Spooky Spice Cake Curse

by Addison Moore

  “That’s okay.” But I can’t seem to hide my disappointment. “I bet I can find all kinds of things about the Hearst curse on the internet.”

  Duke rubs his head against Carlotta’s arm. “I’d like to be filled in on it as well. I know my Ichabod was a happy boy, but there was grief in his life as well.”

  Carlotta whips out her phone. “That’s what you got me for.” She leans toward Meg. “Now tell me again how to find the internet?”

  A man walks by with a folder in his hand as he heads to the copy machine set out by the romance section. His dark hair, those chubby cheeks, that stalky frame. He looks so familiar.

  “Wow, Lottie,” Lainey giggles. “It’s almost as if you’ve got radar from this kind of stuff. That’s Fester Hamilton. Ichabod Hearst’s brother-in-law.” She sucks in a quick breath. “Don’t tell me he’s a suspect. I’d hate to think that his killer hands are touching my equipment. He said he needed to make some copies to give to the staff at the haunted house. I think it’s really creepy they’re still going to run that thing.”

  “Oh, well, I don’t think he’s a suspect. But I briefly met him the night of the murder. If you don’t mind, I think I’ll go over and say hello.”

  My feet quickly carry me in that direction, and I can’t help but note Carlotta and Duke are looking lovingly into each other’s eyes. Clearly Duke is too preoccupied to help me drill this suspect—not that I’m investigating. I’m simply doing a little more research than I expected today. Surely Noah and Everett can’t blame me for this one.

  Fester is handsome with a boyish appeal and has a wholesome factor to him, giving off a vibe that suggests he’s perfectly harmless. Only God up in heaven knows if that’s the truth. I wasn’t going to tell Lainey on her first day back at the library that she might have a bona fide killer using her copy equipment. But I did see Fester arguing with the deceased.

  “Excuse me,” I say as I come upon him and he looks up, offering a smile that’s slow to form.

  “Can I help you?”

  “Oh, actually, I thought that maybe I saw you the other night at the Hearst house. I mean, I think you were dressed as a scarecrow, but I can’t be positive.” I wince because it just so happens that I’m lying through my knocked-up teeth.

  A soft moan evicts from him. “That was me. I’m sorry, but I’m not sure I remember you. But please don’t take offense. It was a long night on my end.”

  “No offense taken. We didn’t actually meet. I’m Lottie. I was the one who stumbled upon that horrific scene, and I saw you talking to the woman who was running the event.”

  He squints my way as if it were all coming into focus. “I’m sorry you had to see that. I heard it was a terrible thing.”

  “Were you in the room that night? I mean, did you see it?” I know what I saw—pieces of straw scattered all around the scene of the crime. And if anyone had straw on them that night, Fester did. I’m more than sure that whatever it was they were arguing about could have been a motive.

  “I didn’t see it.” He holds up his hands as if this were a stickup. “And thankfully so. Ichabod and I weren’t quite seeing eye to eye in the end there. But I suppose that’s all water under the bridge now.” He collects his papers and gives a sly wink. “Come back to the house. I’ll see to it that you and a guest get a free all-access pass. We’re adding on haunted hayrides tonight.” He zips off to the right and bumps into a familiar looking brunette who exchanges a few words with him before he leaves. And she makes her way over to the copy machine in his place.

  Hey? I recognize that full-bodied hair and those deep-set eyes the color of espresso.

  “Trixie?” I call out her name a touch too brightly and she looks over. “I’m sorry about everything you and everyone else must be going through.” I cringe because I may have overshot the conversation a bit.

  “Thank you.” Her brows furrow as she gets right to work pulling what looks like a flier out of the folder in her hand. “Did we meet that night? For some reason, you look more than vaguely familiar.”

  “Yes,” I say, thrilled that she remembers me. “In fact, I believe it was Cordelia who introduced us.” I don’t bother telling her I was one of the people barricading her from entering the scene of the crime initially. I’m sure we’ll get to that eventually.

  “I see.” Her lips pull down as if this conversation was quickly turning her green. Can’t blame her. “Well, Cordelia introduced me to half the town that night. Forgive me for not being able to recall it. There was a lot going on.”

  “I know.” I nod a little too long. “So what do you think happened? I mean, I was just telling Fester, it was my husband and me who found the body.”

  “My goodness.” She stops cold in her tracks as her eyes flit to mine. “I’m so sorry about that. That is not the experience we want any of our customers to have.” She grimaces. “Although, I guess in a roundabout way, it is. My apologies for that crass joke.”

  A dry laugh pumps from me. “Not to worry. You know, that night you mentioned something about the fact you were sure this was an accident—something about the chainsaw?”

  “That’s right. The chain shouldn’t have been there. But, well”—she takes in a breath and ticks her head to the side—“I shared my theory with those homicide detectives, and neither of them thought it was an accident.” She closes her eyes as if reliving a very bad memory. “And now, everyone and their mother is chalking it up to that horrible curse the Hearst family supposedly has.”

  “From what I hear, they have had their fair share of accidents.”

  Trixie cringes a moment. “That’s true. I guess we’ll never know what truly transpired.”

  “Oh, we’ll know. I mean, Ichabod didn’t chop his own head off.” Like she alluded to that night. “Not that he couldn’t. But there’s no evidence of it. Someone else was involved, for sure. Trixie, you seem to know that family pretty well, right?”

  She shakes her head. “Just Cordelia. I’ve known her since I was an intern right out of college.”

  “But you’re running the Halloween Haunt. Surely you must have seen Ichabod have a disagreement with someone, or maybe there’s a cast member who has hard feelings regarding something. Like maybe they were slighted by him.”

  She shoots a look toward the exit, in the exact direction Fester took off in.

  “I’ll be honest, I didn’t think it was a good idea to have his mistress working the haunt.”

  A breath hitches in my throat. “Ichabod had a mistress?”

  She’s quick to nod. “Chardonnay Shelby.”

  “Chardonnay?” I whisper quietly, reflecting on the redhead I met that night. The very woman who wore that red and gold beaded dress, the flapper who was, in fact, in charge of the chainsaw. Oh my word, and it was the sequins and beading from her dress that I saw embedded on his suit.

  I lean in. “So do you think Cordelia killed him for having the affair? Or do you think Chardonnay did it?”

  She inches back as her eyes grow wide my way. “I’m not so sure I should be starting rumors. I’ve been a friend of the family for so long, I practically feel as if I’m one of them. And I don’t think Cordelia would appreciate it if I were running around implicating her. I’ll leave all of that to the sheriff’s department.” She leans in. “What did you say your name was?”

  “Lottie Lemon. I run the Cutie Pie Bakery and Cakery.”

  “That’s right. It was nice seeing you, Lottie. Please stop by the Halloween Haunt. I know you must be traumatized. But they do say the quickest way to recover is to face your trauma head-on. I’ll gladly give you and as many guests as you like an all-access pass. Take care.” She ducks out of the library, and I watch the exit long after she’s gone.

  Cordelia or Chardonnay? I think she might just be onto something.

  Now which one to question next. And how the heck am I going to explain the fact I spoke with Fester Hamilton to Noah and Everett?

  And why wasn’t Duke with me while I was speaki
ng to Fester? What’s this strange obsession he has with Carlotta?

  Hearst family aside—everything about this investigation seems cursed.

  The sound of echoing laughter comes from the foyer, and I step that way and see a dark shadow surrounded with a lavender hue as it makes its way down the elongated hall. A sprinkling of miniature stars rises like dust in its wake, assuring me this is a supernatural phenomenon I want no part in.

  “Who are you?” I call out.

  The cloaked being turns its head my way quickly, and I catch a glimpse of the glowing face of a woman before she evaporates before my very eyes.

  Who is she, indeed.

  Chapter 7

  All night I have feverish dreams. I find myself right back in the Grands’ apple orchard where I last saw Nell’s ghost, and dreamworld chaos ensues from there.

  “Nell?” I call out to her, and she appears in all of her sparkling glory. Nell is illuminated from the inside with a soft lavender glow, her hair, her eyes, the light beaming from her mouth, all glimmer that same heavenly hue.

  “Lottie Lemon, have you forgotten the words I spoke to you so quickly?” She balls her fists into her hips as she spits out the reprimand. “You’re a mother now. You’ll have to heed my words, not just for yourself, but for your unborn child as well. Ichabod Hearst is dead.” Jags of lightning go off overhead, and a horrific wind picks up, knocking the apples to the ground. My hair blows wildly, and I struggle to stand as I inch my way closer to the ghost of the woman I love.

  “Lottie.” She takes up my hand, and my entire body warms because of it. “You must not press further into this matter.”

  “I saw a woman,” I pant. “A ghost in the library. I’ve been seeing this lavender aura. I saw it that day that Ichabod was murdered. What does it mean, Nell?”

  “Run away from it, Lottie. Don’t look back. All is not as it seems. There are dark forces at play, controlling events, controlling people. I don’t want to see you getting caught up in this. It pains me to know you’re pressing forward. Something wicked has landed in Honey Hollow. You must stay away.”

  “But what about Noah?” I cry out over the sound of the roaring wind just as the rain starts pelting me from above. “He has to pursue this case. It’s his job. And I’m a consultant now with the sheriff’s department. I won’t be alone. I’m working with him!”

  The earth begins to quake, and I stumble forward, falling onto Nell and then right through her.

  “It’s beginning, Lottie,” Nell says as she floats into the stormy sky. “Your refusal to let this go is putting you in peril.”

  “But, Nell, what about Noah?” I shout up at her again. “I can help him solve it. The quicker we get to the bottom of it, the quicker it’s over for everyone.”

  A soft bubble of laughter strums from her. “And yet, I knew we would end up here. Oh dear, Lottie. Oh my sweet, sweet girl. I’m so sorry. I’m so very sorry.”

  “Why are you sorry, Nell?” I pant as I sit straight up in bed, alone, drenched in sweat. “Why are you sorry?” I whisper to the stillness in my room.

  The soft glow of a new day glows through the curtains and a ruckus of some sort steals my attention.

  I whip off the covers and hear the faint sound of a crowd cheering, a woman crying out, and I glance out my bedroom window only to see half of the female population of Honey Hollow on my next-door neighbor’s lawn.

  Hot Hannah and her booty-ful butt lift workout are at it again, and I can’t help but make a face at the entire lot of them.

  Who knows? Maybe next summer I’ll be joining their ranks, trying to rectify the extra cushioning all these crullers and fried pickles have had on my body.

  A roll of nausea wafts through me at the thought.

  Who am I kidding? Crullers and fried pickles are the carbohydrate-laden glue that’s holding me together these days. I’m pretty sure I won’t feel too differently after the baby is born.

  The only booty-ful butt lift I’ll be getting is from all the extra adipose tissue I’ll be accumulating. I hope Everett likes more of me to love because the road map my ravenous appetite has given me says dangerous curves up ahead.

  I shower, dress, and head to the bakery, and all the while I can’t get my mind off that dream.

  Something wicked has landed in Honey Hollow.

  Nell says I must stay away.

  But can I?

  After the morning rush at the bakery dies down, it occurs to me that the only way to get that dream off my mind, to get Ichabod Hearst’s headless body off my mind, is to deep dive into this so-called curse the Hearst family seems to have. I try looking up a few things on my phone, but there’s a myriad of articles to comb through, and to be honest, I don’t want to comb through them alone. All of the mysterious deaths that family has had is creepy to think about. For as much fortune they’ve had, they’ve had that much misfortune to deal with.

  I thought about heading down to the Ashford Sheriff’s Department to see if Noah wants to help me sift through it, but he texted earlier to see how I’ve been feeling, and he happened to let me know he’s working with forensics this morning. I didn’t mention anything to either him or Everett last night about seeing Fester at the library. It was such an innocent run-in, but I doubt either of them would buy it.

  And who could blame them? For the last two years, I’ve been on suspects like white on rice. I hardly believe that it was an innocent run-in myself.

  Then there’s Everett. He gave me full access to his schedule at the courthouse via his personal planner app, and I quickly log in to see he has a huge stretch of office hours that begins in less than an hour. Everett has a brilliant mind. He would be the perfect person to weed through these articles with.

  Without hesitating, I put together a box of his favorite sweet treats and another one for his secretary. Lord knows if I’m going to be locked in the judge’s chambers for any period of time, we most certainly won’t want to be interrupted.

  Yes, I have a feeling this will turn out to be a glorious, glorious day.

  My stomach turns as I hop into my car as if contesting me on the matter.

  The Ashford County Courthouse is an expansive colonial style structure with huge stone pillars and enough marble and dark carved mahogany inside to make this one of the most opulent public buildings I’ve ever been in.

  Everett’s secretary is more than thrilled when I drop off the box of sweet treats for her, so much so that she lets me into his office even though he’s not in yet. I spot one of his long, black, official robes hanging behind his desk, and I know exactly what I need to do to put him in a good mood. I quickly take off every stitch of clothing I have and pull the robe over myself. No sooner do I cinch it closed than the doorknob wiggles and Everett’s deep voice is saying something from the other side. I bet he’s most likely spotted that box of sweet treats on his secretary’s desk.

  The door swings open, and I see my tall, dark, and recklessly handsome husband, and without hesitation, I let the robe slip off my shoulders as I greet him with nothing more than a smile.

  Noah steps in after him, and I watch in horror as their mouths fall open in tandem.

  “Oh my God. Noah, what are you doing here?” I scramble quickly to cover myself with my hands and miss by a long shot, essentially lifting my boobs for them to see as if I were actually trying to annunciate them. I scoop up the robe and land it back over my body, only to find both Noah and Everett chuckling.

  “Excuse me.” I scoff at the two of them. “This is not funny.”

  Noah gives a long blink, the smile quickly defusing on his face. “I happen to agree. Should I leave?”

  “You should’ve been gone by now.” Everett’s lids hood low as he inspects me in his judicial finery.

  “No, actually.” I wince over at the two of them. “I can use your help if you have a minute—both of you.”

  Their brows hike in unison.

  “No, not with that.” I glance down at my dicey accouterments a moment
. “With the Hearst case. Isn’t that what you wanted? Me working alongside the two of you?”

  They hem, and haw, and grumble a moment before I take a seat on the tufted leather sofa. Everett hands me a water bottle while both he and Noah pull a chair to sit across from me.

  And just like I wanted, we start poring over articles together.

  “Well”—Everett wags his phone my way—“if the Hearst family isn’t cursed, I don’t know who is.”

  Noah nods in agreement. “I knew they had a long line of suspicious deaths, but I had no idea how extensive it was.”

  “Tell me about it,” I say. “And it all seems to date back to Bartholomew Hearst, the oil baron. Keelie said she heard a rumor that he went to some voodoo doctor and was willing to accept a family curse to ensure his family would be sitting on a pile of money forever. And then Carlotta said it was a dark priest.”

  Everett takes a long breath because we just left his favorite realm, reality, and took a flight to the horrors of the supernatural.

  I shrug over at him. “She said after he made his billions he boarded a ship to cross the Atlantic, and it went down halfway to England. Everyone on board drowned.”

  Noah glances to his phone. “And that’s exactly what it said in the article we just read. I think we need a map of the mysterious deaths.”

  “I agree,” Everett says. “We need to see if we can find any rhyme or reason.” He pulls out a legal pad and we begin to detail one death after the other.

  Bartholomew Hearst, died 1908, drowned in a shipwreck. His wife was in and out of mental institutions. Angola Hearst, one of their daughters, died in a train accident in 1927 when she was just twenty-seven. Her son died after he fell off a scaffolding in 1939. His son perished in a car accident in 1945. Two of his sons were lost at sea in a boating accident. They found the boat but never the bodies. His younger son lived to a ripe old age, but three of his daughters went down in a private plane toward the end of 1959. Between the sixties and the nineties a whopping nine family members lost their lives in tragic accidents and ghoulish mishaps. But as a new century arrived so did new heartache. Ichabod’s mother was killed three years ago after she fell off a ferry. Her blood alcohol level was high enough to warrant it. His father died last year of an accidental overdose of heart medicine, and Ichabod’s oldest son was involved in a freak accident that’s left him in a physical rehabilitation program for the last nine months.