Page 61

“That’s a motive and then some,” Jasper says.

Leo shifts forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “And we’ve got another problem. The showcase contracts expire at midnight on Halloween. Everyone checks out November first. We pulled the flight manifests. By Sunday, those women will be spread across nine states and two countries.”

“And we can’t keep thirty people in Cider Cove indefinitely because one of them might be a murderer,” Jasper says.

I stare at the fire as a log collapses in a shower of sparks.

One day.

That’s all we have.

One day to figure out who slipped cyanide into Clawdia’s drink before the Beyond the Grave Rave ends, the suitcases come out, and our killer heads for the airport with the rest of the scream queens.

Suddenly my marshmallow doesn’t taste nearly as good.

And that feels downright criminal.

One thing is for sure.

Tomorrow is Halloween.

And between the candy, the costumes, and the chaos of the festival, I’ll be catching a killer.

I hope.

CHAPTER 17

Halloween has officially swallowed Spider Cove whole.

The Halloween Harvest Festival is packed shoulder to shoulder tonight with witches, vampires, zombies, superheroes, and at least three men who apparently decided putting on sunglasses and carrying inflatable guitars made them rock stars.

Orange and purple lights blink from every booth. Giant spiders dangle from the trees. Skeletons grin from hay bales. Fog crawls across the midway while jack-o’-lanterns glow from every available surface, and somebody has cranked the music loud enough to wake the actual dead.

Candy is flying. Kids are screaming. Adults are screaming louder.

And somewhere in the middle of it all, a woman dressed as a sexy grim reaper is arguing with a pirate over the last caramel apple.

Halloween in Spider Cove.

We really do know how to celebrate.

I’m a vampire. Jasper’s a vampire. And Ella is a vampire too, mostly because she was one last year and apparently we’ve stopped pretending Halloween requires fresh ideas.

Her tiny black cape has spent most of the night trying to trip her, and the plastic fangs last roughly thirty seconds before she spits them out.

At this point, they’ve spent more time in my pocket than in her mouth.

Ella couldn’t care less.

She toddles from booth to booth with her candy bag dragging lower with every stop, cape flying behind her, collecting chocolate like she’s stocking a bunker for winter.

It’s the best night of her life.

And judging by the weight of that bag, possibly mine too.

I’m in an elegant vampire costume that took one sharp turn into corset territory the second Macy and Georgie joined the selection committee. I fought it. I lost. My cleavage won.

Jasper went with classic Dracula—black cape, slicked-back hair, the whole bloodsucking package—and I’m mildly irritated by how good he looks. Nobody should be that handsome while wearing plastic fangs.