Chapter One
“I love what you’ve done with the place,” said Wilson’s visitor, wondering if he’d hear the sarcasm.
Wilson looked around his new home in the Tarot Bay community. A new group had stepped in with plans to revive the housing development.
They would rename it, of course.
No one wanted to live in the infamous Tarot Bay.
He smiled sheepishly.
“You got me,” he admitted. “I haven’t done much to fix it up yet. I’ve been too busy getting ready for the Halloween party.”
“How so?”
He beckoned as he walked toward the back of the house.
“That’s what I want to show you. My big surprise. I think I’ll finally be able to tell the world what happened to the people of Tarot Bay all those years ago.”
“The people who went missing?”
He nodded, leading the way down the hall to his spare bedroom, where he opened the door.
“Don’t worry about that front room,” he said. “This is the room that matters.”
They walked inside together.
The guest sucked in a breath.
“What is this?”
What had to be years of research covered the walls—from the corkboard to the white board where he’d scrawled his final list of suspects.
“This is my research on the case,” confirmed Wilson.
“You did all this?”
Wilson nodded, his chest swelling with pride. “I’ve been working on this investigation a long time. A lifetime.”
“It looks like it. That’s your suspect list?”
He nodded.
“I’m almost there,” he said. “I’m going to talk to those detectives today, and between them and me, we’re going to wrap this up. The world will finally know what happened at Tarot Bay.”
“Fantastic.”
How about that.
Wilson had made a lot of progress.
Wilson had worked very hard.
“Notice anything about the list?” asked Wilson.
The guest nodded.
“My name is on it.”
He arched an eyebrow.
The guest laughed, but only for show.
One thing was clear.
Wilson had to go.
Chapter Two
Charlotte stared at the key in her palm as she and her new husband, Declan, left their Charlock Holmes Detective Agency office. The spare key unlocked her home in the Pineapple Port fifty-five-plus community, where she’d lived with her grandmother after her mother died. Though she was a child when her grandmother also died, the locals had found a way to keep her in the neighborhood.
Now, freshly married to Declan, she was moving into his house. It was larger, nicer, and had his precious lap pool in the back. That meant selling or renting her home in Pineapple Port, and she’d opted to rent. Moving out and selling would be too much change, too soon.
“Having second thoughts?” asked Declan as they walked into Pineapple Port. Their tiny detective agency office sat on the outskirts of the community. She’d miss being able to walk to work.
She shook her head.
“No. It makes more sense to live at your house. It’s nicer, you have your pool—”
“—it isn’t in a fifty-five-plus community...”
She rolled her eyes.
“I’m not sure that’s one of the pluses—no pun intended.”
“True. My neighborhood doesn’t have bingo.”
She smirked. “Renting my place makes the most sense. I am feeling nostalgic, though. It’s the end of an era. It’ll be weird not having Mariska and Darla right across the street.”
He put his arm around her shoulders to squeeze her to him.
“I get it,” he said. “You’ll miss all those free meals walking to your door.”
“So much food,” agreed Charlotte. “I’m not too worried, though. I’m sure Mariska will still find a way to feed me.”
She admired the community’s Halloween decorations as they walked. Pineapple Port’s residents loved holidays. Pumpkins and makeshift skeletons and ghosts littered the neighborhood. Darla’s giant inflatable witch bobbed back and forth on her roof, keeping her green eyes on the neighbors.
A jack-o-lantern on the porch of one of the homes made Charlotte pause and point at it.
“What’s wrong?” asked Declan.
“That jack-o-lantern shouldn’t be there.”
“Too plain? That smiley face does pale in comparison to the one I saw with the whole cat carved on it.”
She shook her head. “No—it’s not the design—it’s where it’s sitting. I thought that house was empty. I could have sworn the woman who lived there has it on the market.”
He shrugged. “Maybe it sold? Or, the real estate agent added the pumpkin to make it feel more festive?”
She nodded. “Ah. That’s probably it.”
They continued to her house. As they neared, Charlotte spotted a man standing in her driveway with a champagne-blonde woman beside him. She wore a crown with a yellow feather sticking from it and a glittery yellow bodice.
“That must be Mistik,” she said.
Declan looked at her. “His name is Mystic?”
“M-I-S-T-I-K. His real name is Mitchell Bracinski, but he asked me to call him Mistik.”
“Um, dare I ask why?”
“He’s a magician. Not a Vegas magician. Small time. He performs at retirement homes.”
“And her? She looks like an aging canary.”
Charlotte snorted a laugh. “Stop. I think that’s his assistant.”
“Hello, Miss Charlotte,” said Mistik, bowing deeply as they approached.
He wore black pants, a white shirt, and a purple vest adorned with yellow stars and quarter moons. His shirt had the first four buttons undone, revealing enough gray chest hair for a blue jay to make a comfortable home. Charlotte assumed they didn’t always dress that way and were on their way to a gig.
Hopefully.
She eyed the smiling woman in her feather crown and noticed the yellow bodice they’d seen from afar was actually a one-piece bathing suit covered in plastic yellow scales. A flowing sheer skirt covered her from waist to ankles. Heavy black eyeliner and false lashes outlined her eyes. A blue star like the ones teachers used to put on Charlotte’s papers in grade school clung to her right cheek like a little sucking starfish.
Like Mistik, she appeared to be in her seventies.
“You didn’t mention you had a roommate?” said Charlotte.
“She’s my assistant, the Bewitching Belle,” explained Mistik. “It’ll only be me living here.”
“That’s for sure. He’d be a nightmare to live with,” muttered Belle.
Charlotte chuckled and then sobered.
Wait. The man was renting her house. What did she mean by nightmare?
She held up the key.
“Let me make sure this works,” she said, climbing the short flight of stairs to her door. She unlocked it and peered inside. A little wave of sadness washed over her.
My house.
It even still looked like her house. She’d rented the place furnished, so not much had changed. She hadn’t had many personal items on display. Her lack of decoration had been the butt of many jokes over the years, but when it came time to rent, it took her five minutes to depersonalize the place.
Easy. Who’s laughing now?
“It works,” she announced, handing Mistik the key.
He took it with one hand and pressed a button on a car key fob with the other. The back of his SUV popped open, and Belle walked to it. She grabbed what looked like an oversized shoebox painted with stars and moons and lugged it toward the house.
Mistik watched her go. He didn’t move to help.
Charlotte clapped her hands together.
“Well, if you need anything, you have my number. Declan and I are usually at the little office at the community entrance. The Charlock Holmes Detective Agency.”
Mistik nodded. “What day is trash day?”
“Wednesday.”
Belle walked by with a second suitcase. She’d started to sweat.
“You can put the clothes in the closet and the drawers. You know how I like it,” he called to Belle as she entered the home again.
Mistik turned to find Charlotte and Declan staring at him. He put his hands behind him and arched.
“Bad back. Good to have an assistant,” he said. “They come in handy for all sorts of things.”
“Lucky you,” said Charlotte. “I should get me one of those.”
“I think you have one of those,” quipped Declan.
The couple said their goodbyes and started back to the office.
“That woman was too old to carry all that by herself,” muttered Charlotte as they left.
“Maybe, she wants to stay on his good side for when he starts sawing her in half,” said Declan.
Before she could comment, a car careened around the corner. Declan stopped and threw out an arm, blocking Charlotte from proceeding. Though they were on the sidewalk where they should have been safe, both tensed, wondering if they’d need to dive out of the way.
The vehicle barreled toward them. As Charlotte prepared to dive onto the neighbor’s lawn, it pulled to the curb and screeched to a stop.
“Daytona’s on the other coast,” said Declan.
The woman in the driver’s seat waved through the windshield at them.
Charlotte recognized her.
“Lulu,” she said, invoking the name of the local true crime podcaster. “What is she up to?”
“If I had to guess, she’s running out of murders and decided to make a few of her own.”
The sight of Lulu darkened Charlotte’s mood. The woman wasn’t evil, but she felt confident Lulu’s childhood report cards had room for improvement checked next to has consideration for others. In Lulu’s world, everything had to be Lulu’s way and on Lulu’s timeline.
Charlock Holmes appreciated the exposure Lulu offered them on her popular crime podcast, but they didn’t love the woman meddling in their investigations.
The eager way she was waving at them made her uneasy.
Lulu needed something.
The car’s passenger-side window slid down, and Charlotte and Declan moved to it.
"Just the people I was looking for,” said Lulu, leaning toward them.
Charlotte’s fears were confirmed.
Oh good.
“Is the patient okay?” she asked.
Lulu’s brow creased. “Hm?”
“You drove in here like you were delivering a heart.”
Lulu laughed. “No one’s ever accused me of having a heart. Ha!”
Charlotte and Declan chose not to comment, and Lulu paused—maybe expecting them to argue otherwise.
They didn’t, and she continued.
“But speaking of hearts, you’re going to have a heart attack when I tell you the opportunity I have for you.”
Charlotte exchanged a look with Declan.
Oh boy. Here we go.
“We’ve braced ourselves. What is it?” asked Declan.
Lulu placed an open palm on her chest, beaming. “I’m doing a special Halloween episode on Tarot Bay."
Charlotte's head cocked. “The abandoned fifty-five-plus community?”
“Yep, the one with the murders.”
“Murders? Or kidnapped? I heard a handful of people went missing, and then the residents demanded their money back and left.”
Lulu rolled her eyes. “They’ve been missing for decades, Char. Let’s be real. They’re dead.”
Charlotte shrugged.
Harsh, but hard to argue.
“You’re doing a show on the disappearances?” she asked.
Lulu lifted her hands like a praise leader.
“Oh, it’s much bigger than that. I’m working with a group who’s going to revive the place.”
“Who wants to buy a house in a haunted neighborhood?” asked Declan.
Lulu huffed. “Okay. Revive is the wrong word to use. It won’t have the creepy Tarot theme anymore.”
“I’d hope not. So you’re doing one last exposé before it’s all gone?”
“Yes, and I’ve finagled a side hustle running marketing for the new partners. We’re using the Halloween theme for a relaunch—leaning into the past creep factor and rendering it campy and, therefore, not scary.”
Charlotte scowled.
“I’m not entirely sure that’s a great idea.”
“Are you kidding? It’s genius.”
“So it was your idea,” said Declan.
She nodded. “Yes. There will be a carnival, a séance, goofy ghost tours, a big happy Halloween party—get it? It’s like putting a happy spin on the creepiness to take the curse off it. Then it’ll all be rebranded. We’ll sell lots over the weekend.” She winked and added, “I get a cut.”
“You’ll have a show, get a cut of sales, get paid for marketing—you’ve got all the angles covered,” said Charlotte.
Lulu sniffed. “It’s true. Sometimes, I even amaze myself.”
Declan straightened and cracked his neck.
“And this has what to do with us? We’re detectives, not ghost hunters or real estate agents.”
Lulu held up a finger. “Ah, but imagine if you can solve the cold case. It would make an amazing podcast and really take the curse off the place.”
Charlotte gaped.
“Solve the cold case? You mean find the missing residents? How can we solve a mystery that old when the police haven’t found a clue in decades?”
Lulu grinned. “I don’t know, but there’s a ten thousand dollar reward.”
Declan’s eyebrows raised. “From whom?”
“The group rebranding the place. The original owner and her new partners. They don’t really think anyone will solve it, but it’s worth ten thousand if you can. We’ll get a lot of press about it.”
“That means we’ll get a lot of press for not solving it,” said Charlotte.
Lulu shrugged. “If you don’t solve it, people won’t be surprised. They won’t even remember who was trying to solve it. If you do solve it, though, you’ll be famous. And, I made them promise they’ll pay up if you even get close. You might not need to do anything except come up with a plausible story for how those people met their fate. You don’t have to find the missing people—” Lulu snorted. “They probably passed through an alligator a long time ago.”
Charlotte winced. “Lovely thought.”
Declan leaned back down to stare Lulu in the eye.
“You’re saying if we can find a half-decent lead as to what happened to those people, we get ten thousand dollars?”
“Yup, and like I said, there will be a ton of coverage. Not just my show—other press will pick up the story. If you solved the crime—” Lulu whistled. “Sky’s the limit.”
Declan glanced at Charlotte. She knew what he was thinking. It would be fantastic publicity if they uncovered a few clues at Tarot Bay.
They could use the marketing boost.
Still...
Lulu could see they were still undecided.
“I’ll pay you, too. I’ll slip you into the marketing budget,” she added.
Charlotte sighed. By paying them, Lulu had removed any reason not to try.
“When is all this supposed to happen?” she asked.
“This weekend. Halloween weekend. Duh.” Lulu folded her hands together. “Please? Please? Even if you don’t solve it—and let’s be honest, you won’t—I’ll make sure you get coverage. I’ll do the podcast and you’ll be the stars of that episode, either way. I’ll push the other press your way, too.”
Charlotte looked at Declan, and he shrugged.
“Why not?” he said.
She agreed.
“Okay. We’ll do it.”
“Yay!” cheered Lulu. “We show up on Friday, stay for two nights, and then wrap up on Sunday.”
Charlotte’s eyes widened.
“Stay? You mean sleep there?”
“Sure. We cleaned up a bunch of the old houses, and I have people setting up accommodations for you and a few others.”
“Other detectives?”
“No. Old Tarot Bay residents we brought in to help take the fear out of the place. You’ll have a whole house to yourself. Two bedrooms. You can make it a little vacation.”
“A vacation,” repeated Charlotte. “Abandoned homes and murder. Sure. What more could you want from a vacation?”
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