Page 71 of Fish and Chip: Nine Lives One Murder
“Us too!” the girls chime in. “We brought friends. We’ll catch up with you later, Mom!”
The girls bolt with friends in tow, and Clyde slinks off toward the smoked turkey leg stand.
Family reunions are exhausting,Chip meows.I need a nap and possibly therapy after that brief encounter.
You need therapy regardless,Fish retorts.Your attachment to bacon borders on an unhealthy obsession.
“Josie!” Georgie’s voice carries across the midway as she, Ree, and Bizzy converge on me. “Congratulations on catching your first killer!”
“My first?” I laugh. “Hopefully my last. I’d like to think murder isn’t going to become a regular feature of park management.”
“Knowing our luck, it’ll be a weekly occurrence,” Ree says darkly. “Like staff meetings, but with more corpses.”
“Bizzy is the expert in that field.” Georgie nods toward my friend. “How many have you caught now? Twelve? Fifteen? Fifty?”
“I don’t keep count,” Bizzy protests, though her expression suggests otherwise. “It’s not like I have a punch card—solve ten murders, get the eleventh free.”
Georgie’s attention suddenly shifts to a group of teenage boys attempting to sneak into the Gold Rush Hollow equipment shed with the stealth of elephants wearing tap shoes. “Oh my! Those young men need proper guidance!” She launches herself toward them with surprising speed for a woman in a parade float hat, bellowing, “In my day, we trespassed with DIGNITY!”
Bizzy and Ree exchange alarmed glances.
“We better go stop her before she organizes them into an efficient breaking-and-entering unit,” Bizzy says with a resignedlook that I’m pretty sure suggests she’s handled this situation before.
“Or worse, starts telling them about her fourth husband’s lockpicking techniques,” Ree adds with a shudder. And I get the feeling that Ree has heard a few stories from Georgie that she can’t unhear.
They dash off like first responders to a Georgie emergency, leaving me alone with the cats just as Detective Drake reappears, looking slightly less official with his tie loosened and his badge no longer prominently displayed, which makes him look more like a regular person and less like someone who could arrest me for jaywalking.
“Sorry if I overstepped my bounds earlier,” he says, referring to our kiss with a frown that makes him even more attractive, which should be illegal. “Heat of the moment and all that.” His lips twitch as if he were lying. And I so hope he is.
You better be sorry,Chip grumbles with the territorial instincts of an orange cat who’s just gotten comfortable with the current living arrangements.She just got rid of one hooman. We don’t need another one cluttering up our living space and eating our food.
Oh, relax,Fish scolds.You better get used to it. It happened to my hooman, too. There’s just something about solving murders that makes hoomans amorous. It’s some weird survival instinct, I suppose. ‘We didn’t die! Quick, let’s lock lips!’ Besides, this one might actually be trainable.
“I didn’t mind,” I tell Drake. “I even kind of liked it. In fact, I wholeheartedly approve of the overstepping. Feel free to overstep again at your earliest convenience.”
A smile twitches on his stubborn lips, softening the professional edges into something warmer that makes my knees forget how to function properly.
“Good to know,” he says. “I’ll keep that in mind for future murderinvestigations.”
His phone bleats with the insistence of technology that refuses to respect romantic moments, and he grimaces at the screen. “I need to get to the station. Paperwork waits for no detective, especially after arrests involving public confessions and cat-assisted takedowns.”
“Go catch more bad guys,” I tell him, trying to sound supportive instead of disappointed that duty is calling. “That’s what you do best, apparently.”
He does a double take my way.
“I mean, outside of what those lips can do. Stellar work.” I break out in spontaneous applause. “I really mean it.” And I really do.
“We’ll talk? Over coffee, maybe?” He’s already backing away.
“I wouldn’t miss it.” I nod, and he takes off toward the parking lot.
My moment of romantic contemplation is interrupted by Eddie and Edie Merryweather frantically waving from near the carousel like they’re trying to flag down a rescue helicopter.
I make my way over, wondering what new park crisis awaits me. Malfunctioning rides? Escaped animals? Another body in an unfortunate location?
“Josie!” Eddie beams, grabbing both my hands so hard I think I felt three of my fingers shatter like glass. “We’re so impressed with everything! The changes you’ve made, how quickly you’ve turned things around!”
“The parade was wonderful,” Edie adds with genuine warmth. “And Fish and Chip are perfect mascots. The guests love them more than the rides!”
