Page 73 of Fish and Chip

I prefer ‘opportunistic dining enthusiast.’

Chip opens his mouth to defend his credentials further, but a familiar voice cuts through the crowd first.

“Well, well, well! If it isn’t my favorite purple pussycat!”

I turn to see Savvy heading toward me and Cupcake trotting at her heels.

Savvy is dressed as a glamorous fortune teller, scarves flowing, gold coins dangling from her headwrap, enough jewelry to set off every metal detector in Maine.

Cupcake is wearing a matching scarf with a crystal ball attached to her collar, which means the poodle is now better accessorized than I am. The crystal ball saw this coming. I did not.

“You’re looking good, girls,” I’m quick to tell them.

I’ve been wearin’ this crystal ball for two hours, Cupcake drawls in her thick Southern accent, and all it’s shown me is my own reflection, which frankly is prediction enough. The future is gorgeous.

Somewhere out there, a circus is missing out on its best act, Fish mutters. Remind me to never introduce her to a mirror. We’d lose her for a week.

I could stare at her for a week, Chip adds. She always smells like bacon.

It’s safe to say he’s still smitten.

Savvy grabs my arm, grinning. “I know that devilish gleam in your eye, Josie Janglewood. You’re up to no good, you sneaky little purple pussycat. And I want in on this good time. It’s Halloween night. I say we raise a little hell.”

“I’m just going to talk to Eulla Bell,” I say with all the innocence I can manufacture on short notice.

“Uh-huh. And I’m just here for the ambiance and definitely not because I saw you stalking across the party like a woman on a mission.” She links her arm through mine. “Come on, sugar pot pie. Let’s go slay ourselves a Southern belle.”

I decide not to mention that word choice, given the week we’ve had.

We locate Eulla Bell near the fountain, a massive Victorian structure lit from below with emerald lights that make the water look radioactive. Ground fog rolls across the cobblestones, thick enough to wade through, swirling around our ankles like a gothic threat.

Eulla Bell is surrounded by fans and has Salem draped regally in her arms. Both of them look like vampire royalty, her in that plunging emerald gown, Salem in a matching cape, both fully convinced they’re the main characters. Honestly, with those capes, nobody’s arguing.

Well, as I live and breathe, Salem drawls. If it isn’t the finest company this side of the Mason-Dixon.

Salem, you sweet-talker, Cupcake says. You could charm the gravy right off a plate.

Darlin’, I could charm the plate.

“Eulla Bell!” Savvy calls out, waving. “Sugar, can we steal you for just a tiny minute?”

Eulla Bell’s face lights up when she spots Savvy. “My favorite Tennessee girl! Heaven have mercy, it’s good to see a friendly face. This crowd’s had me busier than a funeral home fan in July.”

“Bless their hearts, they can’t help it,” Savvy says, her accent thickening to match. “These readers love murder the way I love butter—generously and without apology. And there’s no finer night to celebrate it than All Hallows’ Hoedown.”

Eulla Bell excuses herself from her fans and glides over with all of her Southern grace and vampire elegance. Then she spots Henrietta dangling from my neck, and her eyes widen with fright.

“Well, butter my grits, you’re still wearing that cursed thing!” She reaches out like she wants to touch it, then thinks better of it. “Sugar, that doll head’s scarier than a spider in the sock drawer. I’ve written villains with kinder eyes.” She shudders. “That thing is going to give someone a heart attack. Probably me.”

She can hear you, you know, Fish says from my arms, eyeing Henrietta.

“She grows on you,” I say, patting Henrietta’s plastic hair. “Like a rash. A loyal one.”

“She looks like she could ward off a preacher, a possum, and my will to live.” Eulla Bell laughs. “Though I’ll admit, she’s got the Halloween spirit down to her plastic bones.”

That doll knows where the bodies are buried, Fish murmurs.

That doll buried them, Chip corrects, inching behind my ankle.