Sneak Peek!
Fish & Chip: Nine Lives, One Cheap Thrill
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!
Seven in the morning should be illegal.
Especially seven in the morning when you’re standing in front of a pink fairy tale castle while your ex-husband prepares to humiliate himself on live television. But here I am, watching the October sun paint Storybook Hollow in shades of lavender and orange while the scent of fresh cinnamon churros battles with my mounting sense of doom.
As fate—or my bad luck—would have it, the local morning show, Morning Coffee & Chaos, has chosen to film at the park for the entire week. That would explain the makeshift set with four tall chairs and a cluster of crew members running to and fro, along with the hordes of fans lining either side of the set, currently being held back by caution tape.
Yeah, that whole caution tape is a little unnerving all on its own—especially considering the park’s history with the Grim Reaper.
The castle that usually sparkles with Disney-wannabe charm now sports enough fake cobwebs to outfit every haunted house in three counties. Jack-o’-lanterns leer from every surface, purple lights snake around the cone-shaped turrets, and our haunted carousel music wheezes through speakers that predate my marriage. It’s part Halloween special, part mechanical death rattle.
October has arrived at Huckleberry Hollow Wonderland Theme Park with all the subtlety of a toddler discovering sugar. We celebrate Halloween all month long at the park, milking every last pumpkin spice latte and haunted house ticket we can. Then November first hits, and we flip a switch to Christmas—the true cash cow holiday season of any theme park.
“This place looks like October went wild with Halloween decor and never looked back,” I mutter.
Near the castle steps, Fish sits on a makeshift red-velvet throne, surveying the Morning Coffee & Chaos crew with the kind of disdain usually reserved for people who steal parking spots. Her black and white fur practically radiates judgment.
My friend, Bizzy Baker Wilder, was more than happy to loan me her feisty feline so she can help rule the roost around here. Both Fish and my orange catastrophe, Chip, are the official mascots of this magical kingdom.
Would you look at this? This is a disaster. There are TV people everywhere, Fish growls at the people in question as if her claws might make their debut soon. Fantastic. You know I had plans today, right? There’s a sunny spot near the churro stand with my name on it, and absolutely zero hoomans.
You do realize hoomans run this place, Chip counters from his position sprawled across a pumpkin display. His orange bulk makes him look like an adorable furry gourd that’s discovered the breakfast buffet. Speaking of which, did you see that spread? Bacon-wrapped everything! This is officially the best disaster we’ve ever hosted.
You think every disaster is the best if it involves food, Fish says, though she sounds more amused than annoyed. You’d think a tornado was fun if it blew snacks around!
Don’t get me craving a good tornado,he shoots back, and I can’t help but roll my eyes at that one. Leave it to my cat to crave a culinary weather catastrophe.
Fish chitters a laugh.Speaking of food and you—remember when you got your head stuck in that popcorn bucket?
That was a strategic food acquisition maneuver, Chip insists. And I got at least three mouthfuls before the fire department showed up.
The fire department, Chip. For a popcorn bucket.
It was worth it,he mewls back.Kettle corn is life.
He’s not wrong. And well, neither is she. But in the fire department’s defense, they just so happened to be touring the park that day when Chip rolled by in a bucket-shaped panic.
My name is Josie Janglewood, and I possess the questionable quirk of hearing what animals think—a talent that’s about as useful as a screen door on a submarine most days, but occasionally provides insights humans would miss entirely unless they suddenly developed the ability to read furry little minds.
This particular party trick arrived courtesy of a tumble down my grandmother’s stairs at the wee age of six, when I traded a mild concussion for a lifetime of unsolicited commentary from every creature with fur, feathers, or scales.
Some days it’s pretty enlightening. Other days, I’m trapped listening to squirrels debate acorn storage strategies while I try to run a hundred-acre theme park.
“Would you look at that director?” Georgie says, fanning herself despite the crisp morning air. “He’s wound tighter than a two-dollar watch.”
Georgie Conner is one of my favorite octogenarians, and she also happens to be one of my new best friends, and one with a unique sense of style. Let’s just say she has a thing for caftans. In fact, she’s wearing one now that appears to be made from autumn leaves and good intentions. Her gray hair is piled high enough to qualify as a fire hazard, and at eighty-something, she has the energy of a caffeinated teenager and the filter of someone who stopped pretending to care decades ago.
“I’d climb him like a tree if my knees weren’t already threatening mutiny,” she continues.
“Nobody here doubts that,” Ree says, adjusting her sensible cardigan while shooting Georgie a look that could wilt plastic flowers. Ree is Georgie’s best friend, and one of my oldest friends, too. And for as outrageous as Georgie is, Ree is twice as conservative, from her wardrobe that would thrill a librarian to her red feathered locks that she hasn’t altered since the ‘80s. “Georgie, you have prescriptions older than him.”
“Age is just a number, toots. And mine is unlisted.” Georgie waves at the director a little too cheerfully. “Besides, math never stopped true love.”
“You mean true lust,” Ree is quick to correct.
The director in question, Duffy Banks, strides toward us with the confidence of a man who’s never been told his ideas stink. His suit was probably constructed in Italy by monks and costs more per ounce than gold, and his bleached blonde hair defies both gravity and good taste.
He looks at me as if I’m a prop that needs adjusting.
“We’re live in five minutes, theme park lady,” he calls out, not bothering with my actual name even though I’ve informed him of it no less than sixty-two thousand times. “Try not to look directly at the cameras,” he barks. “It confuses the viewers.”
Before I can respond with something that would require bleeping, Savvy Sparrow materializes like a platinum-blonde caffeine fairy, bearing a tray of pumpkin spice lattes that smell like autumn and good decisions had a baby.
“Breakfast delivery for the soon-to-be television stars!” she sings, and her Southern accent is thick enough to spread on toast. Everything about Savvy screams expensive trouble, from her sleek bob to the perfume that announces her arrival three minutes before she shows up.
Savvy is not only my brand-new bestie, but she’s the park’s newly minted culinary manager. I snapped her up because she can make a corn dog taste like a religious experience and because I’m apparently collecting colorful characters like trading cards.
“Just look at this spread,” she coos with pride, gesturing to the breakfast table she’s orchestrated herself. “Maple bacon donuts that’ll ruin your diet plans, apple cider fritters worth every last calorie, and hand-crafted specialty lattes that will make you want to take a hayride through an apple orchard posthaste.”
She leans my way. “Oh honey, would you get a load of that director? He’s hotter than a cast-iron skillet in July. I’d let him film in my kitchen any day of the week and twice on Sunday.”
Savvy has a way of turning everything into an innuendo, even innocent kitchens.
“Speaking of hot stuff on a skillet. Where’s Detective Dreamboat?” Georgie asks, waggling her eyebrows suggestively while craning her neck past me, hoping for a glimpse of the hottie himself. “Shouldn’t he be here protecting you from your ex-husband’s ego?”
“Dexter is around,” I say, trying not to smile at the thought of Detective Dexter Drake and his storm-blue eyes that make rational thought optional. The man is lethally hot and knows exactly what he’s doing with those eyes.
“So are the two of you official?” Savvy winks when she says it.
“I’d say we’re almost official. We’re two kisses in, and our kids go to Brambleberry Bay University. At this rate, we’ll be holding hands by Christmas.”
“Scandalous.” Ree gurgles with a laugh.
“Speaking of scandals,” I continue, “I hired his mother as the event coordinator for this circus.”
All three women stare at me as if I’ve just announced I’m taking up professional alligator wrestling. And honestly, I bet I could sell a decent amount of tickets if I did.
“The ice queen who thinks you’re trailer trash with delusions of adequacy?” Georgie asks while pulling no punches.
“That’s the one,” I tell her. “It turns out accusing someone of murder creates awkward family dynamics. Who knew?” I shrug. “This is pretty much my way of making it up to her.”
Delora Drake chooses that moment to sweep past us with her silver hair twisted into a helmet that could survive nuclear winter, her pearls arranged in prime strangulation mode. And don’t think for a second she wouldn’t use those as a weapon. She looks at me with the warmth of a January morning and the charm of a parking ticket.
“The talent should be in their positions,” she announces, because calling us people would imply we deserve basic dignity.
That woman needs a hug, Chip observes. Or bacon. Bacon fixes everything.
Not everyone’s problems can be solved with pork products, Fish shoots back, despite the fact she’s watching Delora like a hawk. Though in her case, it might help. Must she always look constipated?
Emotionally constipated, Chip agrees sagely. The worst kind.
Morning Coffee & Chaos is spending the entire week at the park filming their Halloween special, which means seven days of watching people I’ve seen on TV for years pretend my theme park is the greatest thing since sliced bread. Or in their case, since avocado toast became a personality trait.
I’ve been watching Cooter Lovejoy and Crystal Wigglebottom on morning television for the better part of a decade—usually while eating cereal and questioning the direction my life was heading in. And now here they are in person, preparing to interview me.
Cooter is bald and trying too hard with backward baseball caps and enough gold chains to anchor a yacht. He keeps fidgeting with his waistband in ways that suggest either poor tailoring or excessive confidence.
My ex-husband Clyde stands stiffly beside Crystal—yes, Wigglebottom is her real name, and yes, the universe has a sense of humor about it. Clyde apparently scored this co-hosting gig recently, because naturally the universe thought my life needed that extra twist of the knife. Just my luck.
Crystal practically pulsates with perkiness, her blonde hair defying several laws of physics while she chatters about her social media followers and the spiritual benefits of overpriced smoothies. She’s dating Clyde now, which proves that there really is someone for everyone, even if that someone has the personality of week-old gas station sushi and the loyalty of a raccoon in a trash buffet.
“Welcome back to Morning Coffee & Chaos!” Crystal chirps into the camera. “Please help us welcome our special guest as we bring out the owner of this magical theme park, Josie Janglewood!”
A production assistant practically shoves me toward the tall chair next to Clyde.
The hosts arrange their faces into expressions of professional interest and manufactured delight, except for Clyde, who looks as if he’s passing a kidney stone while doing long division. I hope it hurts. A lot.
Clyde has squeezed himself into a charcoal suit that screams trust me with your investments, his thinning hair carefully arranged to hide the spreading bald spot, and enough nervous energy radiating from him to power the carousel. The financial advisor, turned podcast guru, turned morning show co-host, keeps tugging at his collar because he’s in over his head but refuses to admit it.
Cooter launches into his questions with the enthusiasm of a game show host. “So Josie, tell us about this amazing hundred-acre wonderland! How does someone go from suburban housewife to theme park mogul overnight?”
I fix my smile in place, the one that says I’m quasi-professional while thinking I know where to hide bodies.
“Well, Cooter, it’s simple, really. Twenty-five years of marriage ended when I discovered my husband practicing advanced yoga positions with his instructor—positions that definitely weren’t in the beginner’s manual. It turns out flexibility training was just a gateway to infidelity.” I pause long enough to blink a smile at my louse of an ex.
“And the elderly owners of this park apparently thought my life was so pathetic that they sold me the whole place for one dollar. That really should have been my first clue it was cursed, but here we are.”
Clyde’s face cycles through several colors not found in nature. He looks down at his cue cards, and I watch the exact moment his soul leaves his body.
Through gritted teeth that could crack walnuts, he reads, “And who was that husband who cheated on you?”
My mouth falls open.
The silence stretches longer than my last attempt at exercise.
“That would be you, Clyde,” I say with a touch of saccharin sweetness. “Remember? Or did the twenty-something yoga instructor stretch your memory, too?”
His camera-ready smile looks like rigor mortis setting in early.
“Oh honey!” Crystal, bless her oblivious heart, jumps in with the grace of a rhinoceros on roller skates. “So you’re saying Clyde here—my shiny new beau—is a serial cheater who destroyed your marriage and abandoned his family for a flexible twenty-something?” She turns to the camera. “Stay tuned for my upcoming book about dating men with commitment issues!” She couldn’t look more thrilled by the thought. She’s not dating. She’s building her brand.
“And we’ll be right back after these messages!” Cooter shouts desperately. “Coming up next, lifestyle guru Willow Lovejoy and her new tell-all book, My Husband is a Cheater and Other Things I Posted for Clicks!”
Wow, we’re really working with a theme here.
The red light goes off, and Clyde storms toward Duffy with the determination of a man about to make questionable life choices. I admit, he’s pretty good at them.
“What the heck do you think you’re doing?” Clyde blows up like a cheap tire on a hot highway. “Are you trying to humiliate me? Why, I could just kill you!” he snarls, his face purple enough to match the Halloween decorations.
Clyde has spent his whole life humiliating himself. I can see why he wouldn’t want to share the glory.
Well, that escalated quickly, Fish observes with far too much amusement.
Chip mewls in agreement. Five bucks says someone bites the big one before lunch.This place has excellent murder ambiance. Plus, those donuts are definitely worth killing for.
He’s not wrong about the donuts.
And with my luck, he’s probably not wrong about the murder either.
***I hope you enjoyed this preview! Thank you for reading!****