Chapter 15
“Is it just me or does that alpaca look like my third husband?” Georgie asks as we approach the alpaca pen at Pawprint Hollow.
Ree adjusts her cardigan. “Which one?”
“The one with the underbite and trust issues.”
“That narrows it down to two.”
The alpaca pen at Pawprint Hollow has been decorated with the enthusiasm of someone who just discovered mini pumpkins exist. They’re balanced on every fence post like the orange cutie pies guarding the world’s fluffiest prisoners.
Six alpacas mill about in various shades from pristine white to brown to spotted, tall neck, long soft eyelashes, a cross between a giraffe and a llama, each wearing a tiny witch hat that keeps sliding off their ears with comic determination.
Morning Coffee & Chaos wrapped up earlier after filming a Halloween culinary segment and costume DIY session.
Watching the crew try to transform Clyde into a vampire using nothing but toilet paper was entertaining as all get out, mainly because no amount of makeup could hide the fact that he already sucks the life out of every room he enters.
It’s late afternoon, bordering on evening, and my misfit detective squad and I have finally tracked down our final suspect—a buxom blonde with one serious wiggle bottom.
Speaking of dressing up, today Georgie’s kaftan features crime scene tape patterns with sequined handcuffs that catch the morning light and a heavy coat thrown over it with rainboots and a scarf. “I dressed for the occasion!” she sings, making the sequins shimmer.
The alpacas seem hypnotized by the sparkles, which might explain why they haven’t noticed Crystal Wigglebottom in their midst, taking what must be her three hundredth selfie of the day.
She’s dressed in a pale pink crop top with Boo-tiful bedazzled across the chest, paired with high-waisted black leather pants and heels that could double as weapons.
I’ll admit, the woman knows her angles—even if her personality has all the depth of a puddle.
“Aww,” I coo at the furry mob before us as they all give us the stink eye. “Aren’t they adorable?” I say holding both Fish and Chip. Yes, Chip, too. All six thousand pounds of his donut-loving self.
What can I say? My arms are in serious need of a workout. I like the occasional donut, too. And by occasional, I mean hourly. Don’t judge. Savvy just introduced a pumpkin spice cream cheese donut with candied pecans.
Those are just tall sheep with ego problems, Fish mewls from my arms, her tone suggesting she’s personally offended by their existence.
They have magnificent furry necks, though, Chip counters, studying the offerings in their trough more than he’s studying them.
So do swans, Fish counters. They’re also jerks.
I want to ride one into battle! Chip meows with far too much glee.
You can’t even ride the Roomba without screaming.
Fish has got a point.
Georgie marches up to Crystal with a determination that suggests she’s watched one too many detective shows. “Why did you do it, Toots? Why did you poison the hand that fed you—and kept you in handbags?”
Ree averts her eyes. “She’s used that opener six times this week.”
Crystal laughs, a wheezing sound that makes the alpacas’ ears twitch. “Oh hon, I wish I’d poisoned that man! I would have done it a long time ago, and it would’ve saved everyone a lot of trouble.”
She’s in full glam mode—perfect makeup despite the farm environment, fluffy blonde hair that defies humidity, and a smile that proves how little it takes to turn my ex into a drooling idiot. Not a difficult feat by any standards.
“But seriously,” Crystal continues, giving one last duck-faced kiss into her phone, “Duffy was the worst. Duffy was the actual worst human being I’ve ever met. And I’m dating Clyde, so that’s saying something.”
“That is saying something,” I agree.
“Honestly, I don’t know how any woman could stand him,” she says, wrinkling her nose.
“Although apparently someone did. He was always sneaking off for some private meetings.” She makes air quotes aggressive enough to injure someone.
“His phone would blow up at all hours with kissy emojis and eggplants. EGGPLANTS! At his age!”
“Scandalous vegetables,” Georgie agrees solemnly, but that wicked grin twitching on her lips lets me know she approves.
“Once I saw lipstick on his collar.” Crystal goes on spilling the dirt. “It was definitely not his shade. More like Desperate Housewife Burgundy rather than his usual Toxic Producer Beige.”
“Wait,” I interrupt. “Duffy wore lipstick?” This might give the case a whole new angle.
“No, that’s his skin tone.” Georgie waves her wrist as she takes a seat on a bale of hay. “Toxic Producer Beige. Try to keep up, Nancy Drew.”
I’ll take that as a compliment.
One of the alpacas, aptly named Espresso, chooses this moment to spit directly at Georgie’s kaftan.
We all gasp in unison at the bodily fluid-inspired horror.
“Your sequins offend him,” Crystal explains matter-of-factly. “Speaking of offensive,” she continues, turning to me with the gleam of someone about to commit social murder, “don’t get me started about your ex-husband!”
“Start,” I say without hesitation. Just hearing someone degrade the louse always seems to brighten my day.
Ree leans in. “What kind of dirt do you have?”
“Oh, I’ve got all the dirt, and it’s about as dirty as dirty can be.
” Crystal chuckles. “Clyde isn’t just a cheater.
He’s running a full-scale operation. He’s got burner phones, fake business trips, and a whole email account just for hookup apps.
The man treats infidelity like it’s a second career with benefits.
We’re taking spreadsheets a mile long. Spreadsheets, ladies.
The man is organized in the most diabolical ways. ”
I gasp. “So that’s what the spreadsheets were for!”
Ree chokes and gags. “The man is diabolical. What in the world are you doing with him?”
“I like a challenge.” She nods frenetically. “And I have a feeling I’m the one who can change him.”
Ree, Georgie, and I groan in unison.
“Please tell me there’s more.” Georgie looks more than eager to increase her knowledge of my slimy ex’s ways. And knowing Georgie, she’s taking notes for blackmail purposes.
“Oh honey, I’m just getting started,” Crystal slaps her hands together and cackles.
“He takes more selfies than a teenage girl. His camera roll is ninety percent pictures of himself. Different angles, different lighting, different candid poses that took forty-seven tries each. He also names his muscles. HIS MUSCLES. He calls his biceps Thunder and Lightning. His abs are The Six-Pack of Justice. His pecs are—I kid you not—The Twin Towers of Testosterone. And he talks to them. In the mirror. While flexing. ‘Looking good today, Thunder. You, too, Lightning.’ I wish I was joking, but I have witnesses.” I’m about to say something, and she holds up a finger.
“But there’s more! Once, during an argument, he actually said—and I quote—‘Thunder doesn’t appreciate your tone right now.
’ I stared at his arm. His arm stared back.
It was the strangest moment of my life.”
“That’s...” I start, but honestly, I have no words. I’m just glad I got out when I did.
“And in bed?” Crystal leans in while an alpaca named Mocha tries to eat Ree’s button right off her cardigan.
But right now, nobody is shooing Mocha away.
We’re too busy waiting with bated breath to see what lunacy Clyde brings to the bedroom.
Not that I’m entirely unaware. But I have a feeling he’s upgraded his delusions since I left.
Crystal gives a wicked grin. “He wanted me to call him Thunder Wolf.”
“THUNDER WOLF!” Georgie howls as she falls off the hay bale, and soon she’s on the ground, wheezing with laughter, her sequined handcuffs catching the light like a crime scene seizure.
“Was he more thunder or wolf?” Georgie gasps from the ground.
Crystal makes a face like she might be sick. “More like a startled garden gnome. A very short-lived garden gnome who clocked out before he even made it to the field.”
Ree and I explode with laughter. Poor Georgie is laughing so hard that only short hacking sounds emit from her throat.
If Crystal keeps talking, all three of us might need medical intervention.
Fish sighs at the sight. The hoomans are discussing mating again. Loudly. Without shame, she says, with a look that suggests she’d like to file a complaint. I can’t blame her. I’m moved to file a complaint myself.
Clyde sure has a lot of confidence for something that clearly didn’t go well, Chip sagely points out. Also—Thunder Wolf? That’s a name you pick on purpose.
A name you insist on, Fish corrects.
Chip tips his head, deep in thought. Do you think he introduces himself that way, or is it more of a reveal?
I suspect it’s a reveal, Fish muses. Followed by immediate disappointment.
I nod her way, quick to agree.
It’s a silly name, for a silly man, Fish concludes with a mewl.
Thunder Wolf sounds like a superhero name, Chip counters. A really bad superhero who’s afraid of actual thunder.
I happen to agree with that, too.
I sigh over at the blonde bombshell before us. We’re so off topic, I don’t even know how to get back onto the subject of a homicide.
Crystal blows a strand of hair out of her eyes. “Honestly, Clyde is so insufferable sometimes that I could just strangle him.”
“Speaking of murder,” I can’t help but smile at the segue she just provided, “who do you think offed Duffy?”
Okay, so I could have finessed that a little better, but she gave me the proverbial runway, and I didn’t waste any time running with it.
And honestly, the fact that someone has the urge to strangle my ex is no surprise to me. Heck, if she did the deed, I might have been moved to help her bury the body. I do happen to have a fictitious graveyard right in front of the Haunted Mansion. Sometimes it pays to own a theme park.