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The poor thing looks genuinely upset. Which, in my growing experience with murder scenes, means she’s either innocent or a killer devoted to steering clear of the Gray Bar Hotel.

The sheriff’s department descends on the scene like a well-trained swarm of professional chaos-handlers. Let’s just say they’ve gotten plenty of experience right here at my park these past few months.

Deputies fan out, securing the area with crime scene tape that glows an eerie shade of yellow. Behind them, our security golf carts putter up in a solemn little procession at a top speed of eleven miles an hour, amber lights spinning. Nothing says emergency response like a vehicle that loses a drag race to a mobility scooter. That’s my team. No wonder killers are partial to this place.

Cupcake trots alongside the deputies as they work, her tail high, clearly under the impression she’s been deputized.

I can sniff the suspects for you! she offers to a passing deputy. I have an excellent nose! I once found a meatball under a couch cushion from two rooms away!

The deputy steps around her without so much as a glance, and Cupcake huffs and marches back toward Savvy, grumbling something about law enforcement not appreciating raw talent. I feel that. They never seem to appreciate my efforts either.

I’m about to head over to Ree and Georgie when I notice Gertie Gloomwood standing off to the side, partially hidden behind one of the tombstones. She’s next to Felicity, and the two women are holding one another while looking in Belladonna’s direction.

Felicity has rivers of tears running down her cheeks, but Gertie? I’d stake my life on the fact that her lips are curving into a smile.

I file that one in the evidence locker, too. Right up front where I can keep an eye on it. In my defense, it’s not a big locker. Mostly it’s orange thread and a smirk.

The crowd is thickening. One woman is literally taking a selfie with Belladonna’s body in the background, complete with duck face. And now I’ve officially seen everything. Rest in peace, human decency. You had a good run.

“Josie, honey!”

I turn to find Savvy bustling over, her cape trailing behind her like she’s in a Gothic romance novel.

“Sweet caramel apples on a crooked carnival stick,” Savvy says, coming to a stop in front of me and taking in the scene with wide eyes. “Your park is cursed! Cursed, I tell you! We’ve got more bodies piling up here than a Civil War battlefield! More deaths than a cemetery on All Saints’ Day! More⁠—”

“I get it, Savvy,” I say. “We have a slight body count problem.”

“Problem? Honey, this is a full-blown epidemic!” She looks at my not-so-clean hands and gasps. “Did you touch her?”

“I thought she was a prop,” I tell her, and I’m aware it doesn’t sound any better the fourth time I’ve said it.

“Oh, sugar.” Savvy reaches up and unclasps the necklace with Henrietta’s head dangling from it. The doll’s plastic eyes stare up at me with that unsettling dead-eyed look all dolls have, and it hits me that I’m about to be gifted cursed jewelry at a homicide scene. My life has layers now. Horrifying, haunted layers.

“Here,” Savvy says, draping the necklace over my head before I get a single protest out. Henrietta settles against my chest, completing tonight’s ensemble of cat ears, blood, and a haunted doll. Fall’s hottest look: possessed.

I glance down, and Henrietta stares back up at me. I swear the doll is already forming opinions about how I’ve handled this evening. Get in line, Spooky—right behind Delora.

“You need her more than I do,” Savvy continues, dead serious. “Henrietta wards off evil spirits. She’s been protecting me since I was six years old, and Heaven knows you’ve got more evil spirits hanging around this place than a haunted cemetery during a full moon on Friday the thirteenth.”

“I appreciate the gesture, but⁠—”

“No buts!” Savvy holds up a hand. “You keep Henrietta close to your heart. She’ll protect you from whatever dark forces are at work here. And mark my words.” She leans in closer, lowering her voice to a whisper. “One of those cozy mystery authors did it. It has to be. They write about murder all day long. It’s bound to give them all sorts of dark ideas. You spend enough time thinking about how to kill people, eventually you’re going to want to test a method or two.”

“That’s a disturbing theory.”

“It’s the only theory that makes sense!” Savvy straightens, adjusting her cape. “Now, I better get back to the buffet before we run out of pumpkin-spiced deviled eggs. Murder or no murder, people still want their appetizers.”

She hurries off, leaving me standing with a doll head necklace, sticky hands, and the deeply uncomfortable realization that somewhere in this crowd, a killer with a working knowledge of plot structure might be sipping cider and admiring their own handiwork.

Against my chest, Henrietta stares up at me as if to say I could’ve told you that. Great. Now the necklace is smarter than security, too.

Dexter appears at my side, and I’ve never been more grateful to see anyone.

“We need to get you cleaned up,” he says, looking both mournful and slightly terrified by my ability to stumble upon corpses on the regular.

Somehow we need to get you cleaned up is the most romantic thing anyone has said to me all night, which tells you everything you need to know about how this evening is going.

“And I need to take your statement,” he continues.