Chapter 12

CHAPTER 12

T he large tent set up for Harmony Honeycutt's workshop is buzzing with energy, the chatter of excited participants mingling with the mouthwatering scents of smoked turkey.

The air is crisp with the coolness of fall, and twinkle lights are strung across the tent's ceiling give the whole place a warm, magical glow.

There's a table set up in the front with an immaculate white linen tablecloth and a centerpiece of pumpkins and fall foliage. In fact, there's an entire Thanksgiving dinner set up for show, from a golden brown turkey to creamy mashed potatoes, right down to the decadent pumpkin pie—and the sight of all that food makes my stomach claw at me.

Rows and rows of chairs are set out and a podium with a spotlight on it stands just shy of that scrumptious display. I'm guessing that's where Harmony will hit us over the head with her imagine the juiciest turkey yet hooey.

Although, let's be honest, all I do leading up to Thanksgiving is imagine the most delectable juicy turkey known to man—right up until my mother has her way with some unfortunate bird. I'm pretty sure she invented turkey jerky.

Cooper and I step deeper into the tent, and I can't help but roll my eyes at the overly enthusiastic crowd.

"Manifest your best Thanksgiving," I mutter as I read the banner strung across the front. "Sounds like a load of turkey feathers to me. Everyone knows Thanksgiving is about family drama mixed in with passive-aggressive comments about the stuffing."

Coop grunts, "Don't forget the inevitable political debates and someone burning the dinner rolls."

"Is that a dig at Loretta?" I cringe because I just used the forbidden moniker according to his roll-burning sister.

He nods. "But don't tell her I said so." He presses his hand into the small of my back and a shiver runs through me. Okay, so it was more like a quiver, and in the right places, too, but I don't dare let on. "Let's go find a seat," he says. "Maybe we can manifest a pumpkin pie that doesn't kill anyone on the big day."

Watson wiggles and barks as if he wants a bite out of that pie right now.

"Come here, you." I pick him up and hug him. "Your daddy is a walking, talking pillar of positivity, you know that? I tend to go dark. Although some might say my negativity keeps me grounded."

Cooper flexes a smile. "A little positive thinking wouldn't kill you. Maybe you'd manifest fewer dead bodies."

I snort at the thought.

Sure. I'll just think happy thoughts and hope the next guy Uncle Jimmy wants me to take out decides to have a rather timely bodily malfunction.

Let's hope that next guy isn't Coop.

Watson practically wiggles his way into Cooper's arms and licks his face.

"I think he knows you're a sure bet when it comes to filling his belly at will," I say.

"He would be right. I'm a sucker," Coop says as he leads us to a couple of seats in the front row. "Here's to manifesting a stress-free holiday season—one without any more homicides."

"Right," I say, scanning the room. "And maybe I'll manifest a life where my boyfriend isn't a homicide detective constantly suspecting me of murder."

"Speaking of which, we still need to talk about that."

"Later." I wave him off, not wanting to dive into that particular conversation just yet. "Right now, I'm more interested in seeing what kind of turkey-based nonsense Harmony Honeycutt is peddling."

A couple of women set out a few more pies on that Thanksgiving table behind the podium and my stomach turns into a bobcat trying to slash its way out of my body.

"Just my luck," I say. "All this food and no way to eat it." At least not yet. "If I could manifest anything right now, it'd be that entire table in my kitchen."

Cooper laughs. "Now that's the kind of positive thinking I can get behind. Can I score an invite to the feast?"

I'm about to offer up an invite to another room in my home just as Harmony Honeycutt steps behind the podium and the crowd grows instantly quiet. She's all smiles as her golden curls bounce while she waves to the crowd. For a woman about my mother's age, she sure is a stunner. I can only pray I'll be so well hermetically sealed.

"Good evening, everyone," she calls out and her voice drips with fake enthusiasm. "Are you ready to manifest your best Thanksgiving yet?"

The crowd responds with a cheer, and I can't help but shake my head.

"Let the turkey talk begin," I whisper to Coop just as Watson settles down in his lap and points his button eyes right at the lady of the hour.

And with the way he's salivating, ten bucks says her head just morphed into a golden blonde turkey.

Harmony launches into her spiel about positive thinking and the power of manifestation, and I do my best to listen, even as my mind drifts to the succulent smells around me and the dark cloud of suspicion that seems to follow me everywhere these days.

All I know is that two things have to happen before I leave this festival of yum-yums. I need to get my hands on one of those smoked turkey legs and I should probably find a way to lure the good detective back to my place for dessert.

But for now, I'll focus on the task at hand. Maybe, just maybe, I'll find a way to manifest some answers—and clear my name—before the night is over.

Harmony Honeycutt exudes the grace of someone who's been manifesting her every whim since birth. She adjusts the microphone and beams at the crowd, her golden curls bouncing with her every move.

What I wouldn't do for my hair to have body like that. Heck, my body would like to have body like that. I'm all boobs and hips, but I haven't heard any complaints yet in that department.

"It's time to manifest our best Thanksgiving yet," Harmony practically sings. Her voice rings with the enthusiasm to swipe twenty-nine ninety-nine out of the pockets of these unsuspecting people—she already has mine.

Although I have a feeling she's about to try to dig a little deeper in my wallet. Little does she know, I'm about to do a little digging myself.