Page 4 of Fish and Chip

“Now that’s what I’m talking about,” Georgie says. “Forget the cover models. We’ve got the real thing right here.”

“I think we found your hunka-hunka burning love, Georgie,” Ree says.

The detective knows how to make an entrance, Fish observes from across the hollow. I’ll give him that.

Think he’s got any cheese in his pockets? Chip asks with a hopeful and yet hungry look on his furry face. Last time he showed up, there were appetizers. I’m just saying, the man has good timing.

Your entire world revolves around food. Fish sniffs.

It sure does, Chip yowls. And unlike yours, mine has snacks. I don’t see the downside.

“Look who’s braving the spooky crowds,” I say when Dexter pulls back, and my cheeks heat up on cue. Apparently one kiss and I’m sixteen again. I can’t blame myself. The man looks like sin in a badge, and half the hollow would trade their firstborn for the kiss I just got for free. Maybe their second-born, too.

“You look beautiful.” His eyes do a quick sweep that makes my brain temporarily malfunction. “Let me guess. Sexy cat?”

“Festive park owner,” I correct.

“My mistake.” He leans in closer. “Sexy festive park owner.” He takes in the scenery. “The dessert buffet is impressive, but the company is better.”

“Smooth,” I say, giving his ribs a quick tweak.

“I try where I can,” he says with a wink.

Georgie elbows Ree. “If one of those sparkly vampires talked to me like that, I’d hand him my neck and a map to the good veins.”

“I know, Georgie,” Ree says with a wry smile. “And I also know you’d bite back.”

“Twice,” Georgie confirms.

I shrug up at Dexter. He may not be sparkling, but I’d let him bite me anyway. And I’d tell him, too. That is, if his mother wasn’t standing here staring me down as if she’s doing her level best to put a pox on me.

“Speaking of biting—how about we sink our teeth into a couple of those fudge brownies later?” I’m quick to change the subject before I bare my fangs and take a bite out of some beefcake myself.

“It’s a date.” Dexter’s mouth curves dangerously. “Though I should warn you, I don’t stop at brownies.”

Delora groans hard enough to rattle her jewelry.

Georgie breaks into spontaneous applause.

Over at the buffet station, Savvy Sparrow, my new best friend, Southern belle extraordinaire, and the park’s brand-new Director of Culinary Excellence, has transformed the spread into a Halloween masterpiece. Dry ice mist pours off silver platters while orange uplighting makes everything glow as if it’s been touched by jack-o’-lantern magic.

The savory spread includes severed finger breadsticks (complete with almond fingernails), mummy-wrapped jalapeño poppers, “blood”-drizzled deviled eggs, mini cauldrons filled with spinach artichoke dip, black garlic crostini topped with brie and candied pecans, and bacon-wrapped dates that Chip would probably commit light felonies for.

Speaking of buffets, I smell bacon, Chip calls from the carriage. I’m legally obligated to investigate.

And I have no doubt he will.

I glance past him at the dessert table. The sweet selection is even better with its coffin-shaped fudge brownies dusted with edible glitter, poison apple caramel apples with black sugar coating, graveyard dirt cups layered with chocolate mousse and crushed Oreos, ghost meringues that look like they’re floating, pumpkin cheesecake bites with gingersnap crusts, and a towering display of cupcakes decorated to look like tiny monsters.

And the drinks? Poison apple punch with floating dry ice, blood-orange sparkling cider, witches’ brew mocktails that smoke when you pick them up, and hot cider with cinnamon sticks that smell like fall decided to become a beverage.

I would fight a ghost for one of those brownies. And I would win.

“Savvy is trying to get on the authors’ good sides,” I say. “Food bloggers and cozy mystery writers have a lot of crossover. I guess cozy mysteries usually have a recipe in the back of their books. So these women are quasi-culinary royalty.”

“Sounds like Savvy is as smart as her name suggests.” Dexter snags a severed finger breadstick from the platter next to us and takes a bite. “Mmm, delicious.”

The speakers crackle overhead, and another round of thunder rumbles through Bayou Bend. The Haunted Mansion groans on cue. Creaky stairs, slamming doors, the works. Somewhere near Pirates Plunder, I hear what might be maniacal laughter or possibly just someone having a really good time.