Chapter 15
T he Fright Night Spooktacular transforms beautifully at dusk like a debutante getting ready for her coming-out ball—if she shopped exclusively at Spirit Halloween stores and had a serious addiction to artificial fog.
The family-friendly carnival atmosphere gives way to something more mystical and decidedly more adult, which I suspect has everything to do with the fact that the parents have finally managed to wear out their sugar-high children.
Strings of orange and purple lights flicker to life against the darkening sky like Christmas lights that went goth, while jack-o’-lanterns glow from every available surface with their carved faces casting eerie shadows across the festival grounds.
The scents have evolved, too—sugary funnel cakes and cotton candy now mingle with savory aromas of chili, cornbread, and mulled cider that’s been spiked with enough cinnamon whiskey to make the grown-ups forget they spent their life savings on carnival games that are definitely rigged.
“I vote for chili in a sourdough bread bowl,” Jasper says, studying the food truck options with the intensity he usually reserves for case files. “But I must admit, the maple bacon grilled cheese is making a compelling argument.”
“You could just get both,” I suggest, repositioning Ella in her stroller.
She’s still wearing her pumpkin pie costume, though it’s now accessorized with a little spit-up that I’m pretending is part of the whipped cream effect.
“It’s a festival. Calorie math doesn’t apply.
That’s like, the first rule of carnival physics. ”
“Sounds logical. This is why I married you.” Jasper grins, the flickering lights blinking across his face. He looks downright diabolical for a split second before his dimples give him away.
I’m still processing my earlier conversation with Hazel, trying to sort genuine clues from what I’m pretty sure was calculated misdirection wrapped in a paranormal research paper.
Her revelations about Buffy and Hammie Mae seemed rather convenient, and perhaps perfectly packaged to deflect suspicion from herself. And yet, there was a kernel of authenticity in some of what she said—or at least, in what she didn’t say. I knew the part about Buffy anyway.
Fudge sits patiently at my feet, his eyes occasionally tracking movement in the crowd as if searching for something—or someone.
Fish has claimed a spot in Ella’s stroller, curled up like a furry black and white stress ball, while Sherlock trots happily beside Jasper, occasionally stealing fallen festival food with ninja-like precision.
These hoomans have no concept of efficient eating, Fish mewls as a nearby man drops half his loaded nachos. So much food is wasted on fancy presentation when they could just eat it directly from the container like civilized beings.
Food tastes better when it’s been on the ground, Sherlock assures her, eyeing the fallen nachos with the blatant interest of someone who’s never met a floor snack he didn’t like. That’s just science.
“Bizzy! Jasper!” a familiar voice calls out over the festival noise, and I turn to see Emmie waving enthusiastically, pushing Elliot’s stroller through the crowd with Leo following close behind like a devoted bodyguard.
Gatsby and Cinnamon trot alongside them, looking remarkably well-behaved compared to our motley crew of furry half-starved misfits.
“There’s our favorite fellow inmates of baby jail,” I say as they reach us, leaning in to give Emmie a quick hug that has to navigate around both of our strollers and the reality that we’re both operating on approximately three hours of sleep.
“How’s life on the outside, stranger?” I ask as if I hadn’t just seen her this afternoon .
“Sleep-deprived and covered in unidentifiable sticky substances,” Emmie replies with a laugh that sounds only slightly hysterical. “So, basically the same as yours, but with different stains.”
The babies spot each other and immediately begin what can only be described as a wiggle-off, their tiny limbs flailing with the excitement of two people who’ve found their intellectual equals.
At five months, Elliot has mastered the art of the drool bubble, which he demonstrates with impressive volume while grinning at Ella like he’s just discovered the secret to world peace.
“Looks to me like they’re flirting,” Leo points out with a laugh while clapping Jasper on the shoulder. “You should start saving for the wedding now.”
“Funny,” Jasper growls. “Or at least for the therapy they’ll need when they see these Halloween costume photos fifteen years from now,” he says, gesturing to Ella’s pumpkin pie ensemble. Which for the record, I think Ella will appreciate at all ages. She’s just that cute.
Elliot is once again dressed as the world’s tiniest Superman, complete with a red cape that matches the one Sherlock wore earlier.
The coordination is either adorable or slightly concerning, depending on how you feel about people who plan family costume themes that include their pets—or other people’s pets for that matter.
“Any progress on the murder case?” Emmie asks, lowering her voice despite the festival noise, which is probably unnecessary since we’re currently surrounded by people dressed as zombies and werewolves discussing their candy corn preferences. “Your mother told me you were talking to Hazel earlier.”
“I may have gained some interesting leads.” I wrinkle my nose her way.
“Nothing definitive yet. But speaking of progress—” I turn to Leo with sudden suspicion.
“Aren’t you supposed to be enjoying your day off?
Jasper mentioned you were determined to spend quality time with Elliot today. I hope you did that.”
“Oh, we had plenty of quality time,” Leo assures me with a chuckle. “In fact, I multitasked during naptime and made some headway on the missing sister case.”
I nearly choke on the scent of cider in the air. “Wait, what? Are you talking about my missing sister? ”
“That’s the one.” Emmie nods while adjusting Elliot’s cape as if she’s done it a dozen times already.
And I bet she has. “I put him on the case since you two were hitting dead ends. We can be just as good an investigative team as you are.” She laughs, though there’s a hint of genuine pride in her voice.
“Maybe better, since we actually sleep occasionally. And sometimes we even sleep with each other.” She winks over at her hubby and he laughs.
“TMI.” Jasper shakes his head at his best friend. “No further details needed.”
“Careful,” I say to Emmie. “That’s what got you into these sleepless nights to begin with.
” I shake the thought out of my head. “Wait, you’ve really been investigating my mystery sister?
” I look between them, not sure whether to be touched or indignant that they’ve been playing detective without me. “And without telling me?”
“In all fairness, we were going to tell you once we had something concrete,” Leo explains with a wince. “Which, as of this afternoon, we do.”
Jasper raises a brow. “Do share, Deputy. I’m curious to hear your methodology.”
I can’t tell if my husband is genuinely interested or preparing to critique Leo’s sleuthing skills, but either way, I’m suddenly all ears and slightly terrified of what they might have discovered.
Leo pulls out his phone, swiping to a notepad app that’s filled with more bullet points than a corporate presentation. “Okay, so starting with just the username Lovemydoodle, I’ve been following some leads.”
“And?” I lean forward, suddenly very interested and also wondering if I should be taking notes myself.
“Well, I called in some favors at the ancestry site’s customer service,” Leo explains with the casual tone of someone who apparently has contacts everywhere.
“They wouldn’t give me specifics, of course, but they did confirm that the account was created using an IP address right here in Seaview County. ”
Jasper inches back with surprise. “That narrows it down considerably.”
“Exactly.” Leo nods. “And here’s the interesting part.
The account was created approximately three months ago, right around the time Hammie Mae started expanding the farm’s online presence and online store.
She mentioned to Emmie that she was learning about digital marketing and family heritage consulting to attract agritourism. ”
Emmie nods. “She asked the librarian about genealogy resources, and old Mrs. Henderson saw her at the historical society looking through birth records. The timing matches up with when that DNA account was created.”
My heart skitters across my ribcage like a stone over the water. “Are you saying that Hammie Mae could be...?”
“I’m saying it’s a possibility worth exploring,” Leo hedges with the careful tone of someone who knows he’s about to drop a bombshell. “You know yourself that Hamish wasn’t Hammie Mae’s biological father.”
“I do,” I say just below a whisper. In fact, I found that out last spring when Hammie Mae was on one of my suspect lists.
Leo nods. “And there’s a connection to your father I’m still trying to pin down. And I’m betting it’s staring us right in the face.”
The world seems to tilt slightly on its axis, like when you stand up too quickly after lying down.
Hammie Mae? The girl with the strawberry blonde hair and freckles who looks nothing like Hamish?
She already confessed to me months ago that she knew Hamish wasn’t her father—not her biological father anyway.
She only found out recently and was pretty upset that her mother was trying to pass her off as someone she wasn’t.
“Bizzy?” Emmie’s looking at me with concern. “Are you okay? You’ve gone pale.”
“I’m fine,” I say automatically, though my mind is racing through any and every interaction I’ve had with Hammie Mae, suddenly seeing them in an entirely different light. “It’s just... a lot to process. Like, a metric ton of information.”
“There’s more,” Leo continues, because apparently, he’s determined to completely blow my mind tonight.
“I did some digging into the Westoff family history. They’ve owned that blueberry farm for generations, but about thirty years ago, they almost lost it to foreclosure.
Then, suddenly, they had an influx of cash that saved the place. ”
“Right around the time Hammie Mae would have been born,” Jasper guesses, his detective instincts kicking in with the precision of someone who’s connected the genetic dots like this before.
Leo nods. “Exactly. And guess who was working as a financial advisor to several local farms at that exact time?”
A chill runs through me. “My father?”
“Got it in one,” Leo confirms with the grim satisfaction of someone delivering news that’s both illuminating and devastating.
“Your dad was a consultant for the agricultural bank that held the mortgage on the Westoff place. And Nathaniel Baker has never been known for keeping business and pleasure separate, if you catch my drift.”
Oh, I catch his drift, all right. I catch it like a baseball to the face—or more to the point, an oversized blueberry.
Emmie places a hand on my arm with a sympathetic expression. “It’s still just a theory, Bizzy.”
“But it’s a pretty solid theory”—I counter—“based on circumstantial evidence and local gossip.” And also knowing my father’s motives when it comes to women who were not my mother at the time.
“Even more interesting,” Leo adds, lowering his voice, “Hammie Mae mentioned to me the other night that she briefly studied family heritage consulting before she came back to take over the farm. It’s definitely an interest of hers.”
I turn to Jasper, who looks as thoughtful as I feel. “Did you know about this?”
He shakes his head. “Completely in the dark.”
The implications hit me like a ton of particularly uncomfortable bricks. If Hammie Mae is indeed my sister, and she was born during my parents’ marriage, that means Dad was unfaithful—not exactly breaking news, given his reputation, but still a painful confirmation in human form. My poor mother.
“This is a lot,” I admit, looking around at the Halloween festivities that suddenly seem distant and unimportant compared to the bombshell that just exploded in my personal life.
“I need to talk to Hammie Mae. And my mother. Preferably not at the same time, because that conversation could end in actual bloodshed—as in my father’s bloodshed. ”
“There’s no rush,” Jasper says, placing a steadying hand on my shoulder. “Let’s process this information first, maybe do some additional digging of our own.”
“He’s right,” Leo agrees. “I’m still connecting dots, but there’s enough here to merit a closer look and possibly a very awkward family dinner.”
Emmie glances at her watch and frowns. “Speaking of closer looks, isn’t the paranormal club meeting at the inn’s library tonight? Hazel mentioned it earlier when I ran into her at the candy apple stand.”
I groan, suddenly remembering my promise to host the Beyond Belief Paranormal Club.
“You’re right. It starts in an hour, and I still have to set up refreshments and make sure the library is ready for people to hunt more poltergeists at my inn.
” I look up at Jasper and shrug. “Do you think your mom can watch Ella tonight?”
“She and your dad took off for a romantic evening after they left the festival earlier,” he says with air quotes. “The less I know about that, the better.”
“And my mother is at her book club,” I say. “Which apparently involves more wine than books, based on the last time she babysat.”
Leo and Jasper exchange a look and frown at each other as if there was some unspoken male communication passing between them. And they’re not all that thrilled about what they’re talking about.
“Why don’t you two go to the meeting?” Leo suggests. “Jasper and I can handle baby duty at your place. We’ve got the playoff game recorded anyway.”
“Are you sure?” Emmie asks, even though I can tell she’s thrilled by the idea of attending the paranormal meeting, probably because it’s the most adult conversation she’ll have had in weeks at least in the evenings—even if it is with the dead.
“We’ll be fine,” Jasper assures her. “Besides, I’d rather have you two at that meeting, keeping an eye on the inn. You never know a ghost might just pop up and say boo, ” he says that last word a touch too loud and both Emmie and I nearly jump out of our skin.
I swat him for the effort even though my heart is still trying to turn me into a ghost myself .
We make our way toward the festival exit, and I can’t help but scan the crowd, suddenly seeing potential family members everywhere.
One thing is for certain—in Spider Cove, family trees have more twisted branches than an entire haunted forest.
And I’m starting to suspect that somewhere among those branches, a killer is hiding in plain sight.