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The elevator doors close, sealing the controlled chaos of backstage behind us with a cheerful ding that feels wildly inappropriate for a ride whose destination is a murder suspect.
Georgie grins. “Well, ladies, looks like we’re about to find out if our favorite cemetery-loving author has a few bodies of her own buried in the garden.”
When you’re hunting a killer at a cozy mystery convention, the suspects aren’t the dangerous part. The dangerous part is realizing your favorite authors have spent entire careers researching exactly how to get away with murder.
CHAPTER 10
Gears & Dreams Hollow is my favorite flavor of chaos—of the intentional variety.
The entire area is designed to look as if a steampunk inventor sneezed on a blueprint and decided to charge admission, all brass gears and copper pipes, vintage Edison bulbs strung overhead like glowing pearls, and enough Victorian-era gadgetry to make Jules Verne claw his way out of the grave just to ask about a season pass.
Fake steam hisses from vents in the cobblestones, and the buildings are painted in rich burgundies and forest greens with gold accents that catch the afternoon light. The air smells of kettle corn and fog machine fluid, a pairing I’ve decided to market as steampunk ambiance before the fire marshal comes up with his own name for it.
The main attraction, Invention Innovation, looms in the background, a dark ride that takes guests through a retro-futuristic timeline of impossible inventions. Right now, though, all the action is happening in the plaza near the Clockwork Café, where Felicity Graves has set up for her workshop.
“From Plot to Page: Crafting Cozy Conclusions” is written on a chalkboard easel in swirling script, decorated with tiny hand-drawn tombstones and magnifying glasses. Because nothing sets the mood for an afternoon of light instruction quite as well as miniature graves.
Rows of mismatched chairs are arranged in a semicircle facing a small stage area—Victorian wingbacks, industrial metal stools, and a few that look suspiciously liberated from a library.
And it’s packed.
Cozy mystery fans fill every seat and spill out into the standing-room-only section, clutching notebooks, tablets, and well-worn copies of Felicity’s Gravestone Gardens series.
I spot at least a dozen people wearing Fish and Chip merchandise, three dressed as various cemetery workers, and one woman in a full tombstone costume with RIP Plot Holes painted across her chest. Fish would demand royalties for the merchandise. Chip would demand the royalties be paid in bacon.
“This crowd is more enthusiastic than Black Friday at a bookstore,” Georgie observes as we squeeze into a spot near the back.
“Ooh! Black Friday at the bookstore is the best!” Ree chirps.
“You would know.” Georgie shoots her a wry look, then claims an abandoned Victorian wingback and settles into it like she’s expecting someone to bring her tea. “If I’m going to suspect a bestselling author of murder, I’m doing it in comfort.”
Ree already has her notebook out, pen poised. “I have so many questions for her about the twist in book five. The way she—”
“Focus,” I remind her. “We’re here to investigate a murder, not discuss plot twists.”
“I can multitask,” Ree insists.
Given the woman once knit an entire sweater during a bingo tournament and still won the blackout round, I believe her.
Felicity stands at the front in a long black dress with lace sleeves, a cameo brooch at her throat, and a brass compass hanging from a chain around her neck. Her mousy brown and gray hair is pulled back in a loose bun, and she’s holding an antique magnifying glass as a prop.
She looks nervous. Her hands keep fidgeting with the magnifying glass, and she’s got that deer-in-the-headlights look, as if she’d rather be home with a pot of tea and zero witnesses.
“Welcome, everyone!” Felicity’s voice wavers slightly as she addresses the crowd. “Thank you so much for coming to ‘From Plot to Page: Crafting Cozy Conclusions.’ I’m—well, I’m a little overwhelmed by the turnout, if I’m being honest. I expected maybe ten people and a stray cat. Also, in case anyone’s wondering, I’m a Victorian ghost hunter. My daughter assures me I look more like a haunted librarian, but the compass was non-refundable.”
The crowd gives a warm laugh.
“Today we’re going to talk about the most important part of any mystery, the ending. How to tie up loose ends, deliver satisfying reveals, and make sure your readers close the book feeling as though the journey was worth it.” She pauses, glancing down at her notes. “Which is ironic, considering my own life feels like a mystery without a satisfying conclusion most days.”
More sympathetic laughter. I’m starting to see why Ree likes her so much. There’s something genuinely endearing about Felicity’s self-deprecating humor and gentle presence. It’s the same quality my grandmother had, and she once talked a door-to-door salesman into buying his own vacuum back.
“Now,” Felicity continues, relaxing slightly as she settles into her element, “the key to a good cozy mystery ending is that it should feel both surprising and inevitable. Your reader should slap their forehead and say, ‘Of course! The clues were there all along!’”
A hand shoots up in the front row. “What if the clues were too subtle and nobody figured it out?”
“Then you’ve written a thriller, not a cozy,” Felicity says with a smile. “Cozies should be solvable. Think of it as a friendly puzzle rather than a diabolical trap.”
Belladonna Hershey might quibble with the friendly part, but she’s in no position to raise her hand.
