As our waitress walks away, probably wondering why we spent twenty minutes dissecting the menu only to order the most basic items available, I can’t help but grin.
Between solving murders, dodging romantic complications, and now potentially revolutionizing my entire food program, I’m starting to think normal ishighly overrated.
Plus, hanging out with Savvy feels like catching up with the best friend I never knew I needed.
Let’s just hope she’s not planning to poison me with her gourmet upgrades.
CHAPTER 17
Watching your daughters commandeer an entire Halloween parade while you prepare to interrogate your potential future mother-in-law for murder—just another day in my increasingly surreal life as a theme park owner.
No sooner did Savvy and I part ways than I was summoned by my girls to witness the fruit of their spooky labor.
The early evening air at Huckleberry Lane buzzes with the kind of electric energy that comes from two hundred people lined up ten deep along cobblestone pathways, clutching glow-in-the-dark merchandise and vibrating with anticipation. The scent of cinnamon sugar pretzels mingles with pumpkin spice churros, while spooky music drifts from hidden speakers with the theatrical timing of a Broadway production.
Orange and purple lights snake through every available surface, transforming the main thoroughfare into something that looks like Halloween showed up early and decided to stay for dinner.
And there, in the center of it all, stand my daughters along with Emma Drake, all of whom are sporting walkie-talkies,clipboards, and the kind of organizational fury that could probably coordinate a small military invasion.
“MOM!” Riley shrieks, spotting me through the crowd. Her red hair is pulled back into a high ponytail, and she’s wearing a black hoodie that readsParade Commanderin glittery orange letters. “Like, oh my goodness, did you see? We literally did it! We actually pulled this off!”
McKenna appears beside her, equally flushed with success and wearing a matching hoodie that readsOperations Manager. “Like, seriously, Mom, look at this crowd! We’ve sold out of three different merchandise stands already!”
“Emma’s, like, basically a business genius,” Riley gushes, bouncing with excitement. “She mapped out optimal crowd flow patterns and other revenue maximization strategies!”
“Stop it.” Emma laughs, her dark hair twisted into a neat bun under herCreative Directorhoodie. “You guys did all the heavy lifting. I just, like, made spreadsheets look pretty.”
The young hoomans have exceeded expectations,Fish mewls as I hold her, though her usual regal composure is somewhat undermined by the fact she’s wearing a glittery wizard’s hat that’s been secured with what appears to be industrial-strength Velcro.However, this headgear is an assault on my dignity.
I look ridiculous,Chip wails as McKenna holds him tight—it requires both arms on her part. And Chip just so happens to be wearing a pumpkin costume complete with orange felt and a green stem hat.This is worse than that time you tried to put me in a Christmas sweater. At least that had strategic food storage pockets.
“You both look adorable,” I tell them, trying not to laugh at their obvious distress. “Very festive. Very marketable.”
Marketable,Fish repeats with icy disdain.I am a dignified feline, not a walking advertisement.
“Josie!” Georgie’s voice cuts through the crowd as she and Ree approach, both loaded down with enough glow-in-the-darkaccessories to be visible from space. Georgie’s wearing a cape that lights up in sequential patterns, while Ree has opted for a more subtle approach involving only seventeen different glowing bracelets. Madonna, eat your ’80s-loving heart out.
“This is absolutely magnificent, Toots!” Georgie declares, gesturing wildly at the transformed landscape while stealing Chip from McKenna. “Look at all this! It’s like a theme park had a baby with Halloween and raised it on pure Maine stubbornness!”
“The funnel cake stand has caramel sauce now,” Ree adds with the reverence usually reserved for discussing religious miracles. “Actualcaramelsauce. Made from scratch. I may need to lie down.”
“And, like, speaking of lying down,” Riley adds with a mischievous grin, “Jack should be here any minute to help with crowd control.”
“Jack, who’s helping ME with crowd control,” McKenna corrects with sisterly venom. “Since I’m literally the one who actually knows how to use the walkie-talkies properly.”
“You know how to turn them on,” Riley retorts. “I know how to make them actually work when there’s interference from all the electrical equipment.”
“Girls,” Emma intervenes diplomatically. “Jack is helping ALL of us. There’s literally plenty of Detective Dreamboat Jr. to go around.”
“There absolutely is not,” both sisters say simultaneously, then glare at each other.
“Oh my,” Georgie whispers to me. “They’re fighting over a boy already. If this goes the way it did with my sis and me, I’ll need popcorn and a scorecard to keep track of the romantic carnage.”
Before the sister war can escalate further, the sound of approaching footsteps announces the arrival of someone who makes both girls immediately check their hair and adjust their hoodies.
“Evening, ladies,” comes a voice that soundsexactly like Dexter’s but about twenty years younger and significantly more amused. “Ready for the chaos?”
Jack Drake appears, and holy mother of genetics, this boy is his father’s son, copy and paste. Same dark hair, same storm-blue eyes, same easy confidence that suggests he could handle whatever life throws at him.
