Page 22 of Fish and Chip

“You have no appreciation for literary craftsmanship,” Ree says without looking at her.

“I have plenty of appreciation. I just need someone to kiss someone by chapter two, or I lose interest.” Georgie turns back to the buffet, then freezes mid-reach for a Devil’s Finger. “Hold the presses. Who is that?”

We follow her gaze to a beefy security guard standing near the stage. And when I say beefy, I mean the man is the size of a wall. He’s got shoulders that could support a small building, arms carved from granite, and a jawline sharp enough to slice deli meat. He’s wearing a standard security uniform, but somehow he makes it look as if he’s auditioning for an action movie.

“Dexter has assigned a guard to each of the cozy mystery events,” I explain. “Just in case the killer strikes again.”

Because nothing pairs with pumpkin whoopie pies quite like the looming threat of homicide. Welcome to my wonderland.

Georgie’s eyes light up. “Well, well, well. Danger and strangers, my two favorite things. Though he won’t be a stranger for long if I have anything to say about it.”

“Georgie, he’s working,” Ree says.

“So am I.” Georgie straightens her caftan and shakes out that fluffy gray cloud she calls hair. “Working on my future.”

“Your future has a restraining order in it,” Ree mutters as Georgie takes off to do her thing. And just to clarify, I do believe her thing is to secure the aforementioned restraining order.

Fish, Chip, and Cupcake trot off toward the crowd, noses to the ground as if they’re on a mission.

There’s Salem! Chip says, spotting the black cat near Eulla Bell’s chair.

Oh my stars, she’s even prettier in daylight! Cupcake does a little spin.

Let’s not make this weird, Fish mutters, though she’s already leading the charge.

Within minutes, I spot all four of them—Fish, Chip, Cupcake, and Salem—sitting in a little furry circle near the stage, chatting like old pals at a coffee shop. Salem’s saying something that makes Chip laugh, and Cupcake’s tail is wagging so hard her entire back end is wiggling.

She knows where they keep the shrimp, Chip announces, as if reporting a miracle.

“Well, would you look at that,” I say. “Our fur friends have formed an alliance.”

Heaven help us all. The last time the four-footed among us formed an alliance, we lost an entire rotisserie chicken, and nobody would confess.

“Speaking of an alliance…” Savvy grabs my arm. “Josie, sugar pot pie, you’ve just got to introduce me to Eulla Bell! I need to tell her how much I adore her books, her accent, and her Southern charm!”

“There’s no time like the present,” I start to say just as Felicity Graves steps up to the microphone and taps it twice.

“Or like never,” I finish.

“Good afternoon, everyone!” Felicity’s voice echoes across the hollow. She’s dressed as Alice in Wonderland, complete with a blue dress with a white apron, a black headband, and white stockings. The costume suits her. There’s something sweet about a grown woman going full storybook for a crowd of mystery readers. “If everyone could please take your seats, we’ll get started!”

We scramble to find chairs. Ree and Delora claim the front row. Georgie positions herself with a clear view of the security guard and gives him a little finger wave. The man stares straight ahead with the rigid focus of a soldier reciting the alphabet backward to stay strong. Newsflash: He’s not the first man to do that around Georgie, and he won’t be the last.

Savvy and I slide into seats near the middle.

“Welcome, welcome!” Felicity beams at the crowd. “I’m Felicity Graves, author of the Gravestone Gardens series, but this afternoon I’m not here to talk about my books. I’m here to moderate the question-and-answer portion of Southern Charm and Deadly Harm: An Afternoon with Eulla Bell Nightwind!”

The crowd applauds.

“So without further ado,” Felicity continues, “please join me in welcoming our star of the afternoon, the delightful, the dazzling, the deadly charming Eulla Bell Nightwind and her sassy feline companion, Salem!”

The crowd erupts.

Eulla Bell steps onto the stage in a costume that makes everyone collectively gasp. She’s dressed head to toe in red satin, a corseted gown with an off-the-shoulder neckline, layers of ruffled skirts, and enough jewelry to stock a small boutique. Her honey-blonde hair is piled high with curls cascading down one shoulder, and she’s carrying Salem, who’s also decked out in a miniature red satin cape with black lace trim.

Well, butter my biscuit and call me breakfast, Cupcake whispers. That’s the fanciest funeral dress I ever did see.

A cape, Fish says. On me, it’s regal. On that poor creature, it’s a cry for help.