Page 38 of Fish and Chip

The gentlest woman at this convention just threatened a manhunt, and eighty people applauded. I need to reexamine everything I know about cozy readers.

“Have you ever based a murder on something real?” a voice calls from the middle rows.

The plaza goes quiet a half beat too long. Felicity’s fingers find the brass compass at her neck.

“Heavens, no.” She laughs, light as meringue. “My imagination is dark enough without borrowing from the news.”

The crowd chuckles and moves on. I don’t.

“Authors get that question at every event,” Ree whispers, reading my face. “It’s basically asking if they’re a criminal with a library card. I’d twitch, too.”

Maybe she’s right. Nobody enjoys being accused of murder as an icebreaker. Still, I tuck the pause away for later, right next to the murder bible.

She’s good at this. Really good. And watching her interact with her fans, seeing how genuinely she engages with their questions, how thoughtfully she answers even the most basic inquiries, I find it hard to imagine this woman bashing anyone over the head with a piece of decorative fencing.

But then again, that’s what makes a good mystery, isn’t it? The killer you least suspect.

Georgie must be thinking the same thing because she leans over and mutters, “She’s either innocent or the best actress I’ve ever seen.”

“We’ll find out soon enough,” I whisper back.

Felicity wraps up the workshop with a question-and-answer session that runs twenty minutes over schedule because people won’t stop asking questions. She handles it gracefully, staying until every single person has had their question answered and their book signed. Even the tombstone gets an autograph, scrawled right beneath RIP Plot Holes, after the woman requests it be made out “in memoriam.” Felicity obliges without missing a beat. I hope that costume never goes through the wash. It’s basically a collector’s item now.

Ree watches her sign book after book, and her shoulders sink an inch. “I really don’t want it to be her,” she says, and there’s no humor in it this time.

“I know.” I give her arm a squeeze because I don’t have anything better to offer. One of us is walking into this shakedown with her whole heart exposed, and it isn’t me.

“All right,” I say as the crowd starts to disperse. “Time to have a little chat with our favorite graveyard aficionado.”

Ree clutches her notebook to her chest. “Please be gentle. And also, can I get her autograph first?”

“Ree.”

“What? I’m a fan! And if she is the killer, this might be my last chance!”

“Signed copies go up in value once the author’s in prison,” Georgie points out. “Have her personalize it. Something warm. To Ree, thanks for the alibi.”

“I am not providing anyone an alibi,” Ree hisses, already pulling out her pen.

Georgie snorts. “The woman just spent an hour teaching people how to craft the perfect murder mystery ending. If that’s not suspicious, I don’t know what is.”

We make our way toward the front where Felicity is packing up her notes and props, tired but happy, tucking her index cards into a carpetbag, one of those Victorian satchels straight out of Mary Poppins that looks like it was sewn from somebody’s grandmother’s rug, all faded roses and brass clasps. I half expect her to pull a hat stand out of it. The woman committed to the costume down to the luggage. I respect her commitment to the theme.

Ree eyes the cards with professional disapproval. “Not laminated,” she murmurs. “And they call her a master of the craft.”

Time to find out if our sweet, soft-spoken workshop leader knows more about Belladonna’s death than she’s letting on.

Felicity Graves crafts endings for a living. I just hope Belladonna’s wasn’t one of them.

CHAPTER 11

Georgie reaches into her caftan pocket and pulls out Henrietta’s doll head necklace, draping it over my neck before my objection can even get out of the gate.

“What are you doing?” I hiss.

“You need protection, Toots. We’re about to interrogate a suspect.” Georgie pats Henrietta’s plastic head affectionately—and with a trace of fear in her eyes. “Savvy gave this to me before we left and told me to make sure you’re wearing it. She said you’d try to take it off.”

“That’s because she’s got one eye that blinks on its own and a smile that belongs in a horror movie.”