“No. You can’t help me,” the man gruffs as he continues to scour the vicinity. I’ll find the little tart on my own, and then I’m going to kill her.
He stalks off, and I freeze solid for a moment.
My word, I hope he wasn’t being literal.
The crowd clears and I see not only Emmie Crosby, but I see Georgie Conner standing behind the reception desk as well. Georgie is sporting the zombie look right along with Emmie, and I’m sensing an undead theme there.
They both gasp in unison as they spot me, and before I know it, we’re hugging it out and squealing right here in the foyer.
Both Emmie and I share the same dark shoulder-length hair and denim blue eyes. We share the same name, too, Elizabeth, but we’ve been going by our nicknames ever since we were kids just to keep our sanity afloat—not that it’s been working for her as evidenced by the circus she’s running.
“I can’t believe you’re back! Wait until you see the changes we’ve made around here.” Georgie honks out a laugh as she pulls a giant porcelain doll from behind her back that looks to be about the size of a toddler. The doll is creepy with a bushel of red curls for hair, an eerie grimace, and wide amber eyes that stare vacantly ahead. Her cheeks are heavily pronounced, and she has a peachy glow, albeit she looks slightly covered with soot as does that dress of hers made of muslin and old lace. “Great news! I’ve got an entire haunted doll collection on display in the ballroom. And it’ll only cost you six bucks to take a tour of them all.”
“Haunted dolls? Wonderful,” I say with all the enthusiasm one would bring to a root canal—at a haunted dentist’s office no less.
Georgie Conner is somewhere in her eighties, has that whole Einstein hairstyle thing happening, lives in kaftans, and is the sweetest fun-loving hippy artist you’d ever want to meet. Her daughter, Juni, was married to my father for all of five minutes. Georgie lives here on the grounds, and I like to tease that I got her in the divorce.
She leans in. “So tell us! Are you knocked up? Can you walk straight?” She hoists her hand in front of my face. “How many fingers am I holding up?”
“All important questions,” I say as I turn to Emmie. “But before I answer, I’d like to ask a few of my own.”
Emmie winces. “I can explain everything. We had a freak electrical storm right after you left, and the Montgomerys’ pumpkin patch suffered a huge fire. And you know they host the official Cider Cove haunted Halloween festival each year—and well, when they announced they were going to cancel it, I told them they could host it right here at the inn. I mean, we have the room. We have the meadow behind the cottages. That’s where we have the midway with games, the food, the pumpkin carving, and the face painting, and the—oh, well, there’s too much to mention. Of course, at night it’s being transformed into a bona fide frightmare, which is strictly for teens and adults.”
“Of course,” I muse.
She lifts a finger. “Oh, and we decided to move the pumpkin patch to the sand, and the kids and the families are just loving it because they get to take a walk around the cove while picking out the perfect victim for their jack-o’-lanterns. The haunted hayride is just behind the meadow, and there’s a haunted maze Jordy just finished constructing out in the back.”
Jordy is the inn’s handyman, Emmie’s brother, and my ex-husband—it’s a long story that involves Vegas, cheap liquor, and an Elvis impersonator. Suffice it to say, we were untangled from that matrimonial catastrophe quicker than you can say I do not.
Just as I’m about to say something, and God knows what that might be—I’ve got an entire river of words ready to erupt from my throat—a woman with caramel blonde hair and pale green eyes runs our way with the cutest brown and black Yorkshire Terrier in her arms.
“Emmie!” She waves as she struts over dressed in western gear with a denim shirt tied off under her bosom, exposing her midriff, and a pair of jeans that may or may not be painted on. She has an obvious beauty about her, slightly turned-up nose, bushy dark brows, and high cheekbones. She’s a touch taller than me. I’m guessing same age range, and there’s a polished confident look about her. “Is everything set for the block of tickets I purchased?”
“Oh yes,” Emmie is quick to assure her. “In fact, all of the tickets have already been claimed. The frightmare began twenty minutes ago, so you should be able to find your friends as soon as you get out there.”
Friends? She casts a quick glance toward the door. I’m not sure I’d give them the honor.
Emmie quickly hustles me over to the woman. “Blair, this is my best friend Bizzy that I was telling you about. The one who runs the inn.”
The woman tips her head back. “The one on the honeymoon?” See lifts her hand in the air as she asks the question, and I spot a gorgeous silver ring on her finger with a golden rose. And in the middle of that rose a ruby gleams like a droplet of blood.
“That’s right.” Emmie winks my way. “Bizzy, this is Blair Bates. Blair, this is Bizzy Baker Wilder.” Emmie gives a congratulatory laugh as she says it. “Blair is one of Camila’s good friends.”
“Oh.” Any trace of a smile I had quickly dissipates from my face. And then, just like that, it rubber bands right back. As the manager of the inn, it’s my duty to maintain a serene demeanor toward all guests—even those that are friends of my husband’s ex-fiancée. Normally, I wouldn’t mind that Jasper had an ex-fiancée, but this one just so happens to still have the hots for my husband. Camila
