Page 57 of Fish and Chip: Nine Lives One Murder
Children swarm our table. Cameras flash. Someone hands Fish a tiara. She doesn’t say thank you.
“Your companions have arrived,” Dexter notes.
The romantic atmosphere is good enough,Fish mewls, eyeing our table setup as both she and Chip hop into the booth next to me.Though the lighting could be dimmed a little for optimal courtship conditions.
They haven’t even gotten to the food part yet,Chip scolds.Priorities, Fish. Food first, mating rituals second.
I nearly choke on my drink.
The food tastes even better than it looks. My tower collapses at first contact with my fork but transforms into a delicious medley of flavors. Dexter’s expression suggests he’s mentally filing away the experience underreasons to visit theme parks that don’t involve homicide investigations.
“This is not what I expected from theme park food,” he admits.
“The Merryweathers always insisted on quality diningoptions,” I explain. “Eddie claims a hungry guest is a grumpy guest, and grumpy guests don’t buy commemorative spoons.”
Dexter’s eyes flick toward Wallis, who has set aside his blueprints to focus on what appears to be a slice of pie topped with a crown made of spun sugar. It looks as if his meal is coming to an end, and by proxy, so is ours.
Dexter nods in that direction. “Speaking of the Merryweathers, shall we?”
I take one last fortifying bite and a generous sip of mead. “Let’s do it. My tower has collapsed, and my courage is adequately liquid.”
Wallis looks up as we approach, his expression shifting from mild annoyance to calculated charm in the space of a heartbeat. He stands, revealing a height that matches Dexter’s and mannerisms that suggest generations of Southern gentlemen preceding him.
He’s giving vibes of sweet tea and scandal. Now to find out if he serves it with a side of homicide.
CHAPTER 21
“Detective Drake,” Wallis says, his Southern drawl thick enough to pour over pancakes, his eyes twinkling like he’s selling charm by the ounce. “A pleasure as always, but I figured we had wrapped up our little murder talk yesterday.”
He turns to me with a smile that probably gets him free upgrades at hotels. “And you must be Ms. Janglewood, the mastermind behind turning house pets into marketing gold. Gotta admit, I admire a woman who can weaponize whiskers.”
“Mr. Fulton.” Dexter nods with professional courtesy as we approach our suspect right here in The Fairy Tale Feast in the heart of Storybook Hollow. “Mind if we join you for a moment? We have a few follow-up questions.”
“Follow-up questions over dessert?” Wallis gestures to his half-eaten pie with the enthusiasm of a man who’s just been asked to discuss tax law during a root canal. “How could I refuse? Though I must warn you, I’ve already told you everything I know about poor Ned’s unfortunate demise. The man was as skilled at making enemies as he was at finding fault with five-star resorts.”
We settle into chairs across from him, and I note that theblueprints have mysteriously disappeared faster than free samples at a big box store on a Saturday afternoon. Wallis dabs at his mouth with a napkin, the picture of Southern gentility with a side of evidence tampering.
“I understand you were Ned’s business partner,” I begin casually, as if I’m asking about his meal instead of potential murder motives. “That must make his death particularly difficult for you.”
“Business partner is perhaps overstating things,” Wallis corrects smoothly, with ease as if he’s had to explain complicated business relationships before. “We co-owned a travel website, yes, but it was more of an investment on my part. Ned handled the content side. I merely provided the financial backing and occasional bail money when his reviews provoked physical retaliation from disgruntled restaurant owners.”
“Was it a profitable venture?” Dexter asks. His tone is conversational enough but his eyes are sharp enough to perform surgery. So very hot.
“Modestly profitable.” Wallis takes a bite of pie, chewing thoughtfully like he’s savoring both the flavor and the time it buys him to formulate answers that won’t land him in handcuffs. “I will say, though, Ned had been... well, difficult lately. He wanted to take the site in a different direction.”
“Different how?” I lean forward with the enthusiasm of a girl who’s finally getting somewhere in this investigation.
“He was gravitating toward exposés rather than reviews. He wanted to uncover the dark side of the travel industry.” Wallis shakes his head with a weary expression as if he tried to talk sense into a brick wall. “I told him scandal sells less reliably than service, but Ned always did love stirring the pot. The man couldn’t eat soup without creating waves and probably alienating the entire kitchen staff. Our business model worked until he got the itch for scandal.”
“Scandal doesn’t pay?” Dexter asks.
“Not reliably. You know how it is—one exposébrings clicks, two lawsuits, and suddenly your accountant starts sweating more than your targets.”
Dexter leans forward slightly. “These exposés—any idea what specifically he was working on?”
“Nothing concrete. Like I said, he wanted to take the site in full dark mode—exposés, conspiracies, shady backstories of luxury spas. I told him nobody wants doom with their destination recs.”
“Was he poking around the park?” Dexter leans in.
