Tilly blows out a breath. “And just when I was getting used to having you around. I really liked you, Bowie Binx.”
“I’m still here. No reason to shift to the past tense when speaking of yours truly.”
“Don’t worry, Till”— Steph nods her way—“I’m not going anywhere. You and I are going to have a good time. We’ll always remember our Bowie.” She flutters her lashes my way. “Bowie, Bowie, Bowie. Hey? Your name is really fun to say. Bowie Binx. Bowie Binx.”
Tilly shakes her head. “Half the time you act as if the two of you just met. If you didn’t look like twins, I’d swear that was the truth.” She takes off, menu in hand, and I pull my sister in close.
“Have you had any more visions?”
“Yup.” She straightens the napkin holder on the counter. “Mine involved heat, too, but it already came true with Mud last night. Boy, is he a good kisser. He almost makes me forget all about Eddie.”
“Almost? I think that’s a clear sign that you should head back to Hastings and try to get some closure. Not only that, but you could be the very reason the feds or the Morettis track me down. You don’t want that, do you?”
“Sometimes.” She gives a cheeky little shrug, and I try my best not to shake her.
“No, you don’t. We’re family. We have to love each other whether we want to or not. God makes the rules, Lola, not me.”
“I guess you’re right. Speaking of loving family. In fact, Lorenzo mentioned he really misses you.”
A smidge of alarm spirals through me at the mention of my brother.
“You make it sound like you spoke to him recently.”
“He called this morning while you were in the shower.”
“GAH! The feds or the mob—or both could be listening in on his phone calls. What part of I’m in danger don’t you understand?”
She waves me off. “You’re always so darn dramatic. You’ve never been one to just go with the flow.”
“Funny you should say that, it’s one o’clock, and I was just about to go with the flow.” I take off my apron and tuck it under the counter.
“Where are you going?”
“To get a fire extinguisher.” I head to the office and slip the thinnest and smallest of the three we have into my tote bag.
“You’re going to question a suspect, aren’t you?” Steph says, keeping pace alongside me.
“Nope. I’m simply going to pick up a few more pumpkins to decorate the manor with. I don’t think we have nearly enough Halloween cheer to scare up the spirits that loom in the vicinity.”
Steph makes a face. “Speaking of spirits, Mud said he saw objects move that shouldn’t be moving here last night.”
“Tell Mud to stop taste-testing at the bar.”
“He wasn’t drinking.” Steph pulls me close. “I saw the doors to the library opening and closing on their own. I think we’ve got a problem. Who we gonna call?”
“Stephanie Busters?” I say it flat. “Look, we don’t have a ghost. Half the world doesn’t even believe in ghosts. They believe in things like the wind, creaky hinges, and science. You should look into it.”
Steph rolls her eyes. “We’re transmundane, Stella. The suspersensual can see disembodied spirits. Well, we’re sibylline. We don’t. God puts visions in our minds to warn us of upcoming events and we misinterpret them. And, Nana Rose always said we could earn other powers. What do you say, sis? Ready to level up?”
“I don’t want to level up. Having another power would be a nightmare. I’m still trying to figure out how to give back the one I have now. Things are just getting started with Shep and me. And it seems every time I’m alone with him I fall into some sibylline stupor. He’s going to think I’m a nutcase if I tell him I can see the future. And I’m sure if I start seeing ghosts, he’ll call out the men with the big nets. So for the sake of our sanity, let’s say there’s not a single ghost here.”
No sooner do the words leave my mouth than a broom floats out of the utility closet and sweeps its way across the floor before flopping over on its side.
Steph lets out a hair-raising yelp. “We’ve got a ghost! A highly domestic ghost!”
“We do not have a ghost!” I counter. “That broom simply—ran out of batteries.”
Never mind that the broom wasn’t electric.
I leave Tilly in charge and barrel out of the manor to find a fluffy brown cat named Winifred sitting on Wanda’s hood. So I do the only thing I can think of. I scoop her up and take her with me as we head for the pumpkin patch.
Chapter 9
The Sanderson Pumpkin Patch is located just past the manor about halfway to the falls—and, lucky for me, those luscious billowing plumes of water is the first thing I see once I get out of my car.
Winifred, the furball I cat-napped for the afternoon, and I both do a quick survey of the landscape around us as we sigh at the very same time.
A large wooden sign reads Welcome to the Sanderson Pumpkin Patch! Where fun comes in all shapes and sizes!
Coincidentally, there are people of every shape and size here, too, this afternoon. Throngs of mostly women and young children blanket the lot as they carefully pick out the perfect pumpkin to decorate their front porch. When I was a kid, my Nana Rose would take my brother, sister, and me to the local pumpkin patch on the day before Halloween when the prices dropped a good ninety percent. She wasn’t above us having fun like the rest of the kids, but she wasn’t going to pay a premium for a gourd we were about to desecrate either.
“What do you think, Winifred?”
The fuzzy coffee-colored cat lets out a gargling rawr.
“I take it you approve.”
In front of us sits an expanse of acreage with nothing but orange globes sprinkled over the landscape. To the right there are three different bounce houses—the kind intended for young children, as well as a face painter, and a balloon artist. To the left there’s a pick up station for hayrides and an entire slew of picnic tables designated for pumpkin carving. I scan the bevy of women, and a slight panic stirs in me.
“I just realized something, Winifred. I have no idea what Annabelle looks like without her red cape. I guess we’re going to have to do a little sleuthing before we get to the actual sleuthing.”
Winifred growls. And for a minute I think she’s not into my type of humor, but I follow her gaze and gasp. Sure enough, the person locked in Winifred's sights is growl-worthy.
Regina Valentine stands proud as a peacock, speaking to someone just past the entry.
The dark-haired vixen happens to be playing the part of a born and bred country bumpkin with her denim shirt tied off at her impossibly thin waist, a pair of blue and white pedal pushers, and her face glammed up to look like the next Ms. Pumpkin Puss of Starry Falls.
Standing in front of her is a tall, dark-haired steed. He’s facing away from me, so I can’t tell if he’s a looker or not, but he’s wearing a brown plaid flannel, has on well-worn jeans that highlight some of his best features—from the back side anyway. He’s got broad shoulders, a sexy stance, and he’s exuding far too much testosterone for this early in the day. About twelve different mothers have already herded their children in his direction, and I can’t help but note Regina hasn’t taken her eyes off the flannel-wearing demigod.