Hallow Be the Haunt (Krewe of Hunters #22.5)(32)

“Ashley—you be the evil child who cooks the witch,” Jake suggested.

She made a face at him, but complied.

The witches had a good act. They went right into cackling and running around for their spices, talking about the delicious children they would serve up. Or, if there were no children, an adult would do just fine. Nothing like a little NOLA spice on their meals, huh? Where was the hot sauce?

Then Lavinia began circling Ashley, smiling and speaking sweetly while apparently mentally chopping her up into meal-sized portions.

It became obvious that Ashley would need to shut Lavinia into the “oven” if she didn’t want to be staying for dinner.

So Ashley did.

Lavinia screamed and cooked while her “sisters” wailed.

Parks clapped. “Excellent job.”

“Yes, and if this were real, one of our ghostly escorts would move people on over to the smokehouse and then to the haunted hayride. As soon as they’re out of here—before the next group gets in—Lavinia just comes back in. It’s fun and we have a great time doing it.”

They talked a few minutes more, laughing and chatting casually.

“Do you go home every night—back to New Orleans?” Jake asked.

“Well, I’m from Biloxi,” Lavinia said.

“I’m actually from Slidell,” Rhonda told them.

“I’m a NOLA girl,” Valerie added.

“But,” Lavinia said, “we haven’t been going home. My aunt has a place just up the road. She’s alone a lot—my uncle is military—so she’s been happy to have all three of us.”

“Nice,” Jackson told her. “You need to stay together, and be careful,” he added.

“We don’t go many places these days—we head from my aunt’s house to here, and when we’re finished for the night, we go right back,” Valerie said.

“Yeah. It’s a scary world out there,” Lavinia agreed. “And that has nothing to do with Halloween.”

“Too true. And I’m glad you’re being safe. Continue to be smart and careful,” Detective Parks said.

They all exited the old kitchen.

Parks sighed. “Well, I’m glad. Even though this has cost us all an afternoon, none of your people so far seem to fit the trio we’re looking for. But you have more of the horror-house-actors, or whatever they’re called, right?” He turned to Ashley.

“All over Louisiana—and the country—you’ll find scare actors at this time of the year,” Ashley said.

“If only it were all acting.” Parks shook his head.

“Come on,” Ashley said quietly. “The others must all be out by the haunted hayride. There wasn’t anyone else on the porch with Beth earlier.”

“Where’s your grandfather?” Jake asked. He realized he sounded worried. But he was. It just wasn’t a good situation.

He used to love Halloween.

This Halloween, however…

Witches. Clowns.

“He’s most likely in his study. We’ll see him before we all take off—okay?”

“I would love to see your grandfather,” Parks told Ashley.

“Shall we move on?” Jake asked.

As Ashley had expected, the others were out by the hay wagon, helping to spruce it up for the night and chatting. Cliff was there, directing everyone. While they hired actors to work the “scares” on the hayride, Cliff drove the wagon.

No one else worked with Donegal horses.

“Ashley,” Cliff called, always pleased to see her. But he frowned when he saw Jake and the others. “And Jake, hey. Jackson Crow, I’ll be damned, you’re back here?” He chuckled. “The wedding isn’t for another month. And hello, sir.” He raised his eyebrows.

“Detective Parks, a friend from NOLA, Cliff,” Ashley said quickly. “Just showing them all the activity going on.”

Cliff glanced around as he hauled a cushion up to go beneath some fresh hay. Apparently satisfied that Jackson and Parks were far enough away, he spoke softly, so that only Ashley and Jake could hear.

“Yeah?” he murmured. “Like hell. Jake’s working the NOLA murders.”

“Yep.”

He turned to the staff, a big smile on his face. “Hear ye, hear ye, Donegal ghosts and ghoulies. Meet some friends of the family. Jake Mallory, Ashley’s fiancé, Jackson Crow, friend to all, and another friend—”

He broke off. He’d never met Isaac Parks.

“And Isaac Parks,” Ashley finished, as if stepping in on him.

“We’re the ghosts,” Artie Lane said, stepping up to shake hands with Jake, Jackson, and the detective. “Although,” he added with a dry grin, “the plantation is supposed to actually be haunted.”

“Trina DeMoine,” Trina said, introducing herself. “And what respectable plantation isn’t haunted?”

“Shy ghosts,” Harold Corn said, coming up as well. “So we kind of materialize for them. I’m Harold, and that pretty woman over there is Sandy Patterson. We have stations on the property where we pop up and follow the wagon and do cute ghost tricks while Cliff tells a few wild tales.”

“And we’re guides,” Alex Maple announced, coming up to introduce himself as well. “Bill Davis is the tall, skinny guy there, and Jerry Harte rounds out our group. We keep people moving. Three groups are out at any time. One in the gingerbread house, one in the old smokehouse, and one on the hayride. Beth wrangles the groups on the porch—we keep each down to twenty people. It’s a lot more fun that way for those coming in, and we stay fairly sane.”