Page 28 of Fish and Chip: Nine Lives One Murder
“Shehas motive and opportunity,” I corrected. “I just have terrible timing and questionable career choices.”
But resistance was futile—like trying to stop a freight train with a feather duster. Five minutes later, we were speed-walking through the park with Fish and Chip riding shotgun in their tote bags. The cats were disturbingly into it.
Finally, a proper pursuit of justice,Fish announced regally from her tote.I’ll document her micro-expressions for signs of duplicity.
I’ll make sure she doesn’t escape,Chip added with uncharacteristic determination.Unless she has treats. Then I might be persuaded to look the other way. I’d do anything for bacon.
True as gospel.
Now, as we watch Vivian wrapping up her statement, I can’t help but admire her composure. Not a hair out of place in her perfect silver coif, and her designer outfit is immaculate despite the earthy surroundings that would have me looking like I’d been wrestling with Spanish moss within five minutes.
She looks like she’s posing for a fall fashion in the Bayouphoto shoot rather than addressing a murder at her conference. Honestly, if she’s guilty, she’s the most stylish strangler this side of the Mississippi.
“And we are committed to ensuring the Hidden Gems Conference continues with the dignity and professionalism that Mr. Hollister would have wanted,” she concludes, her voice carrying with the precision of the seasoned magazine editor sheis. I wouldn’t be surprised if a pro like her is running that magazine in no time. Unless she goes to prison first. But proving she belongs behind bars is going to be a challenge, considering everything about her is so calm, cool, and collected.
Which is rich, considering Ned Hollister probably would have wanted his death to cause maximum chaos and disruption, based on what I’ve learned about his charming personality.
But I’ll say this for Vivian—if confidence were currency, she’d own half of Wall Street.
Journalists start packing up like they’ve got better murders to attend. It’s our cue to approach, but first, I need to coach my amateur detective squad before they get us all arrested.
“Remember, we’re just expressing condolences, not conducting an interrogation,” I warn.
“Of course,” Georgie says with all the innocent conviction of a gray-headed granny about to do the opposite.
Fish and Chip perk up in their totes as we draw closer to Vivian.
She reeks of motive and overpriced fragrance,Fish mewls.I say we cuff her.
I volunteer for ankle takedown,Chip offers.Position me by the exit and I’ll implement ankle-level takedown procedures!I’m fast, and very low to the ground. And if we act quickly, we can be the first in line for the smoked turkey legs. I’ve got my eye on those.
Fish snorts at the thought.You’ve got your eyes on everything.
I bite my lip to keep from laughing at the image of Chip performing a kittyzen’s arrest with his fuzzy orange body.
“Vivian?” I approach with my most sympathetic expression, the one I perfected during twenty-five years of marriage when I had to pretend Clyde’s ideas weren’t completely ridiculous. “I just wanted to say how sorry I am about what happened. It must be so difficult trying to manage the conference under these circumstances.”
She turns with the kind of smile that could slicethrough any alloy—smooth, practiced, terrifyingly polite. “Josie, thank you for your concern. It’s been challenging, to say the least.” Her gaze flicks to Ree and Georgie, and gives what looks like a quick but thorough assessment, as if she’s calculating whether they’re friend, foe, or people who might’ve wandered in from a nearby bingo hall. “Friends of yours?”
“Yes. This is Ree and Georgie,” I’m quick to introduce them. “They’re helping me get acquainted with the park.”
“Nice to meet you, Toots. Just charmed,” Georgie says in a tone that suggests anything but charm—more like a shark sizing up its next meal.
“We’re so sorry about your loss,” Ree adds gently. “It’s awful, really.”
“Yes. We’re all devastated about Ned, of course,” Vivian continues with such smoothness, you’d think she’s delivered this exact statement approximately fifty times in the last twelve hours. “But the conference must go on. People have flown in from all over the world to attend. We’ll still be hosting our meet-and-greets throughout the week, culminating in our participation in the Great Gourd Gala Parade on Sunday.”
The Great Gourd Gala Parade? I mentally addrename terrible paradeto my to-do list, right betweenfix haunted mine rideandavoid additional corpses.
Vivian’s gaze drops to our tote bags, suddenly lighting up once she spots them. “Oh! Are these the famous park mascots I’ve been hearing about? They’ve completely taken over social media!”
Before I can intervene, she scoops them up like she’s collecting limited-edition Beanie Babies at a yard sale.
Both cats immediately short-circuit.
Help! A killer has got me!She’s got me! SHE’S GOT ME!Fish wails at a frequency only dogs and desperate women can hear.I knew this was how I’d go—death by over-affectionate murderer in sensible heels!
Chip yowls twice as loud.The funhouse killer is about to strike again! She smells like guilt and lavender. Save the mascots! Think of the merchandise sales!he adds with equal panic.
