Birda glanced at her friend. “Come on. Let’s get out of here.”
The two women slinked off, and I dusted my hands, glad to be rid of them.
Alice and Ruth rushed outside. Alice clutched her chest. “Blissful, thank you for getting rid of them.”
“You’re welcome,” I said bitterly. Those women had no right trying to ruin our business. None. “Why didn’t y’all run them off or call Kency?”
Ruth grimaced. “I didn’t think about Kency.”
“And did you see those stakes?” Alice’s eyes widened in fear. “They were so sharp. I was afraid I’d be impaled.”
I stared at the sky and asked the heavens for serenity. None came. I shook my head, annoyed. “If they come back, tell them you’ll call the cops. Or better yet, just remind Birda that she’s a fraud. Tell her we have proof.”
Alice gasped. “But Blissful, that would be lying.”
I shrugged. “She doesn’t know that.” I pivoted on my heel toward the rest of the shops.
“Where are you going?” Ruth said.
“To talk to the man who fueled this whole situation.”
Alice’s eyes narrowed. “Who could that be?”
I was already down the street. I glanced over my shoulder. “Devlin Monk.”
I found Devlin behind his desk at the Haunted Hollow newspaper,The Daily Howl. He rose when I entered and extended his hand.
“Blissful, right?”
I nodded. “Right. Do you have a few minutes?”
“Sure.” He pointed to the chair across from his desk. “I’ve got plenty of time. What can I help you with?”
I eased into the chair. The leather stretched under my weight. I let the sound of it fill the silence as I fixed a bold stare on Devlin.
“The article you ran about Southern Ghost Wranglers.”
He raised a hand to stop me. “Birda’s group saw the banshee fair and square.”
“Cora died,” I said. “She was murdered. Strangled by someone. For goodness’ sake, it could’ve been Birda, and then you go off and run a story that makes my company look bad and puts Birda in a good light.”
“First of all, we were there with a bunch of old women. Who could’ve done it?”
I cocked an eye at him. “That’s right.Whocould’ve?”
He shot me a scorching look. “I don’t like what you’re insinuating. I cared about Cora. She was engaged to my great-uncle. I never would’ve done anything to hurt her.”
I hiked one shoulder. “You were there.” I kept my tone innocent, but my eyes blazed with questions.
He raked his fingers down his face and brushed the back of his short blond hair. “I led everyone in, but then took up the rear so that one of y’all would have first dibs at seeing the banshee. I wasn’t part of the wager, remember?”
“But you did run Birda’s story.”
“No,” he said pointedly, “my editor ran the story. I wrote it. From what I could see, Cora was still the first there, so Birda’s camp won.”
“Birda,” I fumed. “Birda’s a charlatan. She might be famous around here for writing one book on ghosts, but I know differently.”
He arched a brow. “Is that so?”
