“Brilliant compromise.” Emma laughs, clearly the diplomat of the group. “See you later, Ms. Janglewood! Thanks for, like, literally the best night ever!”
They head off in a chattering cluster, and I can already hear the debate about ride priorities continuing as they disappear into the crowd.
“Well,” Dexter observes with amusement. “Your daughters seem to have found their calling in event management. And mine may have, too.”
“And your son seems to have found himself in the middle of a sibling competition,” I reply. “Poor kid has no idea what he’s walked into.”
Before Dexter can respond, Ree and Georgie approach with arms full of enough sweets to supply a small army. Ree’s carrying what appears to be six different types of spooky-shaped cookies and a bouquet of churros, while Georgie has managed to acquire an impressive collection of caramel apples and chocolate-covered everything.
“Josie!” Ree calls out, slightly breathless from hauling her sugar payload. “Thank you for keeping this place free of killers! I can finally enjoy my desserts without worrying about finding bodies in them!”
“Though I have to say,” Georgie adds with a grin, “the murder mystery element did add a certain spice to the evening. Very dinner theater, but with actual stakes.”
“I prefer my entertainment fictional and my homicides solved by other people,” I tell them. “But thanks for the vote of confidence.”
Georgie turns to Dexter with the kind of smilethat suggests she’s about to say something that will make him deeply uncomfortable.
“And thank you, Detective Hot Stuff, for providing such excellent eye candy throughout this whole investigation,” she says with a wink that can be seen from orbit. “It really elevated the whole experience.”
Dexter’s cheeks actually deepen in color, which is adorable and makes me want to kiss him again just for the sake of it.
“Just doing my job,” he manages, apparently deciding that professional dignity is his best defense against Georgie’s shameless flirting.
“Well, keep up the good work.” She laughs, already turning to follow Ree toward the churro stand. “Both the crime-solving and the looking-devastatingly-handsome parts!”
They disappear into the crowd, leaving Dexter and me alone by the purple fountain with only Fish and Chip as witnesses to whatever’s about to happen next.
The sugar-addicted hoomans have excellent taste in law enforcement,Fish observes approvingly.Though their subtlety could use work.
I liked Ree, the one with the churros,Chip adds.She has her priorities straight. But then, Georgie always seems to have bacon in her pockets. She’s pretty easy to like, too.
“Your friends are enthusiastic,” Dexter says with the careful tone of someone who’s just been objectified by middle-aged women wielding caramel apples.
“They’re harmless,” I assure him. “Mostly. Georgie’s bark is worse than her bite, and Ree’s too polite to actually assault anyone with baked goods.”
“Good to know I’m safe from pastry-related violence.”
“Well, I wouldn’t go that far. This is Maine. We take our desserts seriously here.”
Before he can respond to that particular piece of wisdom, the sound of approaching footsteps makes us both turn toward thefountain’s edge. And there, emerging from the crowd with the confidence of someone who believes the universe revolves around his personal brand, is my ex-husband.
Clyde Janglewood looks exactly like what you’d get if you ordered a motivational speaker from a discount catalog. His dirty blond hair is styled with the kind of precision that requires professional products and questionable life choices, and he’s wearing a navy blazer over jeans that probably cost more than most people’s car payments. Everything about him screams financial advisor turned lifestyle guru, from his unnecessarily expensive watch to his loafers that have never seen actual manual labor.
“Josie!” he calls out with the enthusiasm of someone who’s just discovered the solution to world peace. “There you are! I’ve been looking everywhere for you.”
I inch back instinctively because experience has taught me that when Clyde looks that pleased with himself, someone’s about to get bulldozed by his latest life revelation.
“I just wanted you to know that I just dumped Greedy Greta.”
“The yoga instructor you left me for?” I ask, because apparently my mouth operates independently of my brain when faced with supreme audacity.
“Yep,” he says with the casual air of someone discussing the weather. “Turns out, Greta was more interested in my portfolio than my chakras. Who knew?”
The audacity is breathtaking,Fish mutters.It’s like watching someone try to return a used car to the dealer after crashing it.
Very entertaining,Chip agrees.Though I’m concerned about the secondary hooman’s mental stability.
“Great news. I’m available again,” Clyde continues with the kind of smile that probably works on morning show hosts and yoga instructors but has lost all effectiveness on women who’ve actually lived with him. “I’m all yours, Josie.”
