Page 28 of Fish and Chip

“I’d like it on record that this is the finest corn dog in the state of Maine,” Dexter announces. “Possibly the country. I’ve eaten corn dogs in eleven states. I think I’m qualified to rule on this.”

“Is that what they teach you at the academy?”

“Among other things.” The hint of a wicked smile is curving on his lips, and I like the direction this night is going in.

Next on the list are the bourbon-glazed turkey legs so tender the meat falls off the bone and right into our mouths where it belongs.

Then we hit the loaded nacho fries topped with pulled pork, jalapeños, queso, and a drizzle of chipotle crema that Savvy calls Heart Attack in a Basket and I call worth a stint on the cardiac unit. Although given the week I’m having, the name lands a little harder than usual. I resolve to suggest she rebrand it to something less homicidal until the Boo Crew leaves town. So far I’ve come up with Mild Medical Concern in a Basket, which lacks a certain ring. This is why Savvy handles the menus.

We follow that with a sweet potato funnel cake dusted with cinnamon sugar and topped with maple cream cheese frosting. Have I mentioned Savvy is from the South? And honestly, this is one of her very best Southern ideas.

And finally, the perfect way to end the assault on our digestive systems, salted caramel apple slices dipped in white chocolate and rolled in crushed pretzels.

“I think I’m going to need to be rolled to the first ride,” Dexter says as he loosens his belt a notch.

“Amateur,” I tease, though the button on my jeans came undone an hour ago. “But honestly, I’m feeling pretty stuffed myself.”

We start in Storybook Hollow, where the pastel swan boats drift lazily along a winding canal lit with floating lanterns. The entire area is draped in twinkle lights and decorated with carved pumpkins painted in soft pastels—think haunted castle, but make it pastel. We ride the swan boats first and drift under arched bridges covered in autumn leaves.

“Why do I feel like the swan disapproves of me?” Dexter asks, eyeing the painted bird head at the front of our boat currently giving us the stink eye.

“They disapprove of everyone. It’s in their contract.”

Then we hit the Enchanted Carousel with its hand-painted horses wearing tiny witch hats. Yes, I put witch hats on the carousel horses. No, I have no regrets.

From there we move to Wild Adventures Hollow, where fog machines pump mist through the faux jungle and animatronic animals peer out from behind plastic vines. We brave the rope bridge walkway that sways over a shallow pool (Dexter pretends he’s not nervous, but I catch him gripping the rails), then ride the Jungle River Rapids, and we get soaked from head to toe when the boat plunges down the final waterfall.

“I have never been wetter in my life,” Dexter says as he wrings out his shirt.

“You’re the second man I’ve seen today in a wet T-shirt,” I tell him.

He lifts a brow.

“It was Georgie’s fault,” I continue. “And for the record, you’re my favorite.”

A smile tugs at his lips. “For the record, you’re the first person I’ve seen today in a wet T-shirt, and you would have been my favorite anyway.”

“Smooth, Detective,” I say as he steals first base.

As we shake ourselves dry and head for the next Hollow, I spot a woman in a Cozy Mystery Boo Crew lanyard slipping past the rope that closes off the maintenance path behind the Jungle Outpost. She’s got a sleek silver bob and an enormous quilted tote bag clutched to her side as if it contains a nuclear suitcase.

That area’s off-limits after dark. She doesn’t look lost, either. She looks the way I look when I’m on an errand I’d rather not explain. Then again, that Boo Crew crowd is shifty by trade. They play fast and loose with the law and my park rules.

Next is Gold Rush Hollow, all dusty wooden planks and Old West saloons. We pan for gold (plastic nuggets hidden in a trough of water), then ride the Haunted Mine Cart, a rickety roller coaster that plunges through dark tunnels filled with screaming ghosts and glowing skeletons. Dexter reaches for my hand during the scariest parts, which I find unreasonably adorable. A grown man with a badge and a gun, undone by a plastic skeleton on a pulley system. I’m keeping him. At least this skeleton kept its opinions to itself. The one in the gift shop could take notes.

Okay, fine. I was screaming my head off, and I buried my face in his chest. But for the record he was holding my hand, too.

We’re barely out of the mine when a familiar voice pops into my head, which means we’ve drifted into cat range.

Josie! Chip sounds thrilled with himself, which is never a good sign. A kid just tried to trade me half a corn dog for extra pictures. I said yes. Fish said no. We need to have a serious conversation about her management style. Also, a lady with silver hair wouldn’t smile for her picture. Not once. Fish says that’s suspicious. I say she’s never had a corn dog.

I decide the photo station can survive another forty-five minutes without me. Fish is clearly running a tight ship, and somebody in that booth has to. Not to mention the fact I’ll throw in another corn dog for my sweet boy before we clock out for the day. It counts toward the vampire tattoo settlement. Negotiations have concluded. Chip won.

Galaxy Hollow comes next, with its retro-futuristic neon tubes and enough phosphorescent paint to guide airplanes home. We spin ourselves sick on the UFO teacups, then ride the Rocket Launch, a vertical-drop ride that makes my stomach relocate to somewhere near my throat.

“I regret the nachos,” Dexter says when we stumble off.

“I regret nothing,” I lie. My stomach begs to differ.