Spooky Spice Cake Curse, Page 2

  Carlotta’s mouth falls open as she looks at something in the crowd to our left.

  “Well, hubba hubba,” she says, practically drooling on herself in the process. “Check out that tall, dark, and handsome hoochy poochy strutting around like he owns the place. That obnoxious gleam in his eyes looks as if he’s ready to teach every girl here a lusty lesson. And don’t you think for one moment I’m not signing up for his master class on sass. It’s time to dust off my title as teacher’s pet and let him put my body to whatever test he likes.”

  I have a feeling that spiel was pretty much on par with how most of Carlotta’s colorful, albeit short-lived, scholastic career went down.

  “Which one is he?” I ask, craning my neck in that general direction, but I don’t see a tall, handsome man in the bunch. Instead, I see an entire swarm of hormonal teenagers and some unusually tall dog, with short dark gray fur and long pointed ears—looks like a Great Dane. “Wait, are you really talking about a hoochy poochy?”

  “Well, of course, I am.” She runs her fingers through her hair and fluffs out her tresses. “Look at him, Lot. He’s the size of a Quarter Horse. I’m feeling like a lucky jockey tonight. I think I’m going to go over and introduce myself. Wish me luck. I’m off to the races.” She heads that way and Noah wraps an arm around me.

  “I think she’s about to do some heavy flirting with a dog, Lot,” he whispers it hot in my ear, and I do believe Noah is doing some heavy flirting with yours truly. “Should we warn Mayor Nash?”

  “No, we should arrest her.” Honestly, Carlotta should have been arrested for her shenanigans—of which there’s a plethora of—a long time ago. Flirting with a handsome dog is just another crime against nature that she’s far too willing to perpetuate.

  As it turns out, Mayor Harry Nash is my biological father. He was cheating on his wife way back when I was still a gleam in his eye, and now that he’s divorced, and Carlotta is back in town, they’ve been dating for months. Even though we’ve made strides in our somewhat new relationship as father-daughter, I’ve yet to stop calling him Mayor Nash. It’s more or less out of habit at this point.

  “Come to think of it, Mayor Nash probably won’t mind,” I say. “They have a twisted open relationship. I’m pretty sure there’s room for a handsome dog in the equation.” The stately dog in question struts by with his broad shoulders and muscular build just as Carlotta cuts him off at the pass and begins to scratch his back. “Boy, he really is the size of a Quarter Horse. Well, a quarter of a horse, but still. I mean, his head practically comes up to Carlotta’s chest.”

  Noah shakes his head. “I see Carlotta, but I can’t see the dog. Maybe she lost him in the crowd?”

  “Noah’s, she’s petting…” I gasp in lieu of finishing the sentence.

  I’m about to confirm to Noah that I all but see a creature that may very well not be among the living, just as the master of ceremonies, Ichabod Hearst, steps up with his warm blue eyes and that equally warm smile that never leaves his face. He’s older but has a boyishness about him, a thick head of light brown hair, and heavy laugh lines that signify he knows how to have a good time.

  I’ll admit, I was a bit starstruck when I first met him. The Hearsts were once regarded as American royalty. And by his side stand two women, a young blonde with an upturned nose and a woman with dark shoulder-length hair and adorable dark button eyes to match. The brunette is pretty and petite, and has on a pair of black sequin cat ears over her head.

  “Lottie Lemon”—Ichabod pulls the blonde in close—“this is my wife, Cordelia Hamilton.” He winks when he says it. “I just had to introduce her to the woman who made that delicious spice cake.”

  Cordelia gives a furtive nod. “Oh, it’s my favorite. I must get the recipe.”

  “You bet.” A laugh trembles from me. “And it’s a pleasure to meet you.”

  She slings an arm around the brunette next to her. “Lottie, this is Trixie Pearce. She’s my right-hand gal. In fact, she’s the one who’s responsible for putting together every last detail of tonight’s festivities.”

  Trixie, the petite brunette, laughs. “I’ll be managing the event from start to finish.” She holds up a clipboard in her hand. “I’m a stickler for details.”

  Ichabod nods. “First night is free, but we’ve already sold out of tickets for the rest of the month. People are coming in from all over the state just to experience this little haunted treasure we’ve got on our hands. I came up with the idea a couple of months ago when I read about a haunted B&B right here in Honey Hollow making money, hand over fist. Why, all they do is walk a group of poor shmucks through their haunted halls and charge them eighty bucks a person to do it. I figured we could charge double and genuinely give the people a scare.”

  My lips invert to keep from saying anything. I happen to know for a fact the B&B in question belongs to Miranda Lemon, aka my mother. When Carlotta left me on the floor of the Honey Hollow Fire Department to fend for myself as an infant, it was the Lemons who adopted me. And I also know for a fact my mother’s B&B is genuinely haunted by an entire family of ghosts and their little black cat, too.

  “Well, it was a wonderful idea,” I say.

  Trixie’s mouth opens. “It is wonderful. You should both head on into the house. I think you’ll be surprised how much fun it is.” She glances to her phone. “I’m needed there now.” She nods to Ichabod. “You’re on in half an hour.”

  She takes off and Ichabod leans in. “I’m playing the part of the headless horseman. It’s a play on my name, of course.”

  Cordelia giggles as she wraps herself around him. “I thought of that myself.”

  Ichabod nods. “And believe me, I’m already worried about losing my head night after night.” He gives a little wink as they take off.

  Everett shows up with a plate full of mashed potatoes and enough caramel sauce to ensure a sugared up bliss.

  “Oh, Everett.” A hard moan evicts from me at the sight. “You really do love me.” I take the plate from him and dive right in.

  “Yes, I do.” Everett offers a short-lived smile to Noah. “What are you scowling at?”

  Noah and Everett used to be stepbrothers once upon a rotten marriage between Noah’s thief of a father and Everett’s socialite mother. But they had a falling-out over a bimbo back in high school, and nothing has been the same between the two of them ever since.

  Noah nods over to where Carlotta is talking to the oversized canine.

  “There’s apparently a dog out there.” Noah looks directly at the supernatural beast without realizing it. “And right now, Carlotta is hitting on him.”

  Everett squints that way. “I don’t see a dog.”

  Noah’s chest expands. “Exactly.”

  “Lemon.” It comes out curt as Everett gives me a stern look. “I think we should leave.”

  “And miss the murderous show?” I shake my head. “Not on your life—or the poor victim’s.”

  Noah and Everett understand exactly what that ghostly pooch means.

  Grandma Nell was right. Something wicked this way comes indeed.

  This night is not only going to bring on a fright—it’s going to bring on murder.

  In a burst, a strange lavender glow fills the night sky, flickering like lightning and I marvel—because truthfully, I believe I’m the only one that can see it.

  Halloween is on its way, and so is a homicide.

  Chapter 2

  The Halloween Haunt is well underway as a jag of lightning goes off overhead. The crowd gives an approving round of oohs and ahs while enjoying the festivities outside of the Hearsts’ haunted mansion, but I’m not so approving of the celestial flicker. Especially not since I’ve become apprised of the fact there’s a canine poltergeist roaming the grounds here somewhere.

  The Hearst family is putting on this spooktacular shindig, Ichabod Hearst to be exact. The Hearsts themselves come from old money. Most of their fortune was made in the 1900s by Bartholomew Hearst, one of the
country’s very first oil barons. Since then, their fame and fortune has been parlayed into real estate, the automobile industry, and medical innovations, too. The Hearsts are one of the wealthiest families in the entire world, so when Ichabod Hearst asked me to cater the desserts for his Halloween Haunt I couldn’t say no.

  Last week when Ichabod stepped into the Cutie Pie Bakery and Cakery, my adorable little bake shop, he let me know he was interested in utilizing his family’s old, rumored to be truly haunted, yet mostly forgotten, estate as a sort of Halloween fun house for older kids and adults. He hired an entire army of people and transformed the old place into something out of a horror movie. Or so they say. I’m not brave enough to head on in.

  Everett and Noah take off to scan the area for signs of unrest, and I promise them both I won’t move an inch. My bestie spots me from across the way and heads on over with that cute little babe of hers strapped to her chest.

  “Keelie Nell Turner—I mean Fisher,” I say as I pull her in for a hearty embrace. Keelie and I have been best friends since preschool, much to the chagrin of her evil twin, Naomi. Okay, so Naomi may not be evil, per se, but she’s darn near close.

  Keelie has blonde shoulder-length curls and more than a hint of mischief in her bright blue eyes. Last June she married my old high school boyfriend, Otis Bear Fisher. And they just had a son this past August, Otis Bear Noah Fisher. Noah helped deliver him, thus the moniker-based honor.

  I take a peek at the sweet toe-head and coo.

  “Oh, Keelie, he’s just so adorable.” Little Bear has chubby cheeks, watery blue eyes, and a permanent pout on his ruby red lips. He’s wearing a bunting that looks to be made of brown curly fur and the hoodie pulled over his head has little bear ears sewn on. “Hey there, you ferocious little beast.” I brush my finger over his silky soft cheek and he gifts me a little smile. “I’m officially in love.”

  “Now, now, Lottie Lemon.” She pats my hand away. “You already have two men too many. Besides, I think little Bear here is saving his heart for that sweet baby girl in your belly. Oh, Lottie, I just know you’re going to have a girl and she’s going to marry my son. We’re going to be family.”

  “We are family—twice over. Once because I’ve claimed you to be so, and twice because Carlotta is your aunt.”

  Keelie’s mother and my bio mother, Carlotta, are sisters—sort of. Carlotta was actually Nell’s granddaughter, but Nell raised her as her own after her daughter took off and left her behind. It’s almost easy to see why Carlotta left me at the fire station when I was just a few hours old. It’s practically what she was programmed to do. And I’ll admit, there’s a tiny hint of fear in me that I might do the same to my child. It sounds ridiculous, I know, but as of late, my mind has been flooded by wildly ridiculous thoughts, all sponsored by my runaway estrogen levels.

  “I know that face”—Keelie leans in—“you’re going dark again, Lottie Lemon. I already told you, there’s no way you’re abandoning your baby. All those irrational fears you’re having are perfectly normal now that your body is surging with hormones. Dr. Barnette told me so herself.”

  “Thanks, I needed to her that.” Dr. Barnette is both Keelie’s OB-GYN and mine as well. And fun fact, Dr. Barnette is also among the lucky women who have garnered the right to call Everett Essex, but I try not to think of that. That’s just another one of those wildly ridiculous thoughts that tries to keep me up at night, but I won’t let it. As a baker who gets up before the sun—mostly out of habit—I need to battle for every minute of sleep I can get.

  “Lottie!” a familiar voice trills from our left, and we look to see Carlotta and my mother, Miranda Lemon, jogging this way.

  Mom looks frazzled with her creamy blonde hair slightly disheveled from the wind, but other than that, she looks impeccable in her long burnt orange wool coat, her black knee-high boots, and large gold hoop earrings. My mother not only forgot to age, but she’s a fashionista down to the very last stitch, and I admire her for both.

  “Oh, Lottie,” she cries. “This is terrible. Everyone is having a great time. The entire town has shown up. And I’ve already had more than a dozen cancelations for my Haunted B&B tours just an hour ago. This place is putting me out of business, and they’re doing it overnight. If this keeps up, I’ll be back in the red before I ever had a chance to enjoy the green.”

  “I’m so sorry, Mom,” I say. “But don’t panic. I’m sure there’s something I can do.” My mother doesn’t know anything about the fact Carlotta and I are transmundane. Neither does Keelie for that matter. But everyone is well aware of the fact my mother’s B&B is haunted. And the money she gets from those Haunted Honey Hollow B&B tours has kept her in the green nicely—that is, up until tonight.

  Carlotta gasps, and judging by the wily look in her eyes, she’s got a no-good idea brewing in that twisted brain of hers.

  “I’ve got an idea.” She spikes a finger through the air.

  I called it. But I’m also afraid of it.

  Carlotta butts her shoulder to my mother’s. “We’ll call one of those paranormal ghost hunter shows to come out to do some filming. You can have the ghosts ramp up the haunting for them and you’ll be back in business before you know it.”

  Mom taps her finger to her chin. “I don’t know. It’s not like I can communicate with the dead.”

  “I can,” Carlotta counters, and I shoot her a threatening look for even suggesting it. “Try.” She nods as if she were merely finishing her sentence. Smooth. “Besides, it’s worth a shot. Other than your livelihood, what have you got to lose?”

  I’d love to see my mother lose her louse of a boyfriend. But it’s probably asking too much of Carlotta to work that into her ghostly moneymaking scheme. She can only do so many miracles at a time.

  Keelie leans in. “I think it’s a great idea. And hey, Miranda? Don’t you have your next book coming out this month? The sequel to Reckless Fear—Reckless Mattresses? Do you think I can get an advanced copy? I’m really looking forward to it.” She offers a stern look my way. “Those hormones we were just talking about can overheat you in the very worst way, if you know what I mean.”

  “Boy, do I ever,” I mutter. Thankfully, I have Everett around to help in that department. Only he’s not capable of cooling me off. His specialty is ratcheting up the heat.

  Carlotta chuckles. “Yup. She’s been giving Mr. Sexy a run for his manly money. With all the moaning and groaning coming from that bedroom of hers, why, I could probably sell tickets for my own haunted house. Keep up the good work, Lot. We could squeeze some serious cash out of this.”

  Mr. Sexy is the nickname given to Everett by baristas the world over, and there’s not a person on the planet who would contest that title. Certainly not me. And Carlotta is not wrong. People would pay some serious money to see Everett in action. I’m surprised he hasn’t been asked to give a TED talk on his amorous abilities.

  Mom nods. “I sure do have a book coming out. In fact, I’m supposed to have a big to-do over the affair in a week’s time and I haven’t planned a thing to promote it.”

  “Don’t worry, Miranda.” Carlotta takes up my mother’s hand and pats it. “I’ll put on the old thinking cap and find a creative way to shout your new release from the rooftops of Honey Hollow.”

  A moan evicts from me. Each time Carlotta vows to get creative my nausea spikes. A coincidence? I think not.

  Mom pulls Carlotta in for a quick embrace. “I appreciate that. I’d better go off and find Wiley. They’ve hired him to work the bar. Even my own boyfriend has turned his back on me and my poor B&B.”

  Carlotta’s head ticks to the side. “He’s been known to holler for a dollar.”

  She’s not wrong. Wiley Fox is Noah’s wily father. He’s got a nasty habit of marrying widows, bilking them for all they’re worth then faking his own death. I’m not his biggest fan.

  Mom takes off and Carlotta leans my way. “What do you think of this haunted hovel?” Carlotta says, indelicately pointing out th
e fact there’s a ghost among us.

  I glance out at the crowd and spot Ichabod Hearst speaking with a younger man dressed as a scarecrow, about my age, shorter than Ichabod, a bit pudgier but handsome. They look to be having a heated conversation as Ichabod puts on a black cape with red lining underneath. I guess he’s getting ready for his ride as the headless horseman. But I don’t see any sign of that ghostly pooch Carlotta was hitting on earlier.

  “Maybe it’s not haunted anymore?” I shrug her way. Maybe the ghost realized he was no longer needed and took off for that rainbow bridge once again.

  It turns out that the ghosts that come back, either human or animal, all return for a very specific reason—to help me solve the murder of a person who once held them near and dear to their heart. If that Great Dane was here for that purpose, then a murder is certainly afoot tonight.

  Keelie gives a husky laugh. “Oh, it’s haunted. Are you kidding? The Hearst family has had more suspicious deaths than you can shake a skeleton at. I heard that the man who made the family fortune way back in the 1900s went to some voodoo doctor and was willing to accept a family curse in exchange to ensure his family would be sitting on a pile of cash forever.”

  Carlotta shakes her head. “I heard it was a dark priest.”

  “Oh hush,” I whisper. “I don’t even want to know what a dark priest is.”

  Carlotta waves me off. “Whoever he saw, he sure got his wish. The old coot’s name was Bartholomew Hearst, and after he made his billions, he boarded a ship to cross the Atlantic and it went down halfway to England. Everyone onboard drowned, and so it began. They’ve had so many deaths in that family, you’d think people would be afraid to be in the same state with one of them, but all that money just wipes away the fear. It’s like they’re golden.”