Page 13 of Ghosts, Ghouls, and Growls
Macy points an accusing finger my way like a prosecutor about to make her closing argument. “This is all Bizzy’s fault. Her bad luck is obviously contagious.” And as if to emphasize her point, she delivers yet another swift kick to the corpse in question, just as a swarm of deputies flock to the area and cordon it off with yellow caution tape.
“Stop kicking the evidence!” I hiss over at her.
Speaking of evidence, I quickly pull out my phone and snap a few pictures of the homicide scene in the event I need to reference it later. With Macy, my mother, and Georgie all coming at me, I feel a little thrown off my homicidal game.
Wait, that didn’t sound right.
A crowd begins to merge this way like moths to a particularly gruesome flame, and I spot Hazel running toward us alongside one of my constant thorns in the side, Camila Ryder—Jasper’s ex-fiancée and his present secretary down at the precinct. Her obsession with Jasper never ceases, but neither does her ability to insert herself into our lives like a splinter you can’t quite dig out.
“What’s going on?” Camila asks as she and Hazel step into our circle. Camila is a stunner with long legs, long crimson locks, and glowing eyes that always seem to be glaring at me as if I’ve personally offended her by marrying the man she cheated on.
“Another one?” She gasps as her gaze travels to Heath’s body, and I can practically see the dollar signs lighting up in her eyes. “Oh, this is perfect,” she says to Hazel, sounding disturbingly excited about what most people would consider a tragic turn of events.
“What are you talking about?” I gag on the words, fighting the urge to remind her that a man is dead andperfectisn’t typically the adjective most humans would choose at a time like this. Have I mentioned that Camila has no common sense? But then, you were probably able to deduce that once you realized she cheated on Jasper.
Camila takes a moment to frown at me—her default expressionwhen forced to acknowledge my existence. “I was just telling my dear friend Hazel that I’m going to be filming alongside her and her crew. I’m doing a Halloween special for myGossip Galpodcast.”
I can’t help but roll my eyes. Camila is a sort of YouTube sensation with the aforementioned show that thrives on rumors and regurgitated drama like a vulture feasting on roadkill.
“Bizzy has provided us with a fresh body,” Camila goes on as she knocks elbows with Hazel. “I knew you’d come through.” She nods my way. “And that means we’ll have a ghost on the grounds, too.” She gasps and looks around, crouching like a cartoon character. “In fact, I bet he’s here now.Yoo-hoo,” she calls out to the nothingness of the woods in the distance. “Come out, come out, wherever you are!”
A growl emits from deep within my throat, and Macy holds up a finger. “I’ll handle this.”
“You had better,” I say, knowing full well that Macy’s version of handling a situation often creates twice as many problems as it solves, but sometimes those problems are more entertaining than the original issue, so it’s a calculated risk.
As it turns out, Camila and my sister are sort of besties—a friendship that’s as mystifying to me as quantum physics, cryptocurrency, and why people put pineapple on pizza.
Okay, fine. Over the past nine months, I’ve gobbled down more pineapple on my pizzas than should ever be legal. Although I still can’t figure out why I’m so addicted. But I digress. This is just another example of how exactly Camila has been infiltrating the ranks into my life, and by proxy, her true target—my far too handsome husband.
Macy clears her throat while crossing her arms and glaring at Heath. “Well, if you’re all going ghost hunting, then I want in on the action.”
“Really?” Hazel perks up like someone who’s just been offered free cake, clearly excited about gaining another team member—especially one with Macy’s particular brand of aggressive enthusiasm. “Do you have experience with paranormal investigation?”
“Not exactly,” Macy says, her eyes never leaving Heath’s face as if she’s expecting him to suddenly sit up and demand an explanationfor her behavior. “But once you track down his spirit, I want to be there so I can kick him where it hurts one more time.”
She raises her foot as if to demonstrate her post-mortem assault technique, and this time it’s me lifting a finger with the authority of someone who’s reached her limit.
“Don’t even think about it,” I warn. “I’m pretty sure assaulting spirits violates some kind of otherworldly Geneva Convention.”
Camila pulls Macy off to the side to scheme about nefarious and otherworldly things—probably plotting how to capture ghost footage that’s about as authentic as her natural hair color—while my mother does the same with Georgie.
The crowd grows in size as people press against the caution tape as if it were the velvet rope at an exclusive club.
Skittles, that adorable ginger-colored labradoodle, trots over with a stunned look on her sweet face, and right behind her are Buffy and Hammie Mae, both looking like they’ve just witnessed something their brains are still trying to process.
“Oh my goodness,” Hammie Mae shrieks, her red curls bouncing wildly. “Is it true?” Her eyes grow wide as she looks at the corpse, and I nod solemnly.
“It’s Heath. I’m so sorry.”
Well, I’ve never felt so much relief in all my life,Hammie Mae thinks to herself, even though her face remains appropriately shocked.
I gasp, trying not to let my expression betray what I’ve just eavesdropped on.
Buffy closes her eyes for a moment.And just like that, one of my biggest problems just up and disappeared.
My mouth falls open as I pick up on her mental commentary as well. These women are not exactly overcome with grief, to put it mildly—more like they’re trying not to break into a celebratory applause.
Hazel comes over and blows out a breath. “Bizzy, I know this will sound callous, but I think Camila is right. I spoke with the rest of the group, and a few of us would like to stay on the grounds and start our recordings tonight if that’s okay with you.”
