Spooky Spice Cake Curse

by Addison Moore

  Sure enough, Meg leads us around the side of the building and in through the back door, where we find a bright room filled with throngs of women getting their makeup done and their hair pulled and teased.

  Judging by all of the vamped-up vampires, hot-to-trot werewolves, blushing fairies, and sexy witches, it’s apparent this is a Halloween themed affair. Not to mention there are more feathered boas and hot pink lipstick that you can shake a wand at. And standing on a pair of glorified stilts, while having her body outfitted with a little racy lacy number, is none other than that spicy redhead who happens to have first name privileges with my husband.

  I’m about to take off in her direction when a spray of dark stars glitters before us, and Carlotta whoops and hollers as if someone had hand-delivered her an entire bucket of that deep-fried ice cream my mouth is already watering for.

  “Well, if it isn’t the dashing Duke of Earl.” She pulls his furry yet shockingly large face toward hers and plants a kiss right on his nose, and it looks far more like a smooch than it ever does a peck. “To think I thought you were giving me the cold shoulder, Sexy. How about you and I head on in and order up some of those fried beer raviolis?”

  I glance past Carlotta’s lunacy and note the fact Meg is having a rather lively conversation with a woman in a wig made of orange tinsel. I’m not sure if it’s Halloween-inspired or if it’s a regular spectacle, but right about now I’m just thankful neither of them is witnessing Carlotta’s demise.

  “Carlotta,” I say, spinning her around. “Grab us a table up front and order two of everything. My treat.”

  “Ooh wee!” Carlotta does an odd little hop. “I’m already reaping the benefits of that little sugar cookie you’re lugging around. Don’t you worry, Dukey. I’ll make sure there’s plenty for you, too. We’ve got to keep your energy up.”

  “I’ll keep him and his energy here with me.” I shoot the smitten hound a look. “We’ve got work to do.”

  Carlotta heads off while Duke and I make our way to the back where Chardonnay looks more like a full-fledged zombie than she is your run-of-the-mill pretty girl in a lace nightie.

  The blonde primping Chardonnay’s hair and makeup grunts when she sees me.

  “And here comes another one.” She quickly sets me down and proceeds to tug and pull at my hair with that menace of a comb in her hand.

  “Chardonnay,” I say, trying to ignore the fact my face is being blotted with a wet sponge. “You look fantastic.”

  She looks my way, and the whites of her eyes flash amidst those faux bruises the makeup artist just applied to her face.

  Her head inches forward. “Do I know you?”

  “We met at that Hearst haunted house debacle.” I shrug.

  Duke barks. “Good move, Lottie. Always start with the truth.”

  Chardonnay gasps, causing her auburn red ringlets to bounce around her head like springs. She’s pretty, with big green eyes and pouty lips that I would pay to have, and I can’t help but scowl at her because it just so happens that Everett had all of her.

  “You’re not investigating, are you?” Her eyes bulge in horror.

  “What?” I do my best to sound outraged. “No. I’m just here—”

  The makeup artist at hand douses my face with powder, and I cough.

  “I’m a dancer.” I shrug.

  Duke groans. “Or go with a lie. That works, too.” He sniffs Chardonnay’s neck. “Mmmn, Dukey like. I can see why Ichabod had an eye for this one.”

  I can, too, but I happen to know he did a lot more than just look at her. He was getting busy with this hussy on the night he was killed. The physical evidence found on his suit assured me of that much.

  “So that night?” I look over at her. “Did you at least get a chance to give that poor man a kiss goodbye?”

  Her eyes flash once again. “Why would I kiss him?”

  “Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t think it was a secret. Ichabod and I were on friendly terms. He was using my bakery to cater the event, and we got to chitchatting. He pointed you out that night before he took his final ride as the headless horseman. He said, ‘See that little lady? She’s special to me.’”

  Duke barks. “That doesn’t sound like Ichabod. Maybe tell her he thought of her as a living, breathing poem.”

  “And”—I hold up a finger—“he said he thought of you like a living, breathing poem.”

  “Oh!” Chardonnay clutches at her chest. “That man.” She blinks back tears. “Now that sounds exactly like something Ichabod would say. He really did have a way with words. If you don’t mind, though, I wouldn’t repeat it. Especially not around his wife.” She grimaces. “We weren’t exactly the best of friends, if you know what I mean.”

  “I get it.” I nod. “I heard she’s accusing you of doing the grisly deed.”

  She inhales so fast and loud, half the room looks her way before resuming the haunted costume session.

  “That woman has a lot of nerve. I know for a fact Cordelia Hamilton has had it out for Ichabod since the first time she caught us together in their winter lodge a year ago. This has been a long time coming, if you ask me. But I didn’t do it.”

  Duke growls so ferociously I’m moved to yelp but withhold the urge.

  He lets out a riotous bark. “Ask her about the murder weapon. How could Cordelia possibly have gotten ahold of that?”

  “What about the mur—the chainsaw? Any news on how the killer could have done that to poor Ichabod then landed it back in your hands?”

  She shudders. “The funny thing is, I closed down my room to take a break and left it behind. I’d bet every diamond on Earth that it didn’t have a chain on it when I began my short-lived stint as the flapper of death. But when I came back and started it up again, the chain was there. I didn’t think too much of it, but I noticed it. I had been drinking just a bit, so I thought maybe I did see it before. Do you know what I mean? Anyway”—she takes a quick look around before leaning in—“since you already know about Ichabod and me, I don’t mind telling you that I spent my break that night with him. He locked his room up and we got a little wild in that dark forest he was lost in.” She gives a dreamy sigh as she relives the salacious memory. “At first, I felt terrible about it because Ichabod and I had called it quits just a few weeks before that. Or more to the point, I called it quits. He was still actively pursuing me. I wasn’t going to take the haunted house gig, but he made sure the price was right. The others might be volunteers from the local drama department, but he was paying me triple what I make here.” She frowns. “Not that I’m ever going back. Anyway, he really poured on the affection as soon as we were alone, if you know what I mean. I was feeling pretty lousy, considering Cordelia was on the property and all, but after Ichabod died, I realized that little tryst was our last hurrah.” She lands her hand over her tummy and my mouth falls open.

  “Chardonnay, do you think that little tryst might have resulted in another Hearst heir?”

  “I don’t know just yet. But let’s just say we weren’t all that careful.” She makes a face. “And honestly, if it did happen, I’m sort of glad he won’t be here to notice. The Hearst men were notorious about spawning spare heirs—unofficially, of course, and then paying off the women to either disappear themselves or make that baby disappear. I happen to like my life here in Scooter Springs, and if I’m having Ichabod Hearst’s baby, I won’t be getting rid of it either.”

  “Good for you,” I say.

  Duke gives a soft bark. “Tell her he would want her to be taken care of.”

  My lips part as I look her way. “And I’m betting Ichabod would want both you and the baby to be taken care of if that was the case.”

  Her eyes round out. “You know what? I bet you’re right. In fact, I bet he’d want me to sue the Hearst Estate to make sure my baby gets his or her own fair share of that haunted pie.”

  “Sue?” My voice pitches.

  Someone enters the room from the front and shouts for the girls to cue up in a
line.

  The blonde woman primping me silly quickly pulls my clothes off and lands me in a dress made of white rags. No sooner do I look into the nearest mirror and see the bride of Frankenstein staring back at me than Chardonnay takes me by the hand and traipses me onto the stage with her.

  “Just do what I do,” she hisses, and soon white-hot lights blind us as I look around the hazy room filled with the heavenly scent of all things fried and—the heavy scent of cheap cologne. That last one is not a shocker. Ambiguous faces seem to float in the crowd, and I can make out wooden floors and tables along with the ghostly looking crowd.

  Chardonnay leans my way just as the music takes a turn for the tawdry.

  “Once we head down into the crowd, find yourself a hottie and pick their pockets to your heart’s content. It’s a great way to score a few extra bonus tips.”

  The room breaks out into catcalls and whistles as the girls all migrate their way off the stage, and soon enough we’re on the main floor mingling with the patrons who seem to be enjoying luscious platters of deep-fried everything. I bounce and shake my bottom as I follow Chardonnay, but I quickly lose her as I migrate toward Carlotta’s table, already brimming with enough golden fried selections to make me want to forget about these Frankenstein shenanigans.

  Duke bounds up, and Carlotta grasps him by the ears.

  “Why did you take so long, Tasty Tushy? I’ve been missing your smooches.”

  Duke growls out a laugh. “Plant one on me, Bubble Bum.”

  Nice to know who’s who in the zoo.

  Carlotta presses her lips to his snout and proceeds with the pooches smooches while I swipe what looks to be a juicy fried chicken leg off her plate. But once I take a bite, I happily discover it’s none other than the deep-fried bacon treat I was promised at the door.

  From the corner of my eye, Chardonnay garners my attention as she runs her fingers through the jet-black hair of one all-too familiar looking husband—namely mine.

  “Oh no, you don’t,” I say as I make my way over. But before I’m halfway there, she’s straddling him and peppering his face with kisses while her hands deep dive into his pockets.

  “Stop, thief!” I shout, but the music is so loud no one seems to notice. No sooner do I arrive at Everett’s table than I see he’s brought a guest along, the formidable Detective Fox who also happens to have a woman crawling all over him, her hands making themselves at home with the inner workings of his pants.

  I don’t bother using my voice. Instead, I summon up the strength of six women as I evict the two of them off my men, retrieve both of their wallets, including Noah’s badge, and all the while never dropping that nugget of fried bacon.

  “Lemon?” Everett has the nerve to say my name stern while his hair is still mussed from another woman’s fingers, his face dotted with a lipstick not of my own. Okay, so Chardonnay’s lip prints are nowhere to be found on his face, but that doesn’t mean she wasn’t within firing range.

  “Don’t you Lemon me.” I scowl over at the two of them before I sniff something delectable and note the table is a virtual smorgasbord of deep-fried delights. I take in a quick breath. “Not only were the two of you hooker-hunting behind my back, but you were doing so while diving into the world’s best deep-fried fare. Is that deep-fried pizza?” I ask, snatching up the triangular looking hunk of heaven.

  A waitress walks by and I stop her. “Do you have any ice cream or fudge sauce you could bring out?”

  Her glittery lashes blink down at me. “We’ve got some hot salted caramel.”

  “Winner winner, I’m dipping dinner. I’ll take two orders, please.”

  She takes off and Noah leans in. “It’s not what you think, Lot. I had to speak with Chardonnay—and apparently, you did, too.”

  Everett bares those blue eyes my way. “And I’m here solely for the purpose of getting her to open up.”

  I can’t help but grunt at that one. “I know all the ways that woman has opened up to you in the past, Essex.” I take an angry bite of the pizza in my hand and his eyes widen just a notch.

  Noah chuckles, and I glare over at him.

  “What are you laughing at?” I ask, slinging his badge back his way and his own eyes round out with horror. “That’s right,” I say, giving them both their wallets back as well. “If it wasn’t for me, you’d both be cursing yourselves while standing in a hot and sweaty line at the DMV—and probably catching a nasty bug before bringing it home to my little sugar cookie and me. How dare you both tell me you were working late—and instead heading to Scooter Springs to take in the scantily clad Halloween scene. And don’t think once I polish off these deep-fried sensations that we’re sticking around to question anyone. No siree. I’ve done all the talking, and you boys are going to do the walking. It’s to bed for both of you. And newsflash, I won’t be joining either of you for the evening.”

  Everett shoots Noah a look that can kill.

  “This is the last time I offer to do you any favors,” he grunts.

  Noah scoffs. “You’re the one who said it was a good idea for the two of us to talk to Chardonnay. You said you could get me places with her, that I could only hope to be.”

  “Really?” I shoot Everett a wry look.

  His lips twitch. “Okay, I said it,” he admits as he looks my way. “But only because I didn’t want you coming up here and doing whatever it is you just did.” His lids hood low a moment. “I’m liking the costume. You make a stunning bride.” He comes shy of winking, and I think three different women at a nearby table just fainted.

  “Well, I’m not liking the lies,” I say. “I want a pact to be made right now. No more fibs. If you say you’re working late, then I’d better be able to find you at your respective places of employment.” I look to Noah. “I’m an official-unofficial consultant, remember? And I expect to be consulted.”

  “Fine.” Noah doesn’t look too impressed with my diatribe. “But it works both ways. You were willfully coming to Scooter Springs to question a suspect after we asked you not to do so without one of us being present. And instead you came alone.”

  “I’ve got Carlotta, Meg, a dead dog named Duke, and a live round in the belly of my friend Ethel. I hardly came alone. And in my defense, I thought there’d be salad.”

  The waitress brings two huge bowls full of sweet delicious hot salted caramel sauce, and I get right to work dipping and moaning my way through every bite.

  Everett picks up a deep-fried something or other and dips it into the caramel sauce as well.

  “When in Rome.” He takes a bite and nods. “Not half-bad. What do you say we take some of that caramel sauce back to the house?” His lips curl because I have a feeling he’d like to dip something far more carnal into that ooey goo.

  “Done deal,” I say.

  Noah glares at Everett a moment. “Do you know what else is a done deal? I called Veranda Wilson’s office today, and she said she could squeeze us in tomorrow, late afternoon. From what her secretary says, she specializes in trust issues.”

  Everett doesn’t appear to be too amused by this latest development.

  “And that’s Priscilla’s counselor buddy?” he asks, and Noah nods in response. “All right. I’ll be there.”

  “So will I. And trust issues?” A sigh expels from me as I look from Noah to Everett. “Well then. It looks as if we’ll have plenty to talk about.”

  Chapter 11

  The next morning I sent Everett away with a kiss despite the fact I’m still not too thrilled with last night’s escapade—the one in Scooter Springs, that is. I completely approve of the escapades that went down in Honey Hollow.

  I offered to drive Evie to school since Everett had a big case he needed to gear up for, and my heart warms as Evie and I pull up alongside Honey Hollow High. Just looking at this mammoth stone building sends a shiver up my spine as if it were a virtual time machine, capable of delivering me right back to my miserable high school years.

  The wind picks up and redi
rects my attention to all the black and yellow streamers strung up everywhere.

  “Look at all that school spirit,” I muse. “You must be gearing up for a big game this Friday night.”

  “Only the biggest,” she says. “It’s homecoming.”

  “Homecoming?” I shout the word in a panic. “Evie, when were you going to tell me this? Aren’t you going to the dance? You’re going to need a dress? I’m going to—”

  “Mom,” she drags it out, loud and curt, in only the way a teenager can to let me know she’s had enough. “Calm down, would you? The game isn’t until tomorrow, and the dance is all the way on Saturday. That’s plenty of time to find a dress.”

  “Oh wow, our very first homecoming. I’ve got to call Glam Glam. And, of course, your dad and Uncle Noah will be there in the stands. I can’t wait to see you do your thing out on the field again.”

  “You’re not coming to the game, are you?” Her voice hikes to unnatural levels and her eyes bug out with fright.

  “Yes, we’re coming to the game. We wouldn’t miss it for anything.”

  “You’re missing it,” she belts it out like a threat. “I already told you I don’t want you guys at the games. And don’t think I didn’t notice a few weeks ago when you snuck in the back and made out like a couple of sex-starved hippies.”

  “Evie. We’ll sit as far away as possible.”

  “Aargh! How embarrassing. I’m going to die right there on the field. I might as well pick out a casket instead of a homecoming dress.”

  “Geez. Okay, fine. How about the last half of the game?”

  “I don’t negotiate with terrorists. Oh, and today and tomorrow are half days. Principal Hickey insists the teachers pick their noses at a meeting today—and tomorrow nobody cares about school anyway because the people of Hillbilly Hollow care more about pig skin than IQ points.” She gives a quick wink. “Don’t worry, Mom. This blip on the map is still my favorite place in the whole wide world. See you at twelve-thirty, and we’ll go shopping?”

  “What?” My mouth contorts into all sorts of odd, yet happy shapes. “You bet. I’m not missing a chance to help my daughter find the perfect dress for her very first dance in this town she loves so much.” I wink right back at her. “I have so many memories of dances in that school gym.” Not that they were good memories, but that doesn’t change the fact I have them.