Chapter 27
T he Fright Night Halloween Spooktacular winds down after a full month of chaos, but the energy still pulses through the crowd as costumed revelers squeeze every last drop of magic from this bewitching night.
Orange and purple lights twinkle through the thin veil of artificial fog that hovers just above the ground, transforming ordinary festival-goers into mysterious phantoms gliding through the misty darkness—or at least making them look more interesting than they probably are in daylight.
The scent of apple fritters mingles with pumpkin spice and that unique aroma of cooling autumn air that seems to whisper, “Winter is coming, but we’re not quite done with fall yet, so enjoy your last hurrah before the snow starts flying and everyone retreats indoors until spring.”
Our unlikely pet parade follows me toward the picnic area where Emmie has transformed a simple table into a midnight feast worthy of a Halloween carnival—because if there’s one thing Emmie excels at, it’s turning any gathering into a food lover’s paradise.
Corn dogs stand at attention in a glass jar like some kind of savory bouquet that would make a state fair vendor weep with pride, while her famous pumpkin spice French toast bites are piled high on a platter shaped like a grinning jack-o’-lantern.
Pizza triangles form a perfect circle on another platter, resembling a cheesy, pepperoni-studded clock face that suggests it’s definitely time to eat .
This is precisely why humans are superior to dogs, Fish thinks, eyeing the spread with undisguised interest and the kind of food appreciation that comes from being a professional mooch. Your species may be hopelessly neurotic, but you’ve mastered the art of deep-frying anything edible.
I smell MEAT and brEAD and SWEET THINGS. Sherlock practically jumps out of his fur with excitement. This is the greatest night in the history of fright nights! Halloween should be every day! Every single day!
I’ve never seen so much food before! Fudge bounces on his stubby legs, and his ghost costume has been completely abandoned somewhere on the festival grounds. Heath only ever ordered plain pepperoni. He said anything else was an abomination.
Skittles prances alongside Fudge with her ginger fur glowing copper in the festival lights. Hooman celebrations are so chaotic but wonderful. They create all this delicious smelling food and then DROP some of it on the GROUND! How nice is that?
Emmie waves enthusiastically from behind the carefully arranged decaf pumpkin spice lattes, the whipped cream peaks adorned with tiny plastic spiders.
Leo stands beside her, balancing baby Elliot on one hip while arranging napkins with his free hand like a man who’s mastered one-armed party hosting.
Their matching Little Red Riding Hood and Woodsman costumes look a bit worse for wear after a full night of festival activities, but their smiles are as bright as ever.
“I figured everyone could use some sustenance after all the excitement,” Emmie calls out. “Nothing brings a family together like food!”
“Or murder,” I mutter under my breath, earning a disapproving look from Jasper, who’s managed to wipe most of his Frankenstein’s monster makeup off with what appears to be a monster-themed napkin.
My parents have already claimed a picnic table and are deep in conversation with Buffy—I mean, Elizabeth—while Georgie hovers nearby, occasionally interjecting what I can only assume are wildly inappropriate comments based on Elizabeth’s widening eyes.
Huxley and Mackenzie join them with little Mack perched on Huxley’s shoulders, the toddler’s scarecrow costume now missing most of its straw stuffing.
And I can’t help but notice Macy standing apart from the group with her red dress looking particularly dramatic against the backdrop of orange twinkle lights and fog. Her posture screams I’m fine , but I can tell she’ll need more than a minute to process this emotional bombshell.
“I should—” I gesture vaguely toward Macy.
“Go.” Jasper nods, understanding immediately. “I’ll guard your corn dog with my life.”
“My hero.” I plant a quick kiss on his green-tinged cheek.
I weave through the crowd toward my sister and manage to collect two lattes along the way. Macy accepts the offering without making eye contact, taking a long sip before finally acknowledging my presence.
“So, we have another sister,” she says casually as if discussing the weather and not a life-altering family revelation.
“It looks that way,” I agree, watching her carefully.
“It’s just so on-brand for this family.” Macy sighs with all the drama she can muster.
“Other families have boring secrets like gambling addictions or embarrassing forays into light prostitution. The Bakers? We have cute secret sisters with an even cuter pet.” She takes another sip.
“At this point, I wouldn’t be surprised if Huxley turned out to be a werewolf. ”
“He does get unusually cranky during full moons,” I offer.
That earns me a reluctant smile, the first genuine expression I’ve seen from her all evening. “I’m not mad, you know. Just?—”
“Processing?”
“Adjusting my mental family flow chart,” she corrects, tapping her temple. “I’ve enjoyed being the fashionable sister. Now I have to compete with Zombie Librarian Chic? She can pull off black lipstick, for Pete’s sake.”
“If it helps, I’m pretty sure her makeup will wash off eventually.”
Macy snorts into her latte. “Look at you, trying to make me feel better. Shouldn’t you be over there bonding with New Sister instead of consoling Old Sister? ”
“You’ll always be my favorite sister to find bodies with,” I assure her solemnly.
“High praise indeed.” She rolls her eyes, but I can see her shoulders relaxing. “Anyway, I should find Jordy. The least I can do is get lucky tonight since everyone else is having their emotional breakthroughs.”
“TMI, Macy.”
“ Please . You’ve walked in on worse.” She straightens her dress and fluffs her blonde bob and her boobs. “Tell the family I’ll see them at breakfast. I need to process things in my own way.”
“By which you mean?—”
“By which I mean none of your business, baby sister.” She winks, already scanning the crowd for her boyfriend’s distinctive red-orange flannel.
As Macy sashays into the festival night, I turn to head back to my family—my expanding, complicated, wonderful family. That’s when I spot Hammie Mae approaching, pushing a stroller with little Matilda sound asleep inside, her bee costume now covered with a soft yellow blanket.
“She’ll come around,” Hammie Mae says with a knowing nod toward Macy’s retreating form. “At least I hope she will.”
I give a mournful laugh. “Knowing my big sis like I do, her ego took a bit of a hit. She likes to be the center of attention in this family.”
“Speaking of family,” Hammie Mae says, glancing down at Fudge who’s been orbiting my ankles like a fuzzy white satellite, “I’m looking to expand mine—by one dog.
I was thinking if Fudge doesn’t have a place to go, I’d gladly take him in.
Jellybean and Matilda just fell in love with him, and so did I. ”
“But what about the labradoodle puppy you’re in line for?” I ask, genuinely curious.
Hammie Mae shrugs, her beekeeper costume rustling with the movement. “I think Fudge would be a lot of help with the new puppy. After all, I do sort of have my hands full. Plus, he would just love the farm.”
Fudge’s ears perk up at the word farm , so dramatically they practically form exclamation points on his head .
Farm? Did someone say FARM? He yips and squeals. I LOVE FARMS! Heath always said we’d retire to a farm someday! They have DIRT and ANIMALS and THINGS TO CHASE!
He looks up at me, his liquid brown eyes somehow both hopeful and apprehensive. Would that be okay, Bizzy? I’ve liked staying with you, but a farm sounds like heaven for a dog like me.
“I think that’s a wonderful idea,” I tell Hammie Mae, crouching down to pet Fudge’s soft head with the affection of someone saying goodbye to a friend. “And I think someone else agrees.”
Fudge does a happy dance that involves his entire body wiggling in opposite directions simultaneously, an impressive feat of canine physics.
I’m going to live on a FARM! he barks loud enough for anyone within a five-mile radius to hear. I’ll chase CHICKENS and herd COWS and bark at TRACTORS!
I shrug over at Hammie Mae. “I have a feeling he’s interested in chasing chickens, cows, and tractors.”
She belts out a laugh. “I don’t actually have any chickens or cows, but we do have a tractor he can bark at all day long.”
After sorting out the details of Fudge’s relocation, I watch as he trots off beside Hammie Mae’s stroller, turning back only once to give a happy little yip of farewell. One more piece of the Heath Cullen case wrapped up with a bow—or in this case, a dog collar.
The family begins to disperse as the festival winds down like a music box slowly running out of steam, everyone vowing to regroup for breakfast at the inn tomorrow morning where we can continue processing tonight’s revelations over coffee and Emmie’s magical baked goods.
Hugs are exchanged, plans are made, and the promise of more time together hangs in the air like the last wisps of Halloween magic refusing to surrender to reality.
As the crowd thins, I find myself standing with Elizabeth, my newfound sister, in a moment of unexpected quiet that feels both surreal and perfectly natural.
“So,” I say, suddenly awkward despite the emotional reunion earlier, because apparently, finding long-lost family members doesn’t come with an instruction manual. “Welcome to the family. It’s chaotic, but we mean well. ”
She smiles, and I’m struck again by how familiar her features seem. It’s like looking at a photo of yourself from a different angle. “I’ve waited a long time for this. It was worth every minute.”
Fish, who has been suspiciously well-behaved all evening, chooses this moment to weave between our ankles.