And I shoot both of those old biddies a look because we all know they’d expect the merch for free.
Watson wags his tail at Niki’s arrival, apparently deciding that familiar faces are preferable to crime scene chaos, even if those familiar faces are providing inappropriate commentary.
Niki gives me the once-over. “Do you think whatever you’ve got that’s knocking people into the next life is contagious?” she adds, taking a deliberate step back. “Should I be standing farther away? I don’t want to catch whatever death magnet disease you’ve got.”
“It’s not a disease,” I protest, though at this point I’m starting to wonder. “It’s just really, really bad luck.” And considering that I do work with Lottie, who has stumbled over more dead bodies than I have fingers and toes to count, it just might be a tad contagious.
“Effie!” Lily’s voice cuts through the crowd as she and Suze come running toward us, both looking like they just witnessed a culinary apocalypse. “Did you find another body?”
Is that the only question people have for me these days?
Lily’s dark hair is escaping from her ponytail, and her holiday-themed T-shirt has somehow acquired what looks like cotton candy residue, suggesting she was enjoying the festival before news of my latest catastrophe reached her.
“Definefind,” I say weakly.
“That’s it,” Suze declares, her hands on her hips and her expression suggesting she’s reached the end of her considerable patience. “You and Lottie are officially working for the Grim Reaper. I’m demanding hazard pay.”
Her flag print apron is slightly askew, and her short blonde-gray hair looks like she’s been running her hands through it in frustration. Which, knowing Suze, she has.
“The way I see it,” Suze continues, “either you two are the unluckiest people on the planet or death has you both on speed dial. Either way, I want some sort of bonus for working in the same vicinity as a couple of walking disaster magnets.”
Watson looks between all the arguing humans, trying to understand why everyone’s making so much noise when there are clearly more important things to focus on—like the fact that someone dropped a perfectly good piece of funnel cake about three feet away.
“Now hang on.” Aunt Cat points a bedazzled finger at Suze. She’s suddenly donned a pair of sparkling red gloves to complete the chaos. “Our Effie might be new to this whole dead body thing, but she’s got natural talent. Look at her—she’s already got the positioning down perfect. Standing right over the corpse like a pro and everything!”
“It’s all about presentation,” Carlotta agrees sagely. “And our girl’s got stage presence.”
Next, they’ll be giving me flowers for my performance—flowers they stole from the cemetery.
Cooper catches my eye, and his expression suggests he’s wondering how his relatively normal security assignment turned into a crime scene surrounded by what appears to be a chorus of inappropriate commentary.
“If everyone could please step back,” Noah calls out, having successfully established a perimeter around Larry’s body with crime scene tape that somehow appeared from nowhere. Theguy probably keeps it in his back pocket. “We need to preserve the integrity of the scene.”
“Integrity.” Niki snorts. “That ship sailed the moment Effie showed up. She’s like a walking crime scene contamination unit.”
She’s not wrong, but must she point it out?
Watson whines and looks up at me with concerned coffee-colored eyes, as if asking whether this is normal human behavior during emergencies. I scratch behind his ears, finally dislodging his Uncle Sam hat in the process.
“Don’t worry, boy,” I murmur. “This is about as normal as it gets around here.”
Through the chaos of the crime scene and nonstop commentary, I notice someone standing near the edge of the crowd—the mystery man who was arguing with Larry just before he collapsed. He’s talking to Cooper now, their conversation too quiet to overhear but animated enough to suggest it’s important.
Watson notices my attention shift and follows my gaze, his ears perking up with interest.
“Come on,” I tell him. “Let’s go see what that’s about.”
As we start moving toward Cooper and the mystery man, I can’t help but think that this festival has taken a decidedly murderous turn.
Some traditions never change—and apparently, neither does my talent for being in the wrong place at exactly the right time.
CHAPTER 6
By the time Watson and I reach Cooper and his conversation partner, I’ve gotten a much better look at the man I saw arguing with Larry just before his untimely demise.
Up close, the mystery man is short and stocky with a substantial belly that speaks to years of sampling culinary treats. His handlebar mustache rides up and down as he speaks. And despite his round appearance, there’s something about the way he carries himself that says he’s tougher than he looks—like a teddy bear with brass knuckles.
Watson gravitates toward the man, mostly because he looks like a good candidate for treats.
