15. Killion

KILLION

T hree murders.

Three murders in three months.

I'm shocked the department hasn't fired me by now.

There have to be better things to think about. But since I'm the one in charge of bringing justice to those victims, I've got a one-track mind and it won't rest until whoever did this to those men is behind bars.

The grounds of Halloween Hollow come to life as the sun dips below the horizon. The transformation from day to night breathes a new kind of energy into the wicked in wonderland. Strings of twinkle lights swing in the breeze from above and glowing jack-o'-lanterns carved into every spooky and kooky iteration line the paths along the cobblestone walkways.

Fog machines pump out a purple rolling mist that clings to the ground, adding a layer of mystery to the scene while a costumed crowd moves through the grounds dressed as ghoulish creatures, fairy-tale villains, and enough superheroes to save the world on any day of the week.

I make my way through the festive chaos and past the caramel apple stand, the waffle and chicken vendor, and a booth where they're hocking the biggest funnel cakes I've ever seen. I might have to hit all three for dessert.

" Killion ," a chipper voice calls out just as I come upon the corn dog stand, and I can't help but grin as the hottest girl in the world runs this way with open arms. And trotting alongside her are both Cricket and Rookie and that teddy bear of theirs, too.

"What's cookin', Holiday?" I say as I catch her and land a quick kiss to her lips. She pulls back and frowns for a moment. Hattie's eyes sparkle with the reflection of the festival lights, and despite the sinister undertones of our surroundings, she's radiant through and through.

"You're not getting off that easy," she says, landing another kiss to my lips, this time far more molten.

She pulls back and I frown. "I thought you weren't letting me off easy?"

A naughty smile curves on her lips. "Consider it an appetizer."

Cricket groans, or maybe she growled. And considering she's not a fan of mine, it could have been both.

Rookie barks and jumps and points his snout to the corn dog stand.

"All right, buddy," I say, giving both him and Cricket a quick pat. "We won't delay another second. I'm with you. Let's get some corn dogs in our bellies."

We grab our corn dogs and find a spot at one of the picnic tables set up near the edge of the festival. The table is decorated with a black and orange checkered cloth, and a centerpiece is a flickering jack-o'-lantern with a goofy glowing face. It certainly sets the mood, but then Hattie is all I need to set any night in the right direction.

Cricket hops onto the table, eyeing our food suspiciously, while Rookie settles at our feet, eagerly awaiting any stray bites.

Hattie takes a bite of her corn dog and moans.

I won't lie, that moan just sent me places.

"Killion—" She leans in hard and I try not to notice how she fills out her sweater in the process.

A laugh bubbles from her. "Glad you noticed."

I give a knee-jerk wince. "Sorry."

"Don't be. As long as it's my sweater you're focused on, I don't mind a bit. Ooh , speaking of other women, guess who has a boyfriend?"

I shake my head. "Who? Peyton? Maybe that'll take the heat off of you for once."

"Nope, I'm not that lucky and neither is she. I know there's a pot for every lid, but if her lid is out there, it's hiding out in a thrift store somewhere trying to evade capture." She points what's left of her corn dog my way before dipping it into a puddle of mustard. "It's Venetta."

"What?" I'll admit, a swell of relief just went through me. "Sounds as if it's my lucky day. Who's the unlucky guy?"

"That chef buddy of yours. The one who invited us down to his restaurant downtown—Grimm's Ghostly Gourmet."

"Banister?" I inch back, trying to digest this for a moment. "Wow. That's interesting. I'm pretty sure he's never been married. Way back when, he had a steady girlfriend, but that must have disintegrated. Well, good for them. Although I'm a bit surprised. Venetta can be a lot."

Hattie nods. "She's high maintenance and has a penchant for designer bags and shoes. Not to mention haute couture. I say Godspeed to the happy couple."

"Hear, hear." I toast her with my corn dog before breaking off a piece for both Cricket and Rookie.

Those bodies come back to me.

Three dead men in the last three months. I can't seem to shake them no matter how hard I try. And considering I'm their only hope for justice, I probably shouldn't.

"Ooh, I'd much rather talk about that." Her brows bounce as she says it and her blue eyes glow as if they were backlit.

It's easy to forget she has the capability to read my mind like a newspaper.

Heck, it's easy for me to forget just about everything when I stare into her baby blues.

" Aww ," she coos. "Nice try, Romeo. Start talking. Refresh my memory on those other two men for a second. And do you think these stabbings are related?"

A heavy sigh expels from me. "It's possible. And yes, I don't mind one bit refreshing your memory regarding the other victims."

Hattie nods, her eyes intent on mine.

"The first victim was Trent Parker," I begin. "Forty-two, twice married, twice divorced, no children. He was a delivery driver for Astoria Seafood. Found in an alleyway near the docks, stabbed in the chest with a single, precise wound. No signs of a struggle, which made us think he knew his attacker. The murder weapon was nowhere to be found."

Hattie shivers slightly, wrapping her arms around herself as she listens. "And the second victim?"

"The second was Gavin Walters," I continue. "Forty-six, divorced, no kids. He worked as a facilities manager for the city. He oversaw the maintenance, security, and operations of city-owned buildings and facilities here in town. Same stab wound, same lack of struggle, same lack of a weapon on the scene. He was found in the parking lot of the council building, late at night. Both murders were clean, almost surgical. Certainly purposeful."

Hattie's brows knit together in thought. "So we have a dead delivery driver, a dead city manager, and a dead contractor."

"A dead delivery driver, city manager, and contractor walked into a bar."

Cricket groans hard and I'd swear she just rolled her eyes.

A shrill scream goes off behind us and we turn to see a demented-looking clown with a rainbow wig chasing a group of girls with a fake chainsaw. At least I hope it's fake. The last thing I need is for this night to take a turn for the lethal.

"It looks as if someone isn't a fan of my brand of humor." I shake my head at the melee as it passes us by. "Nothing like a chainsaw massacre to round out my week."

"You know you love the thrill of it all," she says. "More to the point, the thrill of solving mysteries."

I give a slight nod. "But I know you love the very same thrill. I'm sorry, Hattie. I have to pull rank. Whoever is running around out there is dangerous. I don't care how many potential killers we have on our hands, I don't want you anywhere near the working end of a knife. Let me do this, alone."

Cricket chirps and I shake my head.

"I think she just agreed with me," I say.

"She did." Hattie shrugs. "She also threw a little barb in there, but I'll spare you the gory details."

I give a long blink. "Should I be worried about the cat?"

"As long as you're not spending the night, you should be good to go. But should that good time come, I'd sleep with one eye open if I were you."

I reach over and pick up her hand, warming it with mine. "Honey, should that time come, there won't be a whole lot of sleeping."

"Well then, Detective. You're in for a thrill either way."

"I'll take it." But with a demented clown on the loose, a cat out to get me, and a killer or killers running around town, I've got more than my fair share of chills to go along with those thrills.

"How about we hit that haunted hayride?" Hattie offers. "I'll see if I can't chase those chills away with a few steamy kisses. And if you're good, I'll split a funnel cake with you."

"I'm in."

We hit the hayride and Hattie's kisses chase away every last chill and set my night on fire.

But they can't seem to chase those poor men out of my mind.

Three murders in three months.

If I don't get a break in at least one of those cases soon, I just might fire myself.