Page 63 of Fish and Chip: Nine Lives One Murder
The second floor hallway is quiet save for the distant hum of a vacuum cleaner. I pause at the corner, peering around to see a housekeeper emerging from room 201—Vivian’s room. She’s pushing a cleaning cart laden with fresh towels and tiny bottles of shampoo. I hang back, pretending to dig for my key card, until she disappears into the supply closet at the far end of the hall.
You’re not seriously considering—Fish begins.
“Shh!” I dart forward, slipping toward room 201 just as the door begins its slow automatic close. I catch it moments before it latches, my heart hammering so loudly I’m sure everyone in the inn can hear it.
Breaking and entering,Chip says.Excellent. I can add accomplice to a felony to my resume. This week just keeps getting better.
“It’s not breaking if the door was open,” I whisper with the logic of a theme park manager who’s clearly watched too many legal dramas and retained none of the actual legal knowledge. “It’s just...entering.”
I slide inside, closing the door softly behind me like I’m defusing a bomb instead of committing several misdemeanors. Both cats jump from my arms as if abandoning this felonious ship.
Vivian’s room is nearly identical to mine in layout, but the similarities end there faster than my marriage to Clyde. Whilemy room has become a chaotic nest of scattered clothes and cat toys that suggests a small tornado hit a pet store, hers is meticulous with the kind of organization that professional organizers can only dream to achieve.
The bed is perfectly made with hospital corners sharp enough to cut a diamond, there are toiletries arranged with geometric precision on the bathroom counter like a chemistry lab, and a laptop sits squarely centered on the desk with such precision, you’d think someone used a ruler to land it there.
She color-coded her socks,Fish notes, peering from the tote at the open suitcase.I totally approve of her organizational standards, even if she is potentially a cold-blooded killer. Bizzy is sort of a slob, but I still love her.
My attention focuses on the chair in front of the desk, where a tailored vest lies draped with the kind of careful deliberation that suggests it’s been positioned by a woman who treats clothing like art installations. Even from across the room, I can see the glint of enamel pins covering its surface like tiny metallic flowers.
My pulse quickens as I move closer, examining the collection of vintage Huckleberry Hollow Wonderland pins arranged across the vest. My eyes scan the colorful array—a carousel horse, a teacup, a miniature version of the blue castle—mentally checking off each one against what I remember from the reception.
Every single pin placement artfully creates a pattern—save for two empty spaces leaving a toothless gap. Spaces that should hold the Tree pin from Everwhirl Hollow and the Haunted Gold Mine pin! The exact two pins found beside Ned’s body.
“Gotcha,” I whisper.
Is that true-blue evidence or just a highly suspicious coincidence?Fish mewls from her perch on the desk chair.
“In the real world? Suspicious. In my amateur detective mind? Practically a signedconfession.”
A sound from the hallway freezes me in place—voices approaching, one distinctly Vivian’s crisp, authoritative tone.
“—need those reports before five, or we’ll miss the print deadline.”
Panic floods me. I scoop up the cats, shoving them unceremoniously against my chest amid sounds of feline protest.
This is undignified!Fish hisses.
She is getting arrested,Chip counters.
I rush to the door, pressing my eye to the peephole. Vivian stands just a few yards away, still on her phone. I count to three, then ease the door open just enough to slip through, closing it silently behind me. I walk briskly toward my own room, fishing out my key card with trembling fingers.
Just as I reach my door, I hear Vivian’s voice again, closer now. I don’t look back, just slide my card into the reader and push inside my room the instant the light turns green. I close the door and lean against it, heart pounding.
“That,” I say to the cats as I set their totes down, “was close.”
Impressively stealth for someone who regularly trips over flat surfaces,Fish remarks, shaking out her ruffled dignity.
Did you at least get what you needed?Chip asks, stretching.
“Oh yeah,” I say as I sink onto the edge of my bed, the image of those empty spaces on the pin-covered vest seared into my memory. “Vivian Templeton just became suspect numero uno.”
Let’s just say if the pins fit, she’s wearing them to prison.
CHAPTER 24
Sunday has finally arrived and autumn has fully embraced Huckleberry Hollow Wonderland, transforming the park into a postcard-perfect image of fall splendor. The whole place looks like what happens when September decides to show off.
Sugar maples blaze in fiery oranges and crimson reds, their leaves occasionally surrendering to gravity and drifting lazily toward the cobblestone paths. The air carries a bouquet of scents—caramel apples bubbling in copper pots, cinnamon-dusted funnel cakes, wood smoke from decorative fire pits, and the earthy perfume of fallen leaves underfoot.
