Page 25 of Fish and Chip

You bet your britches it is.

“Hello there!” I say as we reach Eulla Bell. “We met last night. I’m Josie, the owner here. So I guess you could say this is my circus, these are my monkeys.”

Something I never willingly admit.

Eulla Bell chortles, and it’s a sound that reaches her bright blue eyes. “Well, honey, you’ve got yourself one heck of a circus. I haven’t seen this many folks dressed as cats since my cousin Lurleen’s wedding, and that’s a whole other story involving moonshine and one bad decision after another.”

We share a quick laugh. I will be circling back for the Lurleen story. A woman needs something to live for. And if I ever decide to get married again, I am so making everyone dress like a cat.

“Eulla Bell, this is my friend Savvy Sparrow,” I say, gesturing to my bestie. “She also hails from the great state of Tennessee.”

Eulla Bell gasps and sits up straighter. “Another volunteer for the Southern Belle Brigade?”

“Sweet pea, is a frog’s behind watertight?” Savvy says. “Born and raised in Nashville, baptized in barbecue sauce, and prouder than a rooster who thinks he hung the sun.”

“Well, hush my puppies and fry me twice!” Eulla Bell pats the alligator bench. “Plant yourselves right here—I haven’t been this tickled since my cousin Lurleen caught the bouquet and the groom in the same weekend! That weekend needed a referee, a preacher, and a garden hose, and I’m proud to say I supplied all three.” She shakes her head. “Two Nashville girls in Maine—somebody pinch me with a pickle fork!”

The two of them immediately launch into rapid-fire Southernisms that make my head spin.

“I swear, moving up here to Maine was harder than pushing a rope uphill in a rainstorm,” Savvy says.

“I believe it! These Yankees don’t know sweet tea from sewer water,” Eulla Bell agrees. “First café I walked into up here, I asked for sweet tea, and the girl handed me a sad little bag of leaves and a lecture on antioxidants.”

“Honey, that’s nothing.” Savvy laughs. “I asked for grits at a diner in Bangor, and the waitress looked at me like I’d requested roadkill on a bed of regret.”

“Slap a bow on me and call me a Christmas ham!” Eulla Bell chuckles. “At least you got a look. I asked where the biscuits and gravy were, and the whole place went quieter than a church full of sinners on collection Sunday.”

“Bless their hearts, they try though.”

“That’s mighty Christian of you to say. My mama always told me you can’t fault a Yankee for being born above the Mason-Dixon line. It’s the raising that ruins ‘em.”

“Amen and pass the cornbread,” Savvy says solemnly.

“I’ll bring the sweet tea,” Eulla Bell offers. “The real kind, made with enough sugar to make a dentist see the face of the Almighty.”

I don’t catch half of it, but I’m fairly certain an entire region was slandered with love.

Meanwhile, down by our feet, Cupcake and Salem are having their own Southern summit.

I declare, Salem says, this whole murder business has got me more nervous than a worm in a bait shop!

Oh, sugar pot pie, Cupcake says with a touch of sympathy, you just stick with me. We Southern belles have got to look out for one another!

Chip sidles up to Salem. Don’t you worry, Midnight Muffin. I’ll protect you from any harm.

Fish sighs. You couldn’t protect a ham sandwich from yourself, Chip.

He grunts in response. That was one sandwich, and legally, it was abandoned property.

I clear my throat, interrupting the Southern lovefest. “Eulla Bell, we’re so sorry for your loss. Belladonna was a close colleague of yours, wasn’t she?”

Eulla Bell’s smile dims slightly. “Well now, that’s mighty kind of you to say, but I wouldn’t exactly call us close. We ran in the same circles, published in the same genre, attended the same conferences. But did I know her well?” She shakes her head. “Can’t say I did.”

“What can you tell us about her?” Savvy asks.

Eulla Bell considers this, absently reaching down to stroke Salem’s head. “Belladonna Hershey was ambitious as all get-out, I’ll give her that. Sharp as a tack, too. She knew how to work a room, how to charm readers, how to get herself on bestseller lists. But underneath all that spit shine?” She lowers her voice. “The woman was meaner than a rattlesnake with a headache, if you ask me.”

She’s stroking that cat too fast, Fish mewls from her post by my ankles. Humans pet faster when they’re choosing their words.