Chapter 21
Chip
How long can hoomans go without air?
I’m watching Josie and Detective Dreamboat continue their face-mashing ritual behind the castle, and honestly, I’m concerned about brain damage. It’s been at least three minutes!
This is worse than watching them eat, Fish complains from her position on a nearby hay bale. At least eating eventually ends. This appears to be eternal. Bizzy does the same with Jasper. Sherlock is kind enough to block my view.
In the South, we call this getting your money’s worth, Cupcake points out with what sounds like approval. Although usually there’s less frosting involved.
Finally, FINALLY, they separate. And they both look dazed, which confirms my brain damage theory.
All that face-mashing and no food involved. What’s the point? If you’re going to put your mouth on something, it should at least taste like funnel cake. Or bacon. Or that maple bourbon bread pudding that I definitely didn’t steal earlier.
We lead them back to what’s left of the buffet, which looks like a dessert graveyard, and my heart breaks a little.
Rest in pieces, little chocolate coffins, I sigh, surveying the sweet devastation. A tragic end for such delicious desserts.
I’m about to sniff my way through the carnage when something catches my eye. Good gravy! There, beneath an overturned tray, is an entire platter of petit fours! And is that an untouched corner of pumpkin cheesecake, I spy? I guess this night isn’t a total loss after all.
Georgie and the Ree make their way to Josie and Dexter, both swaying slightly from their liquid adventures.
“Well, Detective, I see you’ve been examining the evidence very closely,” Georgie teases.
Ree nods. “Josie, I’ve seen teenagers sneak back from prom with more subtlety than this. You’ve got lipstick everywhere except your actual lips.”
The Delora hooman materializes with her clipboard of doom. She always smells like judgment and old hand cream.
“I’ve come back bearing news,” she sings, and both Josie and the detective break apart as if they just got caught sneaking an extra snack after dinner.
(No one needs to know about my stash under the couch.) Delora clears her throat.
“We have a new group who just booked for Halloween week,” she announces.
“The Cozy Mystery Boo Crew.” She takes a moment to glower at Josie.
“Try not to let any of them die. They’re paying customers. ”
My hooman’s eyes light up. “Cozy mystery writers?” Josie looks intrigued. “Tell them they’re more than welcome and to bring lots of not-so-spooky books. I can’t wait!”
“What’s a cozy mystery?” Georgie wrinkles her nose as she asks.
Ree nods. “It’s murder, but make it wholesome with an amateur detective, a quirky small town, and maybe some baked goods, definitely a pet. We’re basically living in one.”
Georgie nods. “I see. Get them cozy and then kill them. That’s basically Josie’s business model at this point.”
“And Bizzy’s,” Josie points out.
Ree groans, “Must you remind me?”
Writers who write about murder? Cupcake barks at the thought.
And they’re coming HERE? My fur stands on end. We’re doomed. DOOMED I tell you! If a murder doesn’t take place while they’re with us, they might leave disappointed. We practically have to orchestrate a homicide.
Bizzy reads lots of cozy mysteries to me, Fish muses. They’re not scary. The butler always did it. Or the second husband. Sometimes both.
Savvy reads to me, too, Cupcake confesses. But her stories have shirtless men on the covers doing things that would definitely hurt their backs. Very unrealistic spinal flexibility.
Soon enough, we’re back at the castle in Storybook Hollow for Morning Coffee & Chaos’s farewell segment. Apparently, they want to capitalize on the murder confession footage while it’s fresh. Crystal pulsates with her usual energy despite being dressed like a unicorn who’s in need of a new horn.
Do we get royalties for this? I ask Fish as they position us on our thrones. Are we getting paid in tuna? Or at least those fancy treats from the pet store that cost more than hooman food? Or are we doing this for exposure? Because I can’t eat exposure.
We get exploitation, Fish says with a sharp meow. And probably more humiliating costumes.
The cameras roll, and Crystal chirps, “What a night, folks! A murder confession and romance! But before we sign off from Huckleberry Hollow Wonderland Theme Park, let’s check in with our other hosts!”
Thunder Dud, otherwise known as Clyde, steps forward, his wolf costume now missing half its fur. “I just want to say—” His voice cracks. “This week has been—”
“Educational?” The perky unicorn hikes a brow.
“I was going to say transformative,” he counters, just as his fake wolf tail falls off again.
He bends to pick it up, and his pants split with an audible rip that echoes across the hollow.
“Oh geez.” He springs up and somehow manages to step on his own backside.
“Ouch!” he shouts as he tries to untangle himself.
And in a whirling, twirling move, he manages to knock over a promotional display of park merchandise and sends our promotional headbands flying every which way.
Orange, black, and white triangles rain from the sky. It’s a thing of feline beauty.
“For Pete’s sake,” Josie’s mistake growls. “Here, let me help—” He lunges for the falling display and trips over his own furry feet, and this sends him careening into what’s left of the dessert table.
I shake my head. “The entertainment around here never ends,” I say, watching him inadvertently tap-dance and flail while frosting covers his fake fur.
“What Clyde is trying to say,” the perky one interrupts, her inflatable unicorn horn deflating with a sad wheeze, “is that Morning Coffee & Chaos has been proud to broadcast from Huckleberry Hollow Wonderland!”
Cooter, backward baseball cap boy, snores loudly from the bale of hay behind them, still passed out cold, so the camera pans back to Clyde.
“Despite the murder—” he starts.
“They’ve had three murders at the park as of late,” Crystal corrects.
“Despite the THREE murders, this has been—” Clyde pauses as chocolate drips from his wolf snout.
“Actually, you know what? I got nothing. This place is insane, my ex-wife solves murders better than that hotshot detective boy-toy of hers, and I’m dressed as a sweaty wolf covered in dessert. I’m done.”
He walks off camera. “Where are my clothes?” he demands. “I’m burning this costume!”
Crystal maintains her wide, toothy smile. “And that’s a wrap from Huckleberry Hollow Wonderland! Join us in the morning for coffee, gossip, and hopefully zero felonies!”
And that’s a wrap, indeed, Fish mewls, stretching her paws as far as they’ll go without falling off our throne.
While the crew packs up their equipment, the hoomans discuss what’s next.
I overhear more about these Boo Crew hoomans coming next week. Apparently, they read their books in costume and teach workshops about fictional murders. I’m pretty sure Josie can teach them a thing or two—or THREE, about murder.
For once, we cooperate with the cameras still rolling for B-roll footage.
Fish sits regally while I perform what the hoomans call being adorable, but what I prefer to call begging for treats.
And it works! The assistant producer gives us each a handful of the good treats—the ones with real salmon that are shaped like donuts! It’s the best of both worlds.
This is worth every bad costume, I decide, crunching happily.
Fish can keep her dignity. I’ve got salmon donuts.
As the show wraps up, I can’t help but think about our week.
A murder solved. My hooman finally got herself a mate, even if their courtship ritual involves way too much face-touching and not enough food exchange.
The park is still standing, mostly. The chocolate fountain may never recover, but everyone knows that the churros are where it’s at.
They’re literally going to be reading murder books to us next week! I protest.
It’s fiction, you orange donut, Fish sighs.
You’re forgetting that fiction becomes reality at THIS park, I counter.
Y’all worry too much, Cupcake says with her charming Southern wisdom.
Have I mentioned how cute she looks with her fur shaped into balls at her feet?
Writers just make things up. There’s nothing to be afraid of.
She sniffs at Josie. Although at this park, made-up murders seem to become reality awfully quick.
At this rate, the Grim Reaper is going to ask for a season pass, I point out.
The Halloween lights cast an orange glow across the park that complements my fur beautifully—I’m basically a very handsome jack-o’-lantern with legs.
Georgie and Ree head home, arguing about whether Georgie really needs that life-sized cutout of someone she keeps calling the real Thunder Wolf.
Savvy is still here and flirting with the cameraman, who looks like he’s not sure if he’s won the lottery or signed his death warrant.
The Delora hooman makes notes on her clipboard, probably scheduling next week’s murders for maximum inconvenience.
And Josie holds hands with her detective, both of them looking ridiculously googly-eyed.
My hooman is happy. That’s all that matters. And that I’m fed. And maybe that I get an optimal allowance of naps on top of sunbeams.
Halloween week approaches with all its spooky glory, I say with a sharp meow. Mystery writers will descend upon the park in droves with their cozy murder books in hand. What could possibly go wrong?
Besides everything? Fish adds not-so-helpfully.
At least there will be snacks, I remind her. With writers come craft services. With craft services come dropped food. It’s basic math.
Fish keeps saying lightning doesn’t strike four times in the same place. But Fish is wrong about lots of things. Like tuna not being a breakfast food. Or that my belly isn’t adorable—it’s fluffy and distinguished.
Still, I’m optimistic. Murder or no murder, the Cozy Mystery Boo Crew will definitely bring treats. They have to. I bet it’s in their contract. Must provide adequate snacks for park mascots. And if it’s not, I’ll have Josie work it in.
Snacks are all that matter in life.
Josie might disagree, but she’s busy kissing the detective again. They’re back at it behind the funnel cake stand, like they’re trying to set some kind of record.
Hoomans. Can’t live with them, can’t open tuna cans without them.
But I guess they’re not all bad. Especially when they run theme parks with excellent food.
Which pretty much sums up life at Huckleberry Hollow Wonderland Theme Park: come for the murder, stay for the snacks.
And honestly? I wouldn’t have it any other way.
Well, maybe with more tuna. And fewer costumes. And definitely no more bat wings.
But otherwise, perfect.
THE END.
Until next week, when the writers arrive, and someone inevitably bites the big one.
But that’s next week’s problem.
Right now, there’s leftover maple bourbon bread pudding calling my name.
Halloween and murder writers are both on their way to Huckleberry Hollow Wonderland Theme Park.
I’d like to think everyone will survive the week.
But something tells me there’s not a ghost of a chance.
Thank you for reading! Need more Fish and Chip? Head back to Huckleberry Hollow and get reading! Fish and Chip: Nine Lives, One Boo Crew (Huckleberry Hollow Wonderland Theme Park Cozy Mysteries #4)
It’s Halloween at Huckleberry Hollow Wonderland and a whole slew of Cozy Mystery authors have descended on the theme park!
Come for the Halloween thrills, stay for the murder!
*Is that link not working for you? Try this one: Fish and Chip: Nine Lives, One Boo Crew (Huckleberry Hollow Wonderland Theme Park Cozy Mysteries #4)
Book Description:
Hi, I’m Josie Janglewood, and I own a theme park where people die more often than the mechanical rides break down—which is saying something.
When I agreed to host the Cozy Mystery Boo Crew for a week-long Halloween book festival at Huckleberry Hollow Wonderland, I expected author panels, book signings, and maybe some mild drama over who got the best workshop time slot.
What I got was bestselling author dead in my fake cemetery, a handful of suspects with very real motives, and my cats Fish and Chip wearing parade costumes while investigating murder.
Did I mention I can read the minds of animals? Yeah, that’s a thing. Fish thinks everyone is guilty until proven innocent, Chip just wants to know if the evidence is edible, and a Southern poodle named Cupcake keeps offering relationship advice between murder suspects.
Between interrogating cozy mystery authors who write about murder for a living (and might have just tried it for real), my ex-husband Clyde having yet another career crisis, and enough Halloween candy to require dental insurance for the entire state of Maine, I’ve got to figure out which writer turned fiction into reality.
All while wearing a cursed doll head for protection and trying not to fall too hard for the hot detective whose mother keeps accidentally booking events that bankrupt my park.
She’s not subtle.
Welcome to my life at Huckleberry Hollow, where the only thing scarier than the Haunted Mansion is realizing the killer knows exactly how to get away with murder—because she writes about it for a living.
At least the pumpkin spice snickerdoodles are to die for.
Though preferably not literally.
Fish: Another murder at our park. We’re becoming a statistical anomaly.
Chip: But did you see the buffet? Jack-o’-lantern lasagna, chocolate coffins, ghost cream puffs! Worth every corpse!
Fish: Your priorities are deeply concerning. We solved a murder while you focused on dessert.
Chip: I can multitask! I identified the killer and rated all five pastries simultaneously.
Fish: You literally sat on the killer’s lap because you smelled bacon.