Page 29 of Fish and Chip: Nine Lives One Murder
“Oh, they’re absolutely adorable,” Vivian coos, seemingly oblivious to the fact that her pupils are dangerously close to being removed by way of a paw and a claw. “So on-brand for the park’s new image.”
Both Ree and Georgie cringe as Vivian squeezes those poor cats until their eyeballs bulge.
“Well”—Ree jumps in, possibly fearing for Vivian’s eyesight—“sorry to break up the love-fest, but these furry cuties need their morning constitutional.” She does her best to reclaim the cats, but Vivian turns it into a game of furry tug-of-war. “It’s a part of their mascot training regime.” Ree grunts as she struggles to gain control. Meanwhile, Chip in particular is being stretched like an orange accordion.
“Constitutional?” Vivian hesitates, clearly skeptical, but finally hands over the cats like she’s surrendering hostages. Chip flops back into his tote like he’s seen the other side. Fish glares at her as if she’s already filing a lawsuit.
“Cats need regular walking schedules just like dogs,” Ree continues with impressive conviction. “It helps with their... uh, mascot energy levels.”
“I see,” Vivian responds, clearly not seeing at all but too polite to say so.
With the cats safely returned to their totes, Ree steps back and leaves Georgie to move in for what I can already tell will be a disastrous attempt at a not-so-subtle interrogation.
Georgie steps in close with all the grace of a drunk raccoon.
“So, Ms. Templeton,” Georgie begins, “where were you between eight and ten last night? I’m asking for my travel blog, of course. I’m doing a piece onA Day in the Life of a Travel Killer.”
Ree rolls her eyes and I thinkboth cats did, too.
Vivian blinks. “I was attending the reception, like everyone else.”
“The entire time?” Georgie presses. “No bathroom breaks? No sudden urges to visit funhouses?”
Vivian frowns. “Excuse me?”
“Do you have experience with safety chains?” Georgie continues relentlessly. “It’s for a story on theme park safety. Very educational.”
“I beg your?—”
“Have you ever strangled anyone? Theoretically speaking?” Georgie leans in, that roller coaster on her head now dangerously close to Vivian’s face.
Vivian takes a small step back with alarm creeping into her expression as if she’s just realized she’s being interrogated by someone whose hat has far too many moving parts. “Is this some kind of joke?”
“Georgie has an unusual interview style,” I jump in, desperate to save what’s left of this conversation. “She spends a lot of time in Cider Cove. They’ve had a bit of a spike in homicide cases over the last few years. It’s basically murder central.”
Now there’s an understatement. I’m shocked they haven’t arrested Bizzy yet since she seems to find all of the bodies. But then, she is sleeping with the head of the homicide department. She must be stellar in bed.
“That’s right.” Georgie grins with pride. “My little town of Cider Cove has the highest murder-to-tourism ratio in Maine. Our tourism slogan isCome for the cider, stay for the crime,” she adds proudly. “One might say, I’ve developed a nose for killers.”
“We all have our talents,” I add weakly.
“Georgie,” Ree hisses. “That’s nothing to brag about. If anything, it’s a deeply concerning statistic.”
Vivian fans herself with her fingers, clearly disconcerted. “Well, it’s fascinating nonetheless.”
“Speaking of fascinating,” Georgie pivots with the subtlety ofa bulldozer, “did you know that prison pen pals are all the rage now? Especially the handsome ones. Nothing like a man with time on his hands to really commit to correspondence.”
Ree sighs deeply. “There’s nothing like a man with time and a thesaurus.” She averts her eyes at Georgie’s shenanigans despite the fact that she’s playing along. I have a feeling that’s a pattern between these two.
“I... what?” Vivian looks genuinely confused.
“My third husband was a prison pen pal,” Georgie continues. “Embezzlement, not murder. He stole six million, but the man could write a mean haiku.”
Now I’m the one rolling my eyes, and when I do, I spot salvation across the way. “Oh look—lobster rolls!”
Georgie’s head whips around so fast that the roller coaster on her head nearly takes flight. “LOBSTER ROLLS? For BREAKFAST? I’m in!” She marches off without a backward glance.
Clearly her culinary priorities trump detective work. And I’d follow right after her if my hiney wasn’t sitting in the number one suspect position.
