Chapter 25
Chip
Following Josie and Detective Dreamboat through all the spooky chaos at the park feels like being part of the best parade ever—especially when there’s a certain rhinestone-wearing poodle somewhere nearby.
Laughter and screams light up the night, while the scent of kettle corn makes me wish I could dive into one of those limited-edition glow-in-the-dark popcorn buckets.
Pumpkin lanterns glow through the bare branches overhead, and somewhere a mechanical ghost named Dilly keeps saying, “BOO!” every thirty seconds as if she’s on a mission to ruin every romantic moment in a fifty-yard radius.
The cobblestones beneath my paws are scattered with maple leaves that crunch satisfyingly as Fish and I trot along behind the hoomans.
Things are really looking up around here, I announce to Fish as we follow Josie and Detective Dreamboat through the winding pathways of our kingdom.
No more killers lurking around the dessert tables, no more mysterious rolling pins showing up in inappropriate places, and best of all—unlimited access to all the dropped funnel cake we can stomach.
I’ll admit, I’m pretty grateful for the funnel cake, she says, licking up a morsel for herself. And I’m grateful that things are looking up around here, too. That’s because we helped Josie catch the killer, Fish mewls with pride. Our hooman has excellent detective instincts.
So do we, I point out, because credit should be given where credit is due. We provided crucial moral support and tactical ankle assistance.
True. And if she’s anything like Bizzy when it comes to finding corpses, we’ll have to make sure she stays safe because there’s bound to be another body just waiting for her to trip over it, Fish continues.
And to do that, we need to show up for work every single day.
No more sleeping in, no more all day snacking, no more extended nap breaks. This is serious business.
I can handle the responsibility, I tell her with the confidence of an orange ball of fluff who’s recently been featured on national television.
Though, I reserve the right to take emergency treat breaks if the situation becomes too stressful, and naps, and I might need to sleep in once in a while—like seven mornings a week.
Fish and I are debating the finer points of workplace safety when I spot something that makes my heart do things that probably violate several laws of feline physiology.
Cupcake approaches through the crowd, still wearing her princess costume that makes her look like she stepped out of a fairy tale written specifically for dogs with excellent taste in accessories.
Her white fur practically glows, and her rhinestone tiara catches the purple and orange illumination with the kind of sparkle that makes my whiskers twitch with appreciation.
Oh my cheese, I breathe, temporarily forgetting how to function like a normal cat. She’s magnificent. Like a cotton candy sculpture that learned to walk and developed opinions about proper grooming techniques.
Here we go, Fish mutters as if she were about to witness yet another romantic catastrophe. Try not to embarrass yourself too badly, Romeo.
Well, hello there, handsome, Cupcake gives a soft woof as she reaches us, her Southern accent making everything sound like poetry written by angels. Don’t you look dashing after your heroic crime-fighting adventure?
Thank you, I manage, puffing out my fluffy chest with pride. It was nothing really. Just standard detective work involving strategic positioning and excellent timing.
It was very impressive, she continues with the kind of smile that makes my brain temporarily shut down all non-essential functions. I do appreciate a male who can handle himself in dangerous situations.
And after that whole ankle thing, he handled himself by getting tangled up in someone’s hair, Fish interjects with brutal honesty. Very heroic hair-tangling.
It was tactical hair-tangling, I correct with dignity. Part of the overall capture strategy.
Of course, it was, sugar, Cupcake says with silky smoothness that could charm the spots off a leopard. I’m sure it was absolutely crucial to the mission’s success.
Meanwhile, our hoomans are having their own conversation that I should probably be paying attention to, since it involves future living arrangements and career prospects.
“Savvy,” Josie says with a slightly awkward tone, after just accusing an innocent person of being a cold-blooded, cold-hearted killer. “I’m really sorry about that whole accusing-you-of-murder thing. Professional hazard of amateur detective work, apparently.”
Savvy laughs with the kind of grace that suggests she’s used to dealing with life’s little awkwardnesses. “Oh honey, don’t you worry about that for one second. I’ve been accused of worse things by worse people.”
“Actually,” Josie continues, and I can hear the wheels turning in her head with the efficiency of a theme park owner who’s just had a brilliant idea.
“What would it take to get you to work at the park full-time? I need a culinary manager around here, and I can’t think of anyone more perfect for the position. ”
Savvy blinks at her as if she’s just been offered everything she’s ever wanted, wrapped up in a bow. “Well, I’ll be blessed and bothered. Are you serious?”
“Dead serious,” Josie says. “You’ve already proven you can revolutionize our entire food program, you’ve got connections in the industry, and most importantly, you haven’t murdered anyone. That last one is surprisingly hard to find in potential employees.”
“But sugar, I don’t have a place to stay,” Savvy protests with the practical concern of someone who’s spent her life thinking ahead. “I can’t exactly commute from Tennessee every day.”
Josie shrugs as if she’s solved bigger problems before breakfast. “You’re already staying at the inn, right?
So, extend your visit. I’m living there, too.
I’ll make sure the park pays you more than enough to cover expenses and then some.
I’ve got a hunch you’ll spit-shine this place until it gleams like a diamond—as far as the food goes anyway. ”
Savvy’s face lights up with the kind of joy usually reserved for finding the last perfect peach for a coffin cake. “Oh hon, it’ll be worth more than diamonds when I’m through with this place. You’ve got yourself a deal!”
They whoop with excitement, and Dexter congratulates them both with the kind of smile that suggests he’s genuinely happy for their success.
I’m not leaving! Cupcake barks with excitement that makes her tiara wobble adorably. This isn’t goodbye, Chip! You, too, Fish! I suppose we’ll be seeing a lot more of each other!
Every single day, I mewl, and purr, and twitch my tail uncontrollably. We’re going to be coworkers. Professional colleagues. Partners in the noble art of theme park management and cookie tasting!
Try not to let it go to your head, Fish moans. Don’t forget where you started. You’re still the same orange fluffball who gets excited about cardboard boxes.
Savvy and Cupcake take off with springs in their steps and the kind of energy that comes from having your entire life change for the better in the span of five minutes.
And then, because the universe apparently has a sense of humor, Dexter and Josie immediately start smooching again right here under the moonlight.
Good grief, I mutter. I’ll never get used to public displays of hooman affection. Don’t they ever get tired of doing that?
Forget the smooching. I’m astounded that we’re going to have to put up with a D-O-G on a regular basis at the park! Fish announces with horror as she realizes her peaceful kingdom is about to be invaded. It’s bad enough I have to live with one at home.
Hey, Cupcake’s not just any dog, I protest with righteous indignation while kind of, sort of, defending my beloved. She’s a sophisticated, well-educated, extremely attractive dog with excellent taste in conversation topics and premium grooming products.
She’s still a D-O-G, Chip. She probably drools and chases squirrels and does other undignified dog things. They sniff each other’s butts, for Pete’s sake!
Maybe, but she does it all with style, I point out reasonably. Plus, she smells like vanilla and good treats. That has to count for something.
Our philosophical discussion about interspecies relationships gets interrupted when Josie’s phone buzzes like a beehive. She checks it while still wrapped in Dexter’s arms, which is quite the multitasking achievement.
“Oh geez,” she says, her expression shifting from post-smooch glow to mild horror. “It’s Clyde.”
The ex-mate with questionable life choices? I ask with interest. What does he want now?
“Morning Coffee & Chaos wants to do a series of segments here at the park,” Josie reads from her phone. “They’re going to let Clyde lead them.”
She cringes like she’s just discovered her favorite coffee shop only serves decaf.
“What do you think?” she asks Dexter with desperate hope, clearly looking for moral support to commit a homicide of her own. “Should I let them do it?”
“It’s up to you.” Dexter shrugs. “But more local coverage could only help bring in revenue. Plus, it might be entertaining to watch him try to host a television show on your turf.”
Josie nods with resigned acceptance. If she’s good at anything, it’s making the best of awkward situations. Some might even say she slays in that department.
“That’s what I’m thinking, too,” she says with a grunt. “The entertainment value alone might be worth it. Plus, having cameras around might actually improve his behavior—or at least provide evidence for future restraining orders. I’m saying yes.”
She texts back what I assume is professional acceptance of his proposal, then looks up at Dexter with renewed focus.
“Now, where were we?” she asks with the kind of smile that suggests the kissing is about to resume.
“Right here,” he confirms, pulling her close for another round of what Fish and I have come to recognize as their favorite hobby.
Clyde is going to be snooping around the park with cameras? Fish asks with an expression that suggests our peaceful era might be over before it ever began.
I nod, but I’ve seen enough human drama to know how these things usually end. I don’t see a single thing that can go wrong with this plan.
You realize this means more chaos, more drama, and probably more people who need investigating, Fish points out as if she’s gotten used to a certain level of workplace stability.
True, I agree, watching the hoomans continue to lock lips while horror music plays in the background. But look at it this way—the next time a body turns up around here, it just might be his.
Because if there’s one thing I’ve learned about life at Huckleberry Hollow Wonderland, it’s that we’re basically a murder magnet with better merchandise.
Thank you for reading!