Page 38 of Fish and Chip: Nine Lives One Murder
I will?I look surprised.What’s tactical support?
You’ll figure it out,Fish says with confidence she doesn’t entirely feel.Everyone else, remember—we’re not just catching mice here. We’re establishing our territory, proving our worth, and ensuring job security for the foreseeable future.
What about benefits?asks a sophisticated-looking Siamese.Health insurance? Dental?
You’re cats,Fish points out.You clean yourselves and your teeth are designed for hunting. What more do you need?
Fair point,the Siamese concedes.
Any other questions?Fish looks around the assembled group.
Yeah,calls out a tabby from the back.What happens if we run out of mice?
Then we’ll cross that bridge when we come to it,Fish says firmly.But given the size of this infestation, I don’t think we’ll be running out anytime soon.
Plus,I add helpfully,there are probably other things to hunt. Like bugs! And maybe small birds! And possibly those little lizards thatrun really fast!
Chip,Fish hisses,we’re here for rodent control, not a general ecosystem disruption.
Right, sorry. Mice only. Got it.
Excellent.Fish stands up, surveying her new army with satisfaction.Operation Mouse Hunt begins as soon as the park closes. Everyone get some rest. Soon enough, we take back this theme park!
The assembled cats disperse, chattering excitedly among themselves about assignments and hunting strategies. And soon enough, Fish and I find ourselves alone under a large oak tree.
That went well,I observe, while settling down for a pre-battle nap.I think we’re going to be excellent leaders.
I think you might be right,Fish agrees, curling up beside me.Though I suspect managing this army is going to be more challenging than the actual mouse hunting.
Probably.I yawn.But at least it’ll be fun. And there might be snacks.
There are always snacks with you involved,Fish mutters, but there’s affection in her voice.Now get some sleep. Soon we become legends.
Legends with full bellies,I add drowsily.
Obviously,Fish sighs.The best kind of legends.
Soon we go to war. But now? I nap like a hero. With dreams of turkey legs, mustard packets, and possibly... a badge.
Just saying. Legends deserve merch.
CHAPTER 14
There he is. Right where I figured he’d be—leaning against the fountain on Huckleberry Lane like some law enforcement calendar model who wandered into a cartoon.
Detective Dexter Drake.
Crisp white shirt, gunmetal tie, shoes so shiny I could do my eyeliner in them. He’s practically a walking billboard for sensible law enforcement with smolder.
He looks like someone dropped a federal agent into our small quaint town and told him to solve a crime without wrinkling his suit. Spoiler: he’s nailing it.
Meanwhile, I’m limping like I lost a cage match with a train on the Pioneer Express that will probably require more ibuprofen than currently exists in the state of Maine.
“Detective Drake,” I call, trying to sound breezy and not like someone whose inner teenager just threw glitter. His head turns, and boom—those baby blues hit me like a heat lamp at the churro cart.
As much as I find his authoritative demeanor annoying on some level, I can’t ignore that he’s far too handsome for my own good.
The heat rising in my cheeks has nothing to do with the evening temperature and everything to do with the way his crisp white shirt stretches across his shoulders like it was personally tailored by angels with a thing for law enforcement.
