“No, it didn’t. I saw the note. You threatened her. You said that stunt she pulled wouldn’t go unnoticed. What stunt was that, Annabelle?” I genuinely want to know what could have possibly pushed this seemingly normal woman off the edge.
Annabelle takes a deep breath, her gaze lost somewhere just past my shoulder.
“I had a client list, an extensive one at that, and the day I went to help Miggy out, I was given an email by one of her many assistants, and it had a link attached to a file they shared. Once I got in and dug around, I found an entire list of my old clients. She just swiped them. Clients are like currency in my line of work, Bowie. You don’t understand how deeply that hurt me. She was making money off of my blood, sweat, and tears. I was the one who garnered those people the hard way. She stabbed me in the back long before I did her.”
“But you didn’t stab her in the back. You only thought you did.”
She opens the picnic basket and pulls a long steely knife from it and the blade glints in the candlelight.
“And tonight,” she pants as she holds the shinning blade in the air, “I’m going to rectify that fact.” She tips her head my way. “But unfortunately, Bowie, I’m going to have to start with you.”
Annabelle is on top of me before I can move a muscle. We struggle as I try to make my escape, staggering and tripping until the table laden with books and those happy faced pumpkins flips onto its side.
Annabelle swipes my legs from underneath me, and as I hit the ground two of those candles she set on the ledge fall to the floor. I watch in horror as one rolls its way right to the curtain.
“No!” I do my best to buck her off of me, but instead, the silver sheen from the blade slices right next to my temple. “Are you insane?” I riot in her face. “You do not want any piece of this action. I’m from Jersey. We eat girls like you for breakfast!”
Annabelle brings the knife down hard once again, this time narrowly missing me from the other side.
“You’re exhausted!” I say to her. “Your lack of sleep has caused some warped psychosis to go off in your brain. You need help, Annabelle!”
“I have help!” she gravels the words out. “My specialist doesn’t see the light. She thinks I should forgive that woman for what she’s done to me.”
In an instant the room illuminates with a whoosh as the curtain goes up in flames like a Roman candle, and with the light the fire provides, I see a dress form in the corner of the room.
My vision!
Good gracious—if I don’t get out of here I’m going to burn alive!
With herculean strength, I manage to push the knife-wielding woman off me, only to have her shove her elbow into my temple.
I fall back with a groan before flopping to the floor. My body seems to have lost the ability to move, and all I see is the blade of the knife riding up over my head.
A deafening blast goes off, and Annabelle flies backward as if some otherworldly force were plucking her away from me. Flames dance wildly all around me as I try to make sense of the scene.
And then I see her—Hazel Newton standing over Annabelle Sanderson’s body with her foot on the woman’s back.
“Bowie!” Shep shouts as he dashes this way and helps me to my feet. “We need to get out of here. I need to get Annabelle.”
“What’s wrong with her?” I ask, trying to make out the dark liquid oozing from her side.
“I shot her,” he pants.
Shep and I choke our way out of the room just as an army of people rush past us with fire extinguishers.
Eventually, the actual fire department shows up, and seemingly every sheriff’s cruiser in all of Vermont. It turns out, the fire is quickly contained, and oddly enough, the Haunted Hallow-whiskers Ball rages on, at least downstairs. The upstairs is cordoned off partially because it’s a crime scene and partially because of the smoke.
Shep and I stand on the lawn and watch as Detective Nora Grimsley escorts Annabelle along on her gurney as she’s lifted into the back of an ambulance.
Miggy walks up holding herself. “I can’t believe she would try to kill me. I just knew she was having trouble. She’s been seeing a psychiatrist.”
“We know,” I say.
Miggy nods as she fights back tears. “She said she was going to kill me up there. I found Jack and tried to convince him to talk to her, but he wouldn’t, and when I finally went myself, that’s when I saw you in there with her. I saw Shepherd racing up the stairs, and thank goodness—or you wouldn’t be here. It’s all my fault.”
“No,” I say it sharply. “It’s not.” I pull her in for a quick embrace.
“I’m sorry, Bowie.” Miggy takes off for the manor as Shep wraps his arms around me.
“Are you okay?”
“I’d be better with a kiss.” I bite down on a smile.
His lips curve with wicked intent. “Now that’s something I can deliver.”
A dark-haired witch catches my attention, and I groan once I realize exactly who it is under the pointy little hat.
“Regina’s here.” It comes out dejected as she starts to barrel our way.
“Good,” he says, his eyes never leaving mine. “Maybe this time she’ll get the hint.”
My brows hike a notch. “What hint is that?”
“That I’m off the market. I’ve got a girlfriend.”
My mouth falls open. “Do I know her?”
He gives a wry smile. “If you haven’t met her yet, you might want to stay away. She can be trouble.”
“Then what makes you keep going back for more?”
Shep rides those luminescent eyes over my features.
“Because she is so damn addicting.”
Shep lands his lips over mine, and in the not too far distance I can hear gasps and gags and moans decidedly from Regina. But in a way I’m glad she’s here to see this, the official moment when Shepherd Wexler and I became a couple.
Halloween night will never be the same again.
And neither will I.
Chapter 17
I don’t recall ever becoming official with any of my past exes. Not that I’m putting Shep on the platter of becoming a future ex. It’s just that something feels all-around different this time. I’m actually starting to think that Shepherd Wexler might be the one.
“Earth to Bowie or Zoey or whatever your name is today.” Stephanie winks my way as she comes around the counter with an armful of dirty dishes and sets them down on the conveyer belt that leads to the kitchen.
It’s the day after the unholy event, and the Manor Café is bustling.
Tilly heads my way with a wink. “I’ve never seen anyone look so lovesick.”
“I am not lovesick,” I say as I try to shove a receipt into the napkin bin.
Tilly snatches it from my hand. “I’m talking about Shep.”
I glance down at the other end of the café where he’s busy working away on his latest novel and a goofy grin escapes me.
Regina makes her way over and rolls her eyes. “Someone dump a glass of water on her.” A malevolent smile curves her lips. “On second thought, I’ll take care of it.”
“Do it and die,” I say.