Page 126 of Executing Malice

I give a bump of my shoulder. “Justice. But there are so many more stories. Jefferson is full of weird, disturbing facts that people brush off as history, or myth, but this town definitely needs to get studied.”

The arm connected to the hand clasped around mine twists back to hook my waist and pull me into his chest.

“Isn’t Ashwood near the festival?”

My eyes narrow. “Not exactly. It’s about an hour drive. Why?”

Rather than answer, he kisses me.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

LEILA

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We return home to change.

Dante sets his masterpiece out on the porch. Shooting tiny pinprick of trembling light across the side of the house. I watch him from the doorway, amused by his excitement as he gets it just right.

Dusting his hands, he steps back to examine his work. His cluster of pumpkins sits next to a small table holding a bowl of candy.

I don’t have the heart to tell him we don’t get kids out this far. Maybe the Rowes. I make a mental note to text Kimmie and ask her to bring the kids and to take the whole bowl so it’s empty when Dante gets back.

He straightens and pops his hands on his hips. “There. Kids can see it from the road.”

I go to him and kiss him. “Definitely.”

His dark eyes drift down the driveway. “What time do they start showing up?”

The younger kids would already be done and at home by now. The others mostly stick around town.

“Should be any minute. Let’s get ready.”

He follows me back inside.

“When our baby is born, we should hit the town. We might be too far for trick or treaters, or the good candy.”

I chuckle. “We’ll see a lot more kids at the festival. Which reminds me, we need to stop by and see Daisy.”

He doesn’t argue taking my car. He palms my keys and opens the passenger’s side door for me. I catch him eyeing the dent still flecking burgundy paint.

“Sure wish I met the guy,” he mutters as I slip past him into my seat.

“It’s fine. In the end, we’re even.”

Damage wise, but he definitely wins in being a creep, which I don’t tell Dante.

He just gives a grunt and shuts my door.

Thistle Row Fairground sites in a wide acre of land hidden behind miles of wilderness and the odd farm. It’s half backed in by the Sutton’s corn crop. Jasper and Felicity’s family volunteer every year to build the corn maze and give the hayrides. Their dad, Landon Sutton, took over the operation after Wayland Sutton, their grandfather, had a stroke.

Nothing’s changed.

The festival is a chaos of noise and screaming. The handful of rides built back before Jesus was born spin and whir inthe settling dusk. Their lights flare over the bustling crowd, illuminating grinning faces.

It always amuses me how the good people of Jefferson miraculously seem to forget who runs the fair every year. The people responsible for manning every ride, overseeing every booth — minus the ones booked by residents.

“Have you heard about The Ditch?” I shout up at Dante.