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That’s what I’m afraid of, Salem sighs.

Eulla Bell turns for the exit, and Salem peers back at us over her shoulder the whole way. If I don’t survive the ferry ride home, tell my story, she calls. Leave out the part where I hid under the churro cart.

Your secret dies with us, I promise. Mostly because the churro cart is my favorite hideout and I’m not giving that away for free.

The party’s winding down. Authors are saying goodbye to readers. Georgie’s trying to get one of the werewolves’ phone numbers, and from the way he’s laughing, the werewolf has no idea he’s already lost.

Ree and Delora are comparing notes about something that probably involves future murders I’ll have to investigate. On a full stomach, I hope. I do my best detecting on a full stomach.

And then Delora marches over, clipboard in hand, which is never a good sign. In my experience, that clipboard has witnessed more doom than the fake cemetery.

“Josie!” she calls out, waving her arms. “Quick word about December!”

Josie and Dexter finally separate, and thank goodness, because I was starting to worry about permanent facial attachment. They walk over hand in hand like two people with no idea a walking clipboard is about to ruin their lives.

“Is this about the film crew again?” Josie asks, still looking dazed from all the face-mashing.

“I just got off a call with them.” Delora holds up her phone like it’s evidence. “The director went through the park’s social media accounts. They want the cats in the movie.”

I sit up so fast I nearly roll off the throne.

“The cats,” Josie repeats. “My cats. In a movie.”

“On camera. Apparently the orange one”—Delora consults her screen—“has a face.”

I do have a face. I’ve had it my entire life. It’s about time Hollywood noticed.

“And the black-and-white one,” Delora adds, “looks like she knows where the bodies are buried. The director says that’s a compliment. In this business.”

For once, Hollywood is accurate, Fish says. I do know where the bodies are buried. I’ve been present for most of them. But absolutely not, she yowls. I’m not doing it. I’ve seen what cameras do. Bizzy posted one photo of her scones and strangers showed up at the inn for a month wanting to touch things. No.

Fish. I put a paw on her shoulder so she understands the gravity of the situation. Film crews have craft services. I know craft services. Craft services and I have history. Beautiful history. History involving unattended sandwich platters. Although. I pause. The first time I heard the term, I panicked. I thought it meant glitter and glue sticks. I had a very dark afternoon. Then someone left a turkey club unguarded and the truth revealed itself.

It’s true. They feed actors constantly, Cupcake admits. It’s in their contracts.

And I would be an actor. I let that settle over both of us. I would be contractually entitled to snacks!

If I’m doing this, Fish says, my contract has one clause—no one touches me, looks at me, or breathes near me.

This is the best news I’ve heard all night. And I was here when the dessert buffet opened, so the bar was high.

Delora flips to a fresh page on her clipboard and frowns.

That woman knows something.

“Tell them we’ll think about it,” Josie says, though she sounds less excited and more like a woman signing her own incident report. “One of my cats is going to clean out craft services by lunch, and the other one is going to make everyone on that set rue the day they set foot in the park. I’ll let them guess which is which.”

There’s no way I’m getting roped into this. Fish stands strong in her decision.

Sugar, everybody says that right up until hair and makeup, Cupcake giggles. Besides, y’all are so dramatic. It’s just a little movie. How dangerous can it be?

You’re new here, Fish says. Everything’s dangerous at this park. The churro cart is dangerous. The petting zoo goat is dangerous. Last month a candy apple put a grown man in the ambulance.

She’s right on all three counts. Who knew a candy apple could bite back?

The party officially ends, and guests file out, still chattering about murders and mysteries and whether Georgie actually got that werewolf’s number.

She did. She’s already texting him. The man never stood a chance.