Page 39 of Fish and Chip: Nine Lives One Murder
I’m torn between wanting to straighten his tie and wanting to use it to yank him closer—neither of which seems appropriate given that we met over a corpse less than twenty-four hours ago. My romantic standards have clearly plummeted since leaving Clyde, but apparently, they haven’t hit rock bottom yet.
“Ms. Janglewood,” he replies, his voice smooth as bourbon on ice and twice as dangerous. “We had an appointment at the precinct. At five.”
I glance at my watch. Six-fifteen. Fantastic. Maybe next time I’ll just roll in on a float that sayspunctuality is a suggestion. “I’m so sorry. I was dealing with a funnel cake fire, a swan boat hostage situation, and some light screaming. Long story.” True story. A lot can happen from here to there. But I digress…
He raises an eyebrow. Just the one. Honestly, it should be illegal how expressive his face is. And have I mentioned lethally handsome?
“Well, I was concerned,” he says. “So, I dropped by.” There’s something in his tone that suggests he’s not entirely displeased with the change of venue.
“That’s... unexpectedly thoughtful. I mean, not that you’re incapable of thoughtfulness. But this feels... considerate-adjacent.” Considerate-adjacent? The words escape before I can filter them. Kill me now. Where’s a rogue clown with a chainsaw when you really need one? “I mean, I was just testing a few of the rides.” I gesture vaguely toward the park behind me. “I got caught up in the moment. There’s nothing like experiencing mechanical malfunctions firsthand to really understand the scope of your job responsibilities. You haven’t truly lived until you’ve been trapped on a swan boat circling an animatronic frog with separation anxiety.”
Georgie swoops in like the human version of a confetti cannon, her roller coaster hat still spinning from earlier misadventures. “I need to de-lobster my hair and realign my organs. Big Red, let’s go. Josie, don’t do anything I wouldn’t do—which basically gives you free rein.”
Ree nods, shooting me a look so loaded with meaning it should require a background check and a waiting period. “Absolutely. Seafood in hair is a serious condition. It needs immediate attention. I believe the medical term isshrimpoo. We’ll just be far from here.”
“I’ll bring Fish back to the inn with me later,” I assure them, trying not to look as grateful for their exit as I feel. My poker face has all the subtlety of a neon sign.
“Of course, you will.” Georgie winks so dramatically it’s practically a facial spasm. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do—which leaves you with a surprisingly wide range of options! Remember, bail money requires advance notice!”
They take off, leaving a trail of giggles in their wake like auditory breadcrumbs, and I’m left standing with tall, dark, and far too handsome.
His cologne pulls me in like a fish on a line with its woodsy goodness with hints of citrus. It’s the kind of scent that makes you want to lean closer just to identify all the hot notes. But instead, I take a deliberate step back, irritated with my body’s response to this virtual stranger.
So what if he smells like a forest after rainfall? I’ve got bigger problems—like the mechanical wench currently flashing half the guest population.
“I suppose the cats couldn’t make our appointment either?” Dexter asks, glancing around. His tone suggests he’s genuinely disappointed to miss the feline mascots, which earns him several points in my mental scorebook.
A hot man who loves cats is always a winner.
Clyde threatened to make earmuffsout of Chip once. Although, let’s be honest, Chip could afford to outfit half of Maine with earmuffs from the fur he sheds alone.
“Fish and Chip are currently recruiting an army of strays to deal with our rodent situation,” I explain. “They’ve gone all General Patton on the mouse problem. I expect them to return with tiny berets and strategic maps drawn in catnip any minute now.”
His lips quirk upward a notch—but not too much because obviously he’s too hot to smile. It’s like watching the sun try to rise behind a very serious mountain.
“I’m sure they’ll report for duty soon enough,” he says. “Although I should warn you, deputizing cats without proper credentials is technically a misdemeanor.”
I snort. “So is impersonating a competent adult, and I’ve been doing that since this morning.”
He’s hot and has a sense of humor? And did he just quasi-threaten to use his handcuffs on me? No? It was just me? Carry on.
“So since I stood you up, can I interest you in a walk? Maybe a tour of the park’s less-lethal features?”
Dexter quirks a brow and I swear I heard the distinct rumble of laughter going off in his chest, sort of like a summer storm. It’s a sound that makes my knees consider going on strike. It’s the kind of laugh that suggests he doesn’t do it often enough, which seems like a crime in itself.
“Any first day is challenging, but I bet you didn’t expect it to be murder,” he says, flexing a smile that disappears as quick as it came.
“Oh, believe me, I suspected the day might be murder—just not in the literal sense,” I reply. “Though finding a corpse does set the bar pretty low for future workplace disappointments. It’s hard to complain about the coffee machine being empty after that.” I pause, suddenly worried I’ve crossed a line with thegallows humor. Or worse yet, made myself sound like a callous killer. “Sorry, that was?—”
“Accurate,” he finishes, tipping his head my way.
We stroll Huckleberry Lane, dodging kids high on sugar and parents low on patience. The popcorn machine wheezes like it has asthma, and Dexter nearly draws his weapon.
“That one’s Kernel’s Korner,” I explain. “It screams before it explodes. It’s fun.”
“This park is a lawsuit wrapped in nostalgia.”
“I couldn’t have said it better. Welcome to my empire.”
