The scent hits us first—it’s like someone detonated a perfume bomb in a flower shop that was inside another flower shop.
Sweet cheese and crackers,Chip gasps.It smells like a rainbowblew up in here.
Savvy’s room is... well, it’s something. Every surface is covered with cosmetics. The dresser looks like Sephora exploded and had babies with Ulta. There are enough bottles, tubes, and compacts to supply a Broadway musical for a year.
Is that a curling iron or a medieval torture device?Fish asks, eyeing a particularly elaborate styling tool.
Why does she have forty-seven lipsticks?Chip wonders, accidentally knocking over a tower of eyeshadow palettes with his tail.Nobody has that many lips!
I catch the palettes before they hit the ground, my heart stopping for a full second. A quick search through drawers reveals nothing but more beauty products, hair accessories that could double as weapons, and enough face masks to mummify a small army.
Nothing incriminating here,Fish observes.Unless excessive grooming is a crime.
Can we PLEASE leave now?Chip begs.I’m too young and fluffy to have a criminal record!
We’re just stepping back into the hallway when?—
“Josie?”
I freeze. Bizzy stands at the end of the hall, holding a stack of fresh towels and wearing an expression that says she knows exactly what I’ve been doing.
WE’RE GOING TO JAIL!Chip wails.
Play it cool,Fish advises.Pretend we’re supposed to be here. I practically own the place.
“Oh, hey Bizzy!” I say brightly, trying to look like someone who definitely wasn’t just committing misdemeanors. “Just... checking to make sure the rooms are up to standard! You know, owner stuff!”
“Uh-huh.” Bizzy’s lips twitch as I hand her the keycard. “Find anything interesting in your... inspection?”
“Delora’s room is suspiciously clean, and Savvy has enough makeup to paint the entire theme park,” I admit.
“That sounds about right,” Bizzy nods. “For future reference, maybe just ask me? I have master keys for a reason. Also, poor Chippy looks as if he’s about to have a nervous breakdown.”
I am having a nervous breakdown!Chip confirms.I can feel my nine lives flashing before my eyes, and I’m not even at my expiration date! I still have at least eight lives to go!
“Sorry,” I mutter. “Investigation instincts got the better of me.”
“Just don’t let it happen again,” Bizzy says, but she’s grinning. “Also, Delora’s due back in twenty minutes, so you might want to relocate your crime scene.”
We scurry away with the speed of people who’ve definitely been up to something, Chip muttering about criminal records and Fish critiquing my key card-swiping technique.
Next time,Fish suggests,maybe we should just ask the suspects directly. It would be less stressful for Captain Anxiety here.
There’s going to be a NEXT TIME?Chip squeaks.
There probably will be, but I don’t have the heart to tell him.
CHAPTER 7
Do you ever get the feeling your latte understands you better than most people? Yeah. That’s where I’m at this morning.
It’s early-ish in Huckleberry Hollow Wonderland, and I’m parked in a corner booth at Sugar Moon Bakehouse—a bakery that looks like it was designed by a sugar-crazed woodland sprite on a pumpkin spice bender. The walls are covered in pink gingham wallpaper and vintage baking tins. There’s a chandelier made entirely of copper whisks. A jack-o’-lantern centerpiece grins at me from the middle of the table like it knows something I don’t.
The whole place smells like caramel drizzle, nutmeg, and ambition—which, coincidentally, is also what I’d name my girl band if this whole theme-park-manager-slash-body-finder gig doesn’t pan out.
In front of me sits a pumpkin spice latte with Fish and Chip’s foam art floating proudly on top. Fish looks like she’s planning world domination. Chip’s tongue is out. It tracks.
Next to that? I’m treating myself to a caramel apple sticky bun the size of my head and at least twice as judgmental. Andjudging by my appetite, next time will be here in about five minutes.
