Self-control is always optional when dessert is involved,Chip declares with the wisdom of a cat who’s built his entire philosophy around food acquisition. I raised him well.Those pumpkin whoopie pies look like they’re calling my name.
Fish swings a paw at him.Everything looks like it’s calling your name, you big, orange oaf.I’ve seen you get excited about lint that vaguely resembleda Cheerio.
That lint had potential,Chip defends with wounded dignity.And those whoopie pies definitely have potential. Look at the size of them! They’re like edible pillows of happiness.
He’s not wrong.
Fish rolls her eyes.You’re like a furry garbage disposal with delusions of sophistication.
“All right, you two,” I say, giving them both a scratch under the chin. “Let’s focus on the fun stuff and save the drawing of blood for later.”
We take a look around, and sure enough, everyone in the crowd seems to be wearing Fish and Chip ear headbands. And I can’t help but watch with satisfaction as Halloween merchandise flies off the tables like it’s being given away for free. Here’s hoping I remembered to slap some price tags on those suckers. But thankfully, the register sounds haven’t stopped chiming, and the sweet treat bakers among us look as if they’ve just discovered oil in their backyard.
I’m about to hunt down my favorite senior troublemakers when I spot Savvy and Dilly engaged in what appears to be an intense conversation near the cake table. Savvy’s Southern charm has evaporated, and Dilly’s showboat smile has been replaced by something far more calculating. Nice little Nadine is nowhere in sight, which somehow makes the whole scene feel more ominous.
Twenty minutes pass in a blur of Halloween spooks and horror. The haunted mansion glows green and purple against the night sky, fog machines work overtime to create an appropriately spooky atmosphere, and the spooky mood music shifts to something that sounds like a funeral march played at a carnival.
I think it’s time for dessert,Chip announces from his perch on my left arm, breaking the spell of watching people spend money they probably don’t have on things they definitely don’t need.
Have I mentioned Chip’s weight was last recorded in thedouble digits? Suffice it to say, my left arm is getting a workout—which totally justifies the carbs I’m about to inhale.
You always think it’s time for dessert, Fish sighs with the weariness of a cute kitty who’s had this conversation approximately seventeen thousand times.
That’s because it’s always time for dessert,Chip counters with logic I can’t argue with.
“He’s not wrong,” I say, bringing them both up in turn to dot a quick smooch on their foreheads.
The Sugar Crypt tent beckons with its promise of sugar-induced happiness, and I figure I should sample each and every one of the goods since I’m technically the host. I head toward the back entrance in an effort to avoid the lingering crowd near the front and get to the sweet treats quicker.
No sooner do I enter the tent than I trip over something soft and solid, sending both cats flying through the air like furry projectiles and myself face-down in the dirt.
Fish lands gracefully on her feet, because, of course, she does, while Chip tumbles into a display of plastic pumpkins with all the dignity of a bowling ball.
What in the name of catnip was that?Fish demands, ruffling her dignity back into place.
“That’s what I want to know,” I say, looking back to see what caused my impromptu gymnastics routine, and my heart stops.
Dilly Thatcher lies face-down in the Rest in Peaches coffin cake, her rhinestoneBake It Like You Mean Itblouse now decorated with peach frosting and what looks suspiciously like actual peaches. And standing over her, marble rolling pin clutched in her trembling hands like some kind of Gothic kitchen accessory, is that old battle-axe Delora.
The gorgeous marble rolling pin, one of my shiny new Frost and Fright kitchen collectibles, now sports a dark crimson stain across its pristine white surface that definitely isn’t frosting.
Oh wonderful, we’ve stumbled into a liveaction episode ofKitchen Nightmares: Homicide Edition,Fish gasps at the sight.I knew this evening was going too smoothly.Should we be running? I feel like we should be running.
Is it just me, or does she look like she’s deciding whether we count as loose ends?Chip wonders with the kind of survival instinct that kicks in when faced with potentially homicidal humans.
I look down at poor Dilly and groan. The irony isn’t lost on me that someone who made a living telling people how to live their lives won’t have a life of her own to live anymore.
And the woman standing over her with the murder weapon? She’s been radiating hostility since the moment we met, so this feels less like a shocking twist and more like an inevitable destiny. A part of me wonders if it was me she was aiming for.
But that’s not who she hit.
Dilly Thatcher is dead.
CHAPTER 4
I’m starting to think my theme park has a serious PR problem when it comes to keeping people alive.
Two murders in two weeks. At this rate, I should rebrand as Huckleberry Hollow Homicide Park.
