they’d gotten the short end of the financial stick when Clive’s sudden windfall came along. After all, how many people get to sell off a large patch of useless land, get paid a vast sum of money, and buy it back for a fraction of the price?’