Chapter 17 #2
“Smart girl.” Patty nods. “That’s what Wonderland always needed.
A fresh face. A business mind. Eddie and Edie were sweet, but that place practically ran on bubble gum and duct tape.
” She laughs at the thought. “I worked a summer job at the park back in high school. Even then, the filing system was essentially throw it in a box until you need it.”
“You worked here?” I ask, surprised. So this was the connection to the park Vivian hinted at. “In what capacity?”
“Oh, just a general helper. Tickets, concessions, a little bit of everything.” She waves her hand dismissively. “That’s how most of us local kids got our start. It was practically a rite of passage in Huckleberry Hollow.”
Her shoulders jumped when you asked about her work history, Fish mewls. A classic sign of anxiety.
And she’s gripping that drink of hers as if it personally offended her family honor, Chip adds. Also, I can’t believe they serve food that glows here. Is that a health code violation or a feature?
Sadly, I fear it’s both.
“I’m actually glad we ran into you,” I continue, maintaining my most innocent expression, the one I perfected during twenty-five years of pretending Clyde’s harebrained ideas weren’t ridiculous.
“I’ve been thinking about the upcoming parade.
The, uh, Great Gourd Gala? I’ve been thinking of renaming it something. ..less gourd-y.”
“Geez, that name.” Patty rolls her eyes. “It was Eddie’s idea back in ’94. I guess they needed something with alliteration after the Pumpkin Promenade fiasco.”
“Fiasco?” Georgie perks up at the scent of scandal like a bloodhound detecting gossip.
Patty leans in. “Let’s just say it involved teenagers, a costume goat, and a regrettable tattoo.”
I nod like I hear that kind of story every other day. And working here, I just might.
“Well, I was thinking of making some changes to this year’s parade,” I venture. “Since it’s coming up on Sunday. The Merryweathers gave me carte blanche, but I’d love to get your input, what with your history with the park and your, um, mayoral expertise.”
Patty’s practiced smile shifts slightly as if she were recalibrating. “I’d be honored to consult. But you should probably understand that parks like this one operate under very specific safety regulations. One unfortunate incident can have...well, lasting consequences.”
The way she says unfortunate incident sends a chill down my spine that has nothing to do with the Cantina’s aggressive air conditioning.
“Speaking of incidents,” Ree leans in, “what’s your take on the murder of that food critic? Must be awful publicity for the town, especially during election season.”
“It’s a terrible tragedy,” Patty says smoothly, not missing a beat. “But I assure you, Huckleberry Hollow’s reputation as a safe, family-friendly destination remains intact. One isolated incident doesn’t define us.”
“So true,” I agree, but I don’t believe it for a second. That murder practically dragged this place into theme park infamy. “I hope the killer is caught, and soon.”
Patty sheds an easy smile. “I have full faith our local law enforcement will handle it with discretion.”
Just the mention of law enforcement sends visions of Dexter dancing in my head. Okay, so it’s a naked visual, but I can’t be blamed. The strobe lights and neon in this place are making me yearn for far more neutral tones.
I clear my throat as some of her employees stand to leave. “Maybe we could discuss some parade ideas somewhere quieter?” I ask the woman before she up and leaves with them. “This music is giving me a migraine with a PhD in pain distribution.” There are no truer words.
Patty checks her watch—a delicate rose gold piece that probably costs more than all that money I spent on merch last night—and nods. “I have a few minutes before my next campaign stop. There’s a quieter lounge area behind the DJ booth.”
“I’m out, Toots,” Georgie says while continuing a conversation with one of the campaign volunteers about the astronomical implications of his zodiac sign.
“After you,” I say to Patty, grabbing my tote with Chip while Ree hands me Fish.
“You two go ahead,” she tells me with a slight wink. “I’d better protect the aliens and the guests from Georgie.”
And just like that, it’s just Patty and me—and well, two four-footed furry creatures with far too much to say about everything.
Fish snorts. If she offers us glow-in-the-dark snacks, I’m defecting.
If she offers us glow-in-the-dark snacks, I’m worshipping her, Chip purrs with delight.
Proceed with caution, Fish tells me. My claws are out.
And so are mine, I think as we follow Patty as she leads the way.
Patty leads us toward a beaded curtain at the back of the bar and we head into the next room together. Twenty minutes ago, I was selling cat ears to tourists. Now I’m following a potential killer into a secluded area with only my wits and two opinionated cats for protection.
Life comes at you fast in Huckleberry Hollow—sometimes with glowing blue nachos, sometimes with homicidal intent, but rarely with an instruction manual for either.