Spooky Spice Cake Curse

by Addison Moore

  “Geez,” I say. “Does Ichabod have any other kids?”

  “Another son and a daughter, both of which are safely tucked away in boarding schools in Europe.”

  “And swaddled in bubble wrap, I assume.” I warm my belly with my hands as a sharp roll of nausea grips me, and I let out a horrible moan.

  “Lemon.” Everett gently pushes the hair from my forehead. “Can I get you more water?”

  “How about a fried pickle?” Noah asks.

  “No to both. I can’t even think about putting anything in my mouth at the moment.” I glance to my phone and Ichabod’s face stares back at me. “It almost seems as if poor Ichabod and his immediate family are getting the brunt end of this curse of theirs.”

  Everett nods. “I was thinking the same thing. There seemed to be an even amount of spacing between tragedies right up until just a few years ago.”

  Noah fiddles with his phone. “I’ll try to get the details on what exactly happened to his son.”

  “I can talk to Cordelia,” I offer, and both Noah and Everett give a firm no in unison. “Fine. But if I happened to bump into her, I might just happen to ask.” I shrink a little. “I may have accidentally spoken with Fester Hamilton yesterday, but only because I ran into him at the library.”

  Noah tips his ear my way. “Cordelia’s brother?”

  I nod. “You know the day of the murder Everett and I saw him trying to get into that room. Trixie, Cordelia’s right-hand gal, stopped him. She basically asked him if he had anything to do with it, and he told her not to accuse him of creating this mess, that they both knew how he got there.”

  Everett lifts a brow. “They both knew? I was there. I heard that argument, too, but I was just hitting home that maybe Trixie knows as much as Fester.”

  Noah jots something down in his phone. “I’ll make a point to talk to her.”

  “Oh, I spoke with her yesterday, too,” I pipe up with a little too much enthusiasm, and both of the handsome men before me raise a brow once again. “At the library they were taking turns at the copy machine. They said they needed to print out new instructions for staff and guests. Anyway, Trixie mentioned that she knew it wasn’t a good idea to have Chardonnay working the haunted house because Chardonnay and Ichabod were having an affair.”

  “Were they?” Noah asks, less than amused, as he seems to jot that dirty little detail down into his phone, too.

  Everett dips his chin as he looks my way. “What else did you glean, Lemon?”

  I look to Everett and his steely blue eyes. His determination to protect me is palpable.

  “That’s about it. Although, Trixie all but implicated both Cordelia and Chardonnay as suspects. I think we should look into both of them. The suit Ichabod was wearing had sequins and gold beading embedded into the fibers. I saw it myself. And the woman wearing a dress with red sequins and gold beading was Chardonnay. Maybe Cordelia caught them in a compromising position? And not only that, but I saw pieces of straw sprinkled around the floor at the crime scene. Fester Hamilton was dressed as a scarecrow that night. And I witnessed an argument between him and the deceased.”

  Noah blows out a deep breath. “It looks like I’ve got quite the list to chew down.” His eyes meet with mine. “And I mean that in a singular sense. Just me, Lottie. Nell’s warning has been at the forefront of my mind all day. I had a dream last night about that exchange we had in the orchard—although, I wouldn’t quite call it a dream. More like a nightmare.”

  Everett pulls back an inch. “I had the exact same dream.”

  A breath hitches in my throat as the two of them look my way.

  “I may have had that dream, too. I guess Nell is really trying to drive the point home, isn’t she?”

  Everett reaches over and takes up my hand. “Yes, she is, Lemon. Now let’s heed that warning.” He nods my way, serious as death.

  “I will most certainly try.” My lips press tightly.

  But I have a feeling things are about to go from cursed to worse.

  Chapter 8

  The next afternoon my mother has invited everyone she could muster for an impromptu book club meeting at the B&B. Carlotta filled me in on the way over that the crew of Haunted House Hunters would be infiltrating my mother’s unsuspecting bed and breakfast today—right along with the crew of the Midnight Moaners.

  I loaded my bakery van up with every sweet treat I had available, and we hightailed it out to the overgrown haunted mansion my mother picked up on the cheap all those years after my father died. My mother poured her entire self into raising her three girls, and once we flew the coop, she poured her whole self into fixing up this old B&B.

  She even tacked on this glass conservatory off the back a couple of years ago. It looks out at the expansive woods behind my mother’s B&B, and it gives you the feeling that you’re one with nature when you’re in this cavernous room. The dark purple sky adds to the dramatic backdrop. It looks as if a storm is imminent, and it only adds to the cozy appeal of this haunted autumn.

  As far as the B&B goes, things were going pretty well for my mother for a good long while. When it comes to places where tourists can stay while in Honey Hollow, there are just the Evergreen Manor and this B&B. It used to be that more often than not the B&B received the castoffs from the Evergreen. But once my mother’s place was good and haunted, it was the other way around.

  Although, ever since Ichabod took his headless horseman act to the next level, the B&B has been in a financial free-fall ever since.

  “I just thought of something,” I say to Carlotta as we set the last of the platters up on the dessert table inside the conservatory. We’ve brought every sweet treat under the Honey Hollow sun, but mostly I’ve brought my fried pickles and several of my spice cakes, which I just finished slicing up and plating. No matter how bad my nausea gets, this seems to stave it off. It’s like a miracle cure. I’m thinking I should market it for expectant mothers. Who knows? My bakery just might be on the forefront of maternal medicine. Nothing would surprise me anymore. “We should get someone to chop Wiley’s head off.” I give an enthusiastic nod. “And maybe a limb or two for good measure. That way we’ll one-up the Hearst haunted house and send people trotting right back to the B&B with their macabre curiosity piqued.”

  Carlotta snarls as she glances around the glass structure, already brimming with women fighting to take a seat for today’s spontaneous book club. I see Keelie with her sweet baby strapped to her chest and her twin, Naomi. They’re both talking to my sister, Lainey, who has her own sweet baby strapped to her chest. Meg is here talking to my mother, along with Mayor Nash’s ex-wife Chrissy Nash, and Becca Turner, Keelie’s mama, too.

  “I don’t know, Lot. Wiley is Foxy’s papa, and even though he’s a conman and a thief, he could still pan out to be the grandpa of that little sugar booger you’re lugging around. I’d wait until the paternity test comes back before you put a hit out on him.”

  I spot the wily Fox over in the corner mixing mocktails. He singlehandedly had the whole B&B shut down a few months back because of his alcohol slinging ways. Come to find out, my mother was down one liquor license at the time. And ever since then, they’ve been serving up nothing but glorified smoothies.

  A shadow darkens the area as an arm glides around my shoulder and Carlotta’s, and we look up to see Mayor Harry Nash, my bio daddy. He’s got light hair, mostly gray, mischievous blue eyes that always seem to be laughing, and an overall knack to overlook the lunacy around him at all times. He’d have to just to put up with Carlotta for this long.

  “Well, if it isn’t two of the most beautiful women in all of Honey Hollow.” That devil-may-care gleam in his eyes gives him the extra spark one needs when presiding over an entire town. “What did you think of that gale force wind that blew through town last night? It broke the branches right off the oak in my front yard.”

  I nod. “The way the windows were rattling, I thought a thousand maniacs were trying to break into the house.”

&
nbsp; “Hey, Harry.” Carlotta tenses. “You’d better skedaddle before you-know-who shows up. He’s got a jealous streak a mile wide. Those winds weren’t the only things howling last night. He’s got a hankering for revenge.”

  That might be true, but I happen to know the revenge Duke is interested in exacting has to do with the murder of Ichabod Hearst, and maybe a little with Mayor Nash. Duke seems just as possessive of Carlotta as she is of him. Go figure.

  Mayor Nash leans in. “Speaking of the wind, would you believe last night’s gusts knocked down every standing tombstone at the Honey Hollow Cemetery?”

  Both Carlotta and I gasp in unison.

  “Not to worry, ladies,” he’s quick to assure us. “They were being phased out anyhow. They’ve been a hazard for years. Rumors are already swirling that this was just more evidence that the Hearst curse is taking over this town.”

  “Oh, it is.” Carlotta is the first to propagate it. “And soon we’ll all feel the wicked effects. I wouldn’t be surprised if it knocked this entire town on its axis and all of Honey Hollow burned to the ground.”

  Wonderful.

  A sharp bark comes from our right as the greatest Great Dane of them all bounds this way, knocking Mayor Nash right on his axis and deep into a crowd of his constituents.

  Duke’s coat gleams dark as sin, and his eyes shine like twin live coals.

  “Hello, Spanky.” He gives Carlotta a wet, slobbering lick on the cheek.

  “Spanky?” I shoot the woman who bore me with a look. “What in the heck is going on between you two?”

  “Oh hush, Lot Lot. Can’t you see Big D and I are having a good time? Speaking of which”—she leans in—“my love sponge and I want to know if you can put in a word with the man upstairs to see about getting him an extended stay visa. Tell ’em I’m willing to go the whole matrimonial nine yards. Good news: I think we’re going to be lifers.”

  “Carlotta, Duke is dead,” I hiss before cringing his way, and my stomach does a revolution. “Sorry about that. I’m just stating the obvious.”

  I spot a commotion by the door, and it looks to be those film crews my mother was expecting.

  Mom waves both Carlotta and me her way and we head over.

  There’s a tall man with a beanie who looks to be in charge of a rather scraggly crew—men with long, uncombed hair, and women who have that I-just-rolled-out-of-bed vibe going for them.

  Perfect.

  Carlotta has basically summoned the great unwashed in an effort to save my mother’s B&B.

  Mom pulls Carlotta in close. “And this is my manager, Carlotta Sawyer. Any and all questions should be directed to her.”

  “And cold-hard cash.” Carlotta holds her hand out, and everyone is slow to shake it.

  A flickering green aura garners my attention just outside of the conservatory, and I make my way over while Carlotta gives the crew instructions on where to set up their equipment. Not a shocker, she wants all the footage to be shot in the conservatory during my mother’s naughty book club slash promo session for her new book.

  Hey? Maybe Carlotta really is a marketing genius.

  The four friendly ghosts that happen to haunt my mother’s B&B float out by the foyer, and I rush that way to say hello to them.

  There’s Greer Giles, the twenty-something brunette who was shot to death on Valentine’s Day a couple of years ago. I helped solve her homicide investigation. Greer and I weren’t friends while she was living, but we get along great now that’s she’s come back and offered to haunt my mother’s B&B along with her blonde looker of a boyfriend, Winslow Decker.

  Winslow is a two-hundred-year-old pig farmer whose land was right under this B&B. It’s safe to say he’s never ventured too far from home.

  And then there’s their adopted daughter Azalea, although nobody dares call her by her proper name, lest they risk having their heads lopped off à la Ichabod Hearst. Lea, as she prefers to be called, is all of six, has long, stringy, brown hair combed over her face, wears a dirty pinafore, a scuffed pair of Mary Janes, and wields a machete in her right hand.

  And what ghostly brood would be complete without a house cat named Thirteen? Thirteen helped me solve a case once and then got the green light to hang around. I suppose only time will tell if Duke will be given the same sacred rights.

  “Lottie”—Greer’s dark hair sparkles with pink stars—“what’s this nonsense about that old Hearst estate stealing our thunder?”

  Lea steps forward. She’s about three feet tall and yet that machete has me placing both hands over my belly in fear of her.

  “Tell me now”—Lea swipes the air near my left arm with that blade in her hand—“is it true you hacked his head off?”

  “What? No!” I give a quick glance around as I turn to face the wall so the poor people who might look my way won’t be forced to worry for my sanity. “Someone else killed the poor guy.”

  A ghostly groan strums from Winslow. “Oh, Lottie. Perhaps someone killed the poor guy, but make no mistake about it. That curse placed over that family is still hard at work.”

  “Winslow, do you know anything about the curse?”

  Winslow is comely with his dirty blond wavy hair, side lying dimples, and glowing eyes.

  “I was haunting the fields around the Hearst Estate when they first built it, trying to expand my territory, when a dark spirit chased me out and made it clear I was never to come back.” He shudders as if it still gives him the willies to think about it.

  My heart begins to race. “Winslow, have you ever encountered a spirit like that since?”

  “Never. And I haven’t been back to the Hearst Estate since either.”

  My hand clutches at my neck. “What do you think could have brought on such a curse?”

  Lea knifes at the air with her machete. “A deal with the dark side.”

  Greer nods. “Even I heard that Bartholomew Hearst made a deal with darkness. He gave the dark side free reign over every generation of Hearsts that would come through his line, and in exchange, the family would always have more than enough wealth to last through the end of days. All darkness wanted in exchange was a tithe—of bodies.”

  “A tithe?” I muse. “As in death?”

  Winslow nods. “The darkness only knows one way—to kill, steal, and destroy. What Bartholomew thought was a blessing has certainly been a curse right from the beginning.”

  Lea scoffs. “And I heard different. I was near the Hearst home not long after Bartholomew drowned in the Atlantic.”

  “What did you hear, Lea?” I lean in close, as not to miss a thing.

  “I heard Bartholomew had an affair with a woman he deemed not worthy enough to marry. The woman’s mother was a powerful enchantress that belonged to a group of people known as the Magiskas.”

  “Magiskas?”

  Lea lifts her weapon. “Something akin to a gypsy but with real powers much like your own, Lottie Lemon. And once Bartholomew rejected the enchantress’ daughter, the rest, as you say, is a rather cursed history.”

  “What were their names?”

  “Iona and Annabeth Canterbury.”

  “Lottie!” my mother trills from the entry to the conservatory. “It’s time to begin.” She waves me over with urgency.

  I turn back to the poltergeists in my presence. “Okay, it’s your time to shine. Spook it up real good. No-holds-barred.”

  Lea chuckles. “Hear that? Lottie gave us the green light for destruction. Where is that dashing beast who thinks he’s too good to mingle with us?” She zips off toward the conservatory.

  “No,” I shout after her. “Destruction isn’t necessary.”

  Thirteen moans as he floats after her. “I’d best warn the surly beast.”

  I’m just about to head over when I see a very familiar blonde stride in.

  “Cordelia Hearst?” I whisper.

  And sure enough, navigating her toward the conservatory is her assistant, Trixie Pearce.

  Greer leans in. “Don’t worry,
Lottie. We’ll show her what a haunted house should look like.”

  No sooner do they zoom by than a familiar cologne envelops me.

  I spin around to see a handsome homicide detective who is unusually slow to smile my way.

  “Lottie Lemon.” Noah ticks his head to the side. “Imagine my surprise when I was in the middle of questioning my suspect and she had to up and leave to attend a book signing with her new friend, Mirandy Lemonade.”

  “Not my doing.” I give him a little curtsy. “How about you help me find a few fried pickles?”

  He threads his arm through mine. “Anything for you, my dear.” Noah presses his evergreen eyes to mine. “You are the love of my life. And—I’m convinced you’re the mother of my child.” His dimples press in deep. “I’ve started to entertain names.”

  “Have you?” A laugh bubbles from me. “Believe me, I’d rather talk to you about names than engage in the debacle set to come.”

  We head into the bustling conservatory, and my mother pulls us to the side where Wiley, Noah’s look-alike father, stands speaking to a trio of women with long, brassy, blonde hair, harsh red lipstick, and each one is wearing some variance of a leather bustier and leather pants.

  “Lottie, Noah, these women are here from Midnight Moaners. I’ve given them the honeymoon suite to film their biopic of the B&B.”

  The tall one with a morbidly somber stare nods my way. “Give us just one night and we’ll have this place booked solid for the next two years. We specialize in women having a good time with ghosts.”

  Mom gives a light clap. “That sounds right up my alley.” She encourages the three of them to take a seat.

  “Mother,” I hiss. “I don’t think those women are going to bring in the clientele you’re thinking they will.”