Spooky Spice Cake Curse

by Addison Moore

  Wiley stretches his chin to the ceiling. “Maybe not, but I’m looking forward to the footage they produce.”

  “Dad,” Noah says it curtly.

  “What?” Wiley shrugs. “They’re beautiful women.”

  “Never mind those women.” Mom points to the man in the beanie. “The Haunted House Hunters have two million subscribers on YouTube, and they’re already rolling the cameras. How do I look, Lottie?” She primps her hair just as Carlotta bops up with the Duke who stole her heart—and apparently, forgotten all about the case.

  Hey? Maybe his lack of interest has something to do with the curse?

  Mom wrinkles her nose. “Wiley and I are about to do a quick reading from my new book.”

  Carlotta pulls her lips back. “I like where you’re headed, Toots, but as your manager, I have to say it like it is. Your face isn’t as ironed out as it used to be, and this is showbiz. This world idolizes youth. Lot Lot and Foxy, you’re on in five. And by five, I mean now. Make it sound good, would ya? Don’t just sit there like a bump on a log, Lot. Throw your hips into it.”

  My stomach lurches at the thought of standing in front of this bustling crowd, knowing full well my every move will be documented on film for all eternity to see—including my husband and my future child.

  Duke keeps pace next to Carlotta. “Lottie, you look a little funny. Are you all right?”

  “No,” I whisper. “Carlotta, I really think I should eat a pickle.”

  “Not now, Lot. You can have all the fried pickles you want once you give us a stellar performance. Pick a steamy scene, would you? You’re not just here to look pretty. We need you to sell books the way you sell spice cake these days.”

  “Ohh.” Mom points her way. “Wouldn’t it be great if she stumbled upon a body and it had a copy of my new book tucked in its arms? Oh, Lottie, you should really start carrying one around in your purse. You never know.”

  Carlotta chuckles. “Ah, come on, Miranda. This is Lottie we’re talking about. That dead body is all but a sure thing. I say give her six books to lug around and throw in a couple of signed bookmarks.”

  Noah leans in. “I’m getting you a pickle. Take a seat.” He looks to his father. “Take Miranda up there and do an introduction or something. I’m taking care of the mother of my child.”

  Mom coos, “Oh, he’s so sweet. You eat your pickles, Lottie. I’ll stave off the crowd as long as you need.” She makes a face as she looks around the ceiling. “Let’s hope those ghosts show up or my B&B is toast.”

  Carlotta leans in. “If you really want to help your mama sell books, you’ll eat that pickle suggestively.”

  “I’m going to suggest you back away.”

  I spot Cordelia and Trixie up front, but the seats on either side of them are taken.

  Duke belts out a riotous bark. “Don’t worry, Lottie. I see them, too. I’ll clear out a spot for you.”

  No sooner does he say it than the chandelier up above gives a few flickering winks, and the room fills with oohs and ahs. I glance up and spot Winslow swinging from the chandelier while giving me the thumbs-up.

  Duke heads over to the woman seated next to Cordelia and barks and nudges at the dessert plate in her lap until it’s flipped onto her chest and she’s wearing the frosting of one of my purple ghost cupcakes.

  “Oh, I’m so sorry,” I say, helping her out of her seat. “Why don’t you go get cleaned up, and I’ll save your seat for you?” I quickly evict her and take her spot.

  Little Lea heads this way with her machete in hand, looking at Duke as if she were about to carve him like a Thanksgiving Day turkey.

  “Come now, big boy,” she says in a near whisper as if she were trying to lure him to his second death. “I hear you’re Carlotta’s new plaything. Fancy that. I’m about to play with you, too. I hear it’s head lopping season in Honey Hollow. Are you up for a little headless fun?”

  Duke’s eyes round out with what looks to be fright, and he takes off like a whippet toward the dessert table.

  “I’m Lottie Lemon,” I say to the blonde next to me. Cordelia Hearst looks impeccable, with her smooth features and her perfectly pouty lips painted a cherry red. She’s donned a navy blazer and matching slacks with kitten heels. Her eyes are clear as day, not a sign of a tear in sight. Odd, considering her husband just passed away.

  I’m pretty sure if either Noah or Everett just had their head separated from their body, my eyes would be red as tomatoes and I’d be wrapped in my blanket like a burrito, sobbing myself silly with grief. The last place you’d see me less than a week later would be at one of my mother’s tawdry book readings, wearing kitten heels no less.

  Cordelia squeezes out a pained smile. “I do remember you, dear. So very nice to see you again.”

  Trixie, Cordelia’s adorable PA, gives me a cheery wave. “So fun to see you here, Lottie. Do you know the author?”

  I nod. “I was raised by her. I can get you both an autographed copy if you like?”

  Cordelia gasps. “Would you? I gobbled up Reckless Fear when it came out last summer. I ate up every steamy page. A friend let me borrow it after I told her my marriage was on the rocks. She was sure it would help add the right amount of steam into the bedroom, and sure enough, it did—at least on my end.” Her expression grows dark as she looks to the front where my mother waves in an effort to garner the room’s attention. “Regardless, I was a bit starstruck when the author herself offered us an invite to today’s book club. You know, I couldn’t refuse. It’s the one bright spot in my year. I know I’ll be tried in the court of public opinion for being here, but Ichabod put me through hell. I deserve this moment.” She folds her arms across her chest with an indignant huff.

  Noah comes over and hands me a plate brimming with pickles and spice cake.

  “Sweet and pickled treats?” I wave the plate over to Cordelia and Trixie, and they both refuse with a frenetic shake of the head. “Sorry for the odd assortment. I’m expecting,” I say, giving my little sugar cookie a quick pat.

  “Oh, that’s so wonderful,” Trixie coos. “I bet you and your husband are over the moon.”

  “I sure am. And, of course, my husband is thrilled—and so is my boyfriend.” I grimace a moment because I didn’t exactly mean to let that fly out of my mouth. “I mean, my ex-boyfriend. He’s convinced he’s the father.”

  Noah leans in. “That’s because I am.” He gives a quick wink.

  “Wow.” Trixie gives a little laugh. “I’m actually impressed you have two devoted men willing to stand by your side. My mother couldn’t keep one. She raised me on her own.” She shrugs. “My father wanted her to put me up for adoption, but she couldn’t be swayed.”

  “Well, good for her,” I say. “You’re a lucky girl. It sounds like you have a wonderful mother. My birth mother actually abandoned me at the local fire department, but the Lemons took me in. And, oddly enough, my biological mother is back in my life, and she’s pretty wonderful, too. It all seems to have worked out in the end. Life is funny like that sometimes. Not that I had any control over it.”

  Trixie laughs. “Now that’s a story.” She shrugs. “I’m glad you’re so accepting of it. I’m a bit more of a control freak.”

  Mom finally garners the attention of the crowd, and while she introduces herself and her brand new steamy read, Reckless Mattresses, I shove as many fried pickles and as much spice cake as I can into my pie hole at once. And my goodness, if I didn’t just inhale an entire spice cake—delectable frosting and chocolate ganache and all. And now that I think about it, fried pickles with chocolate ganache are a very real deal that are going to be happening come breakfast tomorrow. I’m sensing it’ll be a regular menu item.

  Mom beams my way with pride. “And now for the reading, I give to you my lovely daughter, Lottie Lemon, and the potential father of her child, Noah Fox. Let’s give them a warm round of applause as they take the stage.”

  The room lights up with wild cheers just as a serious bout of performan
ce anxiety grips me. Noah helps me out of my seat, and my stomach feels as if it’s turning into lava. My mother hands me the microphone, and I take it just as Duke runs past me. Little Lea is giving chase while holding that machete in one hand and Thirteen by the tail in the other.

  Lea lets out a wild cry. “I want to ride you like a pony, you brutish oaf,” she bellows, and to my horror the sound of her ghostly voice echoes audibly throughout the room.

  Every last person in the room breaks out into spontaneous laughter.

  “Lottie?” Noah casts a suspicious glance my way.

  I glance down to the microphone in my hand and gasp.

  My word! Are my powers growing? Malfunctioning? Does this microphone play into the equation somehow?

  Greer Giles and Winslow let out a couple of ghostly whoops of approval, and their voices, too, echo throughout the glass room.

  Oh, my dear Lord in heaven, this is shaping up to be a catastrophe of a cosmic variety.

  Noah and I each open up the books we were given to where my mother has them bookmarked.

  Noah reads first. He looks me in the eye with an all-too convincing manner and details the things he loves about me most—right before he details the things he likes about me most when we’re in a more intimate setting.

  I shoot my mother a disparaging look, and before I turn back to read my part, I spot Everett and Evie stepping into the room.

  Perfect. Just what I want my husband and daughter to witness. My stomach bubbles and boils like a fiery cauldron at the thought.

  “Dear Dominick.” I look into Noah’s green eyes and, I’ll admit, a part of me still very much swoons for him. Before I can start in on my next line, Greer Giles floats in close.

  “Oh, Dominick!” she moans into the mic. “The things you do to me are illegal in all fifty states.” The crowd lights up with laughter, and I can hear my mother choking—most likely because those words aren’t in the book. I glance down to the page at hand, and to my surprise there they are in black in white. It turns out, Greer is reading it word for word. Go figure.

  The lights in the chandelier above flicker before the bulbs explode one by one.

  Duke starts in on a barking spree, and everybody in the room looks around for the dog on the loose.

  Little Lea lets out a riotous cry, and soon Duke’s head is floating through the air like a rocket headed straight this way.

  “Sexy Sticky Buns!” Carlotta howls as she speeds on over, practically knocking Noah down as she does her best to catch Duke’s primal apex like a football just passed down the field for the touchdown.

  Greer shoves her face into the mic and bellows like a ghost about to bring the haunted house down.

  “Get ooout,” she howls as a jag of lightning goes off overhead, illuminating the dimly lit room with an otherworldly glow. “Get ooout,” she howls again as Duke’s body runs right over to the dessert table and every one of my sweet treats goes airborne.

  The room erupts in screams as Thirteen breaks loose from Lea’s grasp and jumps into the crowd, running from one set of shoulders to another using each person like a springboard as chaos breaks out.

  “It’s touching me!” one woman cries, inciting an entire string of women to shout the exact same thing.

  I pull the mic back to my lips and Greer leans in one more time.

  “Hey, Foxy,” she pants it out breathy—and far too loud for my liking. “Why don’t you save a little of that ammo for later? Now that you’ve seen what my mother can do, why don’t you give me use of your handcuffs for the night and I’ll show you just how naughty her daughter can be.”

  “Greer Giles!” I bark over at her and the room lights up with laughter.

  The man in the beanie leans toward his cohort a few feet away. “Did she just say Greer Giles? Isn’t she that dead girl?”

  Greer gasps. “Yes, it’s me!” she shouts into the mic. “Greer Giles,” she shouts as Winslow gives the chandelier a frightening rattle that even has me shivering with fear.

  Noah staggers to his feet just as Duke’s headless body bolts toward him and knocks Noah up against the glass wall, about ten feet off the ground, holding him there for all to see.

  “Oh no,” I moan as the crowd continues to scream.

  All cameras are feasted on Noah as the man in the beanie shouts about how great this is.

  And then in one hot burst, that lava field in my tummy evicts itself and projectile vomit streams out of me and into the crowd, as I spray them with my regurgitated spiced cake and pickles.

  Chaos isn’t a big enough word to describe the screams, the mass exodus, the laughter—that last part is mostly from Meg and Naomi.

  Keelie and Lainey have taken their little tikes and ran for the hills—as they should.

  Once Noah falls to the ground, his father helps to assess him for injuries, while Everett and my mother help get me cleaned up.

  It’s a nightmare within a nightmare.

  A cursed day if ever there was one.

  But on the bright side, I got to question a suspect—and my mother’s B&B should have no problem filling all those vacancies.

  The dead didn’t disappoint.

  But if they weren’t already dead, I’d kill them.

  All that’s left to do is figure out who killed Ichabod—now that would be one trick that would feel more like a treat.

  Chapter 9

  I’m sick.

  Dying.

  I’ve never felt so bad in my life.

  Since the next day was Sunday, Noah and Everett didn’t mind that I lay in bed with the covers pulled up over my head, moaning as if every ghost on the planet had taken up residency in my body. They were pushing to take me to the emergency room, but I assured them that was overkill.

  I can’t move, can’t blink without the urge to vomit.

  Noah and Everett tried every trick in the book to get me to drink a glass of water in the least. My mother even came over with one of her chicken casseroles, but as soon as I got a whiff of that garlicy disaster, I asked Evie to kindly evict Glam Glam from the premises—I believe I used the word planet.

  Keelie called and offered me a litany of advice regarding my sudden, and all too powerful, onslaught of morning sickness. Mostly those suggestions required Bear’s magic touch in dubious places, of which the thought only made my queasy stomach that much worse.

  Lainey called, too, and after she heard how bad I was, she sent Forest by to drop off some whole ginger root, which Noah promptly grated into a glass of water for me, per her instructions. She also gifted me a pair of gray cloth bands that sit snug around each of my wrists that are supposed to quell motion sickness. They didn’t help all that much, but at this point, I’ll take what I can get, even if it is a psychological placebo.

  But come Monday morning, Noah and Everett weren’t nearly as understanding of my new desire to never leave my bed again. They agreed I should see my OB-GYN as soon as possible just to make sure nothing was wrong with the baby.

  “I’m calling Dr. Barnette’s office, Lot,” Noah says, standing at the edge of my bed, already dressed for work—although he’s very sweetly threatened to stay right here today until he’s assured the baby and I were okay. He puts in his request over the phone and squints as the secretary says something in return. “I see. No, that won’t be necessary. She already has an appointment booked for next week.” He hangs up and shakes his head my way. “Sorry, Lot. Dr. Barnette is booked solid until your next appointment.”

  Everett whips out his phone. He, too, is dressed for success, already in a suit, ready to lay out some hard time to the unfortunate souls that have to face him, but he kindly cleared his schedule until later this afternoon.

  “Don’t worry, Lemon,” he says. “I’ll get you in this morning.” He pulls the phone to his ear. “Priscilla, how are you doing? It’s Essex.”

  My body bites with heat when he says his name. The thought of why he’s able to utilize it with her sends a whole new wave of nausea through my bod
y, and a weak moan evicts from me.

  Everett quickly fills Dr. Barnette in on my current pukey state of being.

  “Sounds great.” He nods my way. “We’ll see you soon.”

  He hangs up and wags the phone at Noah. “She’s pushing back her next appointment for us. She’ll see us right away.”

  Noah’s chest expands. “As irritating as I find you, I’m pretty darn glad you’ve been around the block a few times.” He looks my way. “All right, Lottie. Let’s get you to the car.”

  To say that Noah and Everett practically had to drag me to the driveway would be an understatement. I can already tell the elevator ride up to Dr. Barnette’s office is going to be a doozy. Good thing Evie tossed a small bucket in with me before we took off.

  I’m going to need it.

  As predicated, getting me out of the car and into Dr. Barnette’s office was nothing short of a moaning, groaning, puking disaster.

  Dr. Barnette is a pretty brunette with clear blue eyes. She has on a rhinestone jack-o’-lantern brooch, and her office holds the slight scent of rubbing alcohol. There was a cauldron filled with Halloween candy out on the reception desk, and not only did I snap up a few little sweet treats for myself, I made Noah and Everett snap up a few and then proceeded to shake them down for some of their haul.

  I did leave them with one piece each. I’m not a monster.

  Since Priscilla has been intimate with my husband, you would think that automatically took her off my friend list, but I’ve chosen to overlook that little coital factor with several other women, and Dr. Barnette is no different.

  Everett helped me into my paper gown while Noah held a water bottle by my side.

  “Okay, Lottie,” she says, looking over my chart on the computer screen before her. We just finished up with a pelvic exam, and she’s been busy inputting her findings ever since. “I think everything looks good. I do want to point out that you’ve gained twenty pounds since our last visit. And that was just three weeks ago.”