Chapter 18
Clyde storms away from the party toward the field just shy of Storybook Hollow, and I follow because apparently my self-preservation instincts died with my marriage.
The darkness between the castle and Swan Lake swallows us up, the moonlight hardly penetrating the clouds. Party music thumps in the distance like a dying heartbeat.
We’re halfway to the lake when I spot movement near the water’s edge—a couple getting extremely acquainted while the swans paddle around looking either offended or intrigued.
“Is that—” Clyde starts.
“Keep walking,” I mutter. “The swans are getting more education than a health class video.”
We veer left and find a spot where we can argue without traumatizing waterfowl or witnessing things that require brain bleach.
Clyde whirls on me, his wolf mask sliding sideways. “You’re ruining my life! AGAIN!”
“I ruined your life?” My voice hits octaves reserved for opera and medical emergencies.
“You cheated on me with a yoga instructor named Greta who couldn’t spell namaste.
You created a color-coded spreadsheet of your conquests.
You wanted Crystal to call you Thunder Wolf during your extremely brief headlining act beneath the sheets! ”
He gasps, and it looks unnerving with all that fur. “That’s private information!”
“She plastered it all over social media! She literally livestreamed your relationship dysfunction!”
Things are escalating, Fish says, hustling over. Your ex is unraveling in public.
Do we step in? Cupcake barks, her fur practically glowing in the dark.
Chip drops down like he’s claimed front-row seats. Nope. Let him finish embarrassing himself. He’s pretty good at it, and sort of efficient, too. So it shouldn’t take long at all.
Fish inspects Clyde for a second. By the looks of it, he’s really leaning into the meltdown.
He’s been a mess, Chip says. Now he’s just a louder, sweatier mess.
Cupcake tilts her head and inspects the poorly costumed werewolf before her. Is this typical?
For him? Fish says. Unfortunately, yes.
Chip nods. At least he’s consistent.
“First, the divorce where you took everything!” Clyde continues to rage into the night, his fake fur matting with sweat. “And now you’re trying to frame me for murder!”
“I took everything? You mean the house with three mortgages? The car that only starts on Tuesdays? The children that aren’t all that impressed with you?”
“You turned them against me!”
“No, your girlfriend’s social media stories of you in a thong doing couples yoga turned them against you. I just pointed them to a very good therapist.”
“And now you’re telling everyone I’m a killer!” His wolf mask finally gives up, falling completely sideways so one eye looks forward and one looks at the lake.
“You were there at 5 A.M. with latex gloves!”
“I’m a germaphobe! The coffee station is unsanitary! Everyone knows that.”
“You made a PowerPoint! Slide 23 was literally titled When Duffy is Gone!”
“That’s called optimistic planning!” he riots into the night.
“Cooter heard you on the phone threatening Duffy,” I shout back. “You howled! In a bar! Actual howling! People were moved to call the authorities. And perhaps even animal control.”
“I was expressing my feelings!” He runs his fingers through the fur on his head in a fit of frustration “My therapist says I need to be more vocal about my emotions!”
“Where would you even get potassium cyanide?” I demand.
“Exactly!” He throws his paws in the air. “Do I look like some demented doctor? I can barely operate a coffee maker! I Googled cyanide once and got scared off by the chemistry. There were formulas involved, Josie! Formulas! You know I’m not that smart.”
“I do.”
If he moves in the wrong direction, I go for the jugular, Fish yowls again while taking a defensive position.
I’ll sit on him, Josie! Chip adds. My weight is finally useful! I knew those snacks would eventually come in handy.
Southern ladies don’t fight, Cupcake says primly, but we do bite when provoked.
“EVERYBODY FREEZE.” Dexter’s voice cuts through the night. Both Clyde and I throw our hands up instinctively.
“Don’t shoot!” Clyde wails as his arms reach for the sky. “I don’t look good with bullet holes! They’d clash with my costume!”
“And his ego,” I say. “Although the latter could use a few holes poked into it.”
Fish, Chip, and Cupcake yowl and howl at all the commotion.
Dexter lowers his gun with a look of exasperation. “Did you get a confession?”
“Just a lot of whining and deflection,” I say.
“Tell the truth, Clyde,” Dexter commands. “All of it.”
Clyde loses it entirely, boo-hooing into his wolf paws. “I don’t look good in orange! They’ll call me Thunder Wolf in prison! I’ll be someone’s little spoon! I have delicate bone structure!”
“What did you do?” Dexter asks, somehow maintaining professional composure despite the grown man in a wolf costume having a breakdown.
“I wanted to embarrass Duffy.” Clyde rips off his mask, and what’s left of his hair is sticking straight up. “Not kill him. Just ruin his career a little!”
“Elaborate,” I insist.
“I hired someone to leak footage of him being inappropriate with staff. The latex gloves were for handling the USB drive. Do you know how many germs are on those things? The PowerPoint was a real business plan for after he got fired—not killed. I was being proactive.”
“I guess you’re guilty of being pathetic, not murder,” Dexter concludes.
“Is that better or worse?” Clyde sniffles.
“Get back to the party,” I say with a sigh. “And stop crying. Your fur is matting.”
Clyde slinks away with his tail literally dragging between his legs.
Dexter’s phone buzzes, and he sighs hard at the screen. “I need to take this. It’s the station.”
“That’s fine. I’ll just—”
“Try to stay out of trouble.”
“That’s like asking the cats to stop judging people.”
I resent that accurate observation, Fish mutters.
Dexter steps away for privacy, and I head back toward the Morning Coffee & Chaos Nightmare Before Networking party, specifically to the dessert table, because emotional eating is a valid coping mechanism when you’re dressed as a zombie bride at your own theme park, investigating your third murder.
The maple bourbon bread pudding with candied bacon calls to me like a siren song of diabetes, and I don’t resist. I take a bite, and the sweetness nearly makes my teeth ache. I’ll definitely be scheduling a dentist appointment soon.
Who could possibly get their hands on potassium cyanide? Not Clyde—he’s definitely not a doctor. He once called 911 because he got a paper cut.
I take another bite of dessert—this time brown butter toffee with sea salt that nearly took out our monthly food budget.
Mmm. So very good. And I moan hard because of it.
Show off, Chip mutters, and I drop a few crumbs for him, Fish, and Cupcake to war over.
My gaze travels across the crowd. Maybe someone here has access to medical supplies? Or maybe someone is in a position to handle dangerous chemicals?
I pull out my phone, scrolling through the security footage from the morning of the murder. There, at 6:15 A.M., before the coffee station was even fully set up. I spot them doing something they definitely didn’t want anyone to see.
“What?” I rewind and watch it again. I know for a fact that Dexter and his team looked over this footage because I handed him the keys to the security kingdom.
I tilt my head at the screen. At the outset, there doesn’t seem to be anything wrong. In fact, there’s not. Unless you know the little bit of information I seem to be privy to.
You have your amateur sleuth face on. Fish twitches her whiskers in my direction.
Chip gasps, licking frosting from his whiskers. It’s her I-know-who-the-killer-is face!
Well, I’ll be dipped in honey and rolled in cornflakes, Cupcake drawls as only a Southern pooch can. I think she’s cracked the case!
Did someone say cornflakes? Chip drools as he looks at the Southern cutie pie. And judging by the lusty look on his face, he wants to take a bite out of her despite the lack of cornflakes.
I take one more bite of the maple bourbon bread pudding, for courage, and also because it’s so very incredible. I really should give Savvy a raise, even though she’s just started.
“That’s right,” I pant as I inspect the spooky, kooky-looking crowd before me. “I know exactly who the killer is,” I tell my furry audience. “And they’re standing right in our midst, thinking they got away with it.”
Through the crowd, I watch the killer chatting and laughing, not knowing their time is most certainly up.
“It’s time to catch a killer.”
Finally, Fish says. This party was dragging on.