My name is Bizzy Baker, and I can read minds—not every mind, not every time but most of the time and believe me when I say it’s not all it’s cracked up to be.
It’s time for Halloween in Cider—Spider—Cove and Jasper's brother is getting hitched—while standing in a cemetery in the middle of the night. And as if a wedding in a graveyard wasn’t terrifying enough, a guest ends up joining the great disembodied majority. Tombstones and ghosts aside, there’s a killer on the loose and Spider Cove may never be the same again.
To top things off the Country Cottage Inn is hosting its annual Trick-or-Treat Harvest Festival and things are not just getting spooky—they’re getting darn right deadly.
Haunted houses, vampires, werewolves, and ghouls abound. Come to Spider Cove this Halloween night. Tricks and treats abound and so does murder. It’s October in Cider Cove and Halloween is just around the corner. The trick-or-treaters aren’t the only ones looking to scare the residents, so is a killer.
Bizzy Baker runs the Country Cottage Inn, has the ability to pry into the darkest recesses of both the human and animal mind, and has just stumbled upon a body. With the help of her kitten, Fish, a mutt named Sherlock Bones and an ornery yet dangerously good looking homicide detective, Bizzy is determined to find the killer. The Country Cottage Inn is known for its hospitality. Leaving can be murder.
Chapter 1
Two hours from now…
The Killer
The cemetery is a haunting sight, bathed in an ethereal glow cast by the moon. The air is thick with anticipation as the sound of laughter and music from the celebration at hand wafts through the tombstones. It’s almost Halloween, the perfect night for my malevolent plan to unfold.
I stand in the shadows, hidden among the mausoleums and ancient trees. My heart races with excitement regarding what’s about to come to pass.
And there they are—my unsuspecting victim.
They head this way, unaware of the fate that awaits them amidst the tombstones and the statues.
A wicked grin spreads across my face as I ready myself to embrace the role of the puppet master in this macabre dance.
A smug look takes over their features as they speed this way, and as soon as they spot the weapon in my hand, their expression darkens—and might I say, there’s a plea for mercy in their eyes.
But mercy is not a language I speak. Their fate has been sealed, their presence in this cemetery an invitation for their ultimate demise. I revel in their fear as they grasp at the faint hope of survival.
In the realm of shadows and nightmares, tonight I am the architect of terror. This macabre venue only strengthens my resolve, for it is on this night that the line between the living and the dead blurs.
And as the moon watches over the cemetery, I prepare for the next chapter of my sinister tale, knowing that the echoes of my actions will forever haunt the souls of the living—and perhaps the dead.
The present…
Bizzy
“This entire shebang is as spooky and kooky as a haunted house on Halloween night,” Georgie shivers when she says it as the fog floats along the ground.
“I think I’d prefer a haunted house,” Mom huffs as she rubs her arms with her hands in an attempt to warm herself. “At least then I wouldn’t have to deal with this arctic chill in the air. But it’s not Halloween night just yet, and there’s no hope of ducking into a house of any kind. Face it, we’re stuck in the bitter elements until our fingers and feet freeze off.” Her faux cat ears move up and down as she gives a sharp nod.
“You’re right, Preppy,” Georgie growls. “Not only that, but this place is as eerie as a graveyard in the middle of the night.”
“That’s because it is a graveyard in the middle of the night,” I say just this side of my teeth chattering. “Whose idea was this frozen spooky charade, anyway?”
“Come on, Bizzy,” Georgie cackles out my name, her neon bright witch hat throwing out a surreal light in the darkness of the cemetery. Laughter and hoots echo from different corners of the grave-ridden field, making the hairs on my neck stand up in response to the eerie cries. “The three of us know this is all your fault.”
“And she’s not whistling Dixie,” Mom shivers as she says it. “If you weren’t married to Jasper, we wouldn’t have been invited to the crypt keeper’s wedding.”
I make a face while straightening my costume—a French maid who happens to be far too undressed to deal with the wind chill factor.
Come to think of it, I should have dressed up like a bear. A fur coat sounds delightful right about now and oh so necessary to restart my beating heart.
But what my mother says is true. It is all my fault we’re here. Jasper’s brother, Max, is getting hitched—a surprise wedding, no less—to a bride none of the family has ever met.
Apparently, his new bride has a haunted sense of humor, seeing that her first choice venue for the event was a place where we house the dead. And if the ceremony dares to drone on, all of her guests might just drop dead, too.
This is by far the chilliest October that Cider Cove—scratch that—Spider Cove has ever seen. Yes, we’ve officially changed our name for the entire month. It was something that was initiated last year, and well, it’s stood the test of time.
I know one thing for sure: Spider Cove is about as spooky as a little seaside town can get, especially while standing in the graveyard in the middle of the night.
The sound of organ music begins to blast throughout the cemetery as we traverse gravestones and tombstones alike, trying to make our way to the area where a few folding chairs are set out.
The grounds are mobbed with people in costumes—everything ranging from adorable to terrifying.
This entire scene isn’t something I would have chosen to commemorate my nuptials, but then, to each his own.
Max has a reputation for his outlandish string of girlfriends—ironically, my mother was once one of them—but this new girl takes the cake, and apparently, it will be a wedding cake. That is, unless she’s opted for a mound of spaghetti, and seeing how unconventional she is, I wouldn’t be all that surprised.
Georgie’s brows dance under the brim of her hat. “At least it won’t be dull.”
Mom is quick to respond. “This might surprise you, Georgie, but I prefer dull.” Boring would be a wonderful change of pace.
A swift image of a beach, soft waves, and the rhythm of uninterrupted solitude runs through her mind, and I can’t help but smile. I recognize the view. It’s the same one from the inn that I happen to own and run. And how I can’t wait to get back home and warm myself in front of the fire. I don’t care if it is midnight. I need to thaw out if I ever hope to function properly again.
Georgie starts in on an odd aria as her voice rises to the moon up above, and each and every living soul—and perhaps dead soul, too—turns in our direction.
Mom pulls her in. “What in the world are you howling about?”
“Oh, come on, Preppy. You know me by now. I’m singing to the female ghosts of the dead to help them overcome the trauma from sexism.”
“Good grief,” Mom moans. “Where are the men with the big nets when you really need them?”
I can’t help but chuckle. Mom and Georgie are the best of friends. They not only enjoy one another’s company, but they own a boutique together called Two Old Broads, where they specialize in selling something called wonky quilts—and yes, they’re as wonky as they sound.
Georgie is a sassy eighty-something-year-old with a ball of bushy gray hair sitting on her head like a globe, and she happens to have a penchant for wearing kaftans in every color. Tonight it’s orange with black beading in honor of this haunted event.
Mom is more put together in the wardrobe department with both her fashion choices and feathered hairstyle stemming from her favorite era—the eighties—and thus Georgie’s nickname for her, Preppy.
The sound of barking emanates from the right and I spot my adorable dog, Sherlock Bones, a cute red and white freckled mutt, and my sweet cat, Fish, a long-haired black and white tabby, scampering this way.
Of course, I brought them with me. They couldn’t resist the idea of running loose in what looked to them like the biggest park on earth.
Bizzy! Sherlock gives a series of soft woofs. You’ll never guess what we saw!
A hand sticking up out of a freshly dug grave. Fish chitters and that alone lets me know she’s teasing.
Did not, Sherlock barks. She’s just trying to scare you like she has been trying to scare me all night.
That’s because you’re an easy mark, she mewls his way.
“What did you see?” I ask Sherlock while giving him a quick scratch behind his ears.
We met another dog! He’s a Dalmatian and his name is Spooky Spot.
“Spooky Spot, huh?” I muse as I take a look around the graveyard with the blue cast of the moon illuminating it. “That about sums this place up nicely.”
My name is Bizzy Baker Wilder. I stand at an average height, have average dark hair and denim blue eyes, and I happen to have the supernatural ability to read minds. Not every mind, not every time, but it seems to happen on the regular.
Oh, and I can read the mind of animals, too. And you can bet your last dollar that nine times out of one hundred they have far better things to say than humans.
“Come here, you cute little heater.” Mom laughs as she scoops Fish up and cradles her in her arms. “I swear, Bizzy. Sometimes I think you can understand what my furry grandchildren are saying, the way you carry on.”
“That’s because she can,” Georgie announces and I shoot her a look. “Bizzy’s intuitive that way.” She winks my way, assuring me she has no intention of giving up my rather spooky covert intelligence.
Only a small handful of people are in on my supernatural secret, and my mother isn’t one of them. Georgie knows, and my best friend, Emmie, and her husband, Leo, know—only because Leo happens to share the same quirk.
Speaking of those two, I crane my neck into the crowd of monsters and goblins in search of them, but there’s no hope in me recognizing anyone here tonight. With the exception of the man in a dark suit and a wool cap slung over his head as he makes his way over.
“Well, if it isn’t Inspector Clouseau,” Georgie quips. “Why aren’t you in costume? Do you think you’re better than everyone else?”
“I think he’s smarter,” Mom says. “Jasper, you look perfectly warm.”
“I am, Ree.” He gives both my mother and Georgie a quick embrace. “Thank you both for coming out tonight. I’m sure my brother appreciates it. Why don’t you grab a couple of seats near the front where they have the space heaters set out. We don’t want anyone catching their deaths here tonight.”
Mom bucks with a laugh. “And it seems to be a catching condition at this place.”
They take off and Sherlock runs off with them, and, of course, Fish by proxy.
Jasper takes a moment to inspect my costume before waggling his brows. “Hey there, hot stuff. You looking for something to dust? My wife said she’d be running late, and I know of an empty crypt right around the corner.”
“You.” I laugh as I give his blood-red tie a tug. “You’re about as crazy as your brother Max.”
“Speaking of which, I think it’s time I introduced you to his bride.”
The faint cry of what sounds like a werewolf goes off in the distance and both Jasper and I give a quick look at the crowd.
He wraps a warm arm around my waist, pulls me close, and whispers, “I don’t know why, but I’ve got a bad feeling about tonight.”
“That makes two of us,” I whisper right back as the crowd begins to blossom with ghouls and ghosts—hopefully of the human variety. “Max doesn’t strike me as the marrying kind, so everything about this screams something is off to me. But I’m sure once I meet her, I’ll love her as much as he does.”
A man in a hockey mask runs by with a live chainsaw in his hands and a series of shrill screams goes off in the crowd followed by a burst of laughter.
“Here’s hoping this night goes off without a bloody hitch,” Jasper muses.
I’d agree, but something tells me this night is going to be murder.