19. Hattie

HATTIE

V enetta leans toward Killion right here on the patio of Banister Grimm’s culinary venture, and her eyes are gleaming with far too much interest. “I heard a rumor that Desmond was working on a big story. Something about corruption in the city council. Maybe he dug too deep?”

Killion takes another sip from his beer. “I’m actually looking into all of his stories and upcoming articles right now. I’m hoping that might break the case wide open.”

Banister ticks his head to the side. “I don’t know if this will help you break the case wide open, but if you head down to Moon’s Chocolate Delights, I bet you could eat all the bonbons you want while questioning the staff to see what they know.”

“That’s right!” Venetta slaps her hand on the table in haste. “That manager of his, Stella Woods, had some nasty things to say about Silas the night he died.”

Come to think of it, I do seem to remember both Venetta and Stella having it out with Silas before I found him with a stab wound.

Killion sighs. “As much as I didn’t want to believe there could be a serial killer out there, it’s looking as if the evidence is hard to ignore. Whatever got these men killed, Silas was just as involved as Desmond as far as enraging the killer.” He offers a pleading glance to his friend. “Any idea what the connecting factor could have been?”

Banister shrugs as he blows out a breath. “Hard to say. People like Silas and Desmond had their fingers in a lot of pies. Who knows what they uncovered?” He quickly gets the attention of a waitress and the four of us put in our orders—steak grilled rare for Killion, Banister, and me. And a wedge salad for Venetta.

She so would.

Everything is top-notch at this place. Venetta even pointed out the fact the wine glasses are French crystal, the dishes are imported from Portugal, and the knives are German stainless steel right down to their steely little handles.

Venetta’s eyes flicker over Cricket and Rookie with barely disguised disdain. Pets at the table? How quaint. Hattie really is a walking cliché. I bet she does it just to impress him.

“Killion and I are both very big fans of our fur friends,” I say to Banister. “I can’t thank you enough for making your establishment pet-friendly.”

“I’m a big pet lover myself. As evidenced,” he says as he gives his facial scruff a pat and we give a light laugh. “But seriously, I try not to judge people, but anyone who doesn’t care for the four-footed among us is no friend of mine.”

Oh, good grief, Venetta muses to herself. It’s bad enough I need to keep up with this farce of ours, but now I have to pretend to appreciate the beasts of the land, too?

Farce? I lean in her way, hoping she’ll extrapolate on the topic.

Venetta scowls at the werewolf next to her as her thoughts begin to percolate once more. Dating Banister to get Killion’s attention was all Nora’s stupid idea. Teaches me to listen to her.

“Oh, for Pete’s sake,” I mutter, and Killion shoots me a look, but I’m too focused on Venetta to acknowledge it. I knew it was too good to be true.

I was just following orders, right into the bedroom, she thinks as she swills her glowing pink cocktail and I’m half-moved to take it from her and splash it right in her face. At least with my eyes closed, I can pretend it’s Killion, she muses.

I gasp again, and this time I pick up my own drink and jostle my knee, forcing Cricket to jump as I slosh my eye of newt her way—and miss by a mile.

“ Geez .” Banister belts out a laugh. “You almost nailed Venetta right in the face!”

Better luck next time, Cricket, Rookie, Killion, and Banister all muse at once.

A tiny smile comes to my face, and I do mean tiny. As much as I appreciate the comradery, I’d much rather Venetta’s intentions toward Banister be true.

Our food arrives, each dish more delectable than the last. The flavors are rich and complex, and each bite is a reminder of why this place is so popular. As we nosh on our meals, the talk turns to lighter topics—local gossip, upcoming events, and the latest trends in Halloween costumes—witch haute couture notwithstanding.

Cricket, ever the opportunist, tries her best to leap onto the table to investigate the spread, so I sneak her a tiny piece of my dinner roll, a bronzed piece of melt-in-your-mouth Brioche that I will dream about for years to come, and she gobbles it right up.

Both Banister and Venetta give a little laugh at the sight—his laugh being genuine. Hers sounded as if she sat on a jackhammer and was just as enthused about the idea.

Venetta feigns a painful-looking smile my way. “She has such discerning taste, just like her owner.”

“She knows quality when she sees it,” I say, giving Cricket a scratch on the back.

Venetta grunts in response, Good gravy, do I ever hate cats, she muses to herself. And dogs. And Hattie Holiday. But I’ll smile and play nice if that's what it takes to win back Killion’s heart.

As if she ever had it.

Rookie, not to be outdone, nudges my leg with his nose, and I sneak him a piece of my steak under the table. He wolfs it down and wags his tail in gratitude.

Just so you know, Hattie— he gives a soft woof— Venetta keeps trying to twist her leg around Killion’s, but he’s playing keep away as best as he can.

My mouth falls open once again. How dare she play footsie with my man right here under my nose! And under the nose of the werewolf she’s pretending to date, too.

A waitress dressed as a mummy walks by with a tray full of glowing cocktails, some of which are bubbling as if they were ladled straight from a cauldron.

Don’t worry. I’ve got this one, Hattie . And I won’t miss, Cricket chirps as she leaps from my arms and onto Rookie’s back, which sends him bolting off in an effort to shake her. And in the melee, he happens to cut off the mummy with drinks, and those cocktails go flying in our direction, giving Venetta a colorful cold shower she so desperately needed.

Screams go off—just Venetta’s. Laughs titter through the patio—everyone else’s. And a good time is had by all.

Venetta stalks off for the restroom while engaging in a verbal tirade that mentions lawsuits, tasers, and a kill shelter.

Banister is needed in the kitchen due to a pricey order mix-up and he thanks us for stopping by and offers us dessert.

We’re no fools. Killion and I each wolf down a couple of chocolate graveyard puddings, along with a poison apple pie for me and a blood orange sorbet for Killion, before collecting our rowdy menagerie and heading out.

“So,” Killion says as we head to his truck. “What do you think?”

“I think someone out there is hiding something,” I reply, keeping my voice low. “And I intend to find out what it is.”

Killion sighs as he pulls me close. “Just be careful, Hattie. These aren’t characters from your cozy mystery novel. This is real life. And whoever it is, they’re dangerous.”

We end the night with corn dogs, just like I knew we would, then venture back to my place for some kisses so hot you could grill a steak on them.

I learned two things tonight.

Venetta Brandt is a fake who is still very much interested in stealing my man.

And Stella Woods is my next suspect.