It’s clearly about the murder, you canine simpleton,Fish counters, her witch’s hat now tilted at a crooked angle that somehow manages to convey more disdain than her actual expression.Though why hoomans insist on staring at tiny glowing rectangles instead of just asking me who did it is beyond comprehension. I knew it was Hazel from the start.
Did not!Fudge protests, his ghost costume now completely tangled around his back legs, giving him the appearance of wearing translucent bloomers.You said it was the squirrel who lives in the oak tree.
That was a joke, you gullible ghost sheet.Fish’s tail twitches with irritation.A concept obviously too sophisticated for your kibble-sizedbrain. Just kidding. You’re adorable, and I’m secretly hoping we’ll become a trio soon. I’m pretty sure you and I can outwit Sherlock Bones here every day of the week. Think of the snacks we’ll have, the sunbeams we’ll steal, and the cuddles by the hearth.
I nod her way. I knew Fish had a heart. I’m just glad she shows it now and again.
Skittles, Buffy’s labradoodle, circles us with nervous energy as her fluffy head darts between our faces and the surrounding festival.Is the bad person still here? Should we be guarding? I’m very good at guarding. Buffy says I’m a natural protector. Also, does anyone else smell funnel cakes?
Hazel Hershey’s pharmaceutical career isn’t as stable as she’d like everyone to believe. According to several industry forums and a recent article I’ve found, she was let go from Meridian Pharmaceuticals six months ago amid allegations of misappropriating company research for personal projects—specifically a medication called Serenix that could induce hallucinations or temporary paralysis.
Her paranormal YouTube channel isn’t just a hobby—it’s her primary source of income. And Heath was about to destroy that, too.
“I think she killed him,” I whisper, the pieces falling into place. “She made him think she was holding one of his own prop knives—except she swapped it for a real one.”
Buffy’s eyes widen. “We need to tell your husband. Now.”
No sooner do we step out of the shed than the sounds of the Halloween festival wash over us with its cheerful music, cackling laughter, and the distant screams from the haunted house. It all seems surreal now, knowing a killer is walking among the costumed crowd.
“We need to be on the lookout for Hazel,” I pant into the night and my breath forms a cloud around my head.
“No way.” Buffy shakes her head emphatically, her zombie librarian makeup making her look like she’s mid-decomposition despite her very alive and urgent tone. “You’re a new mother, Bizzy. She’s obviously dangerous. I’m not going to put you in her line of sight. We need to find your husband.”
“He’s at the cottage,” I frown in that direction, mentallycalculating the time it would take to get there and back—and it’s time Hazel could use to escape or worse.
A familiar figure catches my eye as she moves through the crowd.
“There she is.” The words escape me with a gasp as I nod toward the haunted woods, this year’s newest attraction to the Fright Night Spooktacular. It’s a stretch of forest on the western edge of the inn’s property, transformed into a nightmare playground where boogeymen (mostly local teenagers in surprisingly professional makeup) lurk behind trees and jump out at willing victims.
The whole concept was Jordy and Macy’s brainchild, because nothing saysI love youlike traumatizing the town’s population together. Those two are to Halloween what the Grinch is to Christmas, except they don’t steal the holiday—they just make it exponentially more terrifying. But, I made sure that the area is heavily monitored to prevent anyone under thirteen from wandering in and developing lifelong therapy needs.
“Let’s go,” I say, pulling Buffy along with more strength than my sleep-deprived body should reasonably possess, and the furry among us fall in line behind us like an adorable, mismatched army.
We catch up to Hazel at the entrance to the haunted woods, where she’s examining a map of the attraction with the intense focus of someone planning an innocent stroll through fake horror.
“Hazel,” I call out, injecting my voice with a friendly casualness that deserves an Academy Award. “Fancy running into you here.”
She turns our way and her steampunk ghost hunter costume catches the festival lights in a symphony of metallic accents. The brass buckles and copper gears adorning her fitted Victorian-style jacket gleam ominously, while the leather utility belt slung across her hips holds an array of invented paranormal detection devices—gauges with quivering needles, small vials of mysterious liquids, and what appears to be a modified compass. A pair of oversized goggles with tinted lenses rests atop her spiky red hair, and leather gloves with intricate clockwork stitched across the knuckles complete the elaborate ensemble. Her face shifts quickly from surprise to a carefully arranged smile.
“Bizzy—Buffy? Enjoying the festival?” She blinks our way as if we startled her, and I have no doubt we did.
“Immensely,” Buffy says, her tone matching my forced cheerfulness. “Nothing says Halloween fun like discovering pharmaceutical scandals and murder motives.”
Okay, so I probably would have had a softer approach. I shoot Buffy a side-glance because of it.
Hazel’s smile freezes solid. “I’m not sure what you’re talking about.”
“We know about Serenix,” I say, keeping my voice low enough that passing festival-goers can’t hear, but firm enough that Hazel understands we’re not bluffing. “We know you were let go from Meridian Pharmaceuticals.”
Buffy nods. “We know about the clinical trials you falsified, the side effects you covered up.”
“We know all about the six people who died because of your manipulated data,” I continue, watching Hazel’s face as it shifts from curious to irate in a single bound.
Fudge gives a sharp bark, his small body vibrating with indignation.She’s a bad person! Heath must have found out everything!
“That’s right.” Buffy nods as if she understands exactly what Fudge is saying, which makes me wonder if I’m not the only mind reader in this little confrontation.
“Heath discovered all of it, didn’t he?” Buffy asks, her voice stronger now. “He threatened to expose you.”
