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Felicity laughs at that. “Good point. Though I have to say, if I were planning to murder someone, a woman wearing a cursed doll head would probably make me rethink the whole operation.”

“See?” Georgie nudges me. “She’s already doing her job. Someone get that head a plastic churro.”

I don’t think Felicity is our killer, Fish mewls, her ears tuned toward Felicity like twin satellite dishes. Steady breathing, still hands, and she smells like lavender and deadline panic. That’s an exhausted woman, not a murderous one. Proceed.

Duly noted. Between the cat and the cursed necklace, my imaginary detective agency is really coming together.

I know deadline panic well. Mine smells less like lavender and more like cold coffee and vendor contracts, but panic is panic. Felicity and I might be the same woman in two different costumes.

“You said this place is like stepping into a novel,” Georgie says, circling back like a shark in a caftan. “A novel where people keep dying. Funny how that works, isn’t it, toots?”

Ree sighs. “We’re so sorry about the loss of your friend.”

Felicity’s smile dims. “Yes. Poor Belladonna. I still can’t quite believe it.”

Neither can Salem, Fish says, and my chest pinches. She hasn’t left the window of Eulla Bell’s rental cottage since it happened. She keeps telling anyone who’ll listen that Belladonna wasn’t afraid of a single soul on this earth. That woman believed nobody would dare touch her.

Somebody dared, Chip adds, with the gravity he usually reserves for an empty food bowl.

I swallow hard and keep my face neutral, because explaining to a suspect that I’m receiving grief reports from a cat is a one-way ticket to a very different facility.

“You knew her well, didn’t you?” I ask, trying to keep my tone conversational rather than interrogatory, which is harder than it sounds when you’re accessorized with a haunted doll head and a fluffy ball of orange fur.

Felicity nods, sinking down onto one of the Victorian wingback chairs like her legs suddenly can’t hold her anymore. “We’ve been in the same circles for almost fifteen years. Same conferences, same publisher events, same online writing groups. She was... well, she was a force of nature.”

“That’s a polite way of saying she was a nightmare in sensible shoes,” Georgie points out, claiming a chair across from Felicity and crossing her arms like she’s settling in for a good story.

“She was difficult,” Felicity admits. “I won’t lie about that. Belladonna had very strong opinions about everything. What made a good mystery, who deserved success, who was ‘wasting their potential,’ as she liked to put it. But she was also brilliant. Her plotting was impeccable. Her dialogue was sharp. She could craft a twist that would make you question everything you thought you knew.”

“Sounds like you admired her,” Ree says, taking the seat next to Felicity.

“I did. And I also found her absolutely exhausting.” Felicity gives a wry laugh. “Is that terrible to say? Especially now that she’s... gone?”

“It’s honest,” I say, perching on the edge of a metal stool while Chip rearranges himself on my lap into his signature interrogation loaf. “And honesty is helpful right now.”

Felicity looks at me with a slight smile. “You’re investigating, aren’t you? You and your friends? I mean, this is your park. I understand why you’d want answers.”

“We’re just poking around,” I hedge. “The police are handling the official investigation, of course. But you’re right, since it happened at my park, I feel a certain responsibility.”

“And curiosity,” Georgie adds. “Let’s not pretend this isn’t the most fun we’ve had since I got caught trying to smuggle home one of the handsome lumberjacks.”

I gasp. “So you were the culprit!”

Ree shoots her a look. “Georgie! This is not fun.”

“What? I’m being honest. We’re all thinking it.”

Felicity cracks a smile. “It is rather like being inside of a cozy mystery, isn’t it? Except usually the amateur sleuths don’t have to worry about actually being arrested for interfering with a police investigation.”

“Details.” Georgie waves dismissively. “So. Belladonna. Difficult but brilliant. What else can you tell us about the broad?”

“The broad?” Ree makes wild eyes at her best friend and any questionable sanity she might be in possession of.

Felicity considers this while straightening the lace on her sleeves. “She had enemies. Probably more enemies than friends, if I’m being completely honest. Belladonna didn’t believe in softening her opinions. If she thought your work was unoriginal, she’d say so. If she thought you were coasting on past success, she’d tell you to your face. And if she discovered something she considered a secret, well, let’s just say Belladonna wasn’t above using information as leverage.”

Georgie leans over and rotates Henrietta a few degrees on my chest, aiming her squarely at Felicity as if she were adjusting the security camera.

“Blackmail?” I ask.