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  A round of applause followed her announcement, then she waved us into silence. “Thank you, thank you. First of all, I’d like to ask for a moment of silence, in memory of a treasured community member, and reigning Decadent Deserts champion, Bonnie Emerson.”

  I dutifully lowered my head and sent up a prayer for Bonnie. I nearly jumped out of my skin when a warm hand wrapped around mine. Snapping my head up, I met the sizzling gaze of tall, dark, and unbelievably handsome. Jason Momoa had nothing on Blake Tennant, and to say I was having inappropriate fantasies was an understatement. I didn’t know why he’d taken my hand—as a measure of comfort, perhaps—but I didn’t pull away. Even though part of me was screaming “Bad boy, bad boy,” I couldn’t force myself to break contact. So, we stood there, hand in hand, while I silently recited the alphabet backwards just to keep my thoughts at bay.

  “And now, on with the show!” Donna declared, making me jump.

  “Easy,” Blake murmured in my ear, his hot breath dancing over my skin and making me shiver.

  “Let me tell you, the judges of the Decadent Deserts had their work cut out for them this year.” Donna smiled, waving her arm at the array of desserts on the trestle table behind her. “But there can only be one winner. And this year, that winner is…drum roll, please.” The drummer obligingly beat out a drum roll, ending with a clash of symbols. Donna opened a gold-colored envelope, read the contents, then beamed at the audience. “The winner is, Alice Brewer! Congratulations, Alice. Get up here!”

  Gran hooped and hollered with excitement, while a distinct murmur of disappointment could be heard from the Crescent Coven witches. I hoped this wouldn’t stir up more trouble between the covens. Skirts held high, Gran climbed the stairs at the side of the stage and made her way to the microphone, her smile wide.

  “While Alice makes her way up the stage, let me remind you that the desserts will be available for your consumption. Alice’s winning entry is the chocolate crepe cake, and folks, I’ve had a taste myself and it is divine.” Gran arrived at Donna’s side and she handed over the microphone, along with the Decadent Desserts trophy.

  “Thank you, ladies and germs,” Gran punned, and a good-natured groan met her greeting. “Y’all know I’ve been coveting this prize since it began, and that darn witch, Bonnie, kept beating me, year after year.”

  Closing my eyes on a silent prayer that Gran wasn’t about to do or say anything inappropriate or insulting, I subconsciously squeezed Blake’s hand. Hard.

  “Relax. She’s got this,” he murmured, not taking his eyes from the stage.

  Gran continued, “But I sure as heck didn’t want to win because the reigning champion couldn’t be here to defend her crown. So,” she held aloft the trophy Donna had handed her, “I’d like to dedicate this year’s trophy to Bonnie Emerson. May she rest in peace.”

  My shoulders sagged in relief as applause and whoops of approval reverberated throughout the ballroom. When the noise had settled down, Gran finished, “But watch out next year—the gloves are off. May the best witch win!” And with that, she triumphantly sashayed off the stage with the band serenading her as she left.

  Donna took the mic. “Looks like next year’s Decadent Deserts is going to be a humdinger!” She grinned. “Okay, folks, get your dancing shoes ready, the band is warmed up and ready to party. The crew will move the desserts to the back of the hall and we’ll have a few more sets from the band, and then it’ll be time for the Bachelor Auction. Hope you brought your check books!”

  The band started back up with a slow, soft rhythm and I jolted when Blake leaned down and whispered, “Let’s dance.”

  With my hand still tucked in his, I didn’t resist when he took my champagne from me and placed it on the bar, then led me onto the dance floor. We weren’t the only ones affected by the slow, sultry music. Couples swarmed the dance floor, their movements kicking up the dry ice, causing it to move and sway as if it were alive and dancing.

  Blake slung one arm casually around my waist, keeping my right hand in his, and began moving slowly with the music. He was graceful on his feet, and it was nice. A little too nice. A heat began to pool just south of my belly button, and I panicked, blurting out the first thing that came into my head.

  “Are you afraid of clowns?”

  Blake smiled. “No, I’m not afraid of clowns. Are you?”

  “A little,” I admitted. “I never used to be, not as a kid. But then they started to make scary movies about them, the type of movie that makes me afraid to go to sleep at night. Now I’m a little wary of them.”

  I was dying here. Why was I talking about clowns, of all things? I clamped my mouth shut and vowed I would not utter another word. That lasted all of thirty seconds.

  “Do you like cats? I have a cat. Actually, he’s my familiar. His name is Archie,” I blurted.

  He chuckled. “I know, I met him. At your house. Remember?”

  “Oh. Right.”

  “Relax,” he said, pulling me closer. I had a snowball’s chance in hell of relaxing when my body was totally fixated on jumping this guy’s bones. Then, as we swirled around the dance floor, I caught a glimpse of Jackson and my heart stuttered, just a little.

  I’d liked Jackson ever since moving home. Yet, put a tall, dark, and handsome man in my path and my heart switched affections faster than you could blink. Was this me now? Was this who I was after the betrayal of Simon? A flighty, unable-to-make-up-her-mind woman who lusted over more than one man?

  “Whatever you’re thinking about,” Blake murmured in my ear, “quit it. You’ve gone all tense.”

  “I was thinking about the case,” I lied. Well, not a total lie, because it was on my mind.

  “How about you leave that to the professionals?” he replied.

  I pulled back, staring at him. “You don’t know me, not even a little bit,” I grumbled. If he did, he’d know I couldn’t leave this alone. Not when it was family.

  “Oh, I know more about you than you realize,” he replied with a smile that had my toes curling and a shiver dancing up my spine. My eternal soul was saved by Gran tapping Blake on the shoulder and asking to cut in. I bowed out gracefully, hurrying back to the bar, leaving the two of them on the dance floor, their heads bent close together.

  The champagne from earlier had gone warm so I requested a fresh glass and was taking a grateful sip when Jackson appeared by my side.

  “You look lovely this evening,” he said, and I smiled at him.

  “So do you.”

  He laughed. “This conversation is giving me deja vu.”

  I laughed with him, remembering the Christmas Ball when we’d said the same thing to each other. Only then, we’d been investigating Whitney Sims’ murder.

  “How’s the investigation going?” I asked, taking my champagne and moving away from the bar, allowing others access. Jackson followed me.

  “Slowly,” he replied, shuffling from one foot to the other, before blurting, “Just be careful around Tennant, okay?”

  I frowned. “What do you mean?”

  “He’s a fast-moving, city slicker type of guy. I’d hate to see you hurt.”

  My eyes widened. Jackson was warning me off Blake? I mean, I should feel flattered—it meant he cared—but instead, I felt a twinge of annoyance.

  “Thanks for your concern, but I’m fine. He’s Gran’s lawyer, nothing more.”

  “I’ve seen the way he looks at you, Harper…”

  I blinked. Then blinked again. Before I could gather my wits and respond, Liliana appeared, and I marveled at her transformation from austere police officer to sex goddess. She wore a metallic gold dress that accentuated her long, lean figure, and her hair was no longer pulled back tightly but flowing down over her shoulders in lustrous waves. By day, coldhearted cop, by night, sultry seductress.

  “There you are.” She smiled at Jackson, linked her arm through his, and leaned into his side. Staking her claim. I pressed my lips together. Jackson had no business butting into my lov
e life. And Liliana could relax, I had no intentions of stealing her man.

  “Enjoy your evening,” I told them both, slipping away, not turning when Jackson called out my name to my departing back.

  I was searching for Gran, wanting to congratulate her on her win, when I spotted Kristen Lane out the corner of my eye, dancing with her boyfriend, Cody.

  Kristen had found Bonnie’s body, and despite having spoken with her grandmother, Delores, a chat with Kristen wouldn’t be out of the ordinary. I waited on the sidelines and when the couple left the dance floor, I swooped.

  “Hey Kristen.” I smiled my friendliest smile. She stopped and returned the smile.

  “Oh hey, Harper.”

  “I was hoping I could talk to you? About Bonnie?”

  She looked around, spotted her boyfriend heading to the men’s room, then shrugged. “Yeah, okay, I guess. What about her?”

  “You found her?”

  “Yes.” Oh geez. This was like pulling teeth. I placed my hand on her arm in what I hoped was a soothing gesture. “Would you be able to walk me through it? I want to find who did this to her as much as you do.”

  Her breath left her lungs in a whoosh and her eyes filled with tears. “It was awful.” She sniffled, running her fingers beneath her eyes, wiping away the moisture. “I could sense it as soon as I pushed open the door. Her death. The energy was dark. Evil.”

  “You pushed open the door? It wasn’t locked?”

  “When I knocked, it popped open. Like it wasn’t properly on the latch. So, I went in and as soon as I set foot over the threshold, I knew something bad had happened.” She sniffled again. “I found her in the kitchen. Tied to the chair, her mouth wide open with cake…” She stopped, drew in a shuddering breath, and I ran my hand up and down her arm.

  “I’m sorry,” I whispered. “That must have been awful.”

  “Her eyes were open. Glazed,” Kristen continued, as if I hadn’t spoken, “and just the pure mess of the cake, everywhere. It was everywhere.”

  “Did you notice anything else? You said the front door wasn’t on the latch. What about the back door? Windows?”

  She shook her head. “Everything else was shut. There was a note from Gladys on the egg bowl. Flour and butter and milk on the table from where she’d been baking.”

  “So, the cake, the one that was used to…you know…you think that was her entry in the Decadent Desserts competition? Or a practice run?”

  Kristen straightened her shoulders and dragged in another deep breath. “It was her entry. It had to be. There wouldn’t have been enough time for another—she slow bakes, says that’s one of the secrets—oops.” She clapped a hand over her mouth, her eyes wide in horror.

  “It’s okay,” I soothed. “I’m not interested in her baking secrets. My lips are sealed, I promise.”

  “Thanks,” she whispered. “Anyway, that’s about it. I ran back out onto the front porch and called the cops. I couldn’t wait inside, not with that horrible feeling—it made me feel sick. I didn’t want to vomit, not on Bonnie’s beautiful garden, but it came close.”

  I patted Kristen’s arm again. “Thanks for talking with me.”

  “Hey! Get away from her!” Cody appeared, taking Kristen’s arm and dragging her away from me.

  “It’s okay, Cody,” Kristen protested, but he was having none of it, bustling her away with a thunderous expression on his face.

  “Stay away. Murderer!” he spat.

  Oh hey, unfair. This time, it’s Gran who’s the suspect, not me. But I decided not to argue the point. Kristen flashed an apologetic shrug my way before letting him lead her away.

  Chapter Nine

  I spotted Gran over by the trestle table that had been moved from the stage to the back wall of the ballroom and made my way over.

  “Congratulations.” I kissed her cheek and she winked, her extra-long fake eyelashes brushing her cheek.

  “Watch this.” She giggled, her eyes on Delores Lane, who was helping herself to the punch bowl on the far end of the dessert laden table.

  “What did you do?” Narrowing my eyes, I watched as Delores sipped her drink. She licked her lips then looked down into her cup suspiciously.

  Gran whispered, “Prune juice.”

  Trust Gran to spell the fruit punch. “Change it back. Now!”

  “I didn’t start it,” Gran complained. “Look at them all twitching out there.” She pointed to the dance floor where people were indeed twitching and scratching. “Hope you didn’t take one of them sweets from the bar.”

  I hadn’t, but I had noticed the bowl full of sweets sitting on the bar and thought it odd they were there.

  Donna DeGloria took to the stage, mic in hand, shushing the band mid-song.

  “Sorry for the interruption, folks, but I see our witches are at it again. If you find yourself under the influence of anything other than alcohol, please make your way to the booth out the back where antidotes are being dispensed. Witches, may I remind you that this is a magic-free event.” She turned off the mic and the band resumed playing.

  “See?” Gran grinned. “Happens every year.”

  “Well, just quit it, okay?” I mumbled, shaking my head at the witches and their mischief-making ways.

  “You’re such a goody-two-shoes, a rule follower.” Gran patted my cheek, taking any sting out of her words, but she wasn’t wrong. Rules were there for a reason, but I couldn’t help the grin that escaped when a young man executed a hell of a dance move, trying to scratch his back and leg at the same time.

  Gran handed me a paper plate laden with tasty morsels from the dessert table. I squinted at the selection. “They aren’t spelled, are they?” I asked suspiciously, not putting it past her.

  “Nope, cross my heart.” She mimicked crossing her chest. “Oh look, there’s Vernon and Bernice.” Before I could stop her, Gran had bolted, moving as fast as her hooped skirts would allow. I debated following her but decided to hang back and watch. For now.

  Bernice Kemp would have to be in her seventies, at least, and was small. Tiny, in fact, and incredibly slim. She looked as if a stiff breeze would blow her away. Bonnie Emerson had been twice Bernice’s size. I couldn’t see Bernice being able to physically restrain her. Unless, of course, it was all magic, which we couldn’t rule out.

  I turned my attention to her boyfriend, Vernon Garza. He had a debonair grace about him, a Frank Sinatra vibe with his gray pinstripe suit and hat dipped low over one eye. He took said hat off to greet Gran, bowing low and sweeping his arm, hat in hand, in front of him. He had a full head of gray hair that matched his moustache. Vernon was one hundred percent human, and of average height and build. I tilted my head and pondered the possibility of whether this elderly gentleman had the strength to restrain Bonnie. What if they’d done it together? Bernice’s magic combined with Vernon’s physical strength.

  “They have an alibi,” Jackson said beside me, making me jump. “Sorry, didn’t mean to startle you.”

  With my hand on my chest to calm my thundering heart, I glanced at him before turning my attention back to the elderly couple.

  “Oh?”

  “They were at the cinema. Ticket stubs prove it.”

  “Ticket stubs prove they were there, not that they stayed for the entire movie,” I pointed out.

  “True. Although we have witnesses seeing them leave. It was a double feature, started at three o’clock, got out at seven. They went to dinner afterward.”

  Damn. Bonnie was killed within that timeframe. “They could have snuck out and back in again,” I said.

  “Little bit difficult at their age, but yes, I suppose so.” He was humoring me.

  “And you’re sure Bonnie has crossed over?”

  “You were with me at her house. No sign of her there. I don’t like to do séances anymore—last time I did that, I got inundated with ghosts wanting me to pass on messages. Took me six weeks to get rid of them, one by one.”

  I found his necromancy talent fas
cinating. I couldn’t fathom what it would be like to see ghosts. “Are there any here?” I asked, looking around the ballroom, wondering if they were here, joining in.

  Jackson glanced around the room, his eyes shot back to a place at the foot of the stage, stayed there for a second, before moving on.

  “You saw one, didn’t you?” I pounced, casting my own gaze to the spot I’d seen him zoom in on. “There’s a ghost here. Who is it?”

  He shrugged. “I don’t know. It’s a woman, she’s wearing a long dress, with an apron. Like an old-fashioned maid’s outfit, maybe. It’s hard to say, she’s incorporeal so there’s not a whole lot of detail.”

  “What’s she doing?”

  “Standing there, wringing her hands.”

  I frowned. Wringing her hands? Sounded like she was worried. “Do you need to help her?”

  “Shh.” He shushed me and I frowned. “She’s seen me. She knows we’re talking about her. Keep quiet, she’s coming over.”

  “Coming over?” I squeaked, wringing my own hands. I kept my eyes trained in the direction I thought she’d be coming from and almost fainted when an apparition began to take shape. The closer she got to us, the more I could see her.

  “Oh my god,” I breathed. “It’s happening again. Being with you makes me see ghosts.”

  She was gliding across the room, her feet a foot off the floor. My heart was beating double time in my chest. I did not like ghosts. I could tolerate Whitney haunting my bookstore, possibly because I knew her, but it still gave me the heebie jeebies.

  My skin prickled with goose bumps as the ghost drew near and I felt chilled to the bone. Without thought, I grabbed Jackson’s hand. His flesh was warm and comforting and he wrapped his fingers securely around mine.

  “Take a breath, Harper,” he muttered, “Don’t want to draw attention to ourselves. It’s always awkward talking with a ghost in public.”

  Oh. Right. Of course. No one else could see her. I couldn’t continue to stand by Jackson’s side, holding his hand, if he didn’t want to appear like he was talking to thin air. Reluctantly, I released my death grip and shuffled around so I was facing him. There. Now it would at least look like he was talking to me.