Page 52 of Fish and Chip

“We were just leaving to question your suspect, dear,” Delora announces, gathering her book stack with zero shame and maximum enthusiasm. “Would you like to join us, or will you be staying here to glower professionally?”

“Mother.”

“It’s a genuine question. You’re very good at it. I’d hate for the talent to go to waste.”

Dexter closes his eyes for the length of one slow, suffering breath, and I recognize the look. It’s the same one I wear whenever my family joins a group chat.

He smells like coffee and interrogation, Fish observes from her carriage. Proceed with caution.

Ask him if he has snacks in that badge, Chip suggests, and honestly, I could go for a snack right about now.

Because here’s the thing about hunting a killer at a Halloween festival—the killer isn’t the most dangerous thing on the grounds. That honor goes to the detective who told you to stay out of it, especially when he looks like he’s deciding whether to arrest you or kiss you.

And honestly? I’m not sure which option I’m hoping for.

CHAPTER 14

Wild Adventures Hollow is doing its best to convince us we’ve been transported to a jungle, albeit a jungle assembled entirely from postcards, guesswork, and one very confident trip to a garden center. Botanical accuracy was not invited to the planning meeting.

Fake vines drape from every available surface, plastic tropical flowers bloom in shades that don’t exist in nature or most crayon boxes, and the sound system pumps out a continuous loop of monkey calls, bird shrieks, and what might be a jaguar or possibly just someone’s cat having a very bad day. I’d ask Fish for a translation, but she’d only confirm the crisis and then probably bill me for the consultation.

The air is thick with humidity from strategically placed misters and smells like earth, mulch, and the cinnamon-sugar elephant ears being sold at a nearby cart. My stomach rumbles and starts making demands. I ignore it, which we both know is temporary. Somewhere in the distance, the Jungle River Rapids ride roars to life, sending up a spray of water and delighted screams.

We’re set up in the clearing near the Treehouse Tower, a massive wooden structure that guests can climb for aerial views of the park. Someone’s erected a stage at the base, complete with a podium, microphone, and rows of folding chairs arranged in a semicircle.

Halloween decorations have infiltrated even here. Skeleton monkeys hang from vines, jack-o’-lanterns with painted tiger stripes sit among the foliage, and someone’s placed rubber snakes wearing tiny witch hats along the walking paths. I signed off on the budget for those hats. I have no regrets.

“This is either atmospheric or a lawsuit waiting to happen,” I mutter as we make our way toward the seating area.

“Both,” Dexter says from beside me. “Definitely both.”

He’s been holding my hand since we left the café—brazenly, fingers laced, right out in the open where Heaven and everyone can see. Including Delora. Especially Delora. She hasn’t said a word about it, which is somehow louder than anything she could’ve said. And why do I get the feeling she’d like to see my hand on the chopping block? Preferably before it gets any more attached to her son.

Behind us, Savvy and Georgie are providing running commentary on every male park employee within visual range. My employees—on my payroll—being rated like livestock at the county fair. Coming from those two, it sounds about right.

“Now that one’s got potential,” Georgie says, nodding toward a guy in khaki shorts and a safari hat. “Very ‘I wrestle crocodiles for fun’ energy.”

“Oh sugar, potential doesn’t begin to cover it. Did you see those calves? That man hikes. Regularly. And not to a buffet, either.” Savvy fans herself with her hand. “The wilderness has done right by that man.”

“I’m adding him to my list.”

“You have a list?” Savvy asks.

“I always have a list,” Georgie says. “It’s called being prepared.”

“For what, exactly?” I toss over my shoulder.

“Opportunity, toots. It doesn’t knock twice at my age. Sometimes it doesn’t even knock once. Sometimes you have to tackle it in the parking lot.”

Ree and Delora have their noses buried in books, somehow managing to walk and read simultaneously without tripping over a single rubber snake. It’s the closest thing to a circus act this park has.

“Chapter twelve is where it gets really good,” Delora whispers. “The murder happens during a stockholder meeting.”

“Oh my word, stop, I’m only on chapter nine!” Ree clutches her book tighter. “No spoilers!”

“So sorry. But just wait until you get to the part with the stapler⁠—”

“Delora!”