by Ani Gonzalez
"It was Claire Delacourt," Kat said, opening the passenger's side door and pushing him inside. "She's dangerous."
She slammed the door closed and walked around the truck, fuming.
Idiot man. He had no idea what he was dealing with.
"Why are you so upset?" Liam asked as she got into the driver's seat.
Her only response was to slam the door extra hard, making him wince.
"You're going to break my truck," he said. "It has survived a dozen poltergeists, two dead witches, and a curse, but I'm not sure it's going to survive you."
Kat turned the engine on, ignoring his question.
"What's bothering you? It was just a flying apple. I've been hit by worse." He frowned. "That little dog didn't have to laugh at me, though."
Kat gripped the ice-cold steering wheel. A laughing dog? Liam had to be hallucinating.
She willed herself into calmness and drove the truck out of the parking lot.
"Gotta hand it to Claire," Liam continued, clearly not getting the "silent treatment" signal Kat was transmitting. "She really knows how to put on a show. Flashing eyes, wild hair, the whole kit and kaboodle. She really did look possessed by a wild horse spirit."
"She's a menace," Kat exclaimed, banging on the steering wheel. "Cassie says she almost took someone out with a medieval anvil or something. She's crazy."
"Anvil?" Liam asked. "Are you sure about that?"
"Who cares?" Kat said. "It was something heavy and potentially deadly, and she almost crushed someone's skull with it. What does that remind you of?"
Liam grimaced. "What you're about to do to my truck, if you don't slow down?"
Kat swerved and stepped on the brakes. He was right. No need to mutilate a perfectly lovely truck just because its owner was being stubborn.
"Bad things happen around Claire," she said, once the vehicle had slowed to a relatively normal pace. "We need to remember that."
"Nothing bad has happ—" his voice broke off.
"Yes, that," Kat said quickly. "That's what I'm talking about."
"No way," he said. "She can't have anything to do with Jonas' death."
"She's been acting strangely," Kat replied. "Looking into Mapuche magic. Snooping around. Cassie says she's been practically living in the library, looking through old records."
"That doesn't mean anything. Everyone comes to Banshee Creek to conduct investigations. It's what we're known for."
Kat sighed. Why did Liam have to be so stubborn?
"Although," her husband conceded, "Caine did say that Jonas was looking into debunking Claire. Apparently, he has a file on her."
"Seriously?" Kat exclaimed. "First you tell me there's nothing strange about this woman, then you say she has a freaking PRoVE file? Have you seen their file room? It's like a paranormal NSA operation. Where is Claire's file? Between 'demon worship' and 'devil monkey'?"it's not her file. It's her family's file."
"Well, that's reassuring." Kat said, her mind racing.
So Jonas had been snooping through Claire's family history? Looking for what?
"They've been around a long time," Liam said. "I've been wanting to take a crack at Delacourt Manor for a while now. It's a beautiful Victorian building with gingerbread trim and it's absolutely untouched."
"Haunted?"
Liam shrugged. "Isn't everything? The Delacourts were rumored to be powerful witches, so the place is probably safe."
"Not all witches are good," Kat muttered under her breath, remembering Claire's interest in the Mapuche rituals. Those rituals could be a powerful source of protection, but there was definitely a dark side.
"You said that," Liam said with a slight smile. "Not me."
"Excuse me," Kat replied testily. "But I haven't hit you with fruit cocktail." She took a breath. "Just, you know, be careful."
Liam frowned. "Do you really think Claire had something to do with Jonas' death?"
"She has a reputation," Kat said. "According to Cassie, she'll do anything to keep her show going. It's as if the show were a life or death issue for her. If Jonas was going to debunk her..."
"Jonas debunked everyone," Liam replied. "If you're looking for suspects, what about the Ghost Talk guy? He's pretty shady."
"Santos is annoying, but he's not violent," Kat said firmly.
"How would you know?"
"He looks like he'd faint at the sight of a mouse. He was intimidated by Fiona's tanuki, for crying out loud."
"And how did he learn about the tanuki?" Liam asked pointedly.
Kat took a long breath. "Jonas told him."
"There you go," Liam said, as if the question were settled. "If you want a suspect, Santos is your man." He shook his head. "Not that we need a suspect. Jonas apparently just fell and hit his head."
"On a linoleum floor?" Kat asked. "And that killed him?"
"No," Liam answered. "He fell in front of the school and hit the owl statue. Talk and die syndrome."
He sounded uncertain. Was he remembering the vision he'd had? She wanted to ask, but maybe it was better to let sleeping dogs lie.
"Talk and die?" Kat grimaced. "That sounds like something out of the Godfather."
"It's a delayed effect," Liam replied. "You feel fine, but you're actually bleeding internally and eventually collapse."
"Horrible." A thought struck her as they neared their house. "Does that mean we could have—"
"No, don't think that." Liam warned. "Don't go there."
"Kinda hard not to," she said, as she turned into the driveway. She stopped the truck, hands clutching the steering wheel, and suppressed a shiver.
Liam's warm hand wrapped over hers. "It was tragic and mysterious, but it was still an accident. Let's not forget that."
Liam's words were supposed to be comforting, she knew, but they had the opposite effect. The lingering sense of danger was growing stronger.
She opened the door and climbed out of the truck. She'd never been happier to come back to her lovely, not-cursed-anymore home. The brick facade looked strong and safe, and the front lights gave off a welcoming glow. A light dusting of snow covered the front steps and she could see their living room through the window.
The sight warmed her heart. They had to put up the Christmas tree soon. With all the stupid contest drama she hadn't had time, but this was their first Christmas together. She wanted to make it special.
"Let's go," she said, walking toward the side door. "The contest is almost here, and I have work to do."
Liam groaned. "More baking?"
"Don't start," Kat said, opening the door and smiling as the house's cozy warmth enveloped her. "Or I'm going to brain you with a coconut."
Liam laughed. "You witches are so competitive."
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
"JUST ONE dance..." Abby Reed sang, the sweetness of her voice almost, but not quite, counteracting the creepiness of the song.
Liam tried to ignore it. Thankfully, this was the last sound check before the contestants arrived and filming would begin. Abby's band would play when the winners were announced.
Holly and the other volunteers were busy finishing up the decorations. The corners of the gymnasium had fake snow drifts and the walls were covered with sky-blue gauze dotted by giant, sparkly snowflakes. A large homemade banner announced that the space was now a "Haunted Winter Wonderland," and the whole place looked like...a high school gymnasium decked out for a dance.
Abby's bandstand was almost buried under fake snow with dancing snow fairies made out of cardboard. Glittery music notes hung from the ceiling.
"What could it cost? What could it hurt?"
Holly walked by, carrying a long strand of sparkly garlands. She smiled when she saw Liam.
"What do you think?" she asked, practically beaming with pride.
"Looks great, sis." Liam replied. "Very, er, festive."
Holly's grin grew wider. "That's what we were going for."
"It also looks a little, how can I put this..."
"Teenybopperish
Disney film?"
"Frozen does high school, yes," Liam said, choosing his words with care. "Is that what we're going for?"
Holly rolled her eyes. "It wasn't what Caine was going for, that's for sure. He asked us to do a magical winter landscape with gossamer ghosts and multicolored owls and whatnot."
"Yes, that sounded fantastic."
"Fantastic is the right word," Holly replied. "As in where is the fantastic budget? And the time? How am I supposed to conjure up light-up birds and custom specters in a couple of days? I'm competing too, you know. Did you guys even think of that?"
"Oh." No, they hadn't. Somehow PRoVE always found a way to get things done. People chipped in or the town put up funds or Gabe Franco took out his checkbook or something.
Apparently not this time.
"Don't we have some stuff in that storage—"
"Everything is orange," Holly snapped. "Or yellow or purple or somehow Halloween-themed. We managed to get our hands on some Dickens props, but Caine said they were too depressing." She snorted. "It's Victorian Decrepita at its best, of course it's depressing."
"I'm sure—"
"Then we found a haunted house attraction with a North Pole theme all the way up in Harpers Ferry. I thought it was perfect, but Caine turned it down because it was too gory."
That seemed like a good call. Gore in a holiday baking contest? Nope.
"So we had to use the school's props," Holly complained. "It's a Winter Wonderland high school dance with a bandstand, taffeta dresses, and corsages."
Liam frowned. "Isn't that a little—"
"And I don't want to hear any complaints about it," Holly interrupted with her practiced stern librarian look. "It's a fundraiser for the school, so it's perfectly appropriate."
Then she walked off in a cloud of glitter.
Liam shrugged, even though he still felt the high school dance theme was creepy. The decorations were fine, cheesy but cheerful. Add some non-alcoholic punch, a couple of chaperones, and a band playing Journey songs and it would be a decent prepubescent shindig.
Just like the night Lorena Wills supposedly died.
Sure, Holly claimed that Lorena had never existed, but, still, it was creepy,
But he didn't have time to worry about the local ghost stories. He had to get the kitchens working.
They weren't real kitchens, just benches with portable ranges and sinks. Pete Larson, the tall, laconic man who owned the local plumbing company, Poltergeist Plumbing, was working on the sinks.
Liam approached warily. Pete was a brilliant plumber—he had to be since he worked in a town where spirits broke pipes and drains with distressing frequency—but he could be ornery. He was currently engaged in an acrid litigation against Zach Franco over the name of the pizzeria and the townspeople tended to give him a wide berth.
"This is such a stupid idea," Pete said, straightening. "Water tanks and pumps in Banshee Creek? That's just asking for trouble."
"They need water for cooking and cleaning."
"They can walk twelve paces to the cafeteria kitchen then," Pete noted. "Why didn't they film in there?"
Liam frowned. "I don't know."
But it was a good question. The cafeteria had been one of the early choices, but the contest ended up in the gym. He couldn't quite remember how that happened. Surely, the cafeteria was a better choice.
But, somehow, they'd ended up in the gym.
A PRoVE staffer walked by, pushing a rolling trolley. It was one of those wardrobe-style contraptions people used to store clothes, and it housed dozens of frothy prom dresses, complete with pinned corsages and sparkly shoes.
Were they planning to dress Kat up in one of those for the competition? Oh, she wasn't going to like that.
"The cafeteria would've been a lot better," Pete continued. "Then I wouldn't have had to spend days prepping these things."
"Surely, it hasn't been days."
"We did have a break when they found that poor kid," Pete admitted grudgingly. "Brain hemorrhage, they told me."
"Something like that," Liam agreed, not willing to get into the whole "talk and die" syndrome chat.
"He did complain about his head hurting," Pete said. "Wish I'd done something about that."
"Nothing you could've done. He hit his head somewhere."
"Nah," Pete replied. "He said someone knocked him down."
Liam stilled. "Wait, how do you know that?"
Pete nodded. "He got into a fight with someone, seemed very proud of it. Said it proved that he was on the track of something big." Pete shook his head. "He rubbed his head as he said it. I wish I'd taken him to the hospital or something." Another shake. "But he seemed fine, and the sheriff said there was nothing I could've done."
"Jonas would've looked normal," Liam replied. "Did he tell you who he argued with?"
"No," Pete said. "I wasn't very interested, to be honest. The kid argued at the drop of a hat. He went after my 'Haunt-Proof Drain Guide,' asking me how I could prove that it really kept the spooks out of the pipes."
"That sounds like Jonas."
"Of course I couldn't prove it. But if you replace pipes and keep them clean, the ghosts can't do that much damage. My work is high quality and my customers have never complained."
"I can attest to that."
The Hagen House's plumbing worked like a charm, even though the place had been both haunted and cursed for decades.
If only he could say the same about the wiring.
"You ever thought of going into the electric business, Pete?" Liam asked. "We could use someone good with lights around here."
"I should, shouldn't I?" Pete said, rubbing his nape. "There's a guy from Fairfax looking to relocate. If he joined, I could rename the business 'Ectoplasm Electric & Plumbing' and settle the case with Zach."
"You should probably look into that."
"I should." Pete grabbed his tool bag. "Zach is offering me good money for the Poltergeist trademark." He tipped his head. "Well, I better go. These cheapo PVC pipes aren't going to connect themselves."
"Thanks for the help," Liam said.
He was left alone, surrounded by kitchen tables, mini-fridges, and staffers hanging disco balls from the ceiling. Specks of light swept across the floor, giving the decorated gymnasium a surreal, otherworldly feel.
He felt as if he'd dropped down the rabbit hole. He'd been so certain when he'd told Kat that Jonas' death was an accident.
But maybe it wasn't.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
"HOW MUCH marzipan does one person need, Fiona?" Kat exclaimed as she assessed the piles of boxes in front of Fiona's store.
Gavin and Sean were there to help them carry their competition supplies to the gym. When the guys volunteered, however, they probably weren't expecting enough marzipan to survive a famine.
The candle maker winced. "I ordered it from Germany. I may have messed up the metric conversion."
"Ya think?" Kat asked. "Do you need all of it?"
"Probably not. I thought I would take it as a precaution—"
"Take it," Luanne said firmly.
Fiona shrugged. "What am I going to do with all this marzipan after the contest? Patricia doesn't want it."
"Marzipan candles?" Luanne ventured.
Fiona sighed impatiently. "It doesn't work that way. You don't put real food in the candles, just extracts."
The fire chief cleared his throat. "Shall I load the truck then? I kinda have to get to work after this."
The sheriff laughed. "Or we could stand around all day and discuss almond paste. Your choice, ladies."
"Loading," Kat said. "We need to get to the contest site early. I want plenty of time to set up."
Gavin and Sean grabbed a plastic cooler labeled "Banshee Creek Botánica" and lifted it up.
"What do you have in here, babe?" Sean asked. "A corpse?"
"Ha, ha, very funny," Kat said. "Just butter, eggs, and milk..."
"With the cow still attached?" Gavin asked, groa
ning as they lifted the cooler.
"No," Kat replied. "Just a few coconuts."
"Coconuts?" Sean exclaimed. "For real?"
"I may need them as garnish," Kat explained lamely.
"Good thing you didn't make cinder block cookies," Gavin noted, pushing the cooler further into the truck bed. "Alright, now it's Fi's turn. Where's your stuff, Luanne?"
"Amy is bringing it over. All I have to worry about is my hair." She ran a hand through her fiery curls fondly. "Humidity always makes it go crazy."
"What about your clothes?" Kat asked. "Are you going like that?"
Kat and Fiona were dressed in comfortable but stylish slacks and flats with arch-support insoles, just as Patricia recommended. They'd even purchased cozy sweaters with three-quarters sleeves, which the baker claimed were essential for cooking.
Luanne, however, was dressed in leggings and a sweater that warned: "Don't Mess With Pisces."
"You want to appear on television in front of millions of people like that?" Fiona asked.
"Of course not," Luanne replied. "I'm going to wear the mint-green taffeta dress with the sparkly stars."
"What are you talking about?" Kat asked. "You'll be cooking under stress and you need to be comfortable."
"I mean we'll be cooking in dresses," Luanne said, smiling. "All of us."
"Not possible," Kat exclaimed, turning to Sean. "Right?"
The sheriff grimaced. "Caine really wanted it, and I couldn't find a good reason to deny his request."
"What kind of dresses?" Kat asked, horrified at Luanne's mention of taffeta. Surely Caine wouldn't...
"Prom dresses," Luanne said cheerfully.
"No," Kat and Fiona exclaimed simultaneously.
"Yes," Luanne couldn't hide her excitement. "They all have billowing skirts like Scarlet O'Hara. We're going to look like princesses."
"I'm not a princess," Kat muttered. "I'm a witch."
Luanne glared at her. "You can pretend for one day, Kat. It's for a good cause."
"Surely, it's a fire hazard." Fiona aimed a pleading glance at her boyfriend.
"Well," the fire chief finished positioning the cooler and climbed down from the truck, "you won't have open flames and it's a fireproof fabric anyway, so we granted PRoVE the permit."
