5. Hattie

HATTIE

" P ardon me." The gray-haired gentleman laughs as he looks my way as we stand in the middle of Halloween Hollow, Willoughby Hall's first and rather successful Halloween transformation. "Please don't mind my attire. I didn't mean to scare you," he says with a friendly wave. He's tall, lanky, and has a prominent nose with bushy brows that hood over his eyes. "Silas, I've been dying to speak with you. Could I possibly steal you for a moment?"

Banister lets out an indignant huff. "Talk about rude. Can't you see we're in the middle of a conversation?"

The gray-haired man gives a good-natured chuckle. "Don't worry, Banister. I'll hit you up next. You can always use a review for your new place, right?" He laughs before looking at Killion and me. "I'm Desmond Leffler. I'm a reporter with the Brambleberry Bay Gazette ."

Killion and I say hello just as Silas takes off with the man.

"I'm not in need of any reviews for my place," Banister is quick to tell Killion. "But I would encourage you both to head on down any time you like. The first meal is on me. But be warned. The food can be addictive. You'll be paying me back in spades." He pats Killion on the shoulder before taking off.

"Ooh, a free dinner?" I muse as I snuggle up to Killion. "Count me in."

Killion nods. "It's a date."

No sooner does he say it than his phone pings and he glances at the screen. A hard groan rumbles from his chest.

"It's Fitz. I told him to please inform me if there's anything he might need my help with. And apparently, there's a ragtag group of zombie teenagers wreaking havoc on the grounds. I'd better go."

"I've already met up with that ragtag group of undead teens. Be careful, they cost me a win in the casket races."

"In that case, I'll really throw the book at them." He dots my lips with a kiss before giving Rookie a quick pat. "Watch the girls for me." He takes off and Cricket sighs hard.

For his information, we girls are perfectly capable of watching ourselves, she mewls. A more apt parting would have been, ‘ Watch the fat, furry kid . He's about to eat his weight in chocolate and land himself his very own tombstone—at a real pet cemetery.'

"Oh you." I give her a quick cuddle. I'm about to reassure Rookie he'll live to eat another day—that doesn't include chocolate when I spot two women walking up to Silas. It looks as if that chitchat with the reporter was rather short-lived. I'm about to turn away when the woman dressed as a witch, pointy purple hat and all, catches my eye and I gasp.

"It's Venetta," I hiss without meaning to.

Oh, not her again, Cricket grumbles. That woman is more trouble than a room full of golden retrievers swimming through a chocolate fountain. What's she up to now? She cranes her neck in the same direction I happen to be scowling.

She's talking to Silas! Rookie chirps. I bet she's plotting to steal his chocolate, just like she's plotting to steal Killion away from you, Hattie .

That wouldn't surprise me. Venetta Brandt is a vivacious, drop-dead gorgeous redhead who just so happens to be obsessed with Killion. She also happens to be the brand manager who runs Nora's Velvet Vanity Spas and Lounges.

The other woman is an older blonde, dressed as a fairy, with a big puffy pink dress, blue glittery wings and all. She says something to Silas and it looks a bit snippy before he raises a finger her way and she inches back as if he were about to strike her.

That looks hostile, Cricket muses.

The blonde fairy snips back at him before stalking off.

"All's well that doesn't end in a homicide as far as I'm concerned," I say, and Rookie barks in agreement.

I'm about to look away when I see Venetta pull the man in by the arm, and it looks as if she's reading him the riot act.

"Speaking of hostile," I muse.

Rookie shakes his furry little head, and Jolly Beary looks as if he's shaking his little furry head as well. We can't expect anything different from her. Better him than you, Hattie.

"Hear, hear," I say with a sigh, but I can't help but feel sorry for the guy. Anyone who has to endure Venetta's wrath is a poor soul in my book.

The festival rages on and we travel from booth to delicious booth as Rookie and I indulge in fresh baked sugar cookies iced to look like adorable little pumpkins and ghosts, then move on to the candy apples rolled in caramel and peanuts, before heading to the funnel cakes, which are topped with strawberries and cream.

Cricket is more of an observer than a participant when it comes to the culinary capers that Rookie and I like to leap into with our mouths wide open.

But once our bellies are filled to the brim, we head over to the makeshift cemetery to check out the competition and read gravestone after gravestone much to our amusement. And considering the place is empty, we've got the entire cemetery to ourselves.

Don't stop now, Hattie. Read a few more, Cricket practically sings.

There's nothing my sweet cat likes more than morbid humor. I'm pretty sure she gets that from me.

"Okay." I lean in and squint as the ground fog floats by like a sea of angry ghosts. " Here lies Barry M. Deep, always in a hurry to sleep ."

Rookie and Cricket share a quick chuckle.

" R.I.P., Dusty Bones, who finally cleaned up his act ." I laugh along with that one. " In memory of Ima Goner, who never learned to duck . And next up we have, Beneath this stone lies Lester Moore, no less, no more ." The three of us share another laugh.

I glance around at the empty cemetery grounds as a shiver runs up my spine. Sure, I can hear the moody organ music playing in the distance, but the chatter and laughter from the crowds sound far too distant for my liking.

"Maybe we should head back," I shudder as I say it. "This place is really starting to creep me out."

Jolly and I will lead the way, Rookie says as he leaps over what looks like a scarecrow who's fallen down, and my foot catches on it as I attempt to follow him.

"Oh geez," I say, tripping and spilling Cricket right out of my arms. I get a better look at the scarecrow and wince. "Would you look at that? Its chest is covered in red goo. It's clear Winnie and I have different opinions about what qualifies as gory."

I pull myself up just as the fog clears a bit, and I look down to see an awfully familiar face lying on his back with his eyes open to the sky.

That's no scarecrow. It looks as if Silas won't have to worry about yet another construction project.

Oh my goodness, Silas Moon is dead .

I'm about to scramble to my feet when a dark figure steps out of the shadows and raises a silver knife over my noggin.

A scream evicts from me, loud enough to be heard—well, on the moon.