Spooky Spice Cake Curse

by Addison Moore

  An arrest on Halloween night would be the icing on the haunted cake.

  Cordelia or Fester.

  I lean back as I look into Noah Fox’s loving eyes. Yes, I relayed to him the message that Nell gave, but I left out the warning she gave me just before she disappeared. She urged me to enjoy each day as if it were my last—to stop playing with this spiritual fire or else it just might be my last indeed.

  But I’ll be knee-deep in that fire come tomorrow, Halloween night.

  My hand floats over my stomach.

  It won’t be my last day.

  Will it?

  Chapter 16

  As a child there was nothing as exciting as putting on my costume and getting ready for the big night. Halloween was a highly anticipated holiday in the Lemon household, especially among us girls.

  My sisters and I would take hours getting every detail of our costumes just right. And then our father, Joseph Lemon, would trot us around as much of Honey Hollow as we could handle. My mother would join us for a bit before she went back home to pass out candy—and nosh on all her favorite treats in peace. We always found a plethora of wrappers floating around the kitchen when we got back. My mother has never been one to eschew a Snickers bar of any shape or size. And I’ve proven to be my mother’s daughter tonight as I scarf down fun-size candy bars in every nougat, double chocolate, and nutty combination.

  But, at the moment, I’m not holding a bag of Halloween candy. I’m holding one of my overflowing dessert platters laden down with sugar cookies in cutouts of tombstones, witches’ hats, pumpkins, and black cats. I’ve also brought platters of brownies, blondies, cupcakes frosted with vanilla piled high with tiny little eyes to make them look like ghosts. Another platter holds a vast assortment of cookies spanning from snowballs to thumbprints.

  I figure an event like this is a good time to showcase what I’m capable of—in the least I might gain some new customers out of it. And, I’ve brought enough of my spice cake to feed the masses for a week straight. I wasn’t going to, but Trixie called this morning and made sure I wasn’t leaving it off the menu. She said the last thing she wanted was to make me feel as if my spice cake was cursed.

  I didn’t say anything, but I’m about the only person in this town who isn’t running scared at the thought of that old Hearst curse. So, of course, I brought an extra portion of my spice cake just to prove this—to myself, that is.

  “What do you think, Lemon?” Everett puts down a platter onto the dessert table before wrapping his arms around me.

  It’s Halloween, and the crowd at the Hearst Estate is double what it was that first night. I’m not sure where all of these people came from, but it’s shoulder-to-shoulder standing room only as people dressed in cute and clever costumes run wild from booth to booth before heading off into the haunted house itself. That mood music is blaring from the speakers once again, nothing but screams, slamming doors, the sound of creaking floorboards, heavy footsteps, and moaning ghosts—all set to creepy organ music.

  The sky is a deep shade of purple. The clouds loom close to Earth and look velvety to the touch. The moon illuminates them from behind and casts an eerier lavender hue over the haunted mansion that stands prideful in our midst. And I have no doubt that lavender aura is nothing born of this world.

  Twinkle lights are strung overhead, giving the night the enchanted appeal it deserves. And the air is scented with a mix of hot apple cider and the vanilla wafting from my desserts—a heavenly combination if ever there was one.

  But the tastiest treat of all is Everett, who has donned a plaid flannel and grungy jeans. He’s even got a hatchet embedded in his back, no thanks to Evie’s insistence to turn her dad into a lumberjack who met his fate via his favorite tool of the trade.

  As for me, Evie ixnayed my Oktoberfest-inspired dress. She said impersonating a waitress wasn’t all that clever, so she reworked the frock by turning it into an off-the-shoulder number, and reworked the skirt by rolling it up until I was showing a bit too much leg, gave me a pair of fishnets to go with it, and did my makeup so that I looked like a castoff from every vampire movie ever made.

  A smile twitches on my lips as I look up at my handsome undead husband. “Got an axe to grind, big boy?”

  “Only if you’re going to help me grind it.” His gaze dips down my body at the dress I’ve donned. “Will you be serving beer and pretzels later?”

  “Nope.” I shake my head. “But I’ll do my best to inebriate you with my body.”

  “Is this the part where I say I’ll do my best to twist you into a pretzel?”

  A laugh bumps from my chest. “You can try, but I’m not all that limber these days. Have I mentioned that my obsession with food has reached new heights? I hope you like pumpkins because I’m about to turn into one.”

  “You can turn into whatever you want.” He lands a heated kiss to my lips. “My love for you only grows—for you and the baby. I can’t wait to expand our family.”

  “I can’t wait either. But Evie came into our lives pretty self-sufficient. This baby is going to demand everything we’ve got just to keep it alive. What if I fail this baby, Everett? What if it goes hungry? Or what if I forget to change its diaper for a week? What if I can’t get it to go to sleep? What if we never sleep again?”

  His chest bounces with a quiet laugh. “You’re spiraling, Lemon. Don’t worry about anything. I’ll be right there with you. I plan on taking time off when the baby is born.”

  “Really? That’s so sweet of you. Thank you.” I dot his lips with a kiss. “I feel better already.” Let’s hope it lasts.

  A group of teenagers walk by, and that tall vamp-ish country girl zombie in the middle happens to belong to us. Evie has a skimpy red and white blouse tied off just above her belly button and a pair of cut-off shorts that look as if they can double as a bathing suit. And as if that skin show wasn’t enough to send Everett’s heart into a major malfunction, she’s pressed her feet into a pair of sky-high heels that adds to her already towering height. Don’t think for a minute the boys don’t notice. They’re flanking her on either side, six deep, and drooling like infants.

  Everett growls.

  “Down, Daddy,” I whisper.

  “No wonder she insisted on getting ready at her friend’s house. I think we should go over and say hello.”

  I spot a familiar blonde not too far off.

  “Why don’t you go over and say hello?” I say. “And try to be nice about it. I see Keelie with the baby standing by the hot cider. Want me to get you a cup?”

  “That’s okay. Go ahead and get yourself one. I’ll be over in a minute.”

  We part ways, and soon enough I’m cooing over baby Bear’s first Halloween costume—a fuzzy brown jumpsuit with tiny curved fuzzy ears sitting on top of his head. In all fairness, I think this is the same jumper he wore the first night of the Halloween Haunt, but I’m glad Keelie is getting her money’s worth out of it.

  “Keelie, he’s the most precious little bear I’ve ever seen,” I say as I give his silky smooth cheek a quick brush with my finger. Baby Bear has his father’s serious eyes and broad forehead and Keelie’s pouty lips and full cheeks. “He just gets cuter each time I see him. And bigger.”

  “And heavier,” Keelie says, adjusting the front-facing papoose she has him strapped into. “But the good thing is he’s keeping me warm.” Keelie has donned pink, fuzzy, one-piece PJ’s and a pair of old slippers with holes in the toes. Half her hair is wrapped in curlers and the other half is teased in every direction while her mascara runs down to her nose.

  I give one of her milky white curls a tug. “And you look cute in your costume, too, Mama. What are you supposed to be? Let me guess—you’re a ratty old housewife.”

  Her expression sours. “I’m not wearing a costume, Lottie. I’m dressed for bed. I just thought it would be fun to pop out into the world, so baby Bear could take part in his first Halloween night. Papa Bear is rustling up some grub for me.” She smiles wide as she says
it.

  “Just seeing you so happy makes me so happy.” I pull her into a warm embrace just as Carlotta and Meg crop up, each holding a cup of steaming hot cider.

  Carlotta is wearing a black and white dress with a pair of handcuffs dangling from her left wrist, and Meg looks as if someone dipped her into purple vinyl. I have no idea how she got that jumper on. And boy, is it ever hugging her every curve and leaving absolutely nothing to the imagination.

  “Happy Halloween,” Keelie and I say in unison.

  I nod to the two of them. “And what are you ladies supposed to be?”

  Carlotta holds up the cuffs dangling from her wrist. “A prisoner of love on the run.”

  “Something that just might prove to be prophetic,” I quip. “And you, Meg?”

  “I’m not wearing a costume, Lot.” Meg glances down at her purple second skin. “I just got off work from Red Satin. We were short a girl for one of the routines, and I had to take one for the team. I was about to head over to Mom’s and help her out, but I thought I’d stop by this haunted wonder and see if anyone has gotten their head chopped off yet.”

  Carlotta grunts, “Can’t wait to see how they’re going to follow that one up. The headless horseman really lost his head. I bet the house is really haunted, too.” She winks my way. “Speaking of that furry devil, have any of you seen my love bug around? He didn’t come home last night. And I’ve got a serious bone to pick with him.”

  I shrug. “Maybe he’s traded you in for something a little furrier, with whiskers and a fierce bark?”

  “I’ll show him a fierce bark. And I’ve got an impressive amount of whiskers on my chin, too!” She takes off, and I glance over at Keelie and Meg.

  “It sounds as if Mayor Nash is in for it,” I tell them in a weak attempt to cover for Carlotta’s lunacy.

  Meg shakes her head. “She’s not talking about Mayor Nash. She thinks she’s having a fling with some invisible Great Dane.” She points to my belly. “Let’s hope Junior gets all the sane genes from its father’s side. Between Carlotta and Mayor Nash, your side is pretty much doomed.”

  “Hard to argue with that,” I say. “And to be truthful, if this baby is Noah’s, it might be in trouble all the way around. Face it, Wiley and Suze Fox do not a sane family tree make.” Noah’s parents make mine look like they’re the king and queen of normal.

  Keelie nods. “All we can do is pray that Everett’s super seed will save the day.”

  Meg sighs. “And if not, you know what they say—first kid is like the first pancake. You throw it out and try again.”

  “I’m not throwing out the baby with the tainted genetic bathwater,” I scoff. “If it’s Noah’s, I’ll just have to work harder to ensure light wins over darkness.”

  Meg shakes her head. “It’ll be like a salmon swimming upstream only to meet up with a hungry bear.”

  I nod. “You forgot the fire-breathing dragon named Suze that devours the bear with her flames.” Noah’s mother is a dark force that could stop entire armies with her wicked breath.

  Meg shudders. “Suze is the scariest part of my Halloween night, and she’s not even here.”

  Keelie twitches her head. “My mother says Suze is the queen of the dark side.”

  I blow out a breath. “And we all know your mother is never wrong.”

  Meg takes off, and Keelie heads toward Bear to enjoy that feast he’s gathered.

  But my feet just so happen to steer me toward Trixie Pierce.

  Her hair is down in long, wild waves, she’s wearing a loose, off-the-shoulder blouse with a full, ragged skirt, and she has an eye patch covering her left eye.

  “Ahoy there, matey,” I say, giving a little wave.

  She wrinkles her nose. “Believe it or not, you’re the first person who hasn’t asked me to identify my costume.”

  “Hey, it takes a feisty wench to know one,” I tease. “And it’s a rather becoming costume on you.”

  “Who says it’s a costume? Feisty Wench is my middle name.” She tips her head back and laughs just as a jagged spray of lightning illuminates the sky all at once.

  “Whoa.” She presses a hand to her chest. “Oh, I hope it doesn’t rain. All we need is one more good night. And seeing that I’m the one responsible for all the props, I’d better make sure nothing is left out back where the rain can ruin it. Excuse me. I’ll catch up with you in just a bit.”

  “No problem,” I say as she takes off to the rear of the enormous estate.

  The Hearst mansion is no mere haunted house. It’s girth and width, although boxy, command all of your undivided attention. The windows are illuminated with flickering lights, and there’s a jack-o’-lantern sitting on every ledge, setting just the right mood for a haunted night like this.

  “It’s stunning, isn’t it?” a male voice says from my right, and I turn to find Fester dressed just as he was the night of the murder—as a scarecrow.

  I take a deep breath as I look back at the house.

  “It’s beautiful. I can’t believe that place sat vacant for all those decades.” It seems like such a waste, but I don’t dare say that to him. I know the Hearst family made it clear that Honey Hollow was beneath them all those years ago.

  “It was used off and on,” he says. “Mostly as a place of respite. I guess Honey Hollow was too far from Vail or the Mediterranean to be a winter or summer destination.”

  “Well, that explains why Ichabod chose it for autumn,” I tease. “Hey, Fester? That night he died—when would you say you saw him last?” If he admitted catching Ichabod in the act with Chardonnay to Trixie, maybe he’ll admit it to me?

  “Right after he got off the horse. It was my responsibility to put it away, and by the time I came back, the house was shutting down. It was too late for Ichabod. In fact, I had one of the firemen helping me out because the horse belongs to the fire chief.”

  “A fireman?”

  “Yeah, Forest something or other.”

  “Donovan?” My mouth falls open at the thought of my brother-in-law providing an airtight alibi for the suspect in front of me. And you better believe I’ll check it out. Although I’m prone to believe him at the moment.

  “That’s the guy. Anyway, poor Cordelia was a mess. Thank God she didn’t see the grisly sight. She comes from a tough stock, but I don’t think she could have survived that.”

  “But you must have been in the room where Ichabod was killed.” I know for a fact he was, I saw the straw on the floor myself. And I’m not anxious to entertain it came from anyone else.

  “I was in and out of that room all day setting things up. But not once while the haunted house was up and running.” A group of teenagers screams and laughs in the distance. “I’d better go see what they’re up to. My goal is to make sure everyone leaves this party alive. Just one more night and both Cordelia and I are free from this mess.” He takes off, and I ponder that horse scenario for a moment.

  Maybe Trixie got the details wrong? Maybe she meant to say that Cordelia told her that she caught Ichabod and Chardonnay? I’m sure Trixie has been stressed out. She has to manage this entire fright fest singlehandedly.

  A chipper blonde captures my attention over by the woods where bales of hay look more like boulders against the navy of the forest.

  I head in that direction, and the noise of the party begins to fade. The howling laughter and the intermittent screams all feel like a bad dream just out of reach.

  “Cordelia?” I call out, and the woman turns to confirm my suspicions.

  There she is, wearing a deep crimson ball gown with matching satin gloves that come up over her elbows. Her hair runs down her back in neat vanilla ringlets, and she’s holding a large lace fan in her hand. She looks as if she was ripped right from the Regency era.

  “Lottie.” Cordelia gives a few quick blinks, and the moisture glinting in her eyes gives away the fact she’s staving off tears. “I was just out here thinking about Ichabod. I’ve been trying to remember the good times. We do hav
e children together. I guess for as bad as it was—there were some good times tucked in there, too.”

  “I’m glad to hear you’re in a better place.” It makes transitioning to pinning the murder on her that much tougher, and that’s exactly why I’m choosing to dive right in. “I just wish you would have got there sooner.” I step in close as she tips her head with curiosity.

  “Sooner?”

  “Before you found him. You saw him that night with Chardonnay, didn’t you?”

  She gives a long blink. “I did. I saw them together. But I ran. I went straight downstairs and locked myself in one of the service bathrooms until I could collect myself. And by the time I came out, Ichabod was already—well, gone.”

  “Cordelia, your fingerprints were found on the packaging of the chain that was used to kill him. Why were you handling the equipment?”

  Her eyes widen, and her turned up nose takes on a gruesome shadow in this dull light.

  “Lottie, you’re not accusing me of anything, are you? I was elbow-to-elbow with the staff, preparing things for the haunted house. I must have touched everything in there.”

  “I thought Trixie said the chainsaw was supposed to be chain free. It was supposed to be nothing more than an impotent prop.”

  “There was so much chaos the week leading up to opening night. Who knows? I could have easily touched the packaging for anything. But I would be the last person who knows how to put a chain on one of those things. I grew up just as pampered as the life I married into.”

  “You’ve been off your medication for weeks now, haven’t you?” That’s exactly what Trixie told me the day I ran into her in Scarlet’s boutique.

  She blinks back. “How did you know that?”

  The sky lights up again with sharp jags of lightning.

  “Is it true?” I ask as the wind grows wildly.

  Cordelia closes her eyes a moment too long. “Yes, it’s true. But it was simply medicine for anxiety. I found a local herbalist here in town who swore she had something that worked twice as well. And she was right. I haven’t felt the need to go back on those terrible pills. Did Trixie tell you this?” Her voice grows curt. “I can’t imagine anyone else would know. She was the one that suggested I try the herbalist.”