A Frightening Fangs-giving

that rule the roost here. Everywhere you look there are artful displays of pumpkins in every shape and color. There’s a three-tiered fountain that stands twenty feet tall at least, and instead of water, every tier is brimming with pumpkins. There are scarecrows with happy jack-o’-lantern heads scattered about, and there’s a giant hollowed-out pumpkin carved into a carriage with a small bench inside, allowing people to take their pictures in it. There are even huge glob-like pumpkins, the size of small cars, out on display.
There are dozens upon dozens of booths that range from wreath making to pumpkin and gourd painting, and every craft under the sun seems to be represented and for sale.
And then there is the food. We’re talking turkey tacos, deep-fried turkey legs, turkey kabobs, turkey burgers on brioche buns, turkey corn dogs, and last but not least, pumpkin spice funnel cakes. And as if the heady scent of deep-fried everything wasn’t enough, the hint of vanilla and sugar in the air is clawing at my stomach.
Sherlock barks and jumps. I see Georgie! I smell bacon, Bizzy. I bet it’s coming from her pocket.
Fish yowls, Pull it together, furball! Bizzy is here on serious business. We’ve got a killer to catch. And he happens to be dating our Aunt Macy. Fish twitches her whiskers my way. I think your sister is his next victim. But in the event it’s too late for her, I say we start hitting the food.
I make a face. “It’s too late for my sister in many respects. But I think she can hold her own for a little while. Let’s say hi to Georgie.”
I manage to push the stroller over the hay-strewn dirt until we land at the booth Georgie seems to have procured for herself. And to my amazement, she has a nice size inventory of her wonky quilts on display, all of them in keeping with the theme of seasonal hues and patterns of fall leaves and pumpkins. On the display table next to her, there’s a large turkey made of tumbleweeds, and in a basket in front of it sit tiny bags of candy corn tied off with a black and white checkered ribbon with a sign that reads turkey toes, one dollar each!
“Bizzy Baker!” Georgie runs out screaming with her arms held wide as a crowd of women step over to inspect her wares. “Fancy meeting you here.” She pulls me into a warm embrace before pulling a handful of bacon out of her pocket and making Sherlock the happiest dog alive.
Georgie has donned her signature kaftan in a cheery shade of yellow, but it’s not clearly visible because she also happens to be wearing one of her wonky quilts strapped over her shoulder and cinched at the neck by way of an antique looking silver brooch.
“Well, who have we got here?” She quickly unzips the mesh netting over the stroller and plucks out all three kittens at once.
Fish groans. Goodness. Here we go. I hope you’re wearing your running shoes.
“Don’t you dare let them go,” I tell Georgie as I take one of the squirming kittens from her.
“Hey, Pumpkin. Hey, Cookie.” Georgie plants a kiss to each of their furry heads as their bright blue eyes siren out at us.
The kitten in my hand mewls, I’m Cookie.
“This is Cookie.” I wrinkle my nose at Georgie.
“And I’m kooky.” She gives the tiny peanut a bump with one of her sisters. “So what are you doing here? Let me guess, you’re trolling for turkey on a stick. Well, you came to the right place, kid.”
“Actually, Macy is here somewhere with a man I was looking to question. Leave it to my sister to date within the suspect pool.” I leave out the part where she’s actually dating two of the suspects at the very same time.
“A suspect!” She waves a kitten at someone past me. “Ree! Get your preppy hiney back where it belongs. Break’s over, sister. I’ve got places to go and suspects to question.”
Before I know it, my mother appears with her feathered hair and popped collar looking like a fashion plate in a plaid peacoat and tan suede boots.
She gives me a quick embrace and takes Cookie from me.
“All right, kiddo,” she says to the tiny tot. “Are you ready to man the booth?” She looks to Georgie. “I knew you’d take off sooner than later.” She nods my way. “Don’t feel bad for me, I’m getting thirty percent of the profits.”
Georgie grunts, “You’d get more if you stopped trying to push them off as couch covers. These are works of art meant to be displayed on the backs of beautiful women. In fact”—Georgie snaps her fingers, and before I know it, she’s draped a quilt over my shoulders and clasped it to my neck with a brooch in the shape of a giant turkey—“you’re going to be my walking wonky billboard.”
“Lovely.” I press out a short-lived smile.
Mom gets back to the booth and offers to keep the stroller there in the event she needs to house Cookie, but Georgie isn’t giving up the two she’s holding.
The striped cutie in Georgie’s right hand mewls at me, Tell Georgie if we come upon the killer, I’d like to be tossed his way. I’ve been sharpening my claws all day for this.
I nod. It’s true. My furniture can attest to it.
I quickly translate and Georgie belts out a laugh. “Feed these kittens an extra helping of that fancy food you give them. It’s on me tonight, kiddos.” She nuzzles each one and they mewl with approval.
Sherlock barks and stops short. There’s Macy up ahead.
“I see her!” I bump my shoulder to Georgie’s. “She’s getting on the hayride. And she’s with the guy I saw roughing up Ember’s boyfriend. It’s her ex, Hunter.” My adrenaline begins to pump at the sight of him. His dark blond hair is shorn short and he’s wearing a tan coat with a plaid scarf.
“Oh, they’re taking off,” Georgie howls as she races