Page 23 of Fish and Chip

You own a pumpkin bandana, Chip reminds her.

That I am forced into under protest. There’s a difference. Besides, I much prefer the one with the cute marshmallow ghosts.

Eulla Bell looks like she belongs on the cover of a historical romance novel. The bodice-ripper kind. I’ll admit, I wouldn’t mind donning that costume myself—especially if I know a certain hot detective will be coming around.

“Well, hello there, y’all!” Eulla Bell says into the microphone, her Southern accent cranked up to maximum charm. “In the event you’re wondering, I’m dressed as a seventeenth-century lady of negotiable virtue, and this here is Salem, my best friend and bodyguard!”

The audience goes absolutely wild at the thought of their favorite author masquerading as a woman of ill repute.

Considering how this cozy mystery week has gone so far, she may actually need the bodyguard.

Savvy leans over and whispers, “That woman is a true-blue Southern peach, bless her heart—and I mean that in the best way possible.”

Eulla Bell launches into a description of her Sweet Tea & Tombstones series, and I have to admit, she’s got the crowd eating out of the palm of her hand. She’s funny, self-deprecating, and knows exactly how to work a room.

Felicity and Eulla Bell go back and forth, discussing plot twists and character development. I notice Felicity mouthing along with a few of Eulla Bell’s answers, word for word, the way you do when you’ve heard a story one too many times. Moderating must be its own little purgatory—a front-row seat to somebody else’s greatest hits. Then she opens the floor to questions.

Ree’s hand shoots up first. “What inspired you to set your series in a tea room?”

“Oh, honey, I’ve always loved tea rooms,” Eulla Bell says. “There’s something so civilized about murder over scones and Earl Grey. My mama always said if you’re going do somebody in, you do it with your pinky up.”

My stomach growls its agreement. The chicory and beignet situation drifting over from the buffet is making it very hard to focus on potential suspects, and I say that as a woman with an advanced degree in brunch and baseless suspicion.

The next question comes from a woman in a witch costume. “How do you come up with your murder methods?”

“Carefully,” Eulla Bell says with a wink. “And with enough research to make the FBI side-eye my search history. I reckon I’m on a list somewhere between ‘librarian’ and ‘menace.’ Poison is trickier than a greased pig at a county fair. One wrong dose and your victim just wakes up cranky with the trots, and where’s the drama in that?”

I add that one to the growing list of things a person shouldn’t say quite so cheerfully at my park during an active murder investigation.

Delora’s hand goes up. “Do you base any of your characters on real people?”

Eulla Bell’s smile tightens just slightly. “Sometimes real people provide inspiration. But I change enough details to keep myself out of a court of law.”

The crowd laughs nervously. I don’t.

Salem’s tail twitched on that one, Fish reports from her spot near the stage. In cat, that’s a signed confession.

Somewhere in Eulla Bell’s answer sits a name she isn’t saying, and I’d bet a tray of whoopie pies on it. However, it does beg the question of whether that person’s name is Belladonna Hershey.

Finally, Georgie raises her hand. “When are you going to add some steamy scenes to your books? Because a girl can only take so much sweet tea before she needs something stronger.”

The audience gasps. Somewhere behind me, a woman chokes on a cheesecake bite.

Eulla Bell throws her head back and laughs. “Oh, sugar, I like you! You’re speaking my language! Maybe in book nine I’ll have my protagonist finally kiss the detective instead of just starin’ at his jawline like it’s the last biscuit on the plate.”

“Thank you!” Georgie says. “That’s all I’m asking for!”

Felicity clears her throat. “All right, ladies, let’s take a little breather. Feel free to help yourselves to the buffet and enjoy a pumpkin spice latte, a maple bourbon latte, or a good old-fashioned black coffee for the traditionalists. We’ll reconvene in fifteen minutes!”

The crowd rises, and women start swarming the buffet like locusts descending on a corn crop.

Georgie skips the buffet entirely and drifts toward the security guard with a Devil’s Finger in each hand, presumably as a peace offering. Or bait.

Ree and Delora head straight for Felicity, books in hand, pens at the ready—fangirl energy at an all-time high.

I spot Eulla Bell snagging a latte from the drink station and heading toward the quieter side of Phantom’s Folly, away from the crowd. A famous author, a fresh latte, and a shadowy corner of a haunted water ride. Nothing about that combination has ever gone wrong in the history of my park.

“Time to have a chat with a certain Southern belle,” I say, standing up.