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Georgie turns to Mom and grabs her hand. “Come on, Red, let’s show them how it’s done.” She waggles her brows. “We might even land ourselves a couple of hot-to-trot monsters to end the night with.”

“You’re the monster,” Mom says with an exasperated laugh. “My favorite monster. My favorite kooky chaos monster.”

Georgie howls at the moon and drags Mom toward the dance floor, and they both disappear into the crowd, pirate costumes bouncing.

Macy gets pulled back into the merchandise melee as women continue to throw cold, hard cash at her.

“THREE FOR FIFTY!” Jordy shouts, and within seconds another round of bills flies his way.

Jasper gives Sherlock a quick scratch, then Fish, and Duchess.

“You all did good tonight,” he says, serious and genuine. “I’m proud of you.”

He pulls a treat from his pocket and gives a few to each sweet cat, then tosses one at Sherlock, who catches it midair.

Best night ever! Sherlock says as he crunches happily.

I suppose it wasn’t all bad, Fish mewls.

Another treat would take it to the next level. Duchess bats her lashes at Jasper, and he quickly complies despite the communication barrier.

I’m watching with a smile. Jasper, our furry little cuties, my little family. My heart is truly full.

“Miss Wilder? Detective Wilder?”

We turn to see Ghoulia Grimm gliding over like a ghost, still in her Victorian mourning attire. Black lace, veil, Bartholomew the rubber bat pinned to her collar and glittering under the twinkle lights.

Miss Wilder. All week it’s been Miss Baker. Apparently solving a mystery earns a person their surname.

“Thank you for all of your hard work in catching the killer,” she says, nodding to both of us.

“You’re welcome,” I say.

“The sweeter the packaging, the sharper the teeth,” Ghoulia observes. “And that woman was practically gift-wrapped. Never trust anyone with that much glitter.”

“Good advice,” Jasper says.

“Clawdia made enemies easily,” Ghoulia continues. “But turning on your own daughter?” She shakes her head. “Even I wouldn’t do that. And I killed my husband.”

She says it casually. Like she’s commenting on the weather.

Then she winks.

Did this woman just admit to murder? Jasper muses to me. In front of a homicide detective? Two homicide detectives? He gives my side a squeeze.

I press my lips together to keep from giving in to the nervous laugh wanting to bubble from me.

“One more thing,” I say before she can glide away. “You special-ordered a book on untraceable poisons two weeks before Clawdia died.”

Ghoulia’s brows tick up a notch. Then she gives a dry little laugh.

“My fortieth-anniversary special is coming up,” she says. “Forty years of hosting, forty poisons history never caught. It airs in November.” She reaches up and adjusts Bartholomew on her collar. “And for the record, Miss Wilder, if I’d used anything from that book, your husband wouldn’t have found a thing.”

She gives Jasper a cool glance. “Cyanide is for amateurs. And people with no patience.” And for daughters in a hurry, she thinks, and there’s something almost like pity in it.

“Have a haunted night,” Ghoulia says, and she does a dramatic cape swirl before gliding away into the crowd.

Jasper and I exchange looks.