“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 sayboo,” 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.
CHAPTER 16
The Country Cottage Inn library has undergone a Halloween metamorphosis more dramatic than a werewolf during a full moon. What was once a cozy sanctuary of leather chairs and mahogany shelves now looks like Halloween and high-end interior design had a collision.
Orange and purple twinkle lights drape across the ceiling like electric spiderwebs, casting an eerie glow over the two dozen club members crowding the space. Artificial cobwebs cling to every corner with the dedication of a helicopter parent, some hosting plastic spiders the size of my fist that I’m pretending are fake until proven otherwise. Battery-operated candles flicker on tables with all the authenticity of a politician’s campaign promises, and someone—I suspect Jordy—has added hidden speakers emitting the occasional ghostly moan at a volume just low enough to make you question your own sanity.
“I still can’t believe we’re hosting a ghost hunters’ convention at our inn,” I whisper to Emmie as we arrange the refreshments on a long table against the far wall. “When I was growing up, I thought my biggest career challenge would be choosing between being a doctor or a lawyer. Nowhere in my life plan did supernatural caterer make the list.”
Emmie laughs while artfully arranging her pumpkin spice French toast bites in orange paper cups that make them look like tiny ediblejack-o’-lanterns. “Your guidance counselor clearly underestimated your career trajectory. Professional innkeeper, amateur sleuth, and paranormal enabler? That’s a triple threat that you can’t learn in any college course.”
“Don’t forget sleep-deprived new mother and person who finds dead bodies with alarming regularity,” I add, straightening a platter of Emmie’s almond toffee. The buttery confection is arranged on black and orange plates in a spiral pattern that’s almost too pretty to eat.Almostis the keyword here.
I swipe a piece when Emmie’s not looking and nearly moan as it melts on my tongue like sweet, buttery heaven. Ella may have inherited my hair and Jasper’s dimples, but I pray to whatever patron saint watches over baking that she gets Emmie’s culinary talent. My own cooking skills begin and end with dialing for pizza—and even then, I’ve been known to mess up my own address during particularly sleep-deprived moments.
Emmie points to the platter. “Save some for our ghost-hunting friends. I hear communicating with the dead works up quite an appetite.”
“Especially when the dead refuse to answer back,” I quip, scanning the room as people continue to file in as if they’re attending the world’s spookiest book club meeting.
The Beyond Belief Paranormal Club members are a fascinating cross-section of humanity that could probably populate their own reality TV show. There’s a retired physics professor with wild Einstein hair who’s discussing electromagnetic fields with a teenage Goth girl wearing more eyeliner than actual clothing. A pair of middle-aged male twins in matchingI Ain’t Afraid of No Ghostt-shirts are setting up what appears to be homemade ghost-detecting equipment cobbled together from old radios, Christmas lights, and what looks suspiciously like a toaster oven. A nervous-looking accountant type clutches a notebook titledSupernatural Encounters: A Statistical Analysislike it’s his security blanket, while a burly construction worker adjusts the settings on a professional-grade thermal camera that probably costs more than my minivan and Emmie’s combined.
And, of course, there are the newer, far more questionablemembers—Camila and Macy. I’m choosing to ignore those two for now, and perhaps into the evening.
