Mom’s eyes mist over as she nods. “She does. Same eyes, same little nose.” A beat of silence, then,If only things had been different.
The thought drifts from Mom’s mind to mine, quiet but distinct, and something about it sends a chill through me despite the warm October afternoon.
Different how? I wonder, but before I can untangle that thread, Georgie crashes back into the conversation like a bedazzled wrecking ball.
“The secret to raising good kids is to occasionally terrify them,” she announces with authority.
“I’m sorry, what?” I ask, momentarily forgetting my mother’s cryptic thought.
“You know, with a healthy dose of fear.” Georgie nods so enthusiastically, that her headband begins to bob dangerously. “My brother raised his boys with the constant threat that if they misbehaved, I’d babysit. It worked like a charm! They’re both businessmen now. Boring as beige wallpaper, but they’ve never been arrested.”
“That’s certainly an approach,” Gwyneth says while squeezing out a pained smile.
“Better than Nathaniel’s method,” Mom chimes in. “Which was to be gone so much they forgot what he looked like.”
“I resent that,” Dad protests. “They always recognized me. Huxley only called meMom’s tall friendfor a year, tops.”
I can’t help but laugh. It’s true. Luckily, I always remembered exactly who my daddy was.
Watching my eclectic family banter around my sweet baby girl, who seems utterly unimpressed by the lot of them, is nothing short of a treat, and during this, the trickiest time of the year. There’s something so precious about this moment—all of us together, surrounded by the festive chaos of Halloween, and the next generation safely cradled in my mother’s arms. It feels right.
It makes me think about family, about connections, about the invisible threads that bind us together across time. And suddenly, I’m thinking about my mystery sister—the DNA match we’ve never met, the usernameLovemydoodlemy only clue to her identity.
Somewhere out there is another Baker girl, someone who shares my blood, my questionable decision-making skills, and possibly my talent for stumbling into murder scenes.
I glance at Dad, the notorious heartbreaker who left a trail of broken relationships across three counties before finally settling down with my mother, only to cheat on her notoriously. There’s no question where my mystery sister came from. Dad’s extracurricular activities during his marriage to Mom are the stuff of local legend. But when? And who is her mother? And why won’t she respond to my messages?
I could ask him about her now if I wanted. I could watch his face pale as I bring up the DNA test results, but not here. Not with Ella’s first Halloween festival in full swing and Gwyneth watching every interaction like a hawk looking for mice. But it’s coming. I’ve got an entire litany of questions to lob his way.
Dad holds up a finger, hopefully moving on from the parenting debate. “What Ella needs now is some festival prizes won by her doting grandfather!” He gestures grandly toward the midway games. “Step right up and watch the master at work!”
I shoot him a look. “Last time you tried to win a prize, you threw your back out and had to leave the fair in an ambulance,” I remind him.
“And it was a minor setback. ” He dismisses with a wave that judging by the way he just winced it probably tweaked something in his shoulder. “This time I’ve been practicing my ring toss.”
“I’ll believe that when I see it,” Gwyneth mutters, but she’s already reaching for Ella.
Mom nods. “Perhaps we should all go watch this spectacle. It might be educational.”
They begin to make their way toward the games, and something catches my eye—or rather, someone. Hazel’s distinctive red spiky hair is visible near the entrance to the haunted house, where she appears to be directing a small film crew like a general marshaling troops for battle. They’re setting up equipment and adjusting lights while Hazel gestures animatedly at the haunted house facade.
“Actually,” I say, making a split-second decision, “I think I’ll catch up with you in a bit. I just spotted someone I need to talk to.”
Mom follows my gaze and raises an eyebrow. “Investigating when you could watch your father launch his vertebrae clear to Mars? Really, Bizzy?”
“It’ll just take a minute,” I promise. “Would you mind keeping an eye on Ella?”
“Would we mind?” Dad looks offended at the very question. “Handing over our granddaughter for safekeeping is a hardship we’re willing to endure.” He grins, already reaching for the stroller. “Take as long as you need, kiddo. We’ve got prizes to win and cotton candy to consume against Gwyneth’s better judgment.”
“Just don’t let Georgie teach her any inappropriate hand gestures this time,” I caution, remembering the aftermath of Georgie’s last babysitting adventure. I’m still not sure how she managed that with a baby who can’t even sit up yet.
“One time,” Georgie protests. “And in my defense, that trucker deserved it.”
I promise to meet them at the cider booth in thirty minutes and leave Ella in their capable (if slightly chaotic) hands as I make my way toward the haunted house.
Fish and Sherlock stay with the family—Sherlock because Dad is secretly slipping him bits of funnel cake, and Fish because she’s claimed Ella’s stroller as her personal royal conveyance. But Fudge trots loyally by my side, apparently deciding that detective work is more interesting than festival food. We can’t blame him, he’s new around here.
But the closer I get, I notice something odd about the filming setup. Instead of focusing on the haunted house itself, the cameras seem to be directed at specific spots around it—particular windows, a section of the porch, a corner of the roof. It’s almost as if they’re expecting something to appear in those locations.
