Sneak Peek!
Fish & Chip: Nine Lives One Murder
Book Description:
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!
Sunlight filters through crimson and gold leaves, throwing autumn confetti all over my windshield like nature’s way of saying, Congratulations, you wrecked your life!
In this case, nature wouldn’t be wrong.
I’ve been on the road for six hours with nothing but my regrets, a cat who judges my life choices—aka my feline therapist who moonlights as a judgey roommate, and a playlist so drenched in heartbreak it might qualify as emotional waterboarding.
The soft strumming of acoustic guitars fades as I turn down the volume, letting in a rush of crisp September air that smells like turning leaves and fresh starts I didn’t ask for.
“Almost there, Chip,” I lie to the orange fluffy feline next to me for the seventeenth time, and he flicks one ear without turning his head. Translation—Liar, liar, leggings on fire. He stretches dramatically, like he just survived a treacherous journey instead of napping through rural Maine. Then he shoots me a look that could curdle oat milk. His green eyes gleam with the judgment usually reserved for baristas when you mispronounce macchiato.
You’re fooling no one, lady, he meows loud and clear.
To say Chip is hard to please is like saying gas station sushi is a gamble. Unless food is involved, he thinks most things—and most people—are beneath him. And most of the time he’s right.
It’s about time you left that cheating hairball of a husband, Chip mewls my way. I never did care for him. His cologne made my whiskers itch, and he always claimed to be allergic to cats when we both knew he was just jealous I got more of your attention than he did.
“Is that so?” I say, giving him a hearty scratch behind the ears. “And here I thought you two had a beautiful bromance going.”
Please. The man wore sandals with socks. I have standards.
“Your standards involve licking your rear end and eating off the floor.”
Both are still more dignified than Clyde’s yoga pants. Those things were a crime against spandex. They left nothing to the imagination, and believe me, my imagination was perfectly content without the visual.
“Touché.”
When I was six, I fell down the stairs at Grandma’s and walked away with a mild concussion and a highly specific side effect—I can hear what animals are thinking.
Some days it’s a blessing. Other times it’s like tuning into a late-night talk show where all the guests are unfiltered and covered in fur. But today it’s exactly the emotional support I need.
I turn onto a long winding driveaway and the Country Cottage Inn materializes before me like something from a storybook with its ivy-draped white walls, bright blue shutters, and a wraparound porch that looks like it belongs in a coffee commercial. And how I hope they have lots and lots of complementary coffee. And I mean the good stuff. Although right about now the not-so-good stuff doesn’t sound so bad either.
It’s disgustingly perfect. And I’m a little mad about it.
The cobblestones crunch under my tires as I park, and once I swing open my door the breeze brings the scent of apple orchards and sea salt. The place radiates autumn charm so hard I’m surprised there aren’t pumpkin spice lattes growing on trees.
It doesn’t hurt that the place sits right up against the cove as well and I take a moment to soak in the sparkling waters of the Atlantic. In the distance, seagulls call to each other—probably gossiping about the new redhead pulling up with a disgruntled orange cat.
“Home sweet temporary home,” I mutter, resisting the urge to sob into the steering wheel.
Fun fact—the inn is whopping eighteen minutes from the house I’ve called home for twenty-five years back in Huckleberry Hollow. I just took a scenic six-hour route of aimless driving, hoping the extra mileage would come with an epiphany and help me figure out the rest of my life. Spoiler alert—it didn’t. All I got was a check engine light, questionable gas station sushi, and the realization that even my GPS thinks I’m making poor life decisions. Recalculating, indeed.”
Chip grunts as he surveys the inn. It looks less like home and more like a luxury time-out. With tuna, I hope.
“Yes, there will be tuna,” I promise. “And if not, we’ll circle back to the gas station of regret.”
With what’s left of my dignity and an overpacked suitcase, I scoop Chip into my arms, and of course, he endures it with the put-upon expression of a monarch forced to fly coach.
The massive wooden doors to the inn swing open with surprising ease, unleashing a wave of warm, cinnamon-laced air that hits me like a hug from a seasonal overachiever. It smells like someone tried to bake their way out of an emotional breakdown—and I respect that since I’m having an emotional breakdown myself.
The tension in my shoulders begins to uncoil as I take in the distressed gray wooden floors, rich mahogany wainscoting, and grand staircase winding up to the second level that looks straight out of Gone with the Wind.
There’s a polished marble counter with a black and white tabby contentedly perched upon it, and behind the gleaming marble reception counter, three familiar faces freeze once they spot me, and suddenly I’m remembering why I loved this place before my life became a country song.
The three women all gasp in unison as if I just walked in wearing a wedding dress and wielding a chainsaw.
“Josie? Josie Janglewood?” Ree Baker’s feathered red hair bounces as her head snaps up. She’s about my age, somewhere in her fifties, and our kids all went to the same schools while they were growing up albeit hers were a touch older than mine. “Is that really you?”
“Well, I’ll be,” Georgie Conner gasps, her silver hair pulled into a haphazard bun and secured with what looks like a crochet hook pressed into emergency hair duty, and sure enough she’s wearing one of her signature kaftans. This one happens to be brown with bright orange pumpkins printed all over it. If anything, she likes to keep her fashion sense relegated to a seasonal theme. “If it isn’t the little Janglewood girl herself. However, I suppose not so little anymore. Look at you Toots, with her fiery red hair and hot-to-trot body, you look like you’re living the dream.”
“Eh,” I shrug.
I’d be living the dream if the dream included a newly cheating spouse and nowhere to call home.
And rounding out the trio behind the counter is the owner of this place Bizzy Baker Wilder with her dark hair pulled into a messy bun in a way that somehow looks effortlessly chic rather than like she stuck her finger in an electrical socket. Meanwhile, her big blue eyes can’t seem to stop widening in surprise.
“Josie!” Bizzy rushes around the counter. “What on earth are you doing here? With luggage and—” her eyes drop to the orange fluffball in my arms, “—a very handsome cat?”
I draw a deep breath, rehearsing the speech I’ve recited in my head a hundred times. “So. Clyde—my husband Clyde—”
“The financial advisor turned podcast guru?” Georgie interjects. Suffice it to say, Georgie has always had a pulse on the men in the area.
“Yep. That’s the one,” I confirm. “Let’s just say I caught him in a rather compromising position with his yoga instructor. A cute blonde who weighs less than a candy cane and is twice as bendy.”
“Not downward dog?” Ree gasps.
“More like the Human Pretzel with a side of betrayal. But downward dog too,” I say, doing my best to sound breezy and not like someone who just dry-heaved in her mouth at the mental image. “Turns out yoga wasn’t just about flexibility—it was training for infidelity.”
“That slimeball,” Georgie huffs. “I never liked him. His bicuspids were too symmetrical. Can’t trust a man with teeth that perfect. I just knew he was compensating for something.”
“Yeah,” Ree agrees. “Compensating for good judgment.”
“Sounds like the idiot was bending more than just his ethics.” Georgie shakes her head. “So, what happened? You kicked the cheating cad out, I hope?”
Chip flicks his tail. I warned you. Anyone who uses the phrase crypto cleanse can’t be trusted.
I shift Chip in my arms, who seems to be growing impatient with being the center of attention without receiving any actual attention.
Put me down. I need to sniff the black and white striped cat. My immediate assessment is required. Plus, she might know where the snacks are around here.
“Actually, the cheating cad refused to leave,” I go on. “He said since he’s the primary breadwinner, he has more right to the house than I do,” I explain, absently scratching Chip’s ears in an effort to placate him. “So, I grabbed Chip, packed my things, and embarked on a six-hour self-discovery journey that mostly led to road rage and bad sushi.”
“You’ve been driving in circles for six hours?” Bizzy asks, her eyes sympathetic.
I give a little shrug. “I was hoping to figure out my life. So far I’ve come up with—one, my marriage is over. Two—I have a couple of daughters in college who are more or less devastated. And three—I probably shouldn’t have eaten gas station sushi at hour four of my emotional breakdown road trip. Let’s just say that caused a lot of unexpected bathroom breaks. And now I regret that sushi on a cellular level. And my marriage to Clyde.”
“Oh, honey.” Ree’s maternal instincts kick in as she comes around the counter. “You’ll stay here at the inn, of course. For as long as you need. On the house.”
“I don’t want to impose—”
“Impose?” Bizzy cuts me off. “You’re family, Josie. Of course you’re staying here. All pets are welcome, too. And I’m not taking a dime from you.” She smiles down at the fifty-pound feline in my arms. All right so he just feels like fifty pounds but believe me, he’s well on his way. “Who is this little orange cutie? Did you say Chip?”
“Yup. This is Chip,” I say. “The only male in my life not on my blacklist. For now.”
I’m not the one who drove six hours in a circle. I can come up with a blacklist of my own, you know.
I wrinkle my nose his way in lieu of an apology. I’ll make it up to him in treats. Come to think of it that’s pretty much the way to get into any man’s good graces.
“Oh hon,” Ree offers me a quick embrace. “You’re not imposing. You’re reclaiming your sanity. Suite 204 is yours. It has a kitchenette and a wine-friendly cabinet.”
Georgie nods. “And it overlooks the cove. It’s our best breakup suite. Comes with tissues and a mini-freezer for emergency ice cream.”
Chip rolls his eyes. I hope it comes with a blanket. I’m allergic to melodrama.
“Oh hush, you love a good cry,” I mutter his way.
Bizzy squints at me for a moment. “Well, he is gorgeous,” she says, then turns to scoop up the sleek black and white cat sitting on the reception counter. “And this is Fish. She’s our resident welcoming committee.”
Fish narrows her eyes at Chip. Let me guess. You snore, don’t groom, and have abandonment issues.
Chip scoffs. Bold talk for a feline named after seafood.
Fish chitters what sounds like a laugh. Better than being named after a baked good. I bet she named you after a chocolate chip cookie because you can’t stop eating them. Or maybe it’s because you have the same shape as a cookie?
I gasp at the slight, but secretly I want to chortle away. Fish does have a point.
Bizzy squints my way once again. “They seem to be sizing each other up,” she observes with a curious tilt of her head, her gaze shifting between me and the cats.
“Like furry little boxers before a match,” I agree, noticing how intently Bizzy was watching the interaction.
“We have a dog too.” Bizzy perks back to life. “Sherlock Bones—that’s his name—is spending the day with Jasper at the precinct,” Bizzy continues, still studying my face. Jasper would be her husband who works at the Seaview Sheriff’s Department in the homicide division. And seeing that Bizzy here has a bad habit of tripping over dead bodies, I’d say they’re union is a match made at the coroner’s office. “Sherlock is working a case with Jasper.”
“The dog is working a case?” I ask, raising an eyebrow.
“Don’t let his lack of opposable thumbs fool you,” Georgie says with a straight face. “He’s made detective twice as fast as most of the department.”
Fish wriggles in Bizzy’s arms, clearly wanting to get a closer look at my sweet Chippy. Let me down. I need to inspect the ginger menace.
Chip scoffs at the insult. Stay where you are, tuxedo cat. My patience for new acquaintances is as limited as my hooman’s good judgment.
Hey? I resemble that remark.
“Well let’s get you settled in your room,” Ree says, retrieving a key from behind the counter. “You really will love the view of the cove.”
“And don’t forget to fill the mini-freezer with ice cream and cheap wine,” Georgie adds helpfully. “The essentials of modern breakup recovery.”
“I’m thinking of this less as a breakup and more as a phoenix situation,” I say, shifting Chip’s weight. “Rising from the ashes of my marriage and all that.”
“Phoenixes are overrated.” Georgie waves a hand dismissively. “Too flashy. Be a sea turtle instead—tough shell, lives forever, and only comes ashore when absolutely necessary.”
I can’t help but laugh. “Sea turtle it is.”
“How are the girls taking it?” Ree asks as she hands me the key. “McKenna and Riley must be upset.”
The mention of my daughters sends a fresh pang through my chest. “Let’s just say they’re processing things. I broke the news this morning. I hadn’t planned on it but they were sending me a text storm about sorority gossip and since we were spilling the tea I let them know I was packing my bags and why.” They took it pretty badly but I leave that part out. “They’re in college now, so being at Brambleberry Bay U helps—they’ve got classes and friends to distract them. Riley’s angrier than McKenna. She’s always been a daddy’s girl. But this time they’ve joined forces against him. And for reasons unknown, they’re not so thrilled with me either right now.”
“They’ll come around,” Georgie assures me with unexpected gentleness. “Sometimes it takes seeing your parent stand up for themselves to realize what strength really looks like.”
We head toward the grand staircase, and Bizzy falls into step beside me, still carrying Fish, who continues her silent judgment of Chip.
I bet he sheds everywhere, she mewls. And snores. He has the look of a snorer. And heaven knows we’d better lock up the tuna.
Chip grunts, clearly affronted. I do not snore. I breathe dramatically. And the tuna is mine either way.
I swallow a laugh, but not quickly enough because Bizzy gives me a quizzical look.
“What’s so funny?” she asks.
“Nothing,” I say quickly. “Just marveling at my life’s dramatic pivot from suburban housewife to homeless woman with a judgmental cat. It’s like a country song, but with better accommodations.”
There’s no way I’m going to tell her that I can read the minds of these sweet fur babies. Although if I’m smart, I’d not only tell Bizzy but I’d tell everyone and start charging for readings too. Lord knows I’ll need a job sooner or later, and being the starring act in a circus freakshow somehow feels like my destiny.
Bizzy narrows her eyes, studying me intently. Then she leans in close, her voice dropping to a whisper.
“All right, Josie. It’s time to come clean. I know exactly what’s going on here.”
My heart skips several beats, possibly attempting a gymnastic routine—and let’s be honest, it’s not built for that. The elegant foyer of the Country Cottage Inn suddenly feels about as spacious as a phone booth, and the sunlight streaming through the windows has gone from golden and welcoming to bright as an interrogation room. Even the cinnamon-scented air is turning on me, going straight for the throat like an aromatic assassin.
Bizzy gives a curt nod my way. “I mean it, I know exactly what’s going on here.”
I force out a laugh that sounds like a squirrel caught in a paper shredder. “Going on? Nothing’s going on. Just your garden-variety emotionally wrecked woman with spectacularly poor taste in husbands, looking for a soft place to land. Possibly involving donuts. Maybe a little reinvention. Definitely not day drinking.” More like definitely maybe day drinking.
Bizzy’s eyes narrow with the precision of a detective who’s just spotted the smoking gun. Her gaze bounces from Chip to Fish and then back to me like she’s watching a feline ping-pong match. “You can read the minds of animals. Can you read the minds of humans too?”
That hits like a bucket of ice dumped down my back.
I grab her arm and tug her a few steps away, tossing a glance toward Ree and Georgie, who are currently locked in mortal combat over whether the front desk floral arrangement needs water or an exorcism.
“No, I can’t read people’s minds. But how do you—”
“I’m Transmundane—telesensual to be exact. And that’s what you are too.” She delivers this information with the casual tone of a woman discussing the weather rather than revealing that we’re both members of some supernatural club I didn’t know existed.
My jaw drops so fast I’m amazed it doesn’t create a small crater in the polished floor. Far too many decades of thinking I either had a gift, a curse, or a very niche brain tumor—and suddenly there’s a label for it. Not just any label, but one that sounds like it should come with its own pharmaceutical commercial featuring people running through wheat fields while listing alarming side effects.
“Transmundane? Telesensual?” I repeat, like I’m trying out expensive cheeses. “My great aunt called it the affliction. She said it ran in the family along with wide feet and a tendency to overwater plants. So… you can read people’s minds too?”
“Not everyone. Not all the time,” Bizzy says with a shrug. “People are messy. Animals are easier—less drama, more honesty, fewer issues with mother-in-laws.”
My mind races faster than Chip when he hears the can opener, which is saying something because that cat can achieve near-supersonic speeds when food is involved. “This is incredible. I’ve never met anyone else who—”
“Not many people know,” Bizzy cuts in, glancing toward Ree and Georgie. “And as far as those two go, my mother doesn’t know but Georgie does.”
I look over at Georgie just in time to catch her giving me a sly wink. The kind that says, Oh, honey, I’ve been three steps ahead of you since Tuesday. Suddenly, all her snarky one-liners take on a new, mind-reading edge.
Perfect. Another mind reader. Just what this place needed. Fish grumbles with her whiskers twitching forward.
What is this, Oprah’s Psychic Giveaway? Chip muses. You get to be a mind reader. And YOU get to be a mind reader! Everyone gets a mental meltdown!
Calm down, Fish purrs. It’s not like you’re hiding anything juicy. I bet your most scandalous thought is whether or not to nap in the sunbeam or on Josie’s freshly folded laundry.
I really hate it when he does that. I’ve had his fur in places fur doesn’t belong.
Chip grunts at the tiny feline by his side. Listen up, Fishstick, I’ll have you know I have complex, sophisticated thoughts. His orange fur bristles slightly. Multitudes of them.
More like multitudes of snack crumbs and delusion, Fish shoots back.
I bite my lip to keep from laughing. Bizzy notices and grins.
“Please excuse her,” she says. “Fish thinks she’s the feline version of a TED Talk.”
Fish yowls in offense.
“And Chip thinks he’s the Duke of Huckleberry Hollow,” I add. “His Majesty would prefer Your Floofiness. We’re currently working on humility.”
“Good luck with that,” she laughs. “I’ve had better success teaching quantum physics to squirrels, and trust me, squirrels are terrible at math.”
We share a laugh that feels like the beginning of a secret handshake society I didn’t know I wanted to join.
“Come on,” Bizzy says, reaching for my suitcase with the efficiency of an innkeeper who’s clearly handled her share of emotional refugees. “Let me get you settled. You’ve had quite the day already, and something tells me this is just the pre-show.”
We head up the grand staircase, the cats trailing behind like royalty inspecting their summer estate. Each stair creaks with old-house charm—or maybe a warning.
This staircase is an insult to creatures with refined physiques, Chip meows, pausing on the stairs to lick one paw with all the drama he can afford. Some of us have short legs and excess fluff. This is architectural discrimination. We demand a ramp. Or a snack. Or both.
“You could stand to lose a pound or ten,” I mutter.
And you could stand to not marry men who do downward dog with their yoga instructors, but here we are. He narrows his green eyes at me with the judgment of a disappointed parent.
“Touché once again.”
We reach a wide hallway on the second level where rich burgundy carpet muffles our footsteps and vintage wall sconces cast a warm glow that makes the place look like a magazine spread for Cozy New England Living.
“Here we are,” Bizzy says. “East wing, water view, and far enough from the elevator that you won’t be disturbed by late-night arrivals.”
She opens the door to my room and it’s everything a woman on the brink could ask for—lavender-scented air, gauzy curtains, a bed that looks like it has secrets and comfort food stashed beneath it.
Sunlight streams through those gauzy curtains, illuminating a cozy sitting area with a small kitchenette tucked into one corner. There’s a four-poster bed draped in a quilt that looks handmade.
“This is beautiful,” I breathe, as Chip immediately hops onto the windowsill like he’s appraising real estate.
Acceptable, he mewls. Excellent light. Good napping potential. Eight paws out of ten.
“Well, someone loves it.” Bizzy gives an easy laugh.
“I do too,” I’m quick to tell her. “But I can’t impose on you like this. At least let me—”
“Friends in crisis get the deluxe zero-dollar plan,” Bizzy cuts in. “No exceptions.”
“But—”
“No buts. Unless it’s yours parked on that couch with a glass of wine while we plan your next move. Glitter and revenge are optional, but highly recommended.”
I feel a rush of gratitude so intense it almost brings tears to my eyes. “Thank you. Truly.”
“That’s what friends are for. And apparently, fellow transmundanes.” She winks. “We’re a rare breed, like unicorns, but with better hair and fewer horn-related injuries.”
Bizzy and I share a laugh. I have the feeling I’ve just joined the world’s most chaotic support group and I’m not mad about it.
Chip gives one final knead of the windowsill. Always a good sign. But it’s a better sign when he’s kneading those paws into my back. Ocean view. Solid acoustics. Ample sunbeam real estate. This place has potential.
Fish sniffs the baseboards like a home inspector. Don’t get too comfortable Cheese Head. This is still my turf.
“Well now that I have a place to lay my head at night,” I say, glancing at my watch, “I should probably get going soon.”
Bizzy raises an eyebrow. “Big plans? Or are we talking snack run and avoidance nap?”
“I have a job interview,” I announce, puffing up a little, “at Huckleberry Hollow Wonderland. Two o’clock sharp.”
Bizzy straightens like I’ve just told her I’m joining the circus. “The theme park? I didn’t even know they were hiring.”
“They need a new manager.” I shrug, trying to sound casual and not like I’m betting my entire second act on a carousel and a funnel cake machine. “I saw the listing somewhere between hours three and four of my escape from Clyderoad trip. I figured twenty-five years of school bake sales, PTA carnage, and fundraising galas had to count for something.”
Bizzy grins. “Josie, you could plan a coup with nothing but a spreadsheet and a Crock-Pot. You threw a school luau that made the newspaper.”
“I did. And not just because the principal caught fire from the tiki torch incident.”
“Details,” she says, waving it off. “This park will be lucky to have you just like those parties you threw.”
“Someone had to make sure the party had both chips and dip. The devil really is in the details—and the glitter.” I shrug once again. “Theme park here I come.”
“Did someone say theme park?” Georgie’s voice floats up from the bottom of the stairs like a battle cry. “Ree, grab your purse, we’re going out! And grab my theme park hat—we ride at dawn!”
Bizzy and I move to the hallway to find Georgie and Ree already climbing the stairs, looking like two women on a mission. Georgie’s silver hair wobbles with each step like a tower of cotton candy that refuses to fall down.
“Theme parks?” Ree asks, slightly breathless. “All the sitting. All the people watching. I love theme parks!”
“You would dream of sitting.” Georgie shoots her bestie a look. “We especially love the theme parks that are hiring people we know.”
I can’t help but laugh. “You want to come with me to my job interview?”
“Not to the interview itself,” Georgie clarifies with surprising diplomacy. “We’d wait outside like proper adults who definitely aren’t eavesdropping. But afterward? Absolutely. I haven’t been on a roller coaster in at least six months. That’s practically a medical emergency at my age.”
“It’s a pet-friendly park,” I’m quick to tell them. “So, Chip is coming too.”
I beg your pardon? Chip lets out a scandalized meow. Are there release forms? Treat incentives? Is there a kidnapping hotline for cats?! His eyes widening in horror like I’ve just suggested we vacation in a dog grooming salon.
So much drama in one little orange loaf of flooff. Okay, so he’s not so little but you get the point.
“We’ll bring Fish!” Georgie shouts with glee.
Bizzy hesitates for exactly two seconds. “I suppose that would be okay. Just keep an eye on her. She likes to judge strangers silently and then hold grudges for lengths of time that would impress an elephant. And she also tends to assign Yelp ratings to strangers.”
She’s describing herself, not me. Fish mewls indignantly with her tail flicking back and forth like a tiny metronome. Although some people out there are clearly one-star hoomans.
“That’s fine,” Ree waves a dismissive hand. “We’ll just tell people she’s a feline food critic. It makes her judgmental stares seem professional.”
“Perfect,” I say, wondering what fresh chaos I’ve just agreed to participate in. “We’ll leave in twenty minutes? That gives me time to freshen up and mentally prepare for whatever adventure we’re about to embark on.”
“Perfect indeed!” Georgie rubs her hands together. “I’ll get my theme park hat.”
“You have a theme park hat?” I ask.
“Of course she does,” Ree sighs. “It has a carousel sitting on top and lights up after dark.”
“It’s festive!” Georgie defends.
“It’s a safety hazard,” Ree counters.
“It’s practical” Georgie continues. “No one loses me in a crowd.”
They hustle back down the stairs in a blur of orthopedic sandals and chaos, leaving Bizzy and me shaking our heads.
“Are you sure you’re ready for this?” Bizzy asks. “They can be a lot, especially Georgie when she’s this excited about something.”
“Honestly? After the last forty-eight hours, a little theme park insanity sounds like the sanest thing I’ve got going.” I run a hand through my hair, noting that it needs more than a brush can fix but accepting that this is apparently my life now. “Besides, having a cheering section for my job interview can’t hurt.”
“True. Plus, they’ll keep your mind off things.” Bizzy gives me a quick hug. “I’d come too, but someone has to run this place. Text me updates, and remember—no matter what happens, you’re not alone anymore.”
“I’ll remember.” I duck into my room, trying to fix the damage the last two days have done to my face and my psyche. The woman staring back at me in the mirror looks… tired. But also like she might just be ready to fight back. Possibly with glitter and a little funnel cake.
From the hallway, I can hear the cats.
A theme park? With screaming kids and sticky fingers? You’ve lost your mind. Absolutely not, Fish growls at Bizzy but it seems to fall on deaf ears—and minds in this case.
Chip chuckles her way. Scared you might actually have fun? You’re just mad you don’t have a hat that lights up.
I’m worried about your sanity if you think this sounds enjoyable. But perhaps that’s a lost cause, considering your hooman’s recent life choices. Fish bristles.
My hooman is having an adventure. I bet yours reads romance novels to you at bedtime and you pretend you star in them! I peek out in the hall to see Chip bat playfully at the air, clearly enjoying Fish’s growing agitation.
She does NOT. Fish hisses softly, clearly affronted. She reads cozy mysteries about bakers who stumble over dead bodies. I much prefer murder to romance. I’d tuck that into the back of your mind if I were you. And now I’m worried about your mental decline. But sure—let’s go watch you crash and burn while eating fried dough shaped like cartoon animals.
Fried dough? Chip perks up. I want to live there.
I’ve only been here for less than twenty minutes and already I feel less alone. I’m apparently not alone in my ability to hear animal thoughts. Transmundane. Telesensual. The words feel right, like finally finding the correct diagnosis after years of mysterious symptoms.
Twenty minutes later, I’m heading out to my car with Chip tucked under one arm like a judgmental handbag, Ree and Georgie flanking me like theme park bodyguards, and Fish reluctantly contained in a quilted tote bag that somehow screams both fashion statement and hostage situation.
The quilt pattern goes every which way and Georgie quickly explained it’s part of the wonky quilt collection that she and Ree sell at the shop they own and run on Main Street called Two Old Broads.
I like them better already.
“Huckleberry Theme Park, here we come!” Georgie announces, settling into my backseat with Fish in tow. “I hear they have the best cotton candy in three counties.”
“And a haunted house that actually made someone wet their pants last Halloween,” Ree adds. “Although I suspect alcohol was involved.”
Chip and Fish exchange a look—part solidarity, part we should unionize.
The things we endure for our hoomans. Chip sighs, slumping against the car seat with resignation.
Mine has lost what little mind she had left, Fish replies.
I start the engine, feeling an unexpected flutter of excitement. Sure, my life has fallen apart like a cheap umbrella in a windstorm. My husband is a cheating podcast guru who thinks enlightenment comes with a side of yoga instructor. I’m temporarily homeless and about to interview for a job I’m completely unqualified for. But I also have a name for my lifelong affliction, a potential new job on the horizon, and a car full of eccentric supporters who think I’m worth cheering for (some more enthusiastic than others).
I have a feeling whatever lies ahead will be better than what I left behind.
As we pull out of the Country Cottage Inn’s cobblestone drive, I catch sight of Bizzy waving from the front porch. She taps her temple and gives me a look that says you’ve got this.
And for the first time in a long time, I think maybe I do.
Even if I don’t, at least I’ve got backup. Four-legged, chaos-loving, sassy backup.
And let’s be honest—it’s only a matter of time before someone turns up dead.
***I hope you enjoyed this preview! Thank you for reading!****