Page 66 of Fish and Chip: Nine Lives One Murder
The intensity of Vivian’s stare sends a subtle chill up my spine despite the warm autumn sun.
What is she seeing? Or perhaps more importantly, what is sheremembering?
The royal cats will survive without me.
Right now? I’ve got questions for the editor-in-chief who apparently can’t stop making googly eyes at a murder scene.
Because when someone can’t look away, it’s usually because they’ve seen something they shouldn’t have.
CHAPTER 25
The funhouse entrance looms before me with its gaping clown mouth frozen in an eternal laugh that feels more menacing than merry while the parade takes place back on Huckleberry Lane.
It’s late afternoon and the crisp autumn air carries the fading scents of caramel corn, smoked turkey legs, anxiety, and maybe a sprinkle of murder.
The carnival music drifting from inside plays at half-speed, transforming what should be cheerful into something from a fever dream from the hot place. And have I mentioned the mechanical clown laughter? Yeah, it’s haunting on a whole other level.
I spot Vivian immediately—her silver hair catching the golden light as she stands alone, staring at the funhouse entrance. The sight of her dabbing tears with an embroidered handkerchief stops me short. Her normally impeccable posture has softened, shoulders slightly hunched as if the professional armor she wears has finally cracked.
Fish and Chip shift in my arms, their parade outfits stillmiraculously intact despite their earlier efforts to stage a feline jailbreak.
Are we approaching the crying hooman?Fish questions, her tone suggesting this is clearly beneath royal dignity.Tears make it harder to accuse someone of murder. It’s very inconvenient.
Maybe she dropped ice cream,Chip offers.I’d cry, too. Actually, I’d lick it off the ground, then cry when you judged me for it.
I approach Vivian cautiously, not wanting to interrupt a dramatic breakdown or risk catching whatever emotional bug she’s got going on. She notices me anyway, quickly tucking the handkerchief into her sleeve and straightening like she’s prepping for a speech.
“Josie,” she says with a nod, then spots the cats. Instantly, she shifts into PR mode. “And the stars of the show! Just look at you two—dressed to impress!”
She reaches out to stroke Fish, who shockingly allows it, even though I can tell it’s a charitable act.
I’ll permit it just this once. I’m not beneath a little feline worship. Especially when I’m the feline in question.
Chip narrows his eyes.Sudden cat affection from the Queen of Frost? Either she’s trying to distract us or she’s about to confess to a crime.
“Are you okay?” I ask, keeping my voice gentle but my Spidey senses on full alert. “You seemed upset.”
Vivian’s manicured hand pauses on Fish’s head. Her gaze returns to the funhouse, and for a moment, I see past the polish to the person underneath.
“You know, I loved him once,” she says, nodding toward the funhouse. “We were engaged, back when we were both starting out. BeforeElite Escapes, before his blog. Before he became...” she trails off, then sighs. “I guess love doesn’t die. I’m sorry Ned had to.”
Her words land with the thud of truth, thekind you only get from people who’ve either hit rock bottom or found an excellent therapist.
“Did you have a good reason for him to die?” I finally ask, meeting her eyes directly. “The pins I saw on your vest at the reception—the Tree and the Haunted Gold Mine pins—they were the same ones found next to his body. Did he have to die because of your bitter rivalry after he left you for your assistant? Or because he was threatening to expose your alleged bribery scheme for positive reviews?”
Vivian blinks twice. Her eyes widen as shock gives way to something that looks dangerously close to laughter.
“Oh, Josie,” she says with unexpected warmth. “You’ve been quite the busy detective, haven’t you?”
She’s not denying it,Chip notes.This is when the killer usually tries to change the subject or offer cookies.
“My pins went missing during the reception,” Vivian explains, holding my gaze steadily. “I assumed they’d fallen off somewhere in the crowd. Are you saying they were found with Ned?”
I nod, studying her reaction.
“That’s so disturbing,” she says slowly. “Someone must have taken them. Perhaps the same someone who killed Ned.”
“And your rivalry?” I press.
