Spooky Spice Cake Curse

by Addison Moore

  “He’s in the room.” I shake my head at her. “I don’t think you should go up there.”

  She blinks back as if I struck her. “Of course, I’m going up. I’m his wife.”

  The dark-haired man dressed as a scarecrow pulls her close by the elbow.

  “Whoa, wait.” He winces at Everett and me. “What’s going on? Are you the couple that reported this? Trixie said something about a murder.”

  Everett sighs. “I’m sorry, but it’s true. They won’t be letting either of you into that room. They can’t risk damaging any evidence that might be left behind at the scene. I’d advise you both to head back down and wait in the foyer. I’m sure the sheriff’s department will want to speak to you soon.”

  The scarecrow nods to Cordelia and they both make a U-turn. Everett and I are about to head that way ourselves when the sound of a woman’s frantic voice garners our attention. At the top of the stairwell, just past the room where Ichabod lies in two pieces, we see Trixie having it out with Chardonnay.

  Trixie leans in. “And I said there’s a bathroom downstairs. You can wash up there.”

  Chardonnay’s dress catches the light, and the crimson sequins and gold beading sparkles like stars.

  “Oh my God, Everett.” I pull him in close by the tie. “I think I saw bits and pieces of that woman’s dress embedded in Ichabod Hearst’s suit.”

  “What?” he hisses their way in disbelief.

  Chardonnay’s voice rises in protest as she insists on barreling her way past Trixie in an effort to get into the room.

  “Hang on, Lemon.”

  Everett trots back up the stairs and carefully pulls the feisty redhead back a notch. He whispers something to her, and she tips her head back and lets out a horrific cry. And my heart aches as he breaks the news to her.

  He navigates her to the stairs, and soon he’s ushering us all down to the first floor, Trixie included.

  Trixie takes off her glasses and wipes down her forehead. You can see the sweat beading on her upper lip as she pants to catch her breath.

  “Hey? Are you okay?” I wince as I say it. “I mean, obviously, you’re not.” I look to Everett. “Please find her some water. I’ll stand right here with her.”

  “I’ll be back,” Everett says it to me stern like a warning, and I nod because I completely understand he doesn’t want me mixing myself up in any of this.

  The scarecrow comes over and lands a hand over the woman’s shoulders.

  “What the heck is going on?” he asks as he examines her. “I’ve had enough. I’m going in.”

  She shakes her head. “No. It’s horrible. There’s blood everywhere. The sheriff’s department told me to get out. Someone killed Ichabod.” She sharpens her dark eyes over his. “You tell me, Fester. What the heck is going on?”

  His expression hardens as he looks to her. “Don’t you ever accuse me of creating this mess. You and I both know how he got here.” The muscles in his jaw clench as he glances my way. “Excuse me, ladies.” He takes off out the front doors and disappears into the thicket of bodies crowding around the entry.

  “Trixie, who was that?” I ask, clutching at my throat.

  “Fester Hamilton. He and Ichabod are good friends—were good friends. They’re related by family. He’s Cordelia’s brother.”

  Good friends? I could have sworn I saw them exchanging words outside just a little while ago.

  She nods my way. “And he’s right, I shouldn’t have all but accused him like that. He and Ichabod had their troubles, but I’m sure it would never end like this.” She closes her eyes a moment. “Oh no.”

  “What is it?”

  “It’s just—as impossible as this sounds, I think this may have been an accident.”

  “An accident?” A dull laugh bubbles in my throat. “Oh, I don’t think so. I’ve seen a lot of things that could have passed as an accident, and that was not one of them.”

  Trixie gives a long blink. “No, really, it might have been. You see, I had the crew set up the equipment in haste. We hardly had any time to prepare, and I’m wondering if that chainsaw we were using had a real chain attached? I mean”—she gives a quick look around—“the woman in charge of it sort of had a thing for Ichabod. It wouldn’t surprise me if she were in there fooling around with him at some point tonight. I’m sorry. My thoughts are all over the place.”

  My fingers float to my lips. That would explain why pieces of Chardonnay’s dress were embedded in his suit, but I don’t dare speak those words out loud.

  Ivy comes down and takes Trixie away in an effort to get the ins and outs of this haunted house, and I give a quick look around for Everett, but he’s still nowhere to be seen.

  Instead, I spot that scarecrow once again by the door, engulfed in a conversation with a blonde. And as soon as she turns her head a bit, I can see it’s Ichabod’s wife, Cordelia.

  Fester puts his arms around her in an attempt to comfort her, but to be truthful, she doesn’t look all that upset. If I’m not mistaken, I’d swear that whatever he’s just whispered in her ear has brought a smile to her face. But it’s the straw sticking out of his flannel that makes me wonder if he wasn’t the last person to see Ichabod Hearst alive.

  “Lemon.” Everett appears slightly winded with a cup of hot cider in hand. “I’m sorry I took so long. I ran into Evie and told her and her friends to head home. It took a little convincing, but they’re on their way.” He glances past me. “I don’t see Trixie. How about I give this to you?”

  “I will gladly take it. Can I ask you a question?”

  “Anything.”

  “When we stepped into the room where we found Ichabod, did you find anything odd about that purple fog that was permeating the area? I know it probably seems like an odd topic, but I’m curious as to what you thought.”

  He shakes his head. “I’m sorry, I don’t think I noticed the fog.”

  “No, it’s okay.” I was afraid of that.

  Everett hands me the cup of steaming cider before ushering us out of that house of horrors.

  We muscle our way through the thick crowd at the entry, and it feels like it takes a small eternity for us to make our way down the porch.

  “Lost dog!” a familiar female voice shouts into the night, and we spot Carlotta with her hands cupped over her mouth, standing by the fountain near the front. “Anyone seen a dog? About yea high?” She holds her hand to her chest. “Tall, dark, and inexplicably handsome?”

  I speed her way, and Everett follows.

  “Carlotta,” I hiss. “Would you knock it off?” I motion for her to put her hands down and she growls my way. “What dog are you looking for? The one no one can see but you and me?”

  “Oh hush, you,” she snips back. “I’ll have you know that hot-to-trot pooch is my soulmate. I knew it the second I looked into his glowing red eyes.”

  “Carlotta, he’s a dog.” My voice pitches with frustration as I say it. “And he’s dead,” I whisper that last part in the event someone hears. “He is not your soulmate. Why don’t we call Harry to pick you up?”

  She motions for me to go away. “Harry’s here somewhere. We’ve already made plans to get together. I know Harry’s my soulmate, but I think I’ve got two just like you, Lottie.”

  It’s true. Last summer when Grandma Nell’s ghost came back for Keelie’s wedding, she happened to mention that I had not one but two of those spiritual plus ones.

  A heavy sigh escapes me. “Fine. You can have two soulmates. But no funny business with that beast. He’s still a dog—and a dead one at that.”

  “Believe me, Lot. There will be nothing funny about the business I conduct with my shiny new spooky pooky. I’m gonna appreciate him and keep him on a tight leash just the way you do with Noah and Everett. If I’ve learned a thing or two from you over the years, it’s to keep my pastries close and my men closer.”

  “Have it your way.” Or my way as it were.

  I glance back at the Hearst mansion dripping with g
ossamer, dozens of happy carved jack-o’-lanterns peppered along the porch, sitting inside of every window, and an icy cold feeling runs through my veins.

  Grandma Nell was right. Something wicked was certainly on its way, and tonight, inside of that room, it had finally arrived.

  But Trixie is wrong. This was no accident.

  Ichabod Hearst lost his life, and his head, at the hands of a cold-blooded killer, and try as I might to keep out of this the way that Grandma Nell suggested, I have a feeling it will be up to me to get to the bottom of it.

  Ichabod Hearst’s killer will soon be exposed, and I’ll gladly be there to do it.

  Chapter 4

  The Cutie Pie Bakery and Cakery is bustling this, the very next day after that grisly find.

  It’s a crisp October morning and my bakery is festooned with enough pumpkins, fall leaves, ghosts, and hairy tarantulas to celebrate this spooky season in style. The bakery has butter yellow walls with pastel mix and match furniture. There’s a walkway between the bakery and the Honey Pot Diner next door—both bequeathed to me by my Grandma Nell, along with just about every other property she owned. Turns out, the woman was a land baron.

  The Honey Pot was Grandma Nell’s baby. The menu is delicious and the atmosphere is darn right cozy, with its overgrown resin oak tree set in the middle of the dining room with its leaves extending up across the ceiling and crawling right along the ceiling of my bakery, too. Each branch is lit up with twinkle lights, giving both places a magical appeal, and on a dark day like today it makes even my bakery feel that much cozier.

  The morning rush led right into the afternoon rush, which seems to be leading right into the early evening rush.

  The bell on the door chimes and in bound both Carlotta and that tall, dark, and handsome steed she’s claimed as her own, Duke the Great Dane.

  I gasp at the sight of the magnificent ghostly beast. This is the first time I’ve seen him up close. Last night, he was a no-show at my place even though Carlotta all but held a vigil for him with enough candles to conduct a séance and a bottle of whiskey she emptied out into a soup bowl in hopes to lure him over.

  “Lily”—I turn to my right-hand gal here at the bakery—“I think I need to show Carlotta something in the back. Would you mind the register for me?”

  “Sure thing.” She leans my way. “Did you hear that the knitting shop across the street had a window broken last night from a bolt of lightning?”

  “What? No,” I say, stunned. “That’s terrible. Are they sure it was from a lightning strike?”

  She nods. “It was caught on camera. And it happened right about the time Ichabod Hearst had his head chopped off. I’m telling you, Lottie, that head of his might as well have been Pandora’s box. Mark my words, this entire town has fallen under the Hearst curse. You and I had better watch our backs.” She waves over a new group of customers that just walked in. “But in the meantime, get some more spice cake going, would you? They’re selling like mad, and you and I both know that’s the only reason people are pouring into this place.”

  I make a face at the stunning brunette. Lily and I go way back. She used to hate me back in high school, but things have pretty much been mopped up in our relationship now that I’m signing her paychecks.

  “You know, Lot”—Carlotta chuckles as we make our way to the back—“she’s not wrong. Everyone wants to take a bite out of the same sweet treat the horseman was noshing on before he lost his head. Plan for a run on spice cake for the rest of the month. I think you should add some raspberry jelly to it. You know, for effect. That way they get a bloody surprise each time they take a bite.”

  “Eww,” I say as we head into my empty kitchen. “That’s a terrible idea.”

  But she’s not wrong about planning for a run on spice cake either.

  For the past couple of years, each homicide victim in Honey Hollow has been found with one of my desserts on or near their person.

  Up until last week, my mother was hosting the Haunted Honey Hollow B&B Tours, and when she finished up with them, she would send the tourists my way for what she dubbed as the Last Thing They Ate Tour. But apparently, word has gotten around all on its own now. Her tour may be dead as a doornail, but my tour seems to be going strong.

  Duke strides in with his dark gray coat, his golden brown eyes glowing like honey. His ears stand straight up, and I take back what I said last night. He’s not the size of a small horse. He is a horse.

  “My word”—a breath hitches in my throat as I take in his majesty—“you are simply resplendent.”

  “Why, thank you.” He lets out a ferocious bark. “And you’re a pretty little thing.” He gives a sly wink my way. “But I’m already taken.” He struts over to Carlotta and circles around her until he’s snuggled up by her side.

  “That’s right, Lot.” Carlotta points a finger at me, and it looks like a mild threat. “Don’t go sniffing around my womanizing waterfall. Stick to the judicial rivers and streams you’re used to polluting.”

  My mouth falls open because I’m not quite sure what to make of this.

  I couldn’t always hear the dead, but as my supersensual abilities grew so did my powers. And now not only can I hear them, they’re able to move objects in the material world. And the latest upgrade my abilities has garnered for the casket dwellers is the crowning achievement of them all—they can eat.

  I don’t know where it goes—not sure I want to know—but the ghosts seem to be enjoying themselves more than ever.

  “Duke”—I lean his way—“how well did you know Ichabod?”

  He jerks his head back and a spray of onyx-colored stars twinkle all around him.

  “I was his from puppyhood on. He was a teenager while he had me. And he was quite proud. We won several dog shows together. He was devoted. He was a good person, a good man. I can’t imagine who would want to remove him from the planet in such a gruesome way. Rest assured, I’ll be getting to the bottom of this sooner than later. I’m anxious to get back to paradise and spend time with my boy.” He sniffs Carlotta’s armpit. “My lady knows our time is limited. But don’t you worry, Stinky Pinky. We’ll make the most of the time we’re given.”

  Carlotta giggles like a schoolgirl. “Stinky Pinky.” She slaps her thigh. “He’s been calling me that all day.”

  “That’s because he’s got a keen sense of smell,” I say, completely unamused by the two of them. “Thank you, Duke. I appreciate your willingness to help. I’ll keep my office stocked with sweet treats just for you,” I say, pulling out a sheet of red raspberry thumbprints and walking them over to my tiny, closet-like office just off the back of the kitchen.

  “Oh no, you don’t.” Carlotta protests as she pulls a red velvet cake off the counter that I just finished off with cream cheese frosting. “Only the best for my man,” she says, plopping the confection onto my desk. “Pay no mind to her, Dukey. Lot is sort of a cheapskate despite the fact she bamboozled my mama to leave her over half her fortune.”

  I choose to ignore Carlotta and close the door to the office instead. Just because a ghost is eating, doesn’t mean that it would stop people from noticing the desserts were being supernaturally decimated, thus filling my office with their delicacies has been my go-to routine for such supernatural occasions.

  Lily pokes her head in. “Lot, your mom just stepped in. Meg is here, too.”

  Carlotta and I head back out to the front where we see my sister, Meg, attempting to comfort my distraught mother.

  Meg is my younger sister by a year. She dyes her blonde hair jet-black, wears enough dark kohl around her eyes to look like a zombie, and dons combat boots on the regular. She used to work the female wrestling circuit down in Las Vegas, but she’s moved back and holds down two careers now. First, she teaches the strippers down at Red Satin Gentlemen’s Club their moneymaking moves. And as of recently, she’s taken to managing the Honey Pot Diner while Keelie was away on maternity leave.

  “Mom”—I say, making my way around the
counter as she dabs a tissue to her crimson eyes—“what happened? Is everything okay? Is it Lainey? Is baby Josie hurt?”

  Lainey is my older sister who just had a baby girl last August.

  Mom shakes her head. “They’re fine, Lottie. It’s me. It’s my business. Everything I’ve worked so hard for is going up in flames. The Hearst family is still going ahead with their haunted Halloween extravaganza. And now that Ichabod was killed in the haunted house, rumor has it, they’ve sold out their tickets for the rest of the month—and they’ve tripled the fees. Meanwhile, I’ve lost every last one of my tours. Nobody wants to visit my dusty old haunted B&B. Oh, Lottie, why couldn’t you find a headless body in one of my rooms?”

  Meg chuckles. “Yeah, Lot. Now you’ve gone and ruined everything.”

  Carlotta slaps an arm over my shoulders. “That’s how I know she’s mine.”

  True as God.

  Lily bucks with a laugh. “That sums up Lottie in a nutshell.”

  “Oh, it does not.” I’m quick to wave off the naysayers. “Mom, don’t worry. We’ll fix this up in no time.”

  She sucks in a quick breath. “Do you have another homicide up your sleeve?”

  About ten different customers turn an ear my way to see what the answer might be.

  “No,” I say to all eyes that happen to be looking my way. “Mother,” I whisper. “I’m not a killer. We’ll figure this out the old-fashioned way—you know, with advertising and word of mouth.”

  Mom grunts, “Everyone knows that doesn’t work anymore.”

  Carlotta gives a wistful tick of the head. “Now wait a minute, Miranda. I think Lot Lot is onto something. Maybe we can get one of those spooky shows to come out and feature your B&B like we talked about last night? And you’ve got a new book coming out this month, don’t ya? While the film crews are there on spook patrol, you can crop-dust the inn with copies of your latest raunchy release. It’ll be double the advertising, double the fun.”

  Both Meg and Lily give a spontaneous applause and a few loose whoops. But I’m slow to join the cheers. Any sentence uttered by Carlotta that happens to contain the words crop-dust in it should be swallowed down with caution.