Page 67 of Fish and Chip

“At a Halloween party during a murder investigation, that seems like solid planning.”

“How is this for solid planning?” I hike up on my tiptoes and offer the hot cop a kiss.

Romance even during murder investigations, Fish sighs from somewhere near my feet. Hoomans are so predictable.

Less kissing, more candy, Chip says. There’s a piece of candy corn on the ground two feet from you and nobody is doing anything about it. This is a crisis. Don’t worry, I’m on it. They don’t call me Candy Corn Chippy for nothing.

Fish grunts. You’re corny all right.

The parade continues. More floats, more candy, more children hopped up on sugar and zero adult supervision.

Then comes the float I’ve been waiting for.

The glass pumpkin carriage, Fish and Chip’s signature photo op, has been mounted on a parade float and surrounded by autumn leaves, glowing jack-o’-lanterns, and enough twinkle lights to single-handedly explain our electricity bill.

A park employee gently loads Fish and Chip into the carriage, where they settle like tiny furry monarchs.

Fish is dressed as the Queen of Hearts, complete with a red velvet cape and a tiny heart-shaped crown she’s wearing like it was her idea. Newsflash: she put up a fight. There were claws involved—mine and hers. And Chip is dressed as his dream come true—in a hot dog costume he’s already tried to taste twice.

This is it, Fish announces. Our big spooky moment.

Do you think people will throw snacks? Chip asks with far too much hope behind it.

This isn’t for us to collect cavities, you orange disaster. We’re the entertainment.

Chip sniffs. Entertainment that accepts snacks, though, right?

The crowd erupts when the float passes. Cheering, crying, phones everywhere capturing Maine’s most famous cats in all their Halloween glory.

I told you we’re celebrities, Chip yowls.

Don’t let it inflate your already fluffy-brained ego, Fish warns.

Too late!

Too late indeed.

The float continues down the route, Fish and Chip waving their paws (or at least sitting there looking regal while people lose their minds), and I feel this strange burst of pride that my cats—well, my cat and Bizzy’s cat—are the stars of this whole show. My babies. My furry, opinionated, occasionally crime-solving fur babies.

The parade winds down with one final float, a replica of the Haunted Mansion complete with ghosts, ghouls, and enough fog to create legitimate visibility concerns. At this point I’m not sure if we’re throwing a parade or summoning something.

The whole procession ends right in front of the actual Haunted Mansion, where a cordoned-off area’s been set up for the grand finale—the Boo Crew Tricks, Treats, and Trouble Bash.

The crowd starts streaming toward the party area, authors and readers happily mingling together, everyone clutching VIP passes and looking ready to celebrate a full week of murder workshops without anyone actually dying.

Well. Without anyone else dying.

“If anyone does get murdered tonight, I call dibs on the chalk outline,” Georgie announces, smoothing a hand over the dead body printed across her stomach. “I’m already dressed for it.”

“You can’t call dibs on a crime scene,” Ree tells her.

“Watch me.”

Up ahead, I spot Felicity in the flow of the crowd, checking that pocket watch again. Twice in one evening. Either the White Rabbit committed harder to the bit than anyone else at this party, or that woman is keeping track of something that has nothing to do with Wonderland.

Delora’s still waving at the Boo Crew float as it parks, her magnifying glass catching the light. “Look at them all! They’re all so festive! Though I have to say, Eulla Bell’s costume is quite daring. It’s very brave showing that much skin at her age. Then again, when you’ve spent your whole life playing a part, I suppose you commit to the costume.”

Something in that sentence makes my brain screech to a halt.