Page 26 of Fish and Chip: Nine Lives One Murder
We need a system,Fish says, pulling herself into a more upright pose.Timeline. Motive. Witnesses. Josie, you found the body—you lead the investigation.
Or like I said, we sniff people until someone smells like guilt and guilt jerky,Chip adds.You know, detective stuff.
“You’re theme park mascots,” I mutter. “Not feline forensic experts.”
I’m about to expand on the fact they’re not feline Sherlocks, when the bell above the café door jingles merrily.
Ree and Georgie burst in with the energy of two women on a mission. Georgie sports a hat that makes yesterday’s carousel monstrosity look subdued. This one appears to be a miniature roller coaster with actual moving parts, complete with tiny LED lights. And, of course, the requisite kaftan. This one is powder blue with hot dogs printed all over it. It’s a disconcerting look.
Ree, normally the practical counterpoint to Georgie’s quasi-psychotic flamboyance, clutches a composition notebook labeled “Murder Investigation: Suspects & Clues” in thick red marker. It’s like an episode ofLaw & Order: The Early Bird Special.
“You will not believe what we’ve learned!” Georgie announces, sliding into the seat across from me. The roller coaster on her head takes off as if it were excited, too. “Mara, the barista, gave us the scoop on the Hidden Gems Conference,” she continues. “Apparently, Vivian Templeton has ahistoryof professional sabotage. And a peppermint schnapps problem.”
Ree nods. “And I’ve made a timeline of everyone’s movements last night,” she adds, flipping open her notebook to reveal a color-coded chart that looks like it belongs in an FBI investigation room. “Red is shady. Yellow is alibi-adjacent. Green is for people we like.”
I blink. “Wait,” I interrupt, holding up a hand. “What exactly do you two think you’re doing? And why is my name highlighted in Red?”
“We’re solving a murder,” they say in unison.
Ree shrugs over at Georgie. “We can’t blame her. She’s new around here.”
“What she said.” Georgie nods, the movement sending her roller coaster into another rotation. “Although I’m also evaluating Detective Dreamboat for possible husband material. For you, obviously. I’ve already got my sights set on that silver fox from thepopcorn stand.”
“There’s an actual detective assigned to this case,” I point out.
“Oh honey.” Georgie pats my hand. “That man’s cheekbones are a public hazard. He should be modeling cashmere sweaters, not analyzing crime scenes.” She shakes her head. “And when is the last time the Seaview Sheriff’s Department solved anything more complicated than a parking dispute? Poor Bizzy has been having to pick up the slack for her husband and he’s the lead homicide detective at the office. And seeing that Bizzy’s got her hands full at the inn at the moment, it’s your turn now.”
“Besides,” Ree picks up without missing a beat, “you’re the one who found the body. You’re practically obligated to solve the crime. It’s like Murder Discovery Etiquette 101.”
“That’s not a thing,” I protest, though with less conviction than I’d like.
“Is now,” Georgie says cheerfully.
“Okay, fine,” I cave. “I did see something weird. Those pins next to Ned? Vivian was wearing the exact ones earlier in the evening.”
The roller coaster on Georgie’s head pauses mid-spin. Ree’s pen hovers.
“Then she’s suspect number one.” Georgie slams her hand down onto the table and it nearly wakes Chip. Nearly. What can I say? He’s gone pro in the napping arena.
“But why would she leave her own pins at the crime scene?” I reason. “That’s practically gift-wrapping evidence for the police.”
“Or someone planted them,” Ree offers. “Or she dropped them. Or?—”
“Or she’s just incredibly careless,” Georgie adds.
“Or she’s not the killer at all,” I suggest, the voice of reason rapidly losing ground.
“It’s classic misdirection.” Ree nods. “We need to interrogate her. And possibly her schnapps.”
“We need to investigate all possibilities,” Georgie says withnewfound authority. “Operation Theme Park Murder is officially underway.”
“We are not calling it?—”
The ping of my phone interrupts my protest. I glance down to see a text from a number I don’t recognize.
Detective Drake here. Need you at the station at 5:00. Bring the cats.
“Who’s that?” Georgie cranes her neck, trying to get a better look at my screen. “You’re blushing!”
