Billie raised her hand suddenly. “We should do haunted car washes.”
I raised an eyebrow. “That doesn’t sound safe at all.”
“People love danger,” she argued.
“She’s not wrong,” Winnie murmured.
I looked at her. “Please don’t encourage the tiny anarchist.”
“She requires very little encouragement.”
CJ suddenly straightened in his seat. “Speaking of chaos, I have a new story idea.”
Winnie lit up immediately. I’d noticed she always reacted that way when CJ talked about writing, like she understood how fragile new creative confidence could be and wanted to protect it.
“Tell me everything,” she said.
CJ practically vibrated with excitement. “Okay. So there’s this creepy seaside town?—”
Winnie nodded. “Strong opening.”
“—and every year during the giant fog festival, somebody disappears.”
“Ooh, murder?” Billie asked with more enthusiasm for the macabre than a five-year-old should have.
“Maybe.”
Bianca twirled pasta around her fork. “It seems the town should stop hosting the festival, then.”
“That’s the thinking of a quitter,” CJ said.
I leaned back in my chair, listening as he launched fully into the premise.
“The whole town blames this ancient sea monster that supposedly lives beneath the cliffs, and tourists come every year hoping to see it.”
“What kind of sea monster?” Winnie asked seriously.
“A giant eel.”
“Oh, that’s an excellent choice.”
“Thank you.” CJ continued, fully in his element now. “Anyway, the main character starts investigating because her brother disappears during the festival and?—”
“Wait,” Billie interrupted. “Does the eel eat him?”
“No.”
“Well, that’s a missed opportunity,” Bianca said.
“The giant eel isn’t real.”
Billie pouted. “Then what’s the point of the eel?”
“It’s a cover-up.”
Bianca paused mid-bite. “Interesting.”
CJ grinned proudly. “The mayor invented the monster decades earlier to hide smuggling operations through the caves.”
