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“Modern toxicology can detect most poisons,” Ghoulia says. “Unless, of course, you’re a master of avoiding detection like myself.”

She lets that hang in the air for a moment as yet another wicked smile twitches on her lips. She looks both guilty and delighted by her guilt.

“Hypothetically, of course,” she adds.

More laughter ensues.

“Poison is the weapon of the patient.” Ghoulia wraps up her presentation with a statement that makes the entire room go quiet. “The weapon of the clever—the overlooked.” She makes eye contact with half the women in the audience. “Historically, it was a woman’s weapon. Not because women are inherently murderous, but because they were denied other means. Poison is power for the powerless.”

And with that, the audience erupts in applause.

Mom is on her feet, applauding enthusiastically, and suddenly I’m glad my father survived their marriage. It’s a shocker—though, he was a notorious cheat.

Ghoulia takes a well-deserved bow.

“We’ll take a fifteen-minute intermission,” she announces. “Refreshments are available, and I’ll return for a question-and-answer session afterward.”

The crowd disperses immediately. Some head to the dessert table, some to Macy’s candle booth, some just getting up to stretch their legs and probably process everything they just heard about creative ways to murder people. And perhaps a few eager to send someone to the afterlife by way of a creative cocktail—a glowing purple cocktail, no less.

Morticia hands Ghoulia what looks like a steaming cup of cider before drifting back into the crowd. I watch as Ghoulia steps away from the stage and stands near the edge of the venue, alone, looking out at the festival grounds.

This is my chance.

Ghoulia Grimm knows more about poison than anyone I’ve ever met.

She hated Clawdia enough to kill her.

And she admitted to killing before.

The only question is, was Clawdia her victim?

CHAPTER 15

I’m striding by the dessert table trying to make my way toward Ghoulia Grimm as the intermission chaos swirls around me when Georgie materializes at my elbow with a plate stacked dangerously high with graveyard parfaits.

“Did you see the vampire in the leather pants?” she asks, eyes tracking someone across the venue.

Macy appears on my other side, also with a loaded plate of scrumptious goodies. “Which one? This festival is a buffet of undead hotness.”

“The one by the cider stand.” Georgie can’t seem to look away from the area. “He’s tall, dark, brooding. He’s got a lot of tortured-vampire energy.”

“Oh, him.” Macy fans herself with an orange napkin. “I sold him three candles. He asked which one would make him irresistible to mortals. I told him the only thing he needed was a phone number, preferably mine.”

I’d remind her that she’s dating Jordy, but I’m not sure it matters.

“Did it work?” Georgie is more than a little interested.

“He’s meeting me after the festival.” Macy grins. “For coffee. Or blood. Or whatever he’s into.”

Georgie gasps. “You didn’t.”

“Oh, honey, you know I did.”

Mom appears, looking like she’s aged ten years in the last hour. “Georgie, you cannot proposition every vampire at this festival.”

She’d age another ten years if she knew her daughter was doing the exact same thing.

“Why not?” Georgie looks genuinely befuddled. “It’s a target-rich environment and I have limited time.”