It was spring and dark came around eight p.m. I didn’t know what time was appropriate to arrive at a masquerade, but ten seemed like a safe bet. Any earlier and I might be one of two or three awkward people in masks trying to make small talk.

Come nine-thirty, I couldn’t wait anymore. Fox’s Friday night lineup was stultifying, reinforcing what society had been teaching me since I was old enough to get my ears pierced: anyone worth their salt will be out on a Friday night meeting people and being exciting. Well, I could take a hint.

I changed into my now-standard spying outfit of black jeans, black turtleneck, and tennis shoes and headed out the door. Eagle Lake, the site of the party according to the invite, was approximately ten miles south of where I lived. If there wasn’t too much farm machinery, tourists pulling boats, or deer on the way, I’d make it in under fifteen minutes. I planned to drive straight to the public access boat landing about a mile from where the party was supposed to be. I would park my car there and walk so I wouldn’t be recognized by my vehicle when I arrived.

When I reached the divided highway, I took a left on Eagle Lake Road. I drove about two miles before the road changed from tar to gravel, and another three-quarters mile until I saw a yard light obscured by trees. It reminded me of Lartel’s house, except the mailbox was white and I could see peeks of a blue house through the white oaks. There were lights blazing and cars in the driveway.

I drove a little farther until I passed by an approach. I turned my car around and drove back to the public access. There were seven other cars parked there, which was a lot for 9:47 p.m. Plus, none of them had boat trailers hooked on. Looks like I wasn’t the only one who wanted to hang low, though I didn’t recognize any of the vehicles.

The blue house was a straight one-mile shot through the woods on the south side of the road. Given the number of cars in the access lot, I decided it would be best to wear my disguise from the word go, though I felt like a dork traipsing through the moonlit forest in a Harlequin mask. I couldn’t get the picture out of my head of me stuck in a bear trap, passed out from pain, found all in black and masked. I was so engrossed in this potential shame that I almost walked straight into a tall man, back to me, peeing.

“Sorry,” I said. It was the knee-jerk apology of someone who has accidentally walked into a bathroom stall they thought was empty.

He quickly shook, zipped, and turned to me. Everything below his eyes was covered in an elaborate feathered and sequined veil, but it didn’t disguise his dark beard and mustache. What I thought were black pants and a shirt turned out to be belly dancer trousers and a bikini top under a transparent blouse. It looked like something Barbara Eden would wear on I Dream of Jeannie.

He looked away quickly. “Not a problem.” He jogged ahead and out of sight.

I looked around and behind me. I didn’t see any other hairy, peeing Bedouins, so I continued on. I was much more alert now, but the only sounds I heard were branches snapping under my tennis shoes and the breeze in the tops of the trees.

I was nearly out of the woods when a dark shape swooped at me like a pterodactyl. It knocked off my mask and scratched at my shoulder. I ducked, hands over my head, and waited for the next attack. I heard a heavy shape land on a nearby branch and risked a peek.

“Whoo whoo.”

Shit. An owl. The birds were turning on me, just like I knew they would. I scrabbled around on the forest floor until I felt my mask and hunch-walked toward the house. I tried to move completely unlike a mouse, but it’s hard to seem ominous when you’re crouching. When I got to the clearing, I fought the urge to stand up straight and run. If that owl was going to get me, he was going to work for it.

I heard subdued music coming from inside. I checked to make sure I still had my keys and some money in my pockets. If this was some kind of direct sales party, like Gina had said, I wanted to have some cash on hand so I would blend in.

I circled the house, but all the windows had shades covering them so I couldn’t see in. In the front lawn were those wooden ornaments that look like big ladies leaning over and exposing their butts, and an excited white poodle was tied to the lone oak tree in the lawn. My feet crunched on acorns as I walked to the door. It looked like the only way to go was in.

I reached for the doorknob and entered, confused by the dim light. From all the blazing lights in the yard, I had expected it to be much brighter inside. A firm hand grabbed my wrist right inside the door. “Invitation.”

I turned to the voice and saw a man in an exact replica of my outfit—black shirt, black pants, and tennis shoes, topped by a full-face Harlequin mask. He was thick-necked and large and had a faint vanilla odor about him that I couldn’t place. I pulled the invite out of my back pocket and handed it to him. He glanced briefly at it and returned it. “Which room do you want to go to?”

What kind of party was this? I couldn’t see anyone but this guy, and the music was no louder inside that it had been outside. I played with the idea of mumbling something, but I took a chance and revealed my newness. “This is my first time. What are my choices?”

His neck muscles relaxed a little, and he pulled a tiny white pot with a black and yellow cover out of his back pocket. He applied a generous slab of Carmex to his lips without lifting his mask, and then nodded toward the top of the stairs. “First-timer. We’re glad to have you. You want the Red Room, first door on your left at the top of the stairs. They’ll take care of you there.”

It was Battle Lake Police Chief Gary Wohnt dressed as my disguise doppelgänger. Was he doing off-duty security work? I nodded my head, not wanting to use my voice any more than necessary, and walked up the stairs. Something was not right about this. I had felt less anxiety walking into Lartel’s house. I heard a click behind me, and suddenly a disco strobe light began orbiting color off the walls on the bottom floor.

When I got to the top of the stairs, the music was slightly louder but still muffled. If memory served, the tune was the Waitresses’ “I Know What Boys Like.” I stood in front of the first door on my left at the top of the stairs. It was a very ordinary entrance, and next to it was a very ordinary table with a doily and a bowl of mixed nuts. I opened the door and walked in with feigned confidence.