Page 1
CHAPTER 1
It’s late October, and Halloween—the spookiest day of the year—is exactly one week away.
Halloween has always been one of my favorite holidays, especially when my girls were little and I could dress them up as adorable pumpkins without them threatening to move out. Now they’re both living at the local university, which means every day is equally terrifying for different reasons. Mysterious late-night texts, tuition bills that require smelling salts, and the knowledge that they’re eating nothing but ramen and rebellion. Turns out, motherhood is the real horror show.
But tonight? Tonight, I get to lean into the fun brand of scary.
Hosting a weeklong invasion of cozy mystery authors at your theme park is a lot like herding caffeinated cats, assuming those cats wrote murder mysteries, wore seasonal scarves, and had extremely passionate opinions about which hot fictional detective they’d trust with their lives.
The good news? I own the theme park.
The bad news? I’m standing in Bayou Bend Hollow watching twenty-plus mystery writers and their legion of fans descend on my property, and statistically speaking, the odds of everyone leaving here alive are not odds I’d bet the park on.
I survey the scene from my spot near the haunted pumpkin carriage, an oversized decoration currently serving as Fish and Chip’s photo-op throne.
The entire hollow glows with purple and orange twinkle lights strung through moss-draped trees, and wavering lanterns cast shadows across the crowd as if they’re auditioning for a horror movie. Fog machines pump out dark clouds that roll across the ground, swirl around ankles, and give the whole scene a distinctly atmospheric vibe. Have I mentioned that whole horror-movie vibe yet?
Spooky-themed music floats through the speakers, and competing with it are the sound effects: thunder rumbling overhead, creaky stairs groaning, and what I’m pretty sure is supposed to be ominous organ music but sounds more like someone sat on a keyboard. The scent of cinnamon, caramel apples, and something vaguely pumpkin-spiced hangs in the crisp fall air.
Fall is my favorite. Horror and homicide? Not so much.
The private party area is roped off with Halloween bunting, triangular flags in orange, black, purple, and green strung between posts, plus signage politely suggesting the general park population find their chaos elsewhere. Ours is reserved.
Above the crowd, a glittering sign stretches across the west side of the Haunted Mansion: BOO CREW SPOOK AND MINGLE!
Subtle, it is not. Tonight’s shindig is basically their Halloween week kickoff bash.
“There!” Ree jabs a finger toward the crowd, her feathered red hair not moving an inch despite the breeze. The shoulder pads in her blazer are pure ’80s glory, and she’s rocking our cat ear merch with a tiny crown perched between the ears. “Is that Gertie Gloomwood by the paddleboat?”
“Where?” Georgie cranes her neck, the miniature witch’s hat on her cat ears tilting precariously. Her caftan (Halloween orange meets electric purple) billows as she shifts. “I can’t see past all the cardigans.”
“What cardigans?”
“All of them.” Georgie waves a hand at the crowd. “I was promised hot cover models. Shirtless men with strategically placed pumpkins. Instead, I’m staring at sensible shoes and turtlenecks.”
“The cover models for cozy mysteries are mostly illustrated cats,” I remind her.
Georgie frowns. “You’re telling me I got dressed up for imaginary cats?” She glances around in dismay. “Drats. I’ll just have to redirect my efforts to something with abs and a pulse. Surely this place is crawling with handsome hot men willing to make a questionable decision or two with a highly seasoned woman of a certain age.”
“Highly seasoned?” Ree snorts. “You sound like a cast-iron skillet.”
“You better believe it, toots. And I’m twice as valuable,” Georgie shoots back. “Every hot hottie at this park should be so lucky.”
Ree gives her bestie a slow once-over. “Lucky? Georgie, they’d need protective gear and a user manual that dates back to the last century to have anything to do with you.”
Georgie chuckles at the thought. “Now we’re getting in the spirit.”
Ree Baker and Georgie Conner are two of the best amateur sleuths I know, and two of the best friends a girl could ask for, assuming that girl doesn’t mind having her private business discussed at volume and her love life questioned with alarming frequency.
Ree’s somewhere in midlife right along with me, and Georgie is a spry, wry, and hot-to-trot eighty-something granny with a gray tumbleweed perched on her head, a wicked gleam in her eyes, and a well-documented penchant for caftans and men. Not necessarily in that order.
I adjust my own cat ears, orange donut-shaped additions that are a combo nod to Chip’s ears and his favorite food group. Paired with my black sweater dress and boots, I’m either festively coordinated or one whisker away from a full cat costume. The jury’s still out.
The marketing team outdid themselves with the merch this year. Besides the ears, we’ve got popcorn buckets with Fish and Chip’s faces on them, glow-in-the-dark collar necklaces, pumpkin-shaped treat bags with their paw prints, illuminated jack-o’-lantern medallions, ghost-shaped hand fans, miniature cauldron candy holders, and (my personal favorite) plush bat keychains with tiny cat ear accessories.
Is all this cat merch a moneymaking machine? Absolutely.
And lucky for me, it’s everyone else’s money.
