Home > A Haunted Hallow-whiskers(7)

A Haunted Hallow-whiskers(7)
Author: Addison Moore

“Well, she’s wrong,” I say as I look to Opal. “And if she asks for her old position back, tell her I’m cutting her hours.”

Opal chortles as she holds a white ball of fluff close to her chest—Winnie, a precious Scottish fold.

“Don’t you worry, Bowie. I’m not getting rid of you even if you are offering up a steady supply of bodies for the sheriff’s department. I’ve stationed Thea and Flo at the base of the property, and if anyone wants to get up close and personal with the corpse, they’ll have to pay the admission fee. We’ve just tripled attendance. I have a feeling tomorrow we’ll see an influx of out-of-towners. Make sure to be at the café bright and early.” She scoops Bubba out of my hands and trots off with an army of kitties in tow.

Tilly shrugs. “At least you’ve still got a place of employment. I won’t be at the café until the afternoon. I’m in the middle of a hot date with a werewolf. I had to do a creature of the night switcheroo. I think I’ll take him to my place where we can bark at the moon in peace. Don’t you dare go off investigating without me!” she calls out as she gets lost in the crowd.

I don’t take three steps before a witch knocks into me.

“Oh!” She jumps back, and I can see it’s Miggy. “I’m so sorry. I just…” she pants out the words and looks too dazed to finish her sentence. “I can’t believe any of this is real. Hazel was one of my good friends.” She gives a hard blink as if trying to wake from a bad dream.

“What do you think happened?”

“I don’t know.” She looks around at the scene with wild eyes. “Hazel said she was going to make sure everything was going well upstairs, and the next thing I know I saw you standing over her. My God, you didn’t kill her, did you? I saw the blood on your hands myself.”

“No, I swear, I was—I was trying to help. Earlier tonight, I saw her talking to a man. He was dressed as a vampire. Any idea who he is?” I leave out the tidbit of him all but roughing her up.

Miggy closes her eyes a moment. “Jack Butler, her ex. He’s dating Carrie now—the girl I introduced you to dressed as a tigress? Hazel and Jack no sooner broke up last summer than he started flaunting Carrie around everywhere he went. It was sort of my fault they met. Anyway, it’s been a sore spot ever since.” She plucks off her pointy hat and hitches a lock of blonde hair behind her ear, and I can’t help but note the fact she’s not wearing an earring. I look to the other side, but it appears she’s missing both, so there’s that.

“Look”—she sighs as she glances back at the scene—“I’ve got to get out of here. We’ll talk tomorrow.” She dashes off into the night before I can stop her.

The scene around the manor only seems to grow more manic by the minute as the coroner’s van pulls up. I slowly make my way off the lawn and spot Little Red, Annabelle Sanderson, holding her basket tightly as she watches the scene unfold from under a maple tree. The wind picks up and blows her hair back. No earrings there either. I guess it’s a running theme.

I glance back to see Shep speaking with the coroner as they stride over to poor Hazel lying over a pile of fall leaves.

A stabbing.

Such a brutal way to die.

And right here on the front lawn of the manor. It’s almost as if the killer didn’t think anything of being so brazen. Obviously, it was done in the heat of the moment. You don’t get up in the morning and think to yourself, it’s a great day to stick a knife in someone’s back.

A trio of cats scamper their way across the street, and as they do, they lead my gaze right to a couple who seems to be having a full-blown argument. I take a few steps forward in the shadows and note it’s a vampire and a tigress who are just about at one another’s throats. They step out into a wash of moonlight, and I can see clearly that it’s Jack Butler and Carrie.

Carrie and Hazel exchanged words earlier this evening. I witnessed that myself.

Jack and Hazel all but had a rough and tumble tug-of-war with one of her limbs. I witnessed that, too.

I take a few more steps in their direction but can’t tell for the life of me whether or not Carrie has any earrings on—not that it means anything at this point. There are hundreds of people here tonight. Hundreds of women who might just as easily have lost an earring regardless of whether or not they had anything to do with the murder.

But I have a feeling this little piece of antique silver burning a hole in my pocket is something significant to the case, and I don’t plan on letting it go anytime soon.

I don’t plan on letting Hazel Newton’s killer go anytime soon either.

Whoever did this had better be very afraid, because I don’t appreciate being dragged into the middle of their murderous misstep. And I very much don’t appreciate having blood on my hands.

Nope.

It’s someone else with the true blood on their hands. I’m going to find them, and there’s not a ghost or goblin in all of Starry Falls who can stop me.

 

 

Chapter 4

 

 

When I get home, I find Steph curled up on the couch in one of my fuzzy robes, fireplace roaring, remote in hand, and three different cats in her lap. She’s got a towel knotted up in her hair and her skin gleams pink and glossy as if she just boiled herself alive in the shower.

I just so happen to rent this cute little cabin from Shep. It’s more or less a guesthouse, and Shep’s adult-sized version is right in front of mine. This one came furnished with a black and white checkered sofa, a decent flat screen TV, and a fireplace that shoots flames like a fire-breathing dragon that I’ve grown to love more than both the TV and my sister. Both this cabin and Shep’s look as if they’re constructed exclusively out of Lincoln Logs and it adds to the homey appeal. It’s a nice life—one I’d like to keep. And hopefully, it’ll be the last place the feds or the mob will ever look.

The pink cat in the middle happens to be my sweet kitty, Pixie. She didn’t start off in this life so pink and spunky, but she’s fair-haired and happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time when a hot pink fruit drink got dumped over her head, and she’s been pretty easy to spot ever since. The black cat on the end is one I like to call my work cat, Lucky. He’s got black fluffy hair, a grumpy disposition, and is missing his left eye. You’ll never meet a sweeter cat than Lucky. And his accident-prone nature makes me love him even more.

“Scoot, Steph,” I say to my sister as I plop down beside her. “I see you’ve taken up cat-napping,” I muse as I give the two fuzzballs sitting on either side of her a quick pat. I scoop up the brown and black spotted Bengal cat. “This is King. He not only rules the feline roost over at the Mortimer Manor, but he rules Opal’s dark and twisted heart, too. If she finds out you made off with him, you’ll be wishing it were you with the knife in your back. You don’t have a death wish, do you? ”

She waves any idea of a threat off. “Did they catch the killer?”

“Not yet,” I say. “And how could they? She took off and came to my cabin.”

“Very funny.”

“I’m not trying to be funny,” I say. “Did you wash up behind the manor like I told you to?”

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