Page 6 of Ghosts, Ghouls, and Growls
I shake my head with a laugh. All of this hoopla is for Spider Cove—Cider Cove’stemporary Halloween identity. The town council voted to change the name for the entire month of October, complete with new sign overlays and special edition merchandise. As the owner of the biggest inn in town, I’m always expected to go all out orinas it were—and we have gone all in for the past few years hosting this spooky fall festival right here on the grounds.
“There you are!” Georgie’s voice carries across the yard as she waddles toward me in what appears to be a full body pumpkin costume, her face beaming from the carved-out center. Her white hair pokes out from under a green stem hat, and she’s somehow managed to bedazzle the entire orange monstrosity to the point where you might need sunglasses to look at her despite the fact the night is dark as pitch. “I’ve been looking for you everywhere!”
“I’ve been standing in front of the inn for hours,” I tease.
“Well, there are three other women wearing bat costumes. How was I supposed to know which bat had your baby attached to it?” Georgie huffs, adjusting her pumpkin suit with all the dignity one can muster while dressed as a gourd. “Though I should have guessed you’d be the one not having any fun.” She peers at Ella. “Is she still sleeping? That child could snooze through the apocalypse.”
“Lucky her,” I say, smiling down at my sweet baby girl. “She gets that from Jasper. That man once slept through an actual fire alarm.”
“Speaking of men…” Georgie says, waggling her eyebrows. “Have you seen the zombies over by the cider booth? I wouldn’t mind having one of them chase me around the graveyard, if you know what I mean.”
“Georgie!” My mother appears beside us, dressed in what can only be described as a sexy bee costume, complete with striped tights and antennae that bob precariously with each step. “You want men chasing you to the grave? You’re terrible!”
“What?” Georgie feigns innocence. “It’s Halloween time! If you can’t flirt with the walking dead now, when can you?”
Mom rolls her eyes. “Georgie is into zombies this time of year.”
“Pfft.” Georgie waves a gloved hand. “Don’t let her fool you, Bizzy. Your mother knows perfectly well I’m into zombies all year-round. Remember that grave digger from Bar Harbor last spring? Talk about raising the dead.”
I clamp my hands over Ella’s tiny ears, even though she’s fast asleep. “There are children present, including my very impressionable daughter who is definitely not hearing about anyone’s necrophiliac tendencies.”
“Oh please.” Georgie snorts. “She’s a month old. The only things she’s impressed by are your milk delivery systems and diaper changes.”
“Still,” I say, “let’s keep it PG-13. We should probably try to maintain some semblance of respectability here.”
“At a Halloween carnival?” Mom quirks an eyebrow. “Good luck with that.”
Fish and Sherlock stay close by my ankles, their costumes drawing coos from passing festival-goers.
I see the zombies Georgie was talking about,Fish mewls as shetwirls around my ankles.Those men are actually the Peterson twins from Sheffield. They just naturally look like they’ve been dead for three days.
Be nice,Sherlock mentally scolds.Not everyone can have my rugged good looks and charm.
Yes, because nothing says charm like drinking from the toilet and rolling in squirrels,Fish meows back.
I’m about to say something when I spot a group of people dressed all in black making their way up the path toward the inn. They stick out like sore thumbs among the colorful costumes and excited children—five somber figures carrying equipment cases and looking far too serious for a festival where the main attraction is bobbing for apples.
“Is that them?” Mom asks, following my gaze. “The ghost hunters?”
I offer a knowing nod.
That’s them, all right.
CHAPTER 4
“They actually prefer to be called paranormal investigators,” I correct my mother right here at the Fright Night Halloween Festival at the Country Cottage Inn. “They’re a part of the Beyond Belief Paranormal Club. They’re here for their meeting and to set up their equipment for the supposedly haunted inn. Haunted by the spirits of my good sense, maybe,” I mutter under my breath. “I can’t believe I agreed to this.”
“Well, it’s good publicity,” Mom says, straightening her antennae. “And heaven knows this town could use some supernatural tourism that doesn’t involve an actual murder.”
“True,” I concede while craning my neck past her. “Speaking of all things good, where’s Jasper?”
“Your handsome hubby is over at the cider booth with Huxley,” Georgie says.
Huxley would be my older somewhat wiser brother. He married my nemesis and current town mayor, Mackenzie Woods, and together they have a two-year-old son, my sweet nephew Mack.
“Your father and Gwyneth took Mack to their cottage about an hour ago. They said they were going to take Ella, too, but I see she refused to part with you.” Mom smiles at her granddaughter. “Smart girl.”
I nod, grateful once again that my father and Jasper’s mother Gwyneth have moved into the cottage next door to help with childcare—an arrangement that sounds idyllic until you remember that Gwyneth could probably organize a military coup with the same efficiency she brings to baby schedules. Between my mother, and my father, and his new wife, we’ve got a regular grandparent tag team going that would put a professional wrestling team to shame. It’s sort of a miracle since Dad and Gwyneth love to trot off to the four corners of the globe on a whim, but my dad has fallen head over heels with both Mack and Ella—and by the looks of it, so has Gwyn.
