Page 13 of Fish and Chip: Nine Lives One Murder
Everwhirl Hollow is atmospheric with its abandoned gazebos and overgrown vines. The romantic, possibly haunted vibe of a fairy tale that took a dark turn. I kinda love it.
“This used to be a formal garden,” Edie explains, nostalgia softening her voice as she remembers better far more manicured times. “We’ve let nature take its course. Some visitors think it’s more magical this way.”
“They’re right,” I murmur, captivated by the juxtaposition of man-made structures being embraced by untamed greenery. It’s perfectly hauntinglyweird.
Our final stop is Gears & Dreams Hollow, a steampunk wonderland of copper pipes, vintage machinery, and exhibits that seem to be perpetually on the verge of working. Steam occasionally puffs from valves, and gears the size of car tires turn slowly, powering...well, nothing in particular. Honestly? It’s a vibe.
“This is my personal favorite,” Eddie confesses like someone remembering a dream—one that quickly morphed into a nightmare. “But I’ve got to say, it’s never quite lived up to what we envisioned.”
“Neither did my marriage,” I say with a sigh.
Unless they envisioned a jungle-like hellscape, then it’s pretty much spot-on. Some of these prehistoric-looking plants look as if they can eat a small child—and certainly a cat or two. And I clutch at my tote a little tighter because of it.
By the time we make it back to the main office,my brain is a carousel of chaos filled with ideas, doubts, and one very loud voice screamingWHAT ARE YOU DOING?!
Ree and Georgie make themselves comfortable on a bench outside, while Fish’s tote bag is set between them like a buffer. And while Ree stares off at the bakery down Huckleberry Lane, Georgie wastes no time flirting with a maintenance worker who’s adjusting a nearby lamppost.
“So?” Eddie says, settling behind his desk with satisfaction as if he’s just given the grand tour and holds all the rusty chips in his hand. “What do you think?”
I take a breath. “I think it’s magical. And messy. And full of potential. And possibly lawsuits.”
“That’s a kind way of putting it.” Edie laughs with the self-awareness of a shyster who knows exactly what she’s selling.
“The park has incredible potential,” I continue. “The themes are charming, the layout makes sense, and there’s a genuine warmth to the place that you can’t manufacture. But?—”
“But it needs work,” Eddie finishes. “We know. We’re just not the ones to do it anymore.”
“Our hearts are still here,” Edie says, patting her chest with genuine emotion. “But our knees? Our backs? They’ve been sending strongly worded letters of resignation for years.”
“Florida is calling,” Eddie adds with the wistful tone of a man ready for a different kind of adventure. “We might be looking into a nice condo where the only thing I’ll have to fix is the TV remote when Edie hides it.”
“I do not hide it,” she huffs with the indignation of being falsely accused of remote-related crimes. “It migrates.”
I can’t help but smile at their banter, the easy affection that comes from decades of shared adventures and probably more than a few shared disasters. Like the theme park we’re standing in.
“So, you’re looking for someone to manage while you’re away?”
They exchange a look loaded with unspoken communication—the kind that comes after decades together and doesn’t require a bonk on the head to achieve.
“Actually,” Eddie leans forward with an expression on his face that suggests he’s about to change my life, “we’re looking for someone to take over completely.”
“We’d still own the park,” Edie clarifies. “But you’d have full operational control, creative direction, staffing decisions—everything.”
“Really? But you barely know me.” I blink, wondering if I’ve somehow stumbled into an alternate universe where people hand over theme parks to strangers.
“We know enough,” Eddie says simply. “We’ve been running this place for forty years. We’ve been reading people longer than you’ve been alive. We know people.”
Their math is off by about ten years, but then looking around at this place, I’m fairly certain math isn’t their strong suit, and neither are safety regulations or routine maintenance.
“Plus,” Edie adds with a mischievous smile, “our good friend Bizzy Baker Wilder called us this afternoon just before you got here and gave you a glowing recommendation.”
“Of course, she did,” I mutter. I don’t know whether to thank her or threaten her.
“The salary is fair.” Eddie slides a paper across the desk, and the number makes my eyebrows attempt to escape my forehead entirely. “And there’s a bonus structure tied to attendance and revenue growth,” Edie adds, like she’s sweetening a deal that’s already sweet enough to cause diabetes.
“We need someone who sees what this place could be, not just what it is,” Edie says, her expression suddenly serious. “Someone who’ll love it like we do.”
I glance down at Chip, who looks up at me with an unexpectedearnestness.
