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“Fine,” Sophie replied. “I autographed so many books afterward that my hand went numb.”
She didn’t sound displeased about it. Good. It was about time his sister got to take the bows she deserved for breaking out as such a big sensation in the horror fiction world.
“You really think Derryville’s ready for their own celebrity psycho?” he asked.
She giggled, then gestured around them to the party underway on the lawn of the inn. “I think I fit right in these days, don’t you? Anyone happening along would think we were all a little psycho having a Halloween bash in September.”
Before Mick could reply, he felt a familiar tingling sensation which told him one thing. Caroline was nearby. Though it had only been a few hours since he’d dropped her off at the site, his whole body had grown cold, missing her, wanting her. He sucked in the warmth her presence had always provided.
“Hi.” Her soft voice washed over him, reminding him of the incredible way they’d spent the night before. And this morning. And this afternoon when they’d arrived back at his house in Derryville. God, would he ever get enough of her?
He smiled. “Hi yourself.” Not caring that his sister and Daniel were watching, he turned around and pressed a quick, possessive kiss on Caroline’s surprised mouth.
She smiled, then pulled away with a warning look. “No more of that. I’m on the job.”
She wasn’t in costume, which made her stand out. “I thought you were going to dress up. How come I had to if you didn’t?”
“I won’t be on camera,” she said with a grin as she looked him over from head to toe. He lifted his Zorro mask, which had been dangling from his fingertips, and put it over his eyes to complete his costume.
“Very sexy,” she said with a purr.
“You should have come as a witch.” His tone was every bit as sultry as hers. “I recall you wearing something black and sinful this morning.”
Sophie chuckled. Hell, Mick had almost forgotten his sister was standing there. Color rose in Caroline’s cheeks.
“I guess you two have become reallyfriendlyroomies?” Sophie asked.
“Mind your own beeswax,” Mick retorted, the familiar childhood retort coming out of his mouth before he thought about it. He’d said it to her many times over the years. Intuitive, nosy Sophie had always been able to find out anything she wanted to know.
“Anything in particular I should know about tonight? Any specific problems anticipated?” he asked Caroline.
“If you can keep the Civil War soldiers from actually killing each other, I’d consider your job well done tonight.”
“Is one of them my grandfather?”
She nodded.
“And the Confederate soldier a man with white hair down to his shoulders, a pair of glasses five inches thick and a layer of spit and denture cream clumped up on his bottom lip?”
“Eww…I didn’t notice the denture cream.”
“It’s usually mostly spit,” Sophie offered. “At least it was when he taught my tenth grade Geometry class. Everyone used to race to class to avoid sitting in the front row, within firing range.”
Caroline laughed helplessly. “Okay, yes, it was him.”
“No problem then,” Mick said with a shrug. “He and Grandpa haven’t tried to kill each other in a good, oh, twenty…”
“Thirty at least,” Sophie said helpfully.
“Yes, thirty years.”
Caroline and Daniel exchanged an amused look.
“So, is anyone getting killed tonight?” Sophie asked.
“Oh, it’s going to be a bloodbath,” Caroline replied. “We’re thinning out the cast fast and furiously now.”
The four of them walked toward the crowd gathered around the bonfire, the hayride and the hot-cider stands. On a stone patio set up as a dance floor, a few couples, including some of the contestants, shook to the Monster Mash. Others watched a group of kids bobbing for apples.
