“Also,” hologram Dilly continues. “When he stops trying to improve your recipes and starts bragging about them to his friends. A man who thinks your cooking is perfect exactly as it is? Lock that down immediately.”
“One more question,” Nadine announces before she turns to her comrade in ghostly arms. “What do you think your legacy will be?”
The hologram flickers like a bad TV signal. “Sugar & Sass will continue to be a powerhouse brand for generations to come.”
“Well,” Nadine says with a smile that could have frozen hell, “one of us will certainly be remembered longer than the other.”
The crowd erupts in applause, either missing the subtext entirely or choosing to ignore the fact they just witnessed a woman publicly roast her dead business partner’s memory. But then again, this is exactly what they’re known for.
“We’ll take a short break now,” Nadineannounces. “Please enjoy the refreshments, and remember—all proceeds from tonight’s merchandise sales go to the Dilly Thatcher Memorial Fund for Advancing Baking Education.”
More like the Nadine Halbrook Fund for Covering Legal Expenses,Fish mutters.
As the crowd disperses toward the refreshment tables, I steel myself for what comes next. Time to have a little chat with suspect number two, who just proved she’s perfectly capable of roasting someone alive—metaphorically speaking. Because if there’s one thing I’ve learned about running a theme park, it’s that the real show always happens after the curtain falls.
CHAPTER 13
Interrogating your prime suspect next to a skeleton bride while her victim’s hologram provides snarky commentary from beyond the grave—just another night in my increasingly surreal life as a theme park owner turned amateur detective.
The scent of corn dogs and funnel cake mingles with the artificial fog rolling from the crypt keeper display, where an ornate black casket showcases a skeleton bride in a tattered wedding dress, complete with a rhinestone tiara and a moldy bouquet. The sounds of excited chatter drift from the makeshift stage where tourists line up for photos with Dilly’s hologram, her ethereal voice cutting through the autumn air with comments sharp enough to slice pumpkin pie.
Nadine stands near the casket, supervising the crowd, flour still dusting her sleeves despite the evening’s festivities just hitting the pause button.
This is either the perfect place for a confession or the worst place to corner a killer,Fish observes from her tote, eyeing the Gothic props with professional interest.At least if she tries to murder us, we’re already in a cemetery.
I vote we stick close to the skeleton bride,Chip adds.She looks like she could take someone in a fight. Very intimidating cheekbones.
“Nadine!” I call out, approaching with my investigation squad trailing behind me. It seems not only do the guests get a break from the mayhem, but so does the talent.
Georgie has somehow positioned herself near enough to the fog machine that she looks like she’s walking through her own personal weather system, while Ree clutches a notebook in her hand with the determination of a reporter chasing a Pulitzer.
Nadine looks up from directing a stagehand who’s wrestling with what appears to be a fog machine having an existential crisis. Her braided crown has held up remarkably well for someone who just hosted a virtual séance, and her vintage apron—tonight featuring dancing pumpkins instead of skeletons—gives her the appearance of someone’s beloved grandmother rather than a potential killer.
“Josie! What a wonderful turnout tonight.” Her smile could power the mansion’s spotlights, but there’s something behind her warm brown eyes that doesn’t quite match the cheerful facade. “I do hope you enjoyed our little presentation. Dilly always said the show must go on, even if she has to do it as a ghost.”
From the stage, hologram Dilly’s voice drifts over. “Some people just can’t let sleeping secrets lie, can they, Martha? Maybe stick to photographing your grandchildren instead of dead people.”
Poor Martha looks mortified and scurries away from the photo line.
“She’s certainly still got her charm,” I observe, nodding toward the hologram.
Nadine’s laugh has an edge that could slice a carrot. “Oh, that’s our Dilly. Death hasn’t improved her personality one bit. Still insulting people from beyond the grave with the same enthusiasm she showed in life.”
Harsh,Chip mutters.Even I’m nicer about dead mice than that.
“I have to say, the hologram idea was brilliant,” Georgie gushes, the fog swirling dramatically around her face. “Very innovative. Did you two plan this together?”
“Oh, heavens no,” Nadine replies quickly. “This was entirely my idea. Dilly never would have approved. She hated sharing the spotlight, even with technology. But I thought it would be a fitting tribute to let her have one last symposium, even if she had to be dead to appreciate the irony. The film crew helped me put this together. They were able to simulate her voice with some new software, and they have some artificial intelligence system hooked up that helps provide the answers it thinks that Dilly would give.”
Ree scribbles frantically in her notebook. “It must be difficult, carrying on without your business partner. You two seemed so close.”
“Close?” Nadine’s eyebrows climb toward her hairline. “Well, I suppose thirty years of partnership creates a certain intimacy. Though lately...” She trails off, shaking her head with what appears to be genuine sadness. “I shouldn’t speak ill of the dead, especially when the dead is still making public appearances.”
“But?” I prompt, because that was definitely abuthanging in the air.
Nadine glances around to make sure we’re not being overheard, then leans closer. The scent of cinnamon and peppermint that usually surrounds her has been joined by something sharper—stress, maybe, or genuine concern.
“Well, if I’m being honest, Dilly had been acting strange lately. Secretive. Making phone calls she didn’t want me to hear, having meetings she claimed were ‘personal business.’ I started to worry she was having health problems or family issues—you know how private she could be about personal matters.”
