17. Hattie

HATTIE

Murder Club Group Chat

Chevy: ?? Newsflash! Hattie and I found Desmond Leffler dead in the alley behind the Gazette. The killer is on the move! We need to get our act together, ladies!

Tipper: Do we know how he died? Was it similar to the other murders? ??

Hillary: I'm grabbing my notebook. We need to start compiling clues. This isn't just your case, Hattie. We know exactly why you've been ghosting this group chat!

Kick: Agree! We need to figure out who's behind this and fast. I've got a sinking feeling this is going to be the scariest Halloween ever! ??

Peggy: This is all so grim. Can we maybe discuss something a bit more lively? Like, I don't know, the hot new bartender at the fancy mansion that Hattie's sister runs? And if by chance any of you all know where the man lives?

Clarabelle: Or how about we discuss those dreamy chocolate truffles down at Moon's? They're to die for. No pun intended. ??

Chevy: Peggy, Clarabelle, you two can gossip about men and chocolate later. Right now, we need to focus on this murder before this entire town ends up in the cemetery.

Tipper: Chevy's right. We need to put our heads together and see what we can uncover. The citizens of Brambleberry Bay are counting on us.

Hillary: I'm already pulling up everything I can find on Desmond. Let's meet at Hattie's place in a couple of nights to go over the details.

Kick: I'm in. Don't forget it's a Halloween-themed potluck! And, Hattie, start the coffee and make plenty of it. We're going to need it. ?

Peggy: Fine, fine. Murder first—chocolate and men later. But just so you know, I expect a full debriefing on the hot vampire bartender. ??

Clarabelle: And a side of truffles. Where are our priorities, ladies?

Chevy: See you all soon. We've got a murder to solve.

F inding Desmond Leffler's body in the alley behind the Brambleberry Bay Gazette was a scene straight out of a horror movie.

There was a lot of screaming, mostly from Chevy and me. Killion showed up posthaste because he was in the area. Let's just say he was not pleased. The rest of the department arrived soon after, along with the coroner's office. Per Killion's instructions, I took Rookie and went home for the night, still shaking from the shock of it all.

But it's the next evening, and despite the grisly events, I'm rather excited.

Killion asked me to dinner!

Okay, so I asked him.

Okay, so I threatened to go to Grimm's restaurant to talk to Banister Grimm all by my lonesome and see if he can't help me garner any clues as to what's going on and why.

Let's just say Killion may have threatened me with a restraining order against the man.

Okay, so he did.

Can you believe that guy?

And might I add, he is a red-hot hottie with his eyes a blazing when he tosses out those legal threats. Talk about your handsome devil. It makes me rethink this glacial pace we've been moving when it comes to the bedroom.

Clearly, Killion doesn't want me anywhere near his friend, Banister, or his happily haunted restaurant—haunted in name only. I hope.

I challenged Killion to try to stop me. I laughed in the face of his useless restraining order. We bantered about how much easier it would be for him to create peace in the Middle East, teach cats to bark, or convince a vegan to try a bacon-wrapped corn dog—which made us both very, very hungry—until he acquiesced and agreed to pick me up as soon as he was done with work.

Something tells me we might swing by Halloween Hollow to indulge in a couple of corn dogs for dessert. We're weird that way. But only because those corn dogs are so darn delicious. Honestly, they qualify as gourmet with their extra thick cornbread batter, fried to a crispy golden perfection.

If Winnie and Fitz take that corn dog stand away, there might actually be a revolt—or a mass slaughter that would put our would-be serial killer to shame. It is spooky season, after all.

Anyway, I can't wait to try out Banister's new place. Since patio seating allows for pets, we've brought Cricket and Rookie along for the ride—and, of course, Jolly.

As we pull up to Grimm's Ghostly Gourmet, the Halloween décor all but punches us in the eye. The establishment itself is a plain brick building with an old wooden sign that bears the name of the place, and as it stands it's covered with cobwebs and a black widow spider large enough to eat all of Brambleberry Bay.

The restaurant is decked out to the spooky, kooky nines. Ghostly figures hang from the eaves, their tattered white sheets fluttering in the breeze, and they look backlit, making them glow against the ominous night sky. An entire slew of pumpkins carved with menacing faces line the pathway with their flickering lights, casting shadows that stretch clear across the cobbled street.

The waitstaff is dressed in elaborate costumes—slutty witches, sexy vampires, and quirky zombies—all with a touch of sophistication that screams upscale Halloween.

It really does drive home the point that I have to try harder when it comes to building a pretentious yet festively spooky Halloween air at the country club.

This afternoon, one of the bartenders in the Cottage Grill dressed up like Frankenstein's monster (yes, that's really what he's called. Weird, I know), and well, he garnered five times his usual tips.

Rumor has it, the entire staff is undergoing a monstrous makeover as we speak.

Who could blame them?

When the elite members of the club pull out their wallets to leave a tip, it could be life-changing. It's less spare change for a latte and more like pay off your mortgage and retire in the Caribbean .

The scent of something grilled and laden with spices is the first thing that hits us as we walk through Grimm's Ghostly Delights and make our way to the expansive back patio, all done up like a veritable haunted house, complete with purple fog being pumped out by our feet and a wall of evergreens that gives off that spooky woods vibe.

There are more pumpkins, more floating ghosts, and I think I see a witch on a broom up in a tree—probably Venetta. Nevertheless, the scent of those grilled steaks and fries is making my stomach rumble in anticipation.

We're shown to a cozy patio table draped in a black lace cloth with a centerpiece of candles nestled in miniature skulls. Cricket hops onto a cushioned chair beside me, her glowing eyes wide with curiosity. Rookie settles at my feet, already eyeing the server carrying a tray of appetizers, and he's got Jolly safely strapped to his back.

"Impressive setup," I say as Killion pulls out a chair for me. "Grimm really went all out."

"Yeah, well, he always does," Killion replies, and I can't help but note his wary tone. "How about we try to keep our questions casual?"

"Of course," I promise with a devilish smile. "I'll be as subtle as a ghost in a graveyard."

"That's what I'm afraid of."

Cricket growls at the thought, How dare he tell you what to do and with whom. Hattie, you need to cut and run. I heard Aunt Winnie say the same thing to Aunt Neelie the other day at Halloween Hollow after Aunt Neelie told her that she and Stanton were getting serious. Then Aunt Winnie said that she heard that the old windbag was getting frisky with women who weren't Aunt Neelie.

I make a face.

I wholeheartedly agree with Winnie's take on Neelie's May-December romance. Stanton Troublefield is just that, a big, old, and I do mean old , bag of trouble. What she sees in him I'll never know. Okay, fine. I know exactly what she sees in him—lots and lots of cold, hard cash.

Bleh. There's not enough cash in the world for me to do the things Neelie is obviously doing to hang on to that man. And he's not even a real man, he's a cad. Everyone knows he cheated on his poor wife, Trixie, and ran her straight out of town—and onto a cruise ship for life. Come to think of it, there could be worse places he drove her.

Killion and I peruse the menu as Rookie gives a soft bark. Killion would never tell you what to do, Hattie—unless it was for your safety.

Cricket harumphs. Sometimes I think the best thing for Hattie's safety is to get away from Killion. Some might argue he's the murder magnet in the equation.

Good point. Although death be darned, I'm not leaving this man's side.

The menu is a delightful mix of Halloween-themed dishes—witches' brew soup, vampire steaks, mummy-wrapped chicken, and poison apple pie.

I can't resist ordering the eye of newt cocktail, which turns out to be a delicious mix of apple cider and a dash of cinnamon, garnished with a gummy eyeball—minus the bourbon for me. If I imbibe, there might be more than one arrest tonight and it won't have anything to do with a serial killer.

I'm a notoriously bad drunk. I do enough things I regret while I'm sober, no need to up the tally.

Killion leans in and gets that I'd-like-to-swallow-you-down-in-three-big-bites look in his eyes.

"You are gorgeous tonight and always, Hattie Holiday." His voice is low as he growls out the words and my stomach bisects with heat because of it.

Cricket groans, If he was a cat, I'd think he was asking for an extra Fancy Beast dinner.

He's asking for an extra something, all right.

"You look mighty scrumptious yourself tonight, Detective," I purr right back as he takes up my hand and we scoot in close.

It's true. Killion Major Maddox has that whole rough-around-the-edges look going with this dark hair slicked back and his dark facial scruff slightly out of control.

He's wearing a dark corduroy jacket with jeans and dark boots, and the scent of his spiced cologne is thick and commanding, much like those verdant green eyes of his. It's not a wonder why the eyes of every female in the vicinity are glued in this direction.

Of course, I didn't exactly skimp when it came to the wardrobe department either. I've donned my cutest, tightest, sparkly black sweater that makes it look as if I've been poured into it, and allows for zero imagination when it comes to the size of my push-up bra.

I've paired it with tight jeans that I practically had to bribe to get past my thighs and nearly broke a hip and a zipper when I hermetically sealed myself in them. Sure, I lost circulation from the waist down when I sat, but according to the naughty gleam in Killion's eyes, the effort has already paid off.

Of course, Killion hasn't seen any of the above accouterments because I've topped myself off with an orange peacoat that touches down to my knees. In my defense, the temps are dipping toward the thirties and I'm not a fan of blue limbs.

"I've got something special planned for after dinner," I say as seductively as my voice will allow.

Killion gives my hand a squeeze, the tips of his lips curving with glee. "Do tell. Does this involve going back to your place?" Hattie Holiday for dessert. Now that's— He winces. "Sorry. I will never get used to this."

I bite down on a laugh. "I was thinking more along the lines—" Before I can wow him with my thoughts on finishing off the night with corn dogs—or disappoint him with that same thought—a couple walks over all done up in elaborate costumes.

The man dressed as a werewolf just so happens to be holding a couple of drinks in his hands, and the witch—well, come to think of it, I'm not sure she's wearing a costume at all.