Page 60 of Fish and Chip

The server returns with my wine and Dexter’s beer, plus a basket of warm bread that’s double-dog daring me to shove as many slices as I can into my mouth at once. I’m reaching for a piece when I spot Delora Drake making a beeline for our table.

She’s dressed as a witch—black gown, purple accents, a pointed hat with a brim you could park under, and every piece of silver she owns. It suits her a little too well, and she’d take that as a compliment. Her eyes light up when she spots us.

“There you are!” Delora descends on our table like a Halloween-themed meteor. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you two. Mind if I join?”

Dexter opens his mouth, probably to say yes, we do mind, but Delora’s already claiming the chair across from me and signaling the server.

“Mother,” Dexter says with patience typically reserved for hostage negotiations, “Josie and I were having dinner.”

“Wonderful! I haven’t eaten yet. I’ll just have dinner, too.” Delora beams at both of us. “Besides, we should compare notes on the suspects. I’ve been thinking about this case nonstop.”

“Of course you have,” Dexter mutters.

Oh good, Fish purrs, settling deeper into her cushion. Dinner and a show.

Is she going to order food? Chip asks. Because if she orders food, she might drop food. And dropped food is technically fair game.

You have no shame, Fish sighs.

But I have an excellent sense of smell and opportunistic timing.

The server returns, and Delora orders a glass of white wine and immediately starts cross-examining the menu.

“What’s the catch of the day? Is it fresh? How’s it prepared? What sides come with it? Can I substitute? Is the risotto gluten-free? What about the sauce?”

The server handles it like a pro, rattling off answers while Dexter looks like he’s contemplating whether murder is hereditary.

She interrogates a menu the way Dexter interrogates suspects, Fish mewls. It’s genetic.

Finally, Delora settles on the pan-seared scallops with butternut squash risotto and roasted Brussels sprouts. Dexter gets the braised short ribs. I go for the herb-crusted salmon with garlic mashed potatoes, because if I’m going to emotionally eat my way through a murder investigation, I’m doing it properly.

Chip drifts under Delora’s chair and settles in like he’s just been assigned a post.

“So,” Delora says the moment the server leaves, leaning forward conspiratorially. “What do we think about our suspects?”

“We think you should let the detective handle the investigation,” Dexter says.

“Which detective? You? Because last I checked, Josie’s solved more murders than you have.”

I nearly choke on my wine, then develop a sudden and intense fascination with my bread plate.

“Delora—”

“What? It’s true. You solved that travel critic murder. Dexter was still interviewing witnesses when you figured it out.”

“I was building a case,” Dexter says through gritted teeth.

“And Josie was catching a killer.” Delora waves a dismissive hand. “Anyway, I’ve been thinking about Gertie Gloomwood. That embezzlement story is suspicious. And if Belladonna was blackmailing Gertie, that’s motive.”

“Lots of people have a motive,” Dexter points out. “That doesn’t make them killers.”

“But it makes them suspects,” Delora counters. “What about Eulla Bell? That plagiarism rumor is damning.”

“Also just a rumor,” I say. “We don’t have proof.”

“Yet,” Delora says.

This woman is relentless. Fish gives a sharp meow. If Dexter doesn’t crack this case soon, she will, and he’ll never hear the end of it.