Page 24 of Fish and Chip

Savvy grabs my arm. “Not without me, you don’t, sugar.”

When you go asking a Southern belle about murder, it helps to bring one who can translate. Because underneath all that red satin and honey, one question’s still standing: Is Eulla Bell working the crowd, or working an alibi?

CHAPTER 6

The Halloween atmosphere in Bayou Bend Hollow is thick enough to cut with a knife. Or in this case, a decorative wrought-iron fence post.

Spanish moss drapes from the trees like ghostly curtains, swaying in a breeze that carries the scent of chicory coffee, beignets dusted with powdered sugar, and something vaguely spicy that might be the Cajun-spiced pecans Savvy’s been handing out like candy.

My waistline and I have already been personally victimized by the beignets twice today. We’re considering a third round just to keep with the theme.

The area around Phantom’s Folly is decorated within an inch of its life. Fake tombstones with punny epitaphs (“Here Lies Al B. Back,” “Barry D. Hatchet”), skeleton pirates manning the ride’s entrance, and enough purple and orange twinkle lights to make the entire hollow glow like a haunted dream. I’d be proud of myself if I weren’t so busy hunting a killer in the middle of it.

Eulla Bell Nightwind just wrapped up the first part of her Southern Charm and Deadly Harm event, moderated by Felicity Graves, and the crowd is buzzing with energy as they swarm the buffet in cat-ear headbands.

I spot Eulla Bell making her escape toward a quieter corner of the hollow, settling onto a bench shaped like a giant alligator with its mouth wide open. She looks absolutely glorious in her red satin gown, what with the corseted bodice, the off-the-shoulder neckline, and the layers of ruffled skirts that make her look like she stepped straight off the cover of a bodice-ripper romance novel. Salem sits primly beside her, still wearing her miniature red satin cape. Somewhere out there, a pet portrait studio is missing its finest hour.

“Come on,” I say to Savvy. “Let’s go talk to her before she gets mobbed again.”

Savvy grabs my arm. “Wait a minute, sugar.” She digs into my tote bag and pulls out Henrietta, the creepy doll head necklace I stuffed in there this morning because I couldn’t stand her blinking eyes staring at me during breakfast.

“What are you doing?” I hiss as Savvy drapes the necklace around my neck.

“Making you look approachable,” Savvy says.

“She’s going to think I’m a nut!”

“Oh hon, you’re nuttier than a squirrel’s winter stash in a pecan grove.” Savvy pats the doll head affectionately. “Now you just look honest about it.”

I’m not impressed. Henrietta blinks at me in what I can only assume is solidarity because neither of us asked for this arrangement.

Fish, Chip, and Cupcake come trotting over just as we approach Eulla Bell’s alligator bench.

Wait, wait, wait, Salem says, her yellow eyes going wide. Y’all are saying my hooman is a suspect? In a murder investigation?

I’m afraid so, Fish says gently.

Salem’s fur poofs up. But she’s Southern! We don’t do that sort of thing! We use manners and passive aggression like civilized folks!

Sugar, Cupcake says, giving Salem’s ear a comforting lick, murder doesn’t discriminate by region.

This is a nightmare! Salem wails. What if she goes to jail? Who’s going to feed me my Fancy Beast cat food at precisely six o’clock every evening?

Priorities. At least the cat has them all worked out.

Were you with your hooman the entire night? Fish asks Salem, her tone casual but her eyes sharp.

Heavens no! Salem says brightly. I snuck under that dessert table and had myself a feast! People were dropping bacon-wrapped dates and those little cheese balls left and right, and you can bet I had my fill. I ate so much I was fatter than a tick on a hound dog!

Cupcake gasps. Fish and Chip exchange a glance.

What? Salem looks between them. Why are you all looking so alarmed? Is it because I didn’t invite y’all to the feast?

No, Fish says. It’s because that means your hooman had a window of opportunity.

Chip sighs heavily. Also a little bit the feast thing.

Cupcake’s ears droop. Oh mercy, that’s stickier than syrup on a summer sidewalk.