Page 17 of Fish and Chip: Nine Lives One Murder
I suppose,Fish concedes, stretching to her full height as several conference attendees snap photos.If thesehoomans insist on worship, who am I to deny them the privilege? I’ve always known I was destined for greatness.
That was quick,Chip comments.From outrage to monarchy in under thirty seconds.
It’s called knowing your worth, Orange One,Fish shoots back, now posing as elegantly as she can as more phones appear.If we must be mascots, I bet we’ll be the most distinguished mascots in theme park history. I will accept nothing less than public adoration. And maybe a decent sunbeam to nap in. Just wait until Sherlock hears about this. This beats stale office donuts anytime.
More cameras appear. Fish climbs onto a hay bale like she’s been training for this moment her whole life. And Chip sprawls at her side like the Lord of Leftovers.
As the evening progresses, I circulate through the reception, meeting more travel writers and journalists whose names I immediately forget. I catch glimpses of my newfound acquaintances engaged in various activities—Vivian sipping champagne while critiquing the hors d’oeuvres to a nervous-looking server, Ned cornering Patty near the castle entrance—their conversation appearing heated despite their fixed smiles, and Wallis examining architectural details with unusual intensity, occasionally making notes in a small leather-bound book as if he’s planning a heist.
Do you see that, Josie?Fish’s voice drifts up from where she’s now holding court atop a pumpkin display, surrounded by her ardent admirers.That loud man is bullying the woman in pink boots. How dare he disturb the peace of my kingdom!
Your kingdom?Chip snorts from his strategic position beneath the charcuterie table.Already drunk on power, I see. Next, you’ll be demanding tribute in sardines and catnip. On second thought, that doesn’t sound half bad.
A natural leader recognizes their destiny,Fish mewls his way with far too much dignity.These hoomans clearly need guidance. Look at them—they’re taking selfies with me to show their poor,deprived friends who couldn’t be in my presence today. I’m providing a service.Think of it as feline philanthropy.
The only service you’re providing is ego inflation,Chip retorts, though I notice he’s not exactly shunning attention either as he accepts another morsel from a delighted conference attendee.
Jealousy is unbecoming of you, Chip,Fish sniffs.Perhaps if you developed a little swivel to your hips instead of focusing exclusively on bacon, you too could inspire a little devotion.
I prefer bacon to devotion,Chip mewls back as if it were a sacred truth.I can’t eat devotion.
He’s so got her there.
I’ve just rescued Chip from his third attempt to infiltrate the bacon-wrapped date platter—his stealth mission is about as subtle as a marching band in a library—when Eddie Merryweather taps a spoon against his glass, calling for attention.
Fun fact: those bacon-wrapped dates sound like a terror to the taste buds but taste like heaven. I’ve already had six, butsixteenis the goal for the evening.
“Ladies and gentlemen, thank you all for coming to Huckleberry Hollow Wonderland!” Eddie starts. “Edie and I are so pleased to host the Hidden Gems Conference again this year.” Polite applause ripples through the crowd like a gentle wave of mandatory enthusiasm. “And we’re especially excited to introduce someone new to our Wonderland family. Please welcome our new park manager, Josie Janglewood! Josie, why don’t you come on up and say a few words?”
More applause, this time accompanied by curious stares that make me feel like a new exhibit at the zoo. I step forward, my heart pounding like I’ve just chugged three espressos.
Public speaking was never my forte, and the weight of several dozen evaluating gazes doesn’t help. I half expect to look down and discover I’m naked in that classic anxiety dream scenario. Come to think of it, I might prefer it. At least that way I have the potential to wake up fromthis nightmare.
“Thank you,” I begin, my voice only slightly unsteady. “I’m thrilled to join the Huckleberry Hollow Wonderland family. This park has such... potential, and I look forward to helping it shine.” I pause, then add impulsively, “And, of course, I hope you’ll all get a chance to meet our newly appointed mascots, Fish and Chip.”
I gesture to the cats, who are both now sitting primly at my feet—Chip because Georgie bribed him with a piece of bacon, and Fish because she refuses to be outdone by Chip in anything, including dignified sitting.
The announcement receives enthusiastic applause from most guests, though I notice Ned rolling his eyes as if I didn’t impress him. There’s a reason they call liquor truth serum, and judging by the booze he’s already downed, the man is practically a prophet at this point.
“Cats as mascots,” he mutters just loudly enough to be heard. “What next? A petting zoo as a five-star restaurant?”
As the applause dies down and conversations resume, I find myself wondering what exactly I’ve gotten myself into. Twenty-four hours ago, I was a betrayed wife fleeing a broken marriage with nothing but my cat and a half tank of gas. Now I’m the manager of a struggling theme park with two reluctant feline mascots and a crowd of travel critics evaluating my every move.
The quartet shifts to a livelier tune as the evening takes on a more festive atmosphere. Staff light additional lanterns as darkness falls completely, transforming the courtyard into a magical autumn wonderland. For a moment, watching the happy faces lit by the warm glow, I feel a spark of genuine excitement. Maybe this bizarre detour in my life plan could actually work out.
I never could have guessed that in just a few short hours, that spark would be extinguished by police lights, crime scene tape, and the discovery that managing a theme park was about to become the least complicated part of my new job.
CHAPTER 7
Twilight transforms Magical Marvels Hollow into something that lives up to its name—which is saying something, considering the bar was set pretty low by the creaky carousel and the animatronic tiger that sounds like it’s dying of dysentery. Face it, this entire place reeks ofhaunted yard sale.
Amber light filters through the crimson and gold leaves, casting a warm glow that softens the edges of everything it touches, including my frayed nerves and the fact that I’m apparently hosting a reception for people who could critique a sunset and find it lacking.
The air grows crisp as the sun dips lower, carrying the mingled scents of pumpkin spice, caramel, and woodsmoke from a distant fire pit. Somewhere, a carousel plays a tinkling melody that drifts on the evening breeze, hauntingly nostalgic—or maybe that’s just my bank account mourning my recent decision to cut off the one who was feeding it.
The carved pumpkins—dozens of them, scattered throughout the courtyard—begin to glow as staff light the candles inside, transforming ordinary gourds into grinning cutie pies. Which isperfect, because nothing says welcome to your new job like vegetables that look happier than you feel.
Lanterns suspended from tree branches sway gently, casting shadows across the cobblestone paths, while fairy lights wrapped around trunks and railings twinkle to life like tiny stars determined to make this place look magical despite my best efforts to stress-sweat through my clothes.
