Chapter 16
Dexter finds us halfway between the alpaca pen and whatever disaster awaits next, looking like a man who’s received disturbing information and needs immediate answers.
And maybe a few steamy kisses. Okay, so I made that last part up.
But if I’m lucky, it will be true before long. My lips are getting lonely.
“I heard Thunder Wolf is on the loose,” he says, deadpan.
Georgie explodes with laughter again. “How do you know about that wild and woolly creature?”
Fish and Chip are both still giving my arms a workout as Fish scoffs my way.
Clyde is an insult to wild and woolly creatures everywhere.
“Isn’t that the truth,” I tell her. “He’s an insult to humans, too.”
“The entire sheriff’s department knows about it,” Dexter tells us. “Crystal posted about it. With hashtags.”
“Cringeworthy news travels fast,” I say.
“How about we grab a bite while we discuss this?” Ree suggests. “Somewhere we can process both food and trauma simultaneously.”
“Bayou Bend Hollow has picnic tables,” I offer. “Plus, Savvy has been wanting us to try her new tasting menu there.”
Twenty minutes later, we’re seated at a wooden picnic table in Bayou Bend, where Halloween has collided with Southern Gothic and decided to stay. Fake Spanish moss drapes from every tree, mixed with orange and purple twinkle lights.
The Haunted Mansion facade looms nearby, sending screams into the October air every few minutes. Tourists stream past us in various states of costume—I count three witches, two zombies, and one very confused-looking dinosaur.
The air smells like kettle corn and something Savvy is grilling that might be legally addictive. The crowd’s energy is infectious. There are kids shrieking with delight and adults pretending they’re not afraid of the random actors in monster costumes who keep jumping out from behind trees.
Savvy appears with Cupcake prancing beside her, carrying a tray that looks like she’s robbed a five-star restaurant. “Y’all ready for a culinary journey?”
Finally, someone who actually cares about taste buds in Bayou Bend Hollow, Fish mewls from her spot on the bench. Do you remember what passed for food around here before? That mystery meat situation? The fries that could double as weapons?
I nod because I sure do remember. A few weeks back, I walked around for three days with what I thought was a splinter in my thumb. It turns out, it was a shard from the aforementioned French fry.
Is that bacon-wrapped something? Chip asks, already drooling at the offerings.
One day I’m going to bacon-wrapped you, Fish sighs.
Don’t make promises you can’t keep. Chip pretends to faint on the bench and flops into a puddle of orange fur. In other words, his normal stance.
This elegant establishment deserves elegant patrons, Cupcake adds, sitting primly beside Savvy. Though the ambiance is a bit... aggressive, what, with all the screaming.
As much as I hate to say it, screaming is what pays the bills.
Savvy quickly sets out plates like she’s dealing cards at a blackjack table. “We’ve got maple-bourbon pulled pork sliders, blackened shrimp with remoulade, sweet potato beignets with cinnamon butter, and my personal favorite—bacon-wrapped dates stuffed with blue cheese.”
“Marry me,” Georgie says to the bacon-wrapped dates.
“They’re already spoken for.” Savvy grins. “By everyone who’s tried them.”
“It all sounds amazing, Savvy,” Dexter says, pulling out his phone. “How about we review what we know while we eat?”
“Murder is my favorite appetizer,” I tease.
He nods. “That’s what I’m afraid of.”
“Clyde is a Thunder Wolf,” Georgie offers through a mouthful of slider.
Dexter tips his head to the side. “Besides that.”
I fill him in on all of Crystal’s revelations between bites of shrimp that might actually be worth committing crimes for. “She saw him at 5 A.M. with latex gloves near the coffee station.”
“Latex gloves?” Dexter frowns hard. “That’s concerning.”
A group of teenage girls dressed as zombie cheerleaders runs past us, chased by someone in a surprisingly realistic werewolf costume. Or it might be a real werewolf. It’s hard to tell anymore at my park.
“What about Cooter?” Dexter asks before diving into a sweet potato beignet and he belts out a spontaneous moan.
And that moan—wow. My knees go weak, my heart goes weak, I think I blacked out for a second. I’m not sure what just happened to me, but I liked it.
“Cooter?” he asks again, looking at the three of us.
“The man has murder boards,” Georgie is quick to out his homicidal ways. “Actual murder boards. Plus, he googled untraceable poisons at work.”
“It’s true,” I say. “More or less.”
My money is still on Thunder Wolf, Fish muses while delicately eating a piece of shrimp Savvy offered.
I’m hopeful that Thunder Wolf will take the lead myself.
I think he’s too obvious, Chip counters. It’s never the obvious one. I learned that from those crime shows Bizzy watches.
You sleep through those shows, Fish points out.
I absorb information through my fur!
“Crystal said she saw Duffy with lipstick on his collar,” I continue. “Someone was involved with Duffy, but Crystal doesn’t know who.”
“Half this town is having affairs with the other half,” Savvy notes, settling at our table with her own plate. “It’s like a game of partner do-si-do around these parts. Y’all remember the great wife-swap scandal a few years back? The entire country was gabbing about it.”
“That was different,” Ree protests. “That was a book club that got out of hand.”
“Honey, that was Fifty Shades meets small-town Maine,” Savvy says, popping a bacon-wrapped date into her mouth. “The library is still recovering.”
Someone belts out an ear-piercing scream near the haunted woods, causing a passing toddler to drop his cotton candy.
Chip eyes it hopefully until the kid’s mother scoops it up and dusts it off, and the kid is happily munching on it again.
I can’t blame her. We charge twice what we should for what amounts to sugar and air.
“Timeline,” Dexter says, refocusing. “Coffee station was ready by six?”
“Delora had everything set up,” I confirm, trying a beignet that makes me moan twice as hard as he did.
His lips curve my way just enough to let me know he appreciated that moan.
“The cup switching started around seven-thirty,” he goes on. “Everyone touched those cups—Willow, Crystal, Cooter, Clyde.”
“Like a game of hot potato—except instead of a dollop of sour cream, we’ve got poison,” Georgie adds.
I nod her way. “That’s basically what Bizzy said the other night.”
A parade of park employees in costume walks by. I spot two from maintenance dressed as Mario and Luigi, which feels like a copyright violation waiting to happen.
“Who had the most opportunity?” Dexter asks.
We exchange glances.
“Delora,” Ree says with a laugh, and Georgie, Savvy, and I join her with a chuckle, but Dexter is understandably not so amused.
Is it too late to pin this on Delora? I jest. Mostly.
“She’s not a killer,” I say, trying to smooth things before we create a hump that not even Wednesday can climb over.
“But she organized everything,” Georgie points out. She obviously doesn’t mind that Dexter is packing heat. “She had access. She was there early.”
“Eh.” I shrug. “So was I, for that matter.”
Dexter frowns at his notes. “Duffy had a reputation. And he certainly gave more than a few people reason to want him gone.”
Plot twist! Cupcake announces. The detective’s mother might have secrets!
Everyone has secrets, Fish says sagely. Even the squirrels have secret acorn stashes.
I have a secret! Chip announces proudly, and I’ll admit, I’m bracing myself. I ate Josie’s sandwich yesterday and blamed it on the raccoons.
I hike a brow his way.
We know, Fish mewls. You had mustard on your whiskers for three hours.
My phone buzzes, and Savvy leans over to take a peek.
“Crystal is livestreaming,” she says. “And by the looks of it, your ex is having some kind of breakdown.”
It’s true. I can see Clyde gesticulating wildly near the castle while Crystal films with professional glee.
“Should we intervene?” I ask.
“Heavens, no.” Savvy laughs. “This is better than any true crime documentary. Look, he’s crying! I think I see real tears.”
“That’s either from guilt or embarrassment,” Dexter says, squinting at my screen as well.
“Could be both,” Georgie suggests, stealing another bacon-wrapped date. “Guilt about murder, embarrassment about Thunder Wolf.”
The blooming crowd around us continues its Halloween celebration, oblivious to our murder investigation. “Thriller” plays over the speakers, and a group starts a flash mob, much to everyone’s zombie-loving delight.
“You know what bothers me?” I say, watching a skeleton move and groove in a way that impresses the heck out of me. “Someone procured poison. That’s not a spontaneous act.”
“Unless they just like to be prepared,” Ree suggests.
“Who carries cyanide around in their back pocket?” Savvy scoffs.
“Someone who’s been waiting for the right moment,” Dexter says. “This may not have been about that day specifically. It was about opportunity meeting preparation.”
Deep, Fish comments. Also, ominous.
Like that skeleton, Chip adds, pointing with his paw at the particularly enthusiastic dancer. He’s got no rhythm but maximum commitment.
Savvy starts packing up our plates. “Y’all better get over there before Thunder Wolf howls at the moon or sheds or something.”
“It’s too overcast to see the moon,” Ree points out.
“Honey, logic left this situation when someone started naming their muscles.”
We head toward the growing crowd, navigating through families in matching costumes and vendors selling every Halloween accessory known to man, especially those that light up and spin and cause a seizure of light. And also, so many cat ears.
“Ready to interrogate your ex?” Dexter asks.
“Ready as I’ll ever be to confront a man who owns a spreadsheet of conquests.”
“The spreadsheet bothers you more than the murder?”
“The spreadsheets are confirmed. The murder is still theoretical.”
I can hear Clyde’s voice rising above the crowd noise. He’s definitely saying something about being misunderstood.
This should be entertaining, Fish observes.
Better than the dancing skeleton, Chip agrees.
Indeed, it should be.