Page 62 of Fish and Chip: Nine Lives One Murder
We take off together and part ways as soon as we step outside.
The parade will be the perfect opportunity to observe all suspects in one location,Fish mewls.All gathered for our convenience. Now that’s efficient.
And there will be funnel cake,Chip adds dreamily.Funnel cake and murder suspects. It will be the perfect Sunday.
Magic and Mascots, indeed. And perhaps, if we’re lucky, a killer will finally step into the spotlight.
The suspects are assembling. The parade is coming.
And someone is about to get unmasked—hopefully not me.
Stay tuned.
CHAPTER 23
The Country Cottage Inn welcomes me back from the park with its comforting scent of cinnamon and freshly baked cookies—the kind of smell that makes you want to curl up with a romance novel and pretend your biggest problem is choosing between chocolate chip and snickerdoodles.
And boy, do snickerdoodles sound good right about now.
The lobby has been transformed for fall with the enthusiasm of a decorator who clearly has a holiday addiction and isn’t seeking treatment. Miniature pumpkins line the mantelpiece above the crackling fireplace like tiny orange soldiers, and arrangements of rust-colored chrysanthemums and golden maple leaves adorn every table. Even the ancient grandfather clock in the corner wears a small wreath of autumn berries around its face, because apparently, everything needs seasonal accessories now.
“You two look exhausted,” I murmur to Fish and Chip, who slouch in their respective tote bags. Their royal parade attire now looks decidedly less regal. Chip’s bowtie hangs at an odd angle, and Fish’s crown sits askew despite her earlier insistence on perfect alignment.
That’s because we were forced to take pictures with guests for forty-five minutes straight,Fish grouses.My royal smile may never recover. I’m filing for hazard pay.
I’m not tired,Chip protests, even as his eyelids droop.I’m storing energy for the next inevitable corpse. It’s coming. I can feel it in my whiskers.
“Let’s shoot for a murder-free evening,” I say, approaching the front desk where Grady, a dark-haired young man in his early twenties, taps away at the ancient computer.
“Hey, Josie,” he greets me with a smile that suggests he’s more interested in his phone than his job. “How was your day?”
“Magical. The cats were a sensation yet again.” I set both totes on the counter with careful nonchalance and both cats stroll out and stretch. “Quick question—is Vivian Templeton staying here? The conference organizer? She mentioned something about meeting for coffee, but didn’t say her room number.”
Okay, so it’s a bit of a stretch, but life in general feels like a bit of a stretch right now.
Grady glances at his computer screen. “Yeah, she’s in 201. Just three doors down from your room, actually.”
“Great, thanks.” I keep my expression neutral, though my heart rate kicks up a notch. “She’s quite the particular guest, isn’t she?”
“You have no idea.” Grady rolls his eyes. “She’s only sent back breakfast twice and threatened to write a scathing review once. All because the coffee wasn’t exactly one hundred and sixty-two degrees. Who measures that?”
“Editors-in-chief, apparently,” I comment. “Is she in her room now?”
“Nah, she left about an hour ago. Said something about a conference closing ceremony planning meeting.” He returns to his phone without a second thought.
“Perfect, thanks!” I say, perhaps a bit too brightly as I scoop up both cats andhead for the stairs.
I know that tone,Fish notes.That’s your ‘I’m about to do something ill-advised’ voice.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” I mutter, climbing the stairs with purpose.
Please tell me we’re just going to our room for a much-deserved nap,Chip pleads.And snacks. We so deserve snacks.
I thought you weren’t tired,Fish yowls his way.
I lied. I’m always ready for snacks and naps.He nods my way.How is the snack slash nap line-up looking?
“It’s on. But just a quick detour first.”
