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Fog rolls across the grass in thick white clouds while the music rages on.

Halloween has never looked so haunted—or so determined to keep the party going.

The music never skips a beat despite the fact a killer was hauled away less than fifty feet from the dance floor ten minutes ago.

Apparently, murder is no match for a good DJ and an open dessert bar.

People are dancing. Apple cider is flowing. Someone dressed as a zombie is doing the worm. Halloween has officially decided it has bigger things to worry about.

I wish I could say the same.

I’m fine. There’s nothing broken, nothing bleeding, all body parts present and accounted for. But the adrenaline is draining out of me fast, and Miss Kitty’s confession keeps circling back.

Clawdia was her mother.

She called Kitty her daughter when no one was listening, then pretended she didn’t exist when the world was watching.

That one hurts.

And the fact that I feel sorry for a woman who poisoned somebody feels wrong in at least twelve different ways, but here we are.

“Bizzy!”

Mom and Georgie come running over, both of them talking at the same time, still in their pirate costumes. Mom’s hat is askew, and Georgie’s naughty pirate corset is somehow even more revealing than it was an hour ago, which I didn’t think was possible.

“We just saw Leo cart off Miss Kitty Cadaver!” Georgie adds. “Regular handcuffs, mind you. Bit of a missed opportunity. Pink rhinestones would’ve tied the whole arrest together.”

“Did you really catch her?” Mom asks, wide-eyed and breathless, and a little perturbed if I’m being honest.

“She sure did.” Jasper pulls me closer and gives my shoulder a squeeze. “Your daughter caught herself another killer.”

Mom beams.

Georgie looks mildly offended. “And nobody thought to save me a front-row seat.”

“Next time.” The words leave my lips before I can stop them, and both Mom and Jasper groan at the thought.

Sherlock jumps up and barks, spinning in circles. We caught the killer! I was front and center. Tell Jasper I’m available for consulting.

You tripped over a half-eaten corn dog, Fish points out as she and Duchess wind around my ankles.

It was tactical, Sherlock shoots back. And then I ate the rest of it.

Duchess flicks her tail. I sat on her head. I believe that makes me lead detective.

I scoop Fish and Duchess up, one cat in each arm.

Fine, Fish says. But I’d like the record to show I was the muscle.

You hissed at her shoe, Sherlock says.

Exactly.

Georgie hauls Mom to the dance floor in an effort to celebrate, and I turn to Jasper.

“I just don’t feel good about this one,” I tell him.

Jasper’s brows knit together. “What’s going on?”