We don’t get three steps into the maze when Dilly’s hologram pops out with a mechanical shriek that just about scares the ghost out of all of us.
The flashing lights hit like a seizure-inducing assault of green and purple strobes, while fog machines pump mist thick enough to choke on. Thunder crashes over the speakers with ear-splitting enthusiasm, followed by lightning effects that could probably be seen from the top of the castle in Storybook Hollow.
This place is barbaric,Fish yowls so loud, you’d think someone was trying to pluck her tail off.I’m surprised people aren’t having heart attacks nightly.
Now, that would be a liability. But would I shut this thing down? Probably not. I’d print up sweatshirts that said,I Survived Huckleberry Hollow’s Haunted House and All I Got Was a Lousy Heart Palpitation.
It’s a bit overstimulating,Chip agrees, his vampire cape twisted around his neck.Though the dramatic timing is impressive.
They really should tone things down around here. The lighting situation is practically a health hazard, and I’m genuinely shocked we don’t have an ambulance on standby for people with photosensitive health issues.
“This is an assault on the senses,” Delora mutters, clutching her rolling pin with white knuckles.
We turn a corner, and another body pops out of a casket with mechanical precision. All three of us scream as if we’re auditioning for a horror movie, only to discover it’s Georgie flailing around in her zombie bride costume.
“Help!” Georgie shrieks as Ree jumps out from behind a fake tombstone, trying to excavate her from the casket. “I’m stuck! This thing has a spring-loaded lid, and I can’t get out!”
“What are you doing in there?” I demand, still catching my breath from the scare.
“Research!” Georgie calls back as Ree tugs on her arms. “I wanted to see if the caskets were comfortable for impromptu napping!”
“And?”
“They’re not! They are very uncomfortable!”
“I’m on the hunt for a killer,” I tell them as Ree finally manages to pop Georgie free. “We need to find Nadine.”
The flour-dusted murderess,Fish gives a dark mewl.Armed with antique kitchen equipment and decades of resentment.
Also, probably excellent baking skills,Chip adds.Which makes her extra dangerous.
“You think Nadine did it?” Delora gasps, her hand flying to her throat with genuine surprise.
“Iknowshe did it,” I correct grimly.
Delora clamps her hand over her mouth for a second, then her eyes widen with dawning horror. “Of course!” she bursts out. “Dilly had secretly renegotiated the Sugar & Sass brand behind Nadine’s back—cutting her out of future royalties, including from branded Halloween merch and a new TV contract. Nadine discovered a signed contract in Dilly’s travel case just before the murder. Dilly planned to announce Nadine’s so-called retirement during the weekend as a surprise!”
I stare at her. “How didyou know that?”
Delora shrugs with the casual air of someone who’s just revealed state secrets. “I did a lot of eavesdropping in my day. You pick up a thing or two when people think you’re just the uptight event coordinator.”
“If I didn’t think she was the killer before, I know she is now,” I mutter, heading deeper into the haunted house maze.
We search through mechanical skeletons and rubber bats until we find her in the hall of spooky mirrors—each one featuring Dilly’s ghost making sarcastic comments about proper mirror maintenance and the declining standards of haunted house production values.
Nadine stands in the center of it all, staring at the multiple reflections of her dearly departed business partner with an expression that could chill champagne.
She looks guilty as sin,Fish remarks with a flick of her tail.Like she’s staring at her own handiwork.
Very unsettling energy,Chip agrees.Also, she smells like guilt and peppermint.You don’t think she has any peppermint cookies on hand, do you?
“Nadine,” I call out, my voice echoing off the mirrors with a slightly creepy effect.
She turns toward me, and her usual grandmotherly warmth has been replaced by something cold and calculating. “Oh, hello, dear. Just having a moment with my old partner.”
“Your old partner whom you murdered with a marble rolling pin,” I say, cutting straight to the chase because subtlety has never been my strong suit.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” she replies, but her voice lacks conviction.
