Page 43 of Fish and Chip: Nine Lives One Murder
“And,” I continue, “I saw Vivian Templeton—one of our prime suspects and Ned’s ex-fiancée—wearing those exact pins earlier in the evening.”
“That seems suspiciously convenient,” Bizzy muses.
“Exactly. Like someone trying to frame the most obvious suspect—unless, of course, she did it.” I nibble on a cookie, savoring the perfect blend of spices. “And don’t even get me started on Mayor Wannabe Patty Sherwood. The woman is a walking, talking campaign button and half as humble.”
That’s all you’ve got?Sherlock woofs, but it sounds like he’s mocking us.You’re amateurs. You should leave the case to Jasper and me.
Bizzy bites down on a laugh while Fish’s fur nearly stands on end.
You take that back,Fish yowls his way.We both know it’s Bizzy and me who solve the cases around here. And for your information, Josie is plenty capable, too. You’ve never solved a case in your life.
I’ll have you know I’ve achieved a case closurerate of eighty-seven percent.Sherlock bristles, his ears perking up indignantly.How many mice have you successfully apprehended?
Funny you should ask,Chip says.We’ve established a comprehensive rodent elimination strategy just today.His tail swishes with pride.With projected mortality rates exceeding?—
We’re organizing a hostile takeover of the local feral population,Fish interrupts.A bit more sophisticated than chasing tennis balls for treats, I should think.
I’ve begun drafting a tactical map of the rodent population,Chip interjects.Also, of the snack locations.
“They’re planning a coup,” I murmur.
Bizzy pops a cookie into her mouth. “As long as they leave the biscotti alone, I’m fine with it.”
They go on bickering and we share a laugh.
“They’re worse than my book club during wine night.” Bizzy fixes me with a knowing look. “But let’s get to what really matters. Tell me about this Detective Drake. Jasper mentioned him when he called about the case.”
“He’s professional,” I say, trying to keep a straight face as I tell her all about our misadventures this evening.
Bizzy grins like a cat with a mouse in its mouth. “You just got dreamy-eyed describing histie. That man is one hundred precent tall, dark, and dangerous-to-your-emotional-stability.” She shrugs my way. “Jasper said every female officer at the station has developed a sudden interest in theme park murder investigations.” She leans forward. “You know, for someone who discovered a corpse, you’re looking remarkably...glowy.”
I groan, sinking deeper into my chair. “I’m not glowy. I’m flushed with righteous indignation at men in general.”
“You’re into him,” she insists.
I groan. “I’m notintohim. I’m just... not immune to the laws of attraction and good grooming. And muscles for days, and that whole tall, dark, and brooding thing. And a jawline that could slice deli meat.”
Her pupils dilated when the detective was mentioned,Sherlock observes clinically.Classic physiological response to attraction.
Hoomans,Fish sighs.So predictable. At least choose a mate who brings you premium treats, not handcuffs.
I liked him,Chip declares, stretching lazily.He gave me funnel cake. I’d marry him.
“For your information,” I say with as much dignity as I can muster, “I am not interested in Detective Drake or any other man with a pulse. I’m recently separated, righteously angry, and focused on my career. I’ve got a park to fix, a murder to solve, and a pirate animatronic with a flashing boob problem.”
“Sure,” Bizzy says, her tone way too smug. “And if a certain tall drink of justice wants to help fix your... rides, all the better.”
My mind flashes to his shirt. His stubborn smile. The way he looks at me like I’m more than just a walking disaster with access to deep-fried everything.
“He’s totally irrelevant,” I say. “Completely.”
“For what it’s worth,” Bizzy says, her tone softening, “there’s no timeline for moving on after betrayal. Some people take years. Others find that the best antidote to a broken heart is a new perspective. Or a new detective with great biceps and access to handcuffs.”
I laugh despite myself. “I’m not sure my hormones got the memo about the appropriate mourning period for failed marriages. They’re staging a very enthusiastic rebellion that involves inappropriate thoughts about law enforcement officers.”
Bizzy raises her mug. “To righteous anger. And possibly dating a man with a pension.”
We share a laugh that lingers a little too long. “In all seriousness, though,” I sigh, watching the steam curl up from my mug like tiny ghosts of my former life, “isn’t it too soon? It’s only been days since I left Clyde, and here I am getting fluttery over a man I met while standing over a corpse. That can’t be normal behavior.”
