Chapter 20
You know your life has taken a turn for the surreal when you’re standing in a fake cemetery wearing a vampire costume while your ex-husband flirts with a morning show host, and your cats pose for national television in tiny costumes.
We’re all one big happy family with questionable fangs and fashion choices.
The scent of cinnamon donuts mingles with gingerbread funnel cakes and the crisp bite of October air that’s arrived fashionably early—try several weeks—while spooky music drifts from hidden speakers with the kind of theatrical timing that makes everything feel slightly unhinged.
Purple and green twinkle lights snake through every available surface like Christmas decorations that took a wrong turn at Halloween, and the sound of chattering crowds mingles with the distant cackle of mechanical witches who are probably older than every last visitor here, and most likely haunted.
It’s the last night of the Sweet Season Spooky Symposium, and the grand finale event is upon us.
And apparently, the entire state of Maine decided to show up wearing costumes that range from adorable to requires therapy in an effort to help us celebrate.
My ex would fall into that category regardless of the time of year.
And what is Clyde doing here, anyway? My only guess is he’s here to cheer the girls on for their event coordination efforts. That or rub greedy Greta, his yoga instructor, in my face. I can’t help but notice her slim frame henpecking her way through the dessert table. Now there’s irony for you.
Dexter is running late, but he’s already texted twice just to see if I’m still breathing. I’m sensing he’s afraid his mother will strike again.
The event is being held right here in front of the haunted house, and the grounds are thick with people in costumes as the music blares and they hop up and down to the funky beat.
“I can’t believe it’s still just September,” Ree announces, adjusting her vampire cape while clutching a caramel apple that’s bigger than her head. “Theme parks really don’t care about the actual calendar, do they?”
“Why would they?” Georgie counters, her zombie bride costume complete with a veil that keeps getting caught in the autumn breeze. “When you can convince people to buy Halloween merchandise in August and Christmas decorations before Thanksgiving, actual dates become purely optional.”
“It’s marketing genius,” I agree, smoothing down the vampire getup that McKenna, Riley, and Emma insisted I wear. Ree and I look as if we’re from the same coven. “Though I have to say, for a last-minute costume party, this turned out pretty spectacular.”
And it really has. The haunted mansion glows against the night sky like something from a Tim Burton fever dream, while the cemetery display has been transformed into party central with cocktail tables scattered between the tombstones and a dessert buffet that would make a professional caterer give a spontaneous applause.
Fog machines pump mist across the cobblestones at regular intervals, and “Werewolves of London” drifts from hidden speakers while half the crowd howls along.
My phone buzzes against my hip, and I check it to find another text from Hot Stuff.
Detective Dreamboat: Still breathing? Haven’t heard any screaming yet, which I’m taking as a good sign.
I text back.
Josie: All limbs accounted for. Your mother hasn’t tried to poison me with small talk yet.
His response is immediate.
Detective Dreamboat: The night is young. Stay alert. I’m on my way.
I’m starting to think he’s genuinely worried his mother might escalate from passive-aggressive threats to actual violence, which is either touching concern for my welfare or a realistic assessment of Delora’s homicidal potential.
“Is that Detective Dreamboat checking on your vital signs?” Georgie asks, peering over my shoulder with the shamelessness that comes from wearing a costume that apparently grants immunity from social boundaries.
“He’s running late but apparently concerned that I might not survive the evening without supervision.” That and the fact his mother is apparently an oxygen thief.
“Smart man,” Ree observes, taking a bite of her caramel apple that somehow doesn’t destroy her vampire fangs. “Your track record of keeping people alive at theme park events is concerning.”
Before I can defend my survival instincts, the crowd near the mansion’s front porch erupts in cheers and camera flashes. McKenna and Riley appear with Fish and Chip, and I have to admit, my daughters have outdone themselves.
Fish is sporting a tiny witch’s costume complete with a hot pink pointed hat that somehow makes her look even more regal and judgmental than usual.
Chip is wearing a vampire cape that’s been strategically tailored to accommodate his generous proportions, and both cats are clearly basking in the attention. Yet another proud member of the coven.
This is actually pretty fun, Fish admits as photographers snap away. Though I draw the line at riding a broomstick. I have my dignity to think about.
Someone gave me a treat shaped like a bat, Chip adds with obvious satisfaction. Best costume party ever.
I’m glad he likes it. It’s going to last another six weeks.
“Ladies and gentlemen!” McKenna calls out, her voice carrying over the crowd with natural authority after spending the last week organizing chaos into submission, “Sweet Life America and Morning Coffee & Chaos are here tonight to film our grand finale!”
The crowd goes wild, and I spot the television crews setting up elaborate lighting equipment that makes the entire cemetery look like a movie set.
“Oh my goodness,” a familiar voice gushes behind me. “This is absolutely magical!”
I turn to see Nadine approaching, and she’s clearly embraced the costume theme with enthusiasm. She’s dressed as a vintage baker, complete with a flour-dusted apron covered in tiny pumpkins, her silver hair tucked under a chef’s hat that somehow manages to look both professional and festive.
“Nadine!” Georgie immediately pounces on her with the enthusiasm of someone who’s had too much sugar and not enough supervision. “You look absolutely adorable! Very authentic pioneer period baker vibes.”
“Why, thank you, sugar,” Nadine beams, settling into conversation with natural ease after decades of charming customers.
” I figured if we’re celebrating baking and Halloween, I might as well commit to both themes.
The apron and the hat both qualify as antiques.
I’m quite the collector of antique kitchen paraphernalia. ”
“At least you’re getting in the spirit—unlike some people,” Ree observes, nodding toward where Delora stands near the refreshment table looking like she’s attending a funeral instead of a party.
She’s wearing her usual pearls and disapproval, apparently deciding that costume parties are beneath her dignity.
“Oh, that poor woman,” Nadine sighs with what sounds like genuine sympathy. “Someone should tell her that refusing to participate in joy is a choice, not a personality trait.”
“I heard someone call her the Wicked Witch of the East earlier,” Georgie says with a sigh. “Though honestly, that’s insulting to fictional witches everywhere.”
Nadine chuckles, then her expression turns more serious as she spots Savvy in the distance and nods her way.
“Speaking of poor souls, it’s too bad about Savvy’s mama passing away and losing her bakery like that.
The girl is striving to do her best, holding on to broken dreams and all.
Makes you want to root for her, you know? ”
Something in her tone makes my amateur sleuth instincts sit up and take notice, but before I can process it fully, Georgie grabs Nadine’s hand with the enthusiasm of someone who’s just discovered the solution to world peace.
“Come on!” Georgie declares, dragging Nadine toward where the staff set up a makeshift dance floor between two particularly dramatic tombstones. “You can’t come to a costume party and not dance! It’s against the rules!”
“Oh my.” Nadine laughs, allowing herself to be pulled away. “I haven’t danced in years!”
“Then you’re overdue!” Georgie calls back, and soon they’re both moving to the music with the kind of abandon that only comes from embracing the absurdity of dancing in a fake cemetery while wearing costumes—and hoping not to land in a real grave while you’re at it. Or the emergency room.
Wait… did Nadine just say that Savvy’s mother passed away? I don’t remember her mentioning that. I know she did mention that she’s running her mother’s bakery out in Tennessee.
I pull out my phone and do a quick search, my fingers moving with the urgency of someone who’s just realized they might have missed something important. A few taps later, and my blood runs cold.
Savvy’s mother didn’t just lose her bakery and pass away.
Dilly’s brutal review destroyed her business and her reputation.
The review was so scathing that it made national news in the baking community, and her mother never recovered from the public humiliation.
Not only that, but she grew violently ill and passed away unexpectedly.
I look up from my phone, scanning the crowd for Savvy, and spot her standing alone by the skeleton bride’s casket.
She’s dressed as Little Bo Peep in an elaborate pale blue gown with a hoop skirt, complete with a shepherdess bonnet and matching crook, but her usual charming smile is nowhere to be seen.
Instead, she’s staring into the casket with an expression that could turn a volcano into a glacier.
The pieces click into place with the sickening clarity of a puzzle you never wanted to solve. Savvy didn’t come to Maine for a symposium. She came for revenge. And Nadine just confirmed that she knows exactly what Dilly Thatcher did to destroy an innocent woman’s life.
Time to have a conversation with a potential killer who’s been hiding behind sweet tea and Southern charm.