Page 22 of Fish and Chip: Nine Lives One Murder
“You’re the manager?” he asks, the scowl on his face making him all that much hotter.
“For the last eight hours,” I say. “In that time, I’ve organized a reception, wrangled two cats, and found a corpse. I think I’m due for a raise.”
His mouth twitches with a frown. “Show me.”
I guide him through the funhouse entrance as Fish and Chip slink behind us like backup dancers in a true crime musical.
The mechanical laughter seems to have stopped, creating an eerie silence broken only by our footsteps on the creaking wooden floor.
“The victim is Ned Hollister, food critic, travel blogger, and professional jerk,” I explain as we navigate the mirrored passageway. “Not the most beloved man in the travel industry, from what I gathered. Came for the conference. Stayed for the murder.”
“You gathered that in eight hours?” Dexter asks.
“I’m a fast learner. Also, people really didn’t like him.”
We round the final corner, and there’s Ned, exactly as we left him.
Dexter’s demeanor shifts fromsuspicious hot guytoserious hot guy. He crouches beside the body, careful not to disturb anything, his eyes cataloging details with methodical precision.
I like this one,Chip muses from a few feet away.He smells like coffee and determination—and more importantly, donuts.
You would think about donuts at a time like this.Fish swishes her tail with mild annoyance.And you’re right. I can smell the apple fritter on him a mile away.
My stomach rumbles at the thought of a decent apple fritter. If you get them just right, they’re nice and doughy on the inside.
I give a few sniffs in his direction and the hot detective shoots me a look that threatens both arrest and the electric chair.
Chip nods my way.We’ll pick up a box on the way back to the inn.
I couldn’t think of a better way to end this night. Although if this hot-to-trot detective has his way, judging by that look on his face I might be spending the night in a prison cell.
While Dexter examines the scene, my gaze shifts to those two small enamel pins near Ned’s outstretched hand—collector’s items from the park no less. One depicts an intricately rendered tree (the Everwhirl Hollow pin), and the other shows the entrance to the Haunted Gold Mine with tiny ghostly figures (from Gold Rush Hollow).
My mind flashes to earlier in the evening with Vivian Templeton’s vest adorned with vintage park pins, including those exact two. She’d mentioned being a collector since childhood. I wonder if she’s been a killer since this afternoon?
Who am I kidding, Ned clearly bit the big one in the evening. This is a novice adventure for her at best.
I know for a fact Vivian had both of those pins on earlier tonight.
Coincidence? Maybe.
Murder couture? Possibly.
I pull out my phone and snap several quick yet highly discreet photos of the pins and their position. As I angle for a better shot, I notice something else—strange triangular white dust marks on the floor near the body. Three perfect triangles in a pattern that seems deliberately placed rather than accidental.
I snap a few of those too when Dexter clears his throat.
“What is it that you think you’re doing?” he grouses and I’d be affronted if he weren’t so darn handsome while chastising me. I’ve never wanted to be chastised again so badly in my entire life.
He glares. I grin.
Clearly, I’ve been caught red-handed. “Documenting my first day on the job,” I say. “It’s for my scrapbook of professional traumas. This trumps yesterday’s personal trauma but not by a lack of trying on my ex’s part.”
I clamp my lips shut in the event I feel the needto tell him my locker combination from middle school and the reason my father made me wear my brother’s boxers under my prom dress senior year. It was basically a safeguard to keep my chastity intact, but really no one noticed when I slipped them off in the limo on the ride over. And that right there is how I accidentally went commando on prom night. I’ve never been happier that the internet wasn’t even a gleam in technology’s eye way back when. Stay golden, Gen X.
His eyes narrow. “This is my investigation. I do the picture taking. And do I have to remind you that this is a crime scene?”
“Have I mentioned that I’m really passionate about true crime? It’s basically a job requirement around here.”
