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Velvet ropes are directing the crowd traffic, and pale-faced staff members in period costumes are stationed at various points looking very serious about their roles as dead Victorians or whatever they’re supposed to be. The air is cool, crisp, and holds the faint scent of apples. And the sound of a piano playing filters through the speakers.

I’m about to say something when I spot Miss Kitty Cadaver herself.

“Well, if it isn’t the suspect of the hour,” I mutter.

She’s standing in the center of the hall in bubble-gum pink everything. Pink pigtails, pink corset, pink tulle skirt that makes her look like she’s wearing a cupcake, and pink boots covered in pink glitter. Her voice carries across the entire hall, high and squeaky and enthusiastic, and the crowd absolutely adores her.

Mom gasps. “She looks like a gothic Barbie had a baby with a bakery.”

I nod. “Ella would’ve loved to have been here.”

“Don’t worry, Biz.” Georgie leans in. “With your track record, there will be plenty of investigation for her to tag along with when she gets older. Who knows? She might even become the killer.”

“You’re not funny.”

“She’s not trying to be,” Mom says as she crouches next to me and cranes her neck every which way as if she half expects a body to jump out at any moment.

Kitty laughs at something that a small cluster of women are telling her, and her pink pigtails shake in turn.

She looks perfectly harmless. I have a very hard time believing this is the woman who could have potentially killed Clawdia, but then stranger things have happened.

“She’s adorable!” Georgie says, clutching Sherlock’s leash. “I want to be her shiny new bestie!”

“She’s young enough to be your shiny new great-granddaughter,” Mom points out.

“Exactly,” Georgie shouts. “Everyone knows that a great-granddaughter is the best kind of best friend. I can let her get away with things that her mother or her mother’s mother would never allow.”

Mom nods my way. “Let this be a lesson, Bizzy. Don’t ask Georgie to babysit unless you want her hunting toddler vampires with her shiny new bestie.”

Georgie coos. “But think of the cute little fangs! And I bet they sparkle in the sunlight.”

I’d respond, but we’ve drifted into Kitty’s orbit and her thoughts are coming in loud and clear.

They love me. They always love me. This is going so well. I can’t wait to show them every spooky nook and cranny of this place. Little do they know it’s like a second home to me.

Nothing sinister here. Nothing that implies guilt. Just genuine enthusiasm and a lot of excitement about the haunted tour she’s about to lead.

Don’t let your guard down, Bizzy, Fish mewls as she takes in the scene. Vampyra did say that Clawdia and Kitty were pretty close.

I nod her way.

Besides, Duchess says, it’s always the innocent ones you need to watch out for.

“Welcome to Ravenswood Manor, my little ghouls and ghoul-friends!” Miss Kitty’s voice cuts through the chatter, and the crowd quiets down immediately. “Are you ready for the spookiest, most terrifying, most absolutely haunted tour of your LIVES?”

The crowd cheers and seemingly grows in number as well.

“Then follow along!” She spins on her platform boots, pink tulle flying, as she makes her way toward a doorway on the left side of the hall.

And we follow indeed. I’m sandwiched between Mom and Georgie with a tote bag full of cats and a very nervous red-and-white freckled Sherlock who keeps trying to hide behind my legs.

I’ve decided I don’t like haunted houses, he says with a woof.

Fish swipes at him. And I’ve decided you’re a big oaf who just needs a little cuddle time and a handful of bacon.

You do know me! he barks back.

Honestly, this place is so creepy, I could use a cuddle and a handful of bacon myself.