Page 49 of Fish and Chip: Nine Lives One Murder
“I also learned he’s single, works out five times a week, and has a pet iguana named Nebula.” Georgie sips her drink, which appears to have actual stars floating in it and possibly a small galaxy. “You know, for the case file.”
“Of course,” I say. “Because the iguana could be a material witness.”
“Never underestimate reptiles. They see everything and tell nothing.” She taps the side of her nose knowingly. “They’re silent observers, like tiny dinosaur spies who were much better at surviving a planet-destroying asteroid.”
Our strategic planning is interrupted when a waiter arrives with a platter we definitely didn’t order—a mountain of glowing blue nachos covered in multiple cheeses and what looks like iridescent salsa that violates several laws of nature.
“Compliments of the mayoral candidate,” he says, nodding toward Patty’s table, where she raises her steaming blue drink in a toast that could be friendly or could be a declaration of war.
She’s spotted us,Fish hisses.Our cover is blown. Retreat and regroup!
Are those nachos?Chip interrupts, his focus narrowing to laser precision.With actual cheese? Is that jalapeño? And is that... bacon? On nachos? This establishment clearly employs culinary geniuses.
“Cover blown but nachos acquired,” I mutter. “I’d call that a tactical draw.”
I wave back at Patty, who beckons us over with a practiced politician’s gesture—welcoming yet somehow imperious. Before I can coordinate our approach, Georgie is already halfway to the table as that yeti on her head bobs and weaves at the crowd like a one-foot threat.
“Subtlety,” Ree mutters. “It’s so last season.”
“On the bright side, we got free nachos out of it,” I observe, gathering my drink and my dignity—and, of course, the nachos. I’m not a monster. “Come on, let’s go chat with our hiking boot enthusiast with the dicey grin and potential murder motive.”
Operation Pink Boots is a go,Fish meows from my tote.Remember, maintain eye contact and look for micro-expressions indicating her affinity forstrangulation.
And if she could provide another tray of nachos,Chip adds.For investigative purposes.
We make our way through the crowded bar, arriving at Patty’s table just as Georgie is finishing what appears to be a detailed compliment about Patty’s campaign button design. The volunteers scoot over, making room with the reluctance of people who’ve been directed to share oxygen with potential vote-stealers.
We join the table and Patty flashes that politician smile—warm, practiced, and entirely insincere.
“Josie Janglewood!” Patty calls out as if I just won a prize. “Our new park manager! I’ve been hearing all about your innovative changes.” She gestures to the cat ear headbands that, I now notice, several of her staff members are wearing. “Quite the entrepreneurial spirit!”
“Just trying to keep the lights on,” I say, sliding into the booth with Ree beside me as the rest of Patty’s employees begin to chat among themselves. Fish and Chip poke their heads out of their totes, studying Patty with unnerving intensity. She pets Chip, who sniffs her fingers like they might be hiding tuna.
“These must be the famous mascots,” Patty coos, leaning forward to get a better look. “My social media team tells me they’re absolutely crushing it online. It was wise of you to jump on the merchandising opportunities.”
“We’re planning stuffed animals,” I say. “Possibly animated.”
“Smart girl.” Patty nods. “That’s what Wonderland always needed. A fresh face. A business mind. Eddie and Edie were sweet, but that place practically ran on bubble gum and duct tape.” She laughs at the thought. “I worked a summer job at the park back in high school. Even then, the filing system was essentially throw it in a box until you need it.”
“You worked here?” I ask, surprised. So this was the connection to the park Vivian hinted at. “In what capacity?”
“Oh, just a general helper. Tickets, concessions, a little bit ofeverything.” She waves her hand dismissively. “That’s how most of us local kids got our start. It was practically a rite of passage in Huckleberry Hollow.”
Her shoulders jumped when you asked about her work history,Fish mewls.A classic sign of anxiety.
And she’s gripping that drink of hers as if it personally offended her family honor,Chip adds.Also, I can’t believe they serve food that glows here. Is that a health code violation or a feature?
Sadly, I fear it’s both.
“I’m actually glad we ran into you,” I continue, maintaining my most innocent expression, the one I perfected during twenty-five years of pretending Clyde’s harebrained ideas weren’t ridiculous. “I’ve been thinking about the upcoming parade. The, uh, Great Gourd Gala? I’ve been thinking of renaming it something...less gourd-y.”
“Geez, that name.” Patty rolls her eyes. “It was Eddie’s idea back in ’94. I guess they needed something with alliteration after the Pumpkin Promenade fiasco.”
“Fiasco?” Georgie perks up at the scent of scandal like a bloodhound detecting gossip.
Patty leans in. “Let’s just say it involved teenagers, a costume goat, and a regrettable tattoo.”
I nod like I hear that kind of story every other day. And working here, I just might.
