Page 81 of Fish and Chip

“This party is INSANE!” Riley shouts over the music.

“We brought like fifteen people from our dorm!” McKenna adds with far too much glee, as if fifteen college students with unlimited park access are a gift and not a natural disaster with student IDs.

I blink. “Fifteen?”

“Maybe twenty,” Riley amends.

“Possibly twenty-five,” Jack offers with a nod.

“I hope they’re having a great time,” I say. And somewhere out there, an admissions office is counting my park as campus housing.

“You’re the coolest mom ever!” McKenna throws her arms around me, and I can’t even be mad because she sounds so genuinely happy.

Coolest mom ever. I’ll have that engraved at the entrance once the rest of the university starts showing up free of charge. Not that I really mind. If it keeps my girls coming around, I wouldn’t care if they started holding classes inside the Haunted Mansion.

“Can we get pictures with Fish and Chip?” Emma asks, already pulling out her phone.

I don’t mind, Fish sighs. As long as Jack gets to hold me. He’s a hottie.

I’m a hottie in all this fur, Chip mewls. But what the heck—I’m spreading Halloween cheer!

The girls and Jack mob the cats, posing with them in forty-seven different configurations. Fish practically melts in Jack’s arms, looking entirely too pleased with the way the night has ended. Chip is just pleased that Emma gave him a bite of her corn dog.

Then, satisfied they’ve documented every possible angle, my daughters shriek something about the DJ taking requests and tear off toward the dance floor, their twenty-five dormmates in tow, proving college students have an uncanny ability to turn up wherever snacks are involved.

Somewhere in the stampede, I’m pretty sure I hear one of them yell “free churros,” which is news to me and my accountant.

Clyde ambles over with his pool noodle nightstick tucked under his arm as if it’s loaded. “Josie.”

“Clyde.”

He adjusts his sunglasses even though the stars are out and there’s literally no daylight within a hundred miles. “I heard you caught another killer.”

“I did and I didn’t. Let’s just say I solved the case.”

“That’s—” He pauses, and I brace myself for whatever backhanded comment is coming. “That’s actually impressive. You’re really good at this.”

I nearly fall over. “Did you just compliment me?”

“Don’t let it go to your head,” he says as the idea of a smile twitches on his crooked lips. “The girls are lucky to have you. Even if your theme park is a death trap with better marketing than most funeral homes.”

“Thanks. I think.”

“Also, Crystal and I broke up.”

“I heard. I’m in the group chat, remember? Is she really seeing your boss?”

“Yup. And my boss is a tool with the personality of expired yogurt.”

“Agreed,” I say, and mean it down to my bones even though I’ve never met the man. I’m guessing Crystal has a type.

Clyde shakes his head at one of the shirtless werewolves. “Every time I come here, reality lowers the bar.” He tips his fake cop hat. “I’m going to find a drink. Maybe several drinks.”

He wanders off just as Dexter emerges from the crowd, tired but relieved and somehow still managing to make a leather jacket look unfairly good. Honestly, it should be illegal. He’d have to arrest himself.

The two of them pass each other, and Clyde snaps off a crisp salute with the pool noodle. Dexter stops, takes in the aviators, the badge, the entire situation, and gives him a slow nod. “Officer.”

“Detective.” Clyde salutes again and keeps walking, and I fall a little more in love with a man willing to extend professional courtesy to a pool noodle. It’s Dexter for those getting sleepy and losing count at home.