Page 12
Countess Clawdia Noir is dead.
CHAPTER 4
Countess Clawdia Noir’s body is sprawled across the grass, her black velvet gown fanned out around her like she’s posing for one final curtain call, and the purple glow from her spilled cocktail is illuminating her face.
A scream flies out of my mouth before my brain has a chance to object, loud and raw and piercing enough to wake the dead—theoretically, of course, because the dead around here are certainly not waking.
The clapping stops as the crowd takes in the scene with gasps and whispers.
I quickly bend over and feel for a pulse, but I can’t find one. Not that I’m a professional at this, but, well, according to my climbing body count, I’m sort of an inadvertent professional at this.
Georgie arrives by my side with her kaftan flying behind her like a cape. “Bizzy! Was that part of the show? Because that committed death drop deserves a standing ovation! The woman’s talent has some serious range. Somebody nominate her for an Oscar, and her little cat too!”
Mom shows up next, takes one look at Clawdia, and her face goes white. “Oh no. Oh no no no.”
Both women scream in unison, and so does half the crowd. It’s loud enough that I’m pretty sure they just woke up half of Spider Cove cemetery.
Georgie grabs Mom’s arm with both hands. “Well, that’s certainly one way to get out of an appearance.”
“Georgie.” Mom swats her on the arm. “The woman wasn’t trying to get out of anything—except maybe her body.” And wow, did she ever pull that off in spades. Most people around Bizzy seem to do just that. She gives me a stern look, and I gasp her way.
Mom may not know that I can read her mind, but that’s never stopped me from reacting to her zingers.
Mom shakes her head at the poor woman. The only thing she’ll be getting into now is a casket.
Unfortunately, she’s got that right.
The crowd gathers around us as more screams go off every which way.
“Countess Clawdia Noir is dead!” Georgie clutches her chest as if she’s about to go next. “I just got her autograph! Does this make it more valuable, or is that morbid? It’s morbid, isn’t it?”
“Georgie, focus!”
“I am focused! I’m focused on the fact that a woman who taught me everything I know about dramatic entrances just made the most dramatic exit possible!”
She’s not wrong.
The wind picks up, and dark purple clouds boil overhead as the mood grows decidedly darker while the inn looms behind us like the haunted mansion it’s panning out to be.
I’m trying to wave the steady stream of bodies back, trying to get them to stop touching things, but the crowd around us is starting to realize this isn’t part of the showcase.
Someone near the front says, “Wait, is this real?”
Murmurs spread through the festival like wildfire.
Morticia Moonstone, the coordinator, pushes through the crowd with her headset still on and her clipboard clutched to her chest. “What’s going on? Is she okay?”
She takes one look at Clawdia’s body and goes so pale I’m worried she’s going to be the second casualty of the night.
This cannot be happening. She practically gags on the thought as it sails through her mind. Not on opening night. Not on my watch. But I won’t shed a tear if this is real, and neither will half the women here.
“What?” I mutter as I look her way. I typically try not to react to whatever someone might be thinking, but honestly, I can’t get around the cruelty or the lunacy.
Jasper comes running over from the direction of the parking lot, and I’ve never been so relieved to see him in my entire life. Leo’s right behind him, already on his radio and barking orders to someone on the other end.
Leo would be his best friend and his comrade in arms down at the sheriff’s department. Leo isn’t just a deputy, though. Leo happens to be married to my best friend.
He drops to his knees and checks the woman for a pulse before shaking his head at Jasper.
