Sneak Peek!
Fish & Chip: Nine Lives, BOO Crew
From the rescue—to the rescue!
Two cats, nine lives, one murder case.
Chapter 1
Welcome to Huckleberry Hollow Wonderland!
Hello! Josie Janglewood here, your friendly neighborhood theme park owner and occasional amateur detective (don’t ask—it’s complicated).
Welcome to my little slice of Maine magic! Huckleberry Hollow Wonderland sprawls across 100 glorious acres of pure whimsy, where the rides actually work (most of the time), the food is getting better by the day, and the only things more entertaining than our attractions are my crime-solving cats, Fish and Chip. They’re the real stars around here—I just handle the paperwork and try not to trip over any more dead bodies.
Whether you’re here for the thrills, the spills, or just the excellent churros, you’re going to love exploring our ten themed areas, each one more magical than the last. Well, except for the ones that are more terrifying than magical, but that’s half the fun, right?
So grab a map, pick your poison, and prepare for an adventure that’s guaranteed to be unforgettable—and statistically unlikely to involve homicide!
Happy exploring! – Josie
Your Guide to the 10 Hollows:
1. Huckleberry Lane – Our charming main street, complete with taffy shops, photo booths, and vintage storefronts that’ll make you feel nostalgic for an era you never actually lived through.
2. Storybook Hollow – Pure fairy tale magic with swan boats, cotton candy, and enough glitter to be seen from space. Perfect for living out your princess fantasies.
3. Wild Adventures Hollow – Jungle-themed excitement with rope bridges, faux temples, and animatronic animals (some of which still work!).
4. Bayou Bend Hollow – Southern charm meets spooky atmosphere, complete with paddleboat rides and our genuinely terrifying Haunted House that’s not for the faint of heart.
5. Gold Rush Hollow – Wild West adventure with saloons, gold-panning, and a haunted mine ride that’s only slightly terrifying.
6. Pawprint Hollow – Home to our petting zoo and kiddie rides, where Fish and Chip rule like furry mob bosses.
7. Galaxy Hollow – Retro-futuristic fun with neon lights, vintage robots, and enough glow-in-the-dark everything to power a small city.
8. Magical Marvels Hollow – Our crown jewel featuring a stunning dichroic glass castle and gardens that look like they were designed by actual fairies.
9. Gears & Dreams Hollow – Steampunk wonderland with copper pipes, vintage machinery, and the best romantic restaurant in three counties.
10. Everwhirl Hollow – Our mysterious forgotten garden, where nature has reclaimed the paths and magic feels just a little bit dangerous.
Don’t forget to visit our merchandise stands—Fish and Chip ear headbands are flying off the shelves!
It’s late October, and Halloween—the spookiest day of the year—is exactly one week away.
Halloween has always been one of my favorite holidays, especially when my girls were little and I could dress them up as adorable pumpkins without them threatening to move out. Now they’re both living at the local university, which means every day is equally terrifying for different reasons. Mysterious late-night texts, tuition bills that require smelling salts, and the knowledge that they’re eating nothing but ramen and rebellion. Turns out, motherhood is the real horror show.
But tonight? Tonight, I get to lean into the fun brand of scary.
Hosting a weeklong invasion of cozy mystery authors at your theme park is a lot like herding caffeinated cats, assuming those cats wrote murder mysteries, wore seasonal scarves, and had extremely passionate opinions about which hot fictional detective they’d trust with their lives.
The good news? I own the theme park.
The bad news? I’m standing in Bayou Bend Hollow watching twenty-plus mystery writers and their legion of fans descend on my property, and statistically speaking, the odds of everyone leaving here alive are not odds I’d bet the park on.
I survey the scene from my spot near the haunted pumpkin carriage, an oversized decoration currently serving as Fish and Chip’s photo-op throne.
The entire hollow glows with purple and orange twinkle lights strung through moss-draped trees, and wavering lanterns cast shadows across the crowd as if they’re auditioning for a horror movie. Fog machines pump out dark clouds that roll across the ground, swirl around ankles, and give the whole scene a distinctly atmospheric vibe. Have I mentioned that whole horror-movie vibe yet?
Spooky-themed music floats through the speakers, and competing with it are the sound effects: thunder rumbling overhead, creaky stairs groaning, and what I’m pretty sure is supposed to be ominous organ music but sounds more like someone sat on a keyboard. The scent of cinnamon, caramel apples, and something vaguely pumpkin-spiced hangs in the crisp fall air.
Fall is my favorite. Horror and homicide? Not so much.
The private party area is roped off with Halloween bunting, triangular flags in orange, black, purple, and green strung between posts, plus signage politely suggesting the general park population find their chaos elsewhere. Ours is reserved.
Above the crowd, a glittering sign stretches across the west side of the Haunted Mansion: BOO CREW SPOOK AND MINGLE!
Subtle, it is not. Tonight’s shindig is basically their Halloween week kickoff bash.
“There!” Ree jabs a finger toward the crowd, her feathered red hair not moving an inch despite the breeze. The shoulder pads in her blazer are pure ’80s glory, and she’s rocking our cat ear merch with a tiny crown perched between the ears. “Is that Gertie Gloomwood by the paddleboat?”
“Where?” Georgie cranes her neck, the miniature witch’s hat on her cat ears tilting precariously. Her caftan (Halloween orange meets electric purple) billows as she shifts. “I can’t see past all the cardigans.”
“What cardigans?”
“All of them.” Georgie waves a hand at the crowd. “I was promised hot cover models. Shirtless men with strategically placed pumpkins. Instead, I’m staring at sensible shoes and turtlenecks.”
“The cover models for cozy mysteries are mostly illustrated cats,” I remind her.
Georgie frowns. “You’re telling me I got dressed up for imaginary cats?” She glances around in dismay. “Drats. I’ll just have to redirect my efforts to something with abs and a pulse. Surely this place is crawling with handsome hot men willing to make a questionable decision or two with a highly seasoned woman of a certain age.”
“Highly seasoned?” Ree snorts. “You sound like a cast-iron skillet.”
“You better believe it, toots. And I’m twice as valuable,” Georgie shoots back. “Every hot hottie at this park should be so lucky.”
Ree gives her bestie a slow once-over. “Lucky? Georgie, they’d need protective gear and a user manual that dates back to the last century to have anything to do with you.”
Georgie chuckles at the thought. “Now we’re getting in the spirit.”
Ree Baker and Georgie Conner are two of the best amateur sleuths I know, and two of the best friends a girl could ask for, assuming that girl doesn’t mind having her private business discussed at volume and her love life questioned with alarming frequency.
Ree’s somewhere in midlife right along with me, and Georgie is a spry, wry, and hot-to-trot eighty-something granny with a gray tumbleweed perched on her head, a wicked gleam in her eyes, and a well-documented penchant for caftans and men. Not necessarily in that order.
I adjust my own cat ears, orange donut-shaped additions that are a combo nod to Chip’s ears and his favorite food group. Paired with my black sweater dress and boots, I’m either festively coordinated or one whisker away from a full cat costume. The jury’s still out.
The marketing team outdid themselves with the merch this year. Besides the ears, we’ve got popcorn buckets with Fish and Chip’s faces on them, glow-in-the-dark collar necklaces, pumpkin-shaped treat bags with their paw prints, illuminated jack-o’-lantern medallions, ghost-shaped hand fans, miniature cauldron candy holders, and (my personal favorite) plush bat keychains with tiny cat ear accessories.
Is all this cat merch a moneymaking machine? Absolutely.
And lucky for me, it’s everyone else’s money.
Speaking of the stars of the show, Fish, the sleek black-and-white tabby currently holding court in the pumpkin carriage, technically belongs to Ree’s daughter Bizzy. Fun fact: I’m living at the inn Bizzy owns and runs in the next town over of Cider Cove, which means Fish and Chip have become reluctant roommates. Fish tolerates him. Mostly.
Chip, on the other hand, has been with me for years. My ball of orange feline fluff helped me escape my cheating ex-husband, the one who left me for a yoga instructor half my age and called it his healing journey. Clyde’s spiritual awakening cost me a marriage, but I got Chip, a job managing this theme park, and eventually the entire property when the previous owners sold it to me for a dollar and retired to Florida.
I’d call that trading up. Clyde would call it a hostile takeover. One of us is right, and it’s the one holding the deed.
“I’m on the hunt for a herd of hunks,” Georgie announces. “I’ll even take a celebrity or two. In fact, I spy one now, a shirtless vampire, and he’s sparkling in the moonlight. Those are my favorite kind of neck biters. I think I’ll snap up one or ten for the night. ‘Tis the season for a little hunka-hunka burning love.”
“Georgie, that’s a cardboard cutout,” I say.
“And my point stands.”
“Speaking of celebrity sightings.” Ree elbows me. “The line for photos with our furry little mascots is longer than the one for the restrooms, and that’s impressive on a night when hot cider is in demand.”
She’s not wrong. The queue is even longer than the line for the smoked turkey legs, and that’s no small feat considering people have been known to elbow small children out of the way for those.
“Ooh.” Georgie grabs Ree’s arm and points toward the cider stand. “That vampire has a cape and shoulders. Come be my wingwoman before someone else snaps him up.” She tows Ree into the crowd before either of us can vote on it.
This is my calling, Fish mewls from her pumpkin carriage throne with her cape draped just so, her hat tipped over one eye like she meant it. Finally, an audience worthy of my time.
It’s the best night ever! Chip (stuffed into a pumpkin costume that makes him look like an overinflated decoration) buzzes as if he’s about to float off into the night like an orange helium balloon as a woman in a mermaid costume leans in for a selfie. Do you see this? Do you see this? They love me! That lady said I’m fluffier than a cloud. A cloud, Fish!
She also tried to yank your tail off,Fish says. She thought it was detachable. I thought you’d handle it with less shrieking.
That’s because I’m irresistible, Chip insists. And that wasn’t shrieking. That was a battle cry. The woman loved me.
A battle you were losing,Fish counters. I stopped her at her third attempt.
“Do I need to comp her a churro?” I ask. Thankfully, cat ears work at a distance no human eavesdropper can match.
You’re rewarding her? Fish sounds personally betrayed. I prevented an incident and she gets pastry?
“What incident?” I mutter.
The one where I introduce her to my claws, she’s quick to mewl my way.
“You’re very intense about his tail,” I say as I nod her way.
I’m very particular about what touches things that belong to me.
Oh wow. Possessive. I like it, Chip says.
Don’t make it weird. Fish swishes her tail at him. You already look like a pumpkin with legs.
She has a point.
The queue to take pictures with the park’s official mascots winds down Bayou Bend Hollow, past the paddleboat dock, and clear out of sight. The end of it might technically be in Canada. At this rate, the people in back will meet the cats sometime around Thanksgiving.
My name is Josie Janglewood, and I can hear what animals think, a talent that arrived courtesy of a tumble down my grandmother’s stairs when I was six. I traded a mild concussion for a lifetime of unsolicited commentary from every creature with fur, feathers, or scales. Some days it’s enlightening. Other days, I’m stuck listening to squirrels debate acorn storage while trying to run a hundred-acre theme park.
I’m fifty, redheaded, with blue-gray eyes, laugh lines I’ve earned honestly, and dimples in my cheeks that make an appearance whether I want them to or not. I’ve also never said no to a donut, which explains why my relationship with carbs is best described as committed and unrepentant. Like very, very committed.
“Where are they?” A shriek cuts through the jazz music and ambient thunder as Delora Drake barrels toward us, her perfectly coiffed gray hair refusing to budge despite her speed and despite the bedazzled witch’s hat standing straight on her head as if she glued it there.
She’s wearing a tailored black dress with orange accents and enough chunky jewelry to qualify as a costume on its own. Her eyes are wild with the same excitement most people save for finding the perfect Halloween costume on clearance or discovering their favorite author is writing a sequel, and considering tonight’s guest list, that may literally be the case.
“Where’s Belladonna Hershey?” Delora pants as she peers into the ever-thickening crowd. “And Felicity Graves? And Eulla Bell Nightwind? And all the others whose books I can’t get enough of.”
Delora is my newly minted boyfriend’s mother, and she tolerates my existence the way most people tolerate a rash—aware it’s there and wishing it wasn’t. Detective Dexter Drake, the aforementioned boyfriend, is obscenely good-looking, wickedly smart, and unfortunately comes with a mother convinced I’m bad luck in lip gloss.
She’s not entirely wrong either.
This is her third stint as an events coordinator at Huckleberry Hollow Wonderland Theme Park, which I suppose makes her a permanent fixture in my life whether I like it or not. And she’s made one thing clear—she wants the best for her son.
Apparently, that’s not me.
But she loves cozy mysteries more than she dislikes my influence on Dexter’s life, so here we are, united by murder fiction and separated by everything else.
“They’re probably somewhere in the crowd,” I say, gesturing to the sea of costumes. Half the guests are dressed as characters from various cozy mystery series. I’ve spotted at least three amateur sleuths with magnifying glasses, two cat-themed detectives, and one woman in a full baker’s outfit, complete with a rolling pin covered in suspicious red splatters. “It’s a little hard to pinpoint anyone specific when everyone’s—”
“Look!” Delora points toward the author stations set up throughout the hollow. “That’s Belladonna by the zombie and the headless horseman! Oh my word, she’s even more stunning in person.”
Ree and Georgie reappear, looking eagerly into the crowd.
“Wait, Belladonna Hershey is here?” Ree lights up. The Belladonna Hershey? As in Moonlight Manor Belladonna?”
Georgie brightens. “Zombie, headless horseman… so there are men here.”
“I don’t think we’re allowed to count zombies and the headless,” I say.
Ree huffs. “You haven’t met Georgie.”
“Besides,” Georgie says, “the headless one can’t interrupt me. Honestly, more people should be headless. Show me another man who lets you finish a sentence.”
“Never mind that, there she is, the one and only Belladonna Hershey.” Delora fans herself. “I’ve read every single one of her books. Twice. And I have thoughts about the cliffhanger in book nine that I absolutely must share with her.”
“Get in line,” Ree says, suddenly spellbound by the prospect of literary greatness among us. “I’ve been waiting three years to ask her about the red herring subplot in Death Checks In at Midnight!”
Georgie squints toward the makeshift cemetery. “Is she the tall one with the silver hair who looks like she could murder someone and make it look like an accident?”
“That’s the one,” Delora sighs and maybe swoons, too.
“Good to know,” I say. “I’ll be over here being harmless and agreeable.”
A ripple moves through the crowd, the ripple that only happens when a man strolls in looking far too good for public consumption, especially at a party stocked wall-to-wall with middle-aged women who have a flair for elaborate fantasies.
A few catcalls ring out.
Okay, fine, one of them was from me. I can’t help it. I know a fine specimen when I see one.
Detective Dexter Drake moves through the Boo Crew Spook and Mingle as if he owns the place. Technically, the deed disagrees. But I’m willing to let a man that handsome believe whatever keeps him walking my way.
His dark hair is tousled just right, he’s got your classic sharp jawline, shoulders that fill out his leather jacket like trouble with excellent posture, and a walk that makes you think about handcuffs in contexts that have nothing to do with law enforcement.
I’m pretty sure half the women here would line up to be arrested by him.
The other half would line up to be handcuffed to him. I sort of fall into both categories myself.
He spots our group and heads over, his mouth quirking into a smile that could melt chocolate. My pulse doesn’t stand a chance around him, and frankly, it stopped trying months ago.
“Ladies.” He arrives at our little circle, and I swear the temperature drops three degrees from Delora’s stare alone. “Mother.”
Delora beams as though she’s just been handed a signed first edition. “Dexter! Oh, you look so handsome. Did you eat? You’re working too hard. I brought extra severed finger breadsticks—”
“I’m fine, Mom.” He’s already leaning toward me, and Delora’s face slides from maternal pride to something that could generously be called resigned tolerance and more accurately be called I’m watching you, Janglewood.
Dexter dips down and gives me a kiss. Not a peck, but not quite worthy of a warning label either. Just enough to remind everyone in a fifty-foot radius that we’re together and he’s not apologizing for it.
Somewhere behind me, Delora makes a sound that could peel paint off the Haunted Mansion, and Georgie lets out a wolf whistle loud enough to wake the animatronic pirates.
“Now that’s what I’m talking about,” Georgie says. “Forget the cover models. We’ve got the real thing right here.”
“I think we found your hunka-hunka burning love, Georgie,” Ree says.
The detective knows how to make an entrance, Fish observes from across the hollow. I’ll give him that.
Think he’s got any cheese in his pockets? Chip asks with a hopeful and yet hungry look on his furry face. Last time he showed up, there were appetizers. I’m just saying, the man has good timing.
Your entire world revolves around food. Fish sniffs.
It sure does, Chip yowls. And unlike yours, mine has snacks. I don’t see the downside.
“Look who’s braving the spooky crowds,” I say when Dexter pulls back, and my cheeks heat up on cue. Apparently one kiss and I’m sixteen again. I can’t blame myself. The man looks like sin in a badge, and half the hollow would trade their firstborn for the kiss I just got for free. Maybe their second-born, too.
“You look beautiful.” His eyes do a quick sweep that makes my brain temporarily malfunction. “Let me guess. Sexy cat?”
“Festive park owner,” I correct.
“My mistake.” He leans in closer. “Sexy festive park owner.” He takes in the scenery. “The dessert buffet is impressive, but the company is better.”
“Smooth,” I say, giving his ribs a quick tweak.
“I try where I can,” he says with a wink.
Georgie elbows Ree. “If one of those sparkly vampires talked to me like that, I’d hand him my neck and a map to the good veins.”
“I know, Georgie,” Ree says with a wry smile. “And I also know you’d bite back.”
“Twice,” Georgie confirms.
I shrug up at Dexter. He may not be sparkling, but I’d let him bite me anyway. And I’d tell him, too. That is, if his mother wasn’t standing here staring me down as if she’s doing her level best to put a pox on me.
“Speaking of biting—how about we sink our teeth into a couple of those fudge brownies later?” I’m quick to change the subject before I bare my fangs and take a bite out of some beefcake myself.
“It’s a date.” Dexter’s mouth curves dangerously. “Though I should warn you, I don’t stop at brownies.”
Delora groans hard enough to rattle her jewelry.
Georgie breaks into spontaneous applause.
Over at the buffet station, Savvy Sparrow, my new best friend, Southern belle extraordinaire, and the park’s brand-new Director of Culinary Excellence, has transformed the spread into a Halloween masterpiece. Dry ice mist pours off silver platters while orange uplighting makes everything glow as if it’s been touched by jack-o’-lantern magic.
The savory spread includes severed finger breadsticks (complete with almond fingernails), mummy-wrapped jalapeño poppers, “blood”-drizzled deviled eggs, mini cauldrons filled with spinach artichoke dip, black garlic crostini topped with brie and candied pecans, and bacon-wrapped dates that Chip would probably commit light felonies for.
Speaking of buffets,I smell bacon, Chip calls from the carriage. I’m legally obligated to investigate.
And I have no doubt he will.
I glance past him at the dessert table. The sweet selection is even better with its coffin-shaped fudge brownies dusted with edible glitter, poison apple caramel apples with black sugar coating, graveyard dirt cups layered with chocolate mousse and crushed Oreos, ghost meringues that look like they’re floating, pumpkin cheesecake bites with gingersnap crusts, and a towering display of cupcakes decorated to look like tiny monsters.
And the drinks? Poison apple punch with floating dry ice, blood-orange sparkling cider, witches’ brew mocktails that smoke when you pick them up, and hot cider with cinnamon sticks that smell like fall decided to become a beverage.
I would fight a ghost for one of those brownies. And I would win.
“Savvy is trying to get on the authors’ good sides,” I say. “Food bloggers and cozy mystery writers have a lot of crossover. I guess cozy mysteries usually have a recipe in the back of their books. So these women are quasi-culinary royalty.”
“Sounds like Savvy is as smart as her name suggests.” Dexter snags a severed finger breadstick from the platter next to us and takes a bite. “Mmm, delicious.”
The speakers crackle overhead, and another round of thunder rumbles through Bayou Bend. The Haunted Mansion groans on cue. Creaky stairs, slamming doors, the works. Somewhere near Pirates Plunder, I hear what might be maniacal laughter or possibly just someone having a really good time.
“This is everything I dreamed it would be,” Delora says, clutching Ree’s arm. Both of them are pulsating with barely contained fangirl energy. “Twenty-plus cozy mystery authors. A week of readings, panels, and workshops. Did you see the schedule? Tomorrow there’s a ‘How to Poison Your Characters’ session!”
Nothing ominous about hosting that one on my property. Nope. Not a thing.
“I’ve already signed us up,” Ree confirms. “We’re also doing the ‘Kill Your Darlings’ workshop and the murder mystery dinner theater on Thursday.”
Georgie adjusts her witchy cat ears. “As long as nobody actually kills anyone, I’m game. Though if they’re offering volunteers, I know a few ex-husbands who could use a good stabbing.”
“Georgie—”
“Fictional stabbing,” she clarifies. “Very legal. Very therapeutic.”
“About that,” I start just as a full-throated scream rips across the hollow, slicing through the spooky-themed music, the thunder, and every conversation in Bayou Bend, and maybe all of Huckleberry Hollow while it’s at it.
Ree grabs my arm. Georgie perks up as if someone just rang a dinner bell. She would.
This is why we can’t have nice things.
***I hope you enjoyed this preview! Thank you for reading!****