“I can see her!” She leans toward Hazel. “I mean, I can see you. Wow, and to think I didn’t even need to get bonked on the head to do it. You’re pretty hot stuff, by the way. Neat trick with the hair. Any hot ghostly dudes roaming around the nether sphere?”
Hazel makes a face. “No luck in that department so far. But I’ll keep you posted.”
“I’m amazed, Hazel,” I say. “Thank you. And you’re right. This is a big surprise.”
She shakes her head, and a handful of pixie dust floats from it like a mini constellation.
“That wasn’t the surprise, but I’m glad you both appreciate it.” She looks to Pixie. “Hand me the pink one.”
“This is Pixie,” I tell her as I hand her off. “She’s the cat-child I share with Shep.”
Stephanie nods. “Outwardly, it seems to be an amicable shared custody arrangement, but I secretly think Pixie prefers me best of all.”
Hazel’s lips expand. “Let’s find out.”
She taps the pink feline over the nose until poor Pixie startles into submission.
“Pixie?” She leans in. “Can you hear me?”
A sharp yowl evicts from her.
“Hey?” I say. “Neat trick.”
Hazel looks intently into Pixie’s eyes before landing her palm over Pixie’s back.
“Okay, Pixie, I want you to tell us. Do you like Stephanie best?”
Pixie belts out another meow as she looks my way.
Hazel laughs. “She said, ‘Of course, I like Stephanie, but it’s Bowie who allows me to sleep on her head.’”
Lucky lets out a hair-raising meow and hops right out of Stephanie’s arms, mostly because my sister nearly just squeezed the life out of him.
Stephanie coughs and sputters. “What in the name of all things unholy just happened?”
Hazel winces. “I think I sort of just happened. According to the ghosts I met, they think I may have been a touch transmundane myself. Something called telesensual.”
My mouth falls open. “Mind reading?”
She nods. “Only I’ve never been able to read minds, nor can I now. But when I touched one of the pets in Honey Hollow, it spoke perfect English. They couldn’t explain it, but I thought the two of you might get a kick out of it.”
Stephanie moans. “No offense, Hazel, but I’m starting to get a little woozy from all the supernatural surprises. I think I need to find the whiskey and chug straight from the bottle. She takes off just as a man dressed as a termite inspector with a jug strapped to his back and some sort of wand-like apparatus in his hand heads this way. Opal is right there next to him, leading the way with her ear as if she could hear something luring her forward.
“That’s him,” Hazel hisses. “I’m not sticking around for this ridiculous show, Bowie.” She hands Pixie back to me and disappears in a puff of pink smoke.
I kiss poor Pixie before looking to the man in question.
“What’s going on?” I try to sound both cheery and a touch concerned.
Opal hushes me before bringing her finger to her lips. “He’s a ghost hunter, Bowie. Apparently, the manor is rife with supernatural activity.”
The older man with a potbelly and mustache grunts. “We were off to a good start, ladies, and just like that, the paranormal activity level up and left.”
How about that? It really does sound as if he knows his supernatural stuff.
“It’s just me here,” I tell him. “And my cat, of course. We don’t really need your services. I’m sorry, Opal.” I look her way. “But I’m going to have to ask him to leave. If the townspeople get wind of ghostly activity here, we’re bound to lose all of our Stitch Witchery income.”
“Get, get, get!” Opal doesn’t waste a moment in swatting him and his soul-suctioning equipment all the way to the door. And good thing. Now that I have a portal into understanding these cats, the party has just started with Hazel Newton.
I’m about to make my rounds when I spot Carol Bransford standing on the periphery of the room, sipping her comfort, looking a tad bit lost in the melee. A common affliction among first-timers.
Her blonde curls look freshly coiffed, and she’s wearing a red cable knit sweater paired with velvet pants of the same cheery hue and it looks striking on her. If I were wearing that, I may as well plop on pointy ears and a tail to finish off the look. Or at least that’s the zinger I could hear coming a mile away from my sister.
“Carol,” I say. “It’s nice to see you here.”
“Thank you, Bowie.” She holds up a teacup with gold trim and a reflective gold tree on the front. “Regina invited me. But then she had to run out the door.”
“Sounds like she spotted her ex.” Who just so happens to be my shiny new plus one, but I leave that detail out.
“Unless your ex is a certified ghostbuster, I highly doubt it.”
“Oh right. That whole ghost thing is sort of a silly rumor. I’d ignore it.”
She shakes her head. “It is odd considering Halloween is far behind us. But then, sharing ghost stories by the fire is embedded in a Christmas song somewhere, so live and let live. Or more to the point, live and let die.”
“That’s a good one.”
“Speaking of dying,” she lowers her chin, “Regina mentioned the mayor is pointing fingers every which way but at himself and his brother, of course.”
“How would Regina know that?”
A breath hitches in my throat. Oh my word, is Shep sharing info with Regina? If he is, that might just give credence to the horrible theory that Shep is playing me for a soon-to-be imprisoned fool.
I don’t know, though. Shep seems so genuine. If he is acting, I say give that man an Oscar.
Carol shrugs. “Rumors, I guess. Nonetheless, I heard the mayor whispered my name. I’m no killer, but I will say it takes one to know one.”
“I heard him mention something about Holly’s social media posts.”
“Oh yes.” A dark laugh pumps through her.
