Chapter 5
“ I said you had better kiss your shiny hiney goodbye because I’m about to kill you,” Macy snips once again at the poor man just to make her point loud and clear, because apparently, death threats require repetition for maximum impact.
She’s not one for subtlety.
“Oh, for crying out loud, Macy,” I mutter, instinctively stepping back and tightening my grip on Ella. “Not on Halloween night. Please, not on Halloween night.”
The baby stirs slightly against my chest as if she can sense the tension in the air. Or maybe she’s just picked up on my sudden spike in maternal anxiety that’s threatening to set off car alarms in three counties.
This is not good, Fish yowls as her tail puffs up to twice its normal size. I knew this night was going to end badly. You’d think men would be smart enough to know not to get on Aunt Macy’s homicidal side. But they never seem to learn.
Should I bite someone? Sherlock asks with the enthusiasm of someone who’s just discovered a new career opportunity. I could bite someone. I’m very good at biting.
“Nobody is biting anyone,” I whisper, then realize I’m talking to my pets in front of the paranormal investigators.
Great. Now they probably think I’m the one who’s haunted—or at least in desperate need of professional psychiatric intervention. And at this point in my life, I probably need it.
Heath lets out a hearty laugh, holding up his hands in a calming gesture. “Whoa there, Macy! Easy, tiger. You know you’ve missed me. Admit it, life’s been boring without me around to shake things up.”
He flashes that megawatt smile again, the kind that probably got him out of detention in high school and possibly several court appearances that would have ended badly for less charming individuals.
Then, as if to prove some point just how harmless he is, he pulls what appears to be a butcher knife from his jacket pocket.
My mother, Georgie, and I all gasp at once.
“You better watch your back,” he growls at Macy. “ Kidding! Look, it’s just a prop—see?”
He demonstrates by pressing the blade against his palm, and it retracts into the handle with a satisfying click .
The wicked-looking blade catches the flickering festival lights, and several nearby festival-goers step away with alarmed expressions.
Though I have to admit, while the blade might be menacing, the handle is absolutely gorgeous.
Intricate silver swirls wind around what looks like a skull and crossbones design that converges at the edge.
It looks every bit like a pirate’s dream.
“It’s part of my vampire hunter costume,” he assures us. “Complete with a retractable silver blade and holy water.” He pats a small vial hanging from his belt. “But I have to say, your cat costume is far more terrifying than any vampire I’ve ever encountered.”
“Men and sharp objects,” Georgie swoons. “Two of my favorite things.”
Heath laughs at the thought. “Well, the blade is dull, and if you ask Macy, so am I,” he teases, twirling the now harmless knife between his fingers.
“In fact, I’ve got an entire cache of these fake knives.
” He lifts a black tote bag hanging from his arm and pulls it open to reveal at least a dozen identical prop knives jumbled inside.
That man has more props than personality, Fish thinks, twitching her tail with disdain.
And she might be right.
“We thought we’d do a fun group photo before we leave,” Heath continues, oblivious to my cat’s mental critique or mine. “You know what they say—if there isn’t a picture, did it really happen?” He tosses a couple of fake knives to Buffy and Hazel, who catch them with varying degrees of enthusiasm.
Buffy’s green pumpkin antennae bob as she examines her prop with a polite smile, while Hazel’s orange antennae nearly fall off as she barely bothers to catch hers.
I shrug over at them. “Nothing sells paranormal investigation like a bunch of adults posing with fake weapons,” I mutter, mostly to myself.
He winks at me. “It’s all about the drama, Bizzy. People don’t tune in for subtlety.”
Somehow, I don’t think subtlety is in Heath Cullen’s vocabulary, fake knife or not. And why do I get the feeling he’s never met a situation he couldn’t charm his way through either?
This is better than those reality shows that you refuse to watch but Jasper loves, Fish muses as she settles in for the show, her devil horns listing even farther to the side.
Should we do something? Sherlock’s superhero cape flutters with anxiety. Macy looks really mad. Like she just found someone eating all of her homemade cookies mad.
Before I can respond to either my pets’ or my sister’s homicidal tendencies, reinforcements arrive in the form of my father and mother-in-law, who materialize out of the crowd as if they’ve been summoned by the scent of family drama.
Gwyneth, with her dark hair and light eyes that can slice through glass at twenty paces, makes a beeline for Ella, while my father, Nathaniel, trails behind her with his trademark boy-next-door smile that’s somehow survived intact well into his golden years.
“What in heaven’s name is going on here?
” Gwyneth demands, her gaze sweeping over the scene like a lighthouse beam before zeroing in on baby Ella.
Without so much as a may I , she efficiently plucks my daughter from her carrier strapped to my chest and cradles her against her cashmere-clad shoulder.
“Huxley just took baby Mack home.” Everyone with half a brain knows a Halloween carnival is no place for a baby, she thinks with enough judgment to power a small country .
“Give me my Ellie Belly,” Dad coos, tickling Ella’s cheek with one finger. He looks up at me with those blue eyes that match my own. “This party is no place for a baby.”
“That’s right,” Gwyneth adds, her voice as crisp as the autumn leaves surrounding us. “And that’s why we’re taking her home. To your cottage, to be exact. Don’t worry, Bizzy. We have the key.”
“How could I forget?” I mutter, attempting to plaster on a smile that doesn’t scream baby heist in progress. It’s been the same story on repeat for the past two weeks, ever since they returned from their Caribbean cruise and announced they were renting the cottage next door to mine.
And it’s been one big questionable family reunion ever since.
Mom sidles up beside me, her bee antennae bobbing with barely contained opinions that are probably more dangerous than her actual stinger. “For once, I agree with your father.”
“Will wonders never cease?” I whisper because the day my divorced parents agree on anything is probably a sign of the apocalypse—or at least some very unusual weather patterns.
Georgie waddles over, her pumpkin costume making squeaking noises with each step she takes.
“Well, if it isn’t Mr. Clean-Up-His-Act himself.
” She eyes my father with all the subtlety of a foghorn operated by someone with a personal vendetta against quiet neighborhoods.
“Isn’t that just like a man? Cheat for years, then swoop in playing doting grandpa like he deserves a medal for basic human decency. ”
“Georgie,” Mom warns, but there’s a smile playing at the corners of her mouth that suggests she’s not entirely opposed to this particular character assassination.
“What? I’m just saying what everyone’s thinking.
” Georgie hooks her arm through Mom’s. “Come on, Red. Let’s leave the baby wranglers to it and find ourselves some fun.
I hear there are some hotties bobbing for apples over by the cider stand.
However, with this stinger of yours,” she flicks Mom’s bee appendage, “you might pop all the fruit, and the men are going to love it.”
“You do realize I’m still seeing your brother,” Mom reminds her as she allows herself to be towed away .
“What my baby bro don’t know won’t sting him!” Georgie cackles as her pumpkin costume disappears into the crowd.
My father and Gwyn take off, too, and I turn back to the confrontation just in time to see Macy drilling a finger into Heath’s chest with the precision of someone conducting a very pointed anatomy lesson.
His perfect smile has faded considerably, and that sparkle in his eyes has been replaced by something harder—like someone who’s just realized his charm might not be sufficient currency for this particular transaction.
Before things can escalate further into actual bodily harm, Jordy appears like a flannel-clad superhero—all dark hair, blue eyes, and casual confidence in his white t-shirt and red-orange flannel that makes him look like he stepped off the cover of Lumberjacks Weekly.
Jordy Crosby happens to be Emmie’s brother, Macy’s boyfriend, and my once-upon-a-husband.
It’s true. Vegas, hard liquor, and an Elvis impersonator were involved. Thankfully, my brother used his shiny new law degree to undo that hex in record time. And even more thankfully than that, Jordy and I never consummated those nuptials.
He wraps an arm around Macy’s waist and gently extracts her from Heath’s personal space. “Easy there, killer,” he says to my sister with a little laugh—a nervous one. “Let’s save the homicide for after the hayride, okay?”
He turns to Heath with an apologetic grin that somehow manages to be both friendly and slightly threatening at the very same time. “Sorry about that, buddy. My girlfriend gets a little passionate about intellectual property rights. No hard feelings, and no need to press charges, right?”
Heath straightens his jacket, his smile returning but noticeably cooler. “No problem. I understand completely.” His girlfriend? So this is the goof Macy settled for?
I press my lips tight with the slight to keep from laughing. Jordy is far from a goof. Well, most of the time.