Chapter 20
Itake a breath and try to catch up to the last thirty minutes, which seem to have happened without consulting me.
Staff members attempt to salvage the dessert table, though the chocolate fountain appears to be a total loss. I’m still covered in wine and frosting, looking like a zombie bride who lost a fight with a bakery.
Guests take selfies with the exact location of the arrest like it’s a featured attraction. This is Maine. We put lobsters on Christmas trees and consider negative twenty degrees brisk.
I’m contemplating whether I can sneak away for a quick shower when Clyde approaches the ruins of the chocolate fountain where I’m standing. He actually looks sheepish, which on him is like seeing a unicorn—unlikely and slightly disturbing.
“I... I owe you an apology.”
I inch back in surprise. “For which part? The cheating? The spreadsheet? Or Thunder Wolf?”
He winces at each item as if I’ve thrown a few tiny daggers his way. “All of it. I know I’m an idiot. Crystal posts about it daily. With hashtags.”
“That must be rough for your brand.”
“I don’t have a brand anymore. I have a reputation as the guy who ruined everything for yoga pants.” He kicks at a chocolate-covered strawberry. “I’m sorry, Josie. For being a terrible husband and an even worse ex.”
Honestly? It’s the most genuine he’s been in years.
“I accept your apology,” I tell him. “I don’t forgive you, not yet. I’m not ready. But I accept it.”
“Fair enough.”
“Just try not to embarrass our daughters anymore. They don’t thrive in humiliation.”
“I’ll try.” He pauses. “The Thunder Wolf thing is over. Crystal made me burn the spreadsheet.”
“She filmed it, didn’t she?”
“She livestreamed it. Got thirty thousand likes.”
He slinks away just as Georgie and Ree approach. Georgie is still swaying from her liquid courage, and well, Ree is, too.
“You know what this party needs?” Georgie calls out as if she’s trying to incite the crowd, and is succeeding. “More men and less murder!”
A wild cheer goes off.
“The ratio is definitely off,” Ree agrees, trying to keep Georgie and herself upright.
“One murder per party should be the absolute limit,” I say. “It’s just good etiquette.”
“You solve murders like other people solve crossword puzzles,” Ree points out. “It’s a gift.”
“A weird, morbid gift,” Georgie adds. “Like being able to juggle chainsaws or speak to dead people.”
“I speak to animals. That’s weird enough.”
Savvy saunters over with fresh sweet treats and a grin that suggests trouble. “Well, butter my biscuit, the night’s still young and full of possibilities!”
“Possibilities?” I ask.
“Honey, there’s a whole buffet of men here and statistically speaking, most of them aren’t killers.” She eyes the remaining TV crew. “That cameraman looks like he knows his way around more than just a lens. I think he might just need help finding his way to his hotel.”
“Savvy, no,” I plead, even though I know it’s useless.
“Savvy, yes.” She adjusts her cleavage and heads off. “Josie, be a love and keep an eye on Cupcake for me. Y’all enjoy your murder afterglow. I’m gonna investigate some opportunities of my own! Who knows? I might see another set of handcuffs yet tonight!”
“They have one more segment,” I mutter. “She’ll be back.”
Well, this night was dramatic, Fish mewls from her perch on what remains of a dessert table.
The desserts exploded for a good cause, Chip adds, still licking frosting off his whiskers. I’ll help with the cleanup effort.
Fish slashes her tail his way. How very noble of you.
Well, bless it, back home we don’t usually pair dessert with a felony. Y’all certainly know how to throw a party, Cupcake observes. Where I come from, we have more cotillions, less murder.
Next time, less murder, more tuna, Fish demands.
Next time, more dessert, period, Chip counters. We can work around the murder.
“There won’t be a murder next time,” I tell them.
I hope.
All three furry faces give me a look that suggests I’m adorably naive.
Dexter tracks me down, right here, away from the crowd noise, near the entrance to the Haunted Mansion, where screams are still echoing every thirty seconds.
He lands a quick kiss on my lips. “You taste like chocolate and justice,” he says, pulling me closer. “My favorite combination.”
“That’s either romantic or weird.”
“Both. Definitely both.” His hands settle on my waist, warm through my zombie bride dress. “You know what you did back there was incredible.”
“The solving-the-murder part or the tackling-a-killer-into-a-pile-of-desserts part?”
“All of the above.”
He backs me toward a semi-private alcove behind the castle, where the party noise becomes a distant hum.
“You’ve got frosting in your hair,” he murmurs, reaching up to touch a sticky strand.
“You’ve got lipstick on your collar. My lipstick.”
“I guess I’m guilty.” His voice drops to that sexy, lower octave. “Maybe you’d better arrest me.”
“Don’t tempt me with your handcuffs, Detective.”
He presses closer, and I can feel his smile against my ear. “Maybe that’s the point.”
The tension between us crackles like electricity. Or maybe that’s just the faulty wiring in the Haunted Mansion.
“We should probably get back to the party,” I whisper.
“We really should.” Neither of us moves an inch. His thumb traces circles on my hip. “Any minute now.”
“Absolutely.”
“Come here,” he says, even though I couldn’t be closer without defying physics.
“I’m already here.”
“Closer.”
He kisses me against the castle wall, and this time there’s no audience, no murder, no chaos—just us and the October night and an explosive brand of chemistry that should require hazmat suits.
He trails one hand down my spine while the other cups the back of my neck. I grip his shoulders for balance, though I’m not sure my knees are working anymore.
The kiss deepens, and everything else fades away. Someone cheers in the distance, most likely Georgie, but we don’t mind. We only break apart when oxygen becomes absolutely necessary. Darn need to breathe.
“We should—” I sigh because I don’t want to finish it.
“Yeah—” He frowns at the thought.
“The party?”
“Right.” He frowns twice as hard.
He kisses me again, slower this time, like we have all the time in the world and no corpses to worry about.
When we finally return to the party, appropriately disheveled, we find Crystal interviewing everyone she can sink her claws into about their murder experience while Cooter sleeps off his liquor on a hay bale.
The crowd is thinning out. My staff is exhausted but more or less amused by the night’s events.
That says a lot about our new normal, which apparently includes murder as a regular feature.
“Well, you didn’t completely embarrass the family name,” Delora announces, materializing like a well-dressed ghost.
Coming from her, that’s practically tantamount to her erecting a statue to me and throwing a parade.
“Although your lipstick is all over my son’s face,” she flatlines.
“Mother.” Dexter isn’t amused.
“I have eyes,” she fires back. “And they work perfectly despite my advanced age.” She actually almost smiles. It’s terrifying. She nods my way. “I’ll be back. I’m rather enjoying my position as your event coordinator. Let’s do this again.”
She walks away before anyone can ask what she means by that. I’m pretty sure it was a threat.
“Dinner tomorrow?” Dexter asks against my lips. “Somewhere without corpses?”
“That’s a tall order in this town.”
“I’ll risk it.”
One more kiss, deeper this time, until Fish actually makes a hairball sound in protest.
Come on, Chip. Let’s go, Cupcake. We’re leaving! Fish yowls. This display of hooman mating rituals is disturbing my digestion.
But the desserts—Chip protests.
Are less important than my retinas, which are being permanently damaged, Fish mewls.
Fish, honey, if you clutch those pearls any harder, you’re gonna choke yourself, Cupcake drawls with a soft woof. And Chip, honey, wipe your face. You look like you lost a fight with a bakery. Besides, we can’t go anywhere. She’s our ride home.
“I think we’re traumatizing the pets,” Dexter murmurs, not pulling away.
“They’ll survive. They’ve seen me through worse.”
“Worse than making out with a detective at a crime scene?”
“You’d be surprised.”
He grins against my mouth. “Try me.”
“Tomorrow,” I promise. “Over that corpse-free dinner.”
“It’s a date.”
Dexter outlines my lips with his finger.
We are STILL HERE and STILL UNCOMFORTABLE, Fish yowls with maximum indignation.
“One more for the road?” Dexter suggests, completely ignoring the feline protests.
“You read my mind.”
He kisses me again as Fish and Chip groan in unison.
Three murders, two traumatized cats, and one hot detective who kisses like it’s his job.
My park might be a death trap, but at least it’s never dull.
Our lips meet again, and this time, nobody is going anywhere.