Page 58 of Fish and Chip: Nine Lives One Murder
“Yes. In fact, he mentioned looking into the history of this very park. He seemed quite fixated on it, actually. Like a dog with a particularly juicy bone, if you’ll pardon the expression.”
My pulse quickens like I’ve just spotted a clearance sale at my favorite store. “Did he say what about the park interested him?”
“He said there were skeletons buried deeper than any ride foundation. He talked about cover-ups like we were in a spy novel instead of a town where the mayor still uses a flip phone.”
“When was the last time you saw him?” Dexter asks, watching Wallis’s face with the intensity of a detective reading a book written in invisible ink.
“At the reception, of course. But I left early. These old bones don’t tolerate late nights like they used to.” He chuckles self-deprecatingly, patting his knee like it might provide character testimony. “Youth is wasted on the wrong people, as they say.”
“And you didn’t see him later that evening? Perhaps in the funhouse?”
“Heavens, no.” Wallis looks genuinely startled, but whether from the question or its implication is about as clear as mud in a rainstorm. “I was back at my hotel by nine. The front desk clerk can confirm it. I was in bed with a good book and a better brandy by ten.”
I notice the slight tension in his hand as he sets down his fork, his knuckles whitening just a fraction—like someone trying to appear casual while internally calculating escape routes.
“Did you notice Ned speaking with anyone in particular that night?” I ask. “Anyone who seemed agitated?”
Wallis pauses, his expression suggesting internal calculation more complex than my tax returns. “Well, now that you mention it, I did see him in what appeared to be a rather heated discussion with Vivian Templeton. Behind the catering tent.”
Dexter’s posture shifts subtly, like a hunting dog catching a scent. “Vivian Templeton? What time was this?”
“Must have been around eight-thirty, shortly before I left.” Wallis takes a sip of his water with studied casualness. “They’ve had a contentious relationship for years—professional rivals, you understand—but this seemed different. More personal. Vivian was holding something... papers, perhaps? Ned seemed quite agitated about whatever she was showing him.”
“Any idea what they were arguing about?” Dexter presses.
Wallis leans forward. “I couldn’t hear clearly, but I did catch Vivian saying something about proof and Ned responding that the public deserves to know.” He sits back, spreading his hands. “Make of that what you will. Personally, I find it rather intriguing, don’t you?”
He’s laying it on just thick enough to look helpful,Fish mewls from our table, where she’s apparently been monitoring the conversation with the focus of a feline surveillance expert.Yet another classic misdirection technique. Next, he’ll offer you his dessert.Distract the hooman with pie, point fingers at someone else, and hope we’re too full to notice.
Also, your chicken is delicious,Chip adds, confirming my suspicions about our unguarded meals.The honey sauce pairs excellently with the herb marinade. I had to try it six times. For, you know, scientific reasons.
“Mr. Fulton,” Dexter continues, “I couldn’t help but notice you were studying what appeared to be park blueprints earlier. Professional interest?”
Wallis winces before his charming smile returnsfaster than a boomerang with attachment issues. “Just researching for a new guidebook.Hidden Histories of American Amusements. This park has such a fascinating past.”
“Including your personal connection to it?” I ask innocently, like I’m inquiring about his favorite color rather than potentially explosive family secrets.
His hand freezes halfway to his water glass. “I’m not sure I understand, Ms. Janglewood.”
“Just that you seem to have a particular interest in Huckleberry Hollow Wonderland. Almostfamilial.”
The Southern charm drops a few degrees, like someone adjusted the thermostat from hospitable to mildly homicidal.
“You’ve been speaking to Patty Sherwood, I see.” He forces a smile. “She always did have an overactive imagination. The girl could turn a handshake into an engagement announcement.”
“Is it her imagination?” I press, sensing I’ve hit a nerve. “Or is there some truth to the rumor that you’re related to the Merryweathers?”
Wallis dabs his mouth with his napkin, a gesture that seems designed to buy thinking time and possibly hide facial twitches. “Family is a complicated concept, Ms. Janglewood. The Merryweathers and I have history. But I assure you, my interest in the park is primarily professional.”
“And yet you’re studying blueprints rather than taking the standard tour,” Dexter points out with detective-level precision. “Most visitors don’t require structural engineering documents to enjoy the cotton candy.”
“I believe in thorough research.” Wallis glances at his watch with urgency, like he’s just remembered an important appointment or needs an excuse to escape. “Speaking of which, I have a conference call with my publisher in fifteen minutes.” He stands, his smile returning to full wattage. “It’s been a pleasure chatting with you both. The berry cobbler is particularly magnificent—almost worth killing for.” He pauses. “A figure of speech, of course.”
With a slight bow, he takes off, leaving his half-eaten pie behind like abandoned evidence.
He’s lying about something,Fish declares as we watch him exit.His tail would be twitching if he had one. Hoomans have terrible poker faces without proper tails for emotional concealment.
The real crime is abandoning perfectly good pie,Chip adds solemnly.Some desserts never get their justice.
