Chapter 6
“ G et your lazy rear in gear and fight me like a man,” Macy shouts at the body lying prone with his vacant eyes staring at the navy sky, because apparently, my sister believes death is just another form of selective hearing that can be overcome with sufficient volume and aggressive motivation. And maybe a swift kick to the cookies.
The moonlight casts eerie shadows across Heath’s face, making him look like a wax figure in one of those horror museums—realistic but unmistakably lifeless. Or like a department store mannequin that’s given up on retail and embraced the Goth lifestyle.
The air has turned colder behind the haunted house as the scent of caramel apples and funnel cake wafts over from the midway as the Halloween festival rages on, clueless to the real-life horror that seems to be unraveling.
The festival sounds seem miles away now, replaced by Macy’s angry voice and the soft whimpering of a terrified dog.
Fudge cowers behind my legs with his little vampire cape dragging in the dirt like a defeated superhero who’s just discovered that his nemesis is actually mortality itself. His button eyes are wide with confusion and fear as he stares at his motionless owner.
Poor little thing doesn’t understand why his human won’t get up, Fish mewls with her devil horns now completely askew .
Should we tell him? Sherlock gives a little somber bark.
“Fish, Sherlock, would you please take Fudge back to the cottage?” I whisper. “He shouldn’t see this.”
On it, Fish responds, circling around the small white Westie. Come on, short stuff. Let’s go raid the treat jar. Your human is... sort of indisposed.
Fish herds both dogs away with surprising efficiency, and they disappear into the artificial fog just as Macy delivers another kick to Heath’s body—this one in a location that would have him singing soprano if he were alive to feel it. Hint: it’s in the aforementioned cookies.
“Would you stop?” I swat at my sister’s arm. “The last thing I need to tell Jasper is that I found you kicking the corpse.”
“What corpse?” She narrows her eyes at me before looking down and doing what I can only describe as corpse math—adding up the knife plus the blood plus the unnerving stillness and arriving at a conclusion that her brain apparently didn’t want to accept on the first try.
Her blue eyes widen to the size of those plastic pumpkins the kids are hauling around, and she lets a scream rip from her throat that could wake the dead—ironically not the dead among us.
A series of footfalls thunder in our direction, and suddenly I’m in the arms of my big, strong husband, and have I mentioned he’s handsome to a fault? Not even a corpse could stop me from pointing that out, because priorities.
Jasper Wilder is the kind of tall, dark, and devastating that makes women walk into lampposts, forget their own names, and occasionally commit minor traffic violations while rubbernecking.
His dark wavy hair always looks like he just stepped off a movie set, and those light gray eyes could melt polar ice caps, which, frankly, might be contributing to global warming.
Every female within a ten-mile radius seems to develop a mysterious case of the vapors when he’s around—with the exception of my sister, because, well, he’s her brother-in-law. Thank goodness for small favors.
“Bizzy, what’s happening?” Jasper searches my face with concern etched across his perfect features .
I glance down at the deceased, prompting my husband to drop to one knee and quickly check the man for a pulse.
“ Geez .” Jasper jumps to his feet. “Bizzy, what did you do?”
“Me?” My voice squeaks in protest like a rusty hinge. “She’s the one who was here with him first.” I’m quick to out my sister because family loyalty only extends so far when a homicide is on the table. “And if that isn’t bad enough, she was kicking him, too.”
Macy’s mouth rounds out as she looks my way with the indignation of someone who’s been betrayed by her closest ally.
“Way to throw your own sister under the bus—or in this case, the hearse,” she snips. “What happened to sisters ride or die ? I’ll help you bury the bodies and all that good stuff?”
“I’m pretty sure that pact didn’t include actual bodies,” I hiss back because there’s a significant difference between hypothetical criminal conspiracy and standing over someone who’s been recently stabbed to death. “That was more of a metaphorical support system.”
More footsteps hustle in our direction, and before I can continue my sisterly betrayal, Georgie and my mother—the pumpkin and the bee—are on the scene, while Jasper calls the incident in on his phone to the sheriff’s department with the weary efficiency of someone who’s done this too many times before.
“Who’s burying bodies and where?” Georgie pants as she looks left then right, her pumpkin costume making her resemble an overexcited jack-o’-lantern that’s about to tip on its side and roll toward the sea.
But my mother looks straight down and lets out a yelp that could compete with the haunted house sound effects currently going off at far too high decibels. “Oh, please tell me you didn’t find another body, Bizzy.”
“Nope,” I say with all the cheerfulness I can muster, which all things considered isn’t much. “This one is all Macy.” A sigh heaves from me. “I’ve trained her well. It looks as if she’s ready to take over the family business of discovering corpses in inconvenient places.”
Mom gasps and swats my arm. “Don’t you dare joke around! Your sister is nothing like you. One body-finder in the family is quite enough. ”
“I prefer the term amateur sleuth ,” I correct her. “It sounds a lot less like I’m running a morgue.”
“Well, at least we know where to look when someone goes missing,” Georgie chimes in, adjusting the stem on her hat. “Just follow Bizzy around for a day or two, and voilà, mystery solved!”
Macy points an accusing finger my way like a prosecutor about to make her closing argument.
“This is all Bizzy’s fault. Her bad luck is obviously contagious.
” And as if to emphasize her point, she delivers yet another swift kick to the corpse in question, just as a swarm of deputies flock to the area and cordon it off with yellow caution tape.
“Stop kicking the evidence!” I hiss over at her.
Speaking of evidence, I quickly pull out my phone and snap a few pictures of the homicide scene in the event I need to reference it later. With Macy, my mother, and Georgie all coming at me, I feel a little thrown off my homicidal game.
Wait, that didn’t sound right.
A crowd begins to merge this way like moths to a particularly gruesome flame, and I spot Hazel running toward us alongside one of my constant thorns in the side, Camila Ryder—Jasper’s ex-fiancée and his present secretary down at the precinct.
Her obsession with Jasper never ceases, but neither does her ability to insert herself into our lives like a splinter you can’t quite dig out.
“What’s going on?” Camila asks as she and Hazel step into our circle. Camila is a stunner with long legs, long crimson locks, and glowing eyes that always seem to be glaring at me as if I’ve personally offended her by marrying the man she cheated on.
“Another one?” She gasps as her gaze travels to Heath’s body, and I can practically see the dollar signs lighting up in her eyes. “Oh, this is perfect,” she says to Hazel, sounding disturbingly excited about what most people would consider a tragic turn of events.
“What are you talking about?” I gag on the words, fighting the urge to remind her that a man is dead and perfect isn’t typically the adjective most humans would choose at a time like this.
Have I mentioned that Camila has no common sense?
But then, you were probably able to deduce that once you realized she cheated on Jasper.
Camila takes a moment to frown at me—her default expression when forced to acknowledge my existence. “I was just telling my dear friend Hazel that I’m going to be filming alongside her and her crew. I’m doing a Halloween special for my Gossip Gal podcast.”
I can’t help but roll my eyes. Camila is a sort of YouTube sensation with the aforementioned show that thrives on rumors and regurgitated drama like a vulture feasting on roadkill.
“Bizzy has provided us with a fresh body,” Camila goes on as she knocks elbows with Hazel.
“I knew you’d come through.” She nods my way.
“And that means we’ll have a ghost on the grounds, too.
” She gasps and looks around, crouching like a cartoon character.
“In fact, I bet he’s here now. Yoo-hoo ,” she calls out to the nothingness of the woods in the distance. “Come out, come out, wherever you are!”
A growl emits from deep within my throat, and Macy holds up a finger. “I’ll handle this.”
“You had better,” I say, knowing full well that Macy’s version of handling a situation often creates twice as many problems as it solves, but sometimes those problems are more entertaining than the original issue, so it’s a calculated risk.
As it turns out, Camila and my sister are sort of besties—a friendship that’s as mystifying to me as quantum physics, cryptocurrency, and why people put pineapple on pizza.
Okay, fine. Over the past nine months, I’ve gobbled down more pineapple on my pizzas than should ever be legal.
Although I still can’t figure out why I’m so addicted.
But I digress. This is just another example of how exactly Camila has been infiltrating the ranks into my life, and by proxy, her true target—my far too handsome husband.
Macy clears her throat while crossing her arms and glaring at Heath. “Well, if you’re all going ghost hunting, then I want in on the action.”
“Really?” Hazel perks up like someone who’s just been offered free cake, clearly excited about gaining another team member—especially one with Macy’s particular brand of aggressive enthusiasm. “Do you have experience with paranormal investigation?”
“Not exactly,” Macy says, her eyes never leaving Heath’s face as if she’s expecting him to suddenly sit up and demand an explanation for her behavior. “But once you track down his spirit, I want to be there so I can kick him where it hurts one more time.”
She raises her foot as if to demonstrate her post-mortem assault technique, and this time it’s me lifting a finger with the authority of someone who’s reached her limit.
“Don’t even think about it,” I warn. “I’m pretty sure assaulting spirits violates some kind of otherworldly Geneva Convention.”
Camila pulls Macy off to the side to scheme about nefarious and otherworldly things—probably plotting how to capture ghost footage that’s about as authentic as her natural hair color—while my mother does the same with Georgie.
The crowd grows in size as people press against the caution tape as if it were the velvet rope at an exclusive club.
Skittles, that adorable ginger-colored labradoodle, trots over with a stunned look on her sweet face, and right behind her are Buffy and Hammie Mae, both looking like they’ve just witnessed something their brains are still trying to process.
“Oh my goodness,” Hammie Mae shrieks, her red curls bouncing wildly. “Is it true?” Her eyes grow wide as she looks at the corpse, and I nod solemnly.
“It’s Heath. I’m so sorry.”
Well, I’ve never felt so much relief in all my life, Hammie Mae thinks to herself, even though her face remains appropriately shocked.
I gasp, trying not to let my expression betray what I’ve just eavesdropped on.
Buffy closes her eyes for a moment. And just like that, one of my biggest problems just up and disappeared.
My mouth falls open as I pick up on her mental commentary as well. These women are not exactly overcome with grief, to put it mildly—more like they’re trying not to break into a celebratory applause.
Hazel comes over and blows out a breath. “Bizzy, I know this will sound callous, but I think Camila is right. I spoke with the rest of the group, and a few of us would like to stay on the grounds and start our recordings tonight if that’s okay with you.”
“Yes, sure,” I say, despite the fact I haven’t thought this through.
Not that I’m capable of thinking at all.
I haven’t slept through the night as far back as July.
For all I know, I just agreed to let them build a water park on the front lawn.
And honestly, that might be safer than having a killer on the loose.
Hazel nods back at a small group clad in black like a funeral director’s convention, and I make my way past them to check on the festival, which seems to be coming to an abrupt halt as word spreads that there’s been what the more delicate residents will probably refer to as an incident .
And just as I’m about to head off, a glowing blue figure catches my eye. A woman in a flowing white dress is seemingly floating toward the inn. But instead of opening the doors, she passes right through them, leaving behind nothing but a faint shimmer of miniature stars in her wake.
What the heck?
I give a hard blink in that direction, but any sign of a blue glowing being is long gone. Obviously, my lack of sleep is a far bigger problem than I thought. Next, I’ll be seeing pink elephants doing the tango while serving me cocktails. Honestly, a cocktail feels desperately needed at this point.
He’s dead, a voice floats my way.
Unless the person I’m listening in on is right in front of me, I can’t quite tell if it’s coming from a man or a woman.
Heath Cullen is finally getting fitted for a casket.
I frown because that thought was definitely coming from Macy, and while I appreciate her directness, I’m not exactly feeling any sisterly pride over it.
I’m so glad he’s off my back and off this planet, another says, and I gasp and look around abruptly to see who may have let the lethal thought fly.
Goodnight, my friend. I’m sorry I had to stab you in the heart before you stabbed me in the back.
And that last thought confirms to me that the killer is still here among us, mingling with the crowd, perhaps even feigning shock and horror while secretly celebrating their handiwork.
I scan the faces surrounding me—some concerned, some curious, some altogether too calm—and realize that one of them belongs to a murderer .
The night isn’t over. And neither is the danger.
Which means I’m going to have to solve another murder while operating on zero sleep, dealing with family dysfunction, and trying to keep my sister from assaulting any more evidence.
Just another typical October in Cider Cove.
Halloween time just got a little scarier for everyone.