Page 29 of A Whisker in the Night

That red plastic dome in Georgie’s arms catches my eye again.

“What’s with the helmet?” I ask, although a part of me is already regretting it.

“It’s not a helmet,” Georgie says, hoisting it my way and it’s a red plastic hat with a clear glass shield in front, along with two red and yellow plastic daisies of some sort glued onto it. “It’s a hummingbird feeder,” she says rather proudly. “I figure if I’m going to be outdoors in this beautiful spring weather, I may as well call a few winged cutie pies over and spill some tea with them.”

Mom grunts. “Just try not to get your eyes gouged out by those winged cutie pies in the process.” She turns my way. “I tried telling her that inviting flying needles to your eyeballs was a recipe for ocular disaster, but some people have to learn the hard way.”

“Ooh.” I wince at the visual. “That’s so clever, but please be careful, Georgie,” I tell her. “So, where is this festival of fascinating side dishes happening?” I ask, trying not to picture Georgie’s Jell-O surprise in too much detail. She lost me at cottage cheese.

“At the Westoff Farms,” Mom says. “Blueberry and Chocolate Heaven is sponsoring the event. In fact, Matilda Westoff and her daughter are two of the judges.”

Georgie nods and that gray beach ball on her head wobbles precariously once again. “That TV show of Matilda’s is covering the event. We’re going to be richandfamous.”

The baby does another flip, and this time I’m pretty sure it’s from excitement. My unborn child is already a better detective than I am—they can spot a lead from a mile away.

“And you’ll have one very enthusiastic cheerleader by your side,” I say, already mentally preparing to corner Matilda between judging rounds. “My furry friends and I are coming with you.”

Oh joy.Fish sighs.More opportunities to witness culinary crimes against humanity.

I bet there will be samples!Sherlock wags his tail, hoping to score a few side dishes for himself.

Of course, that’s where your mind goes.Fish shakes her head.

None of that sounded too appetizing to me,Jellybean mewls.Though I admit, I’m curious about this Jell-O situation. I’ve never seen foodwigglebefore.

Mom and Georgie take off for Georgie’s cottage, already debating garnish strategies, and I pat my belly reassuringly.

“Don’t worry. We’ll pack backup snacks. And if things get desperate, there’s always chocolate.”

The baby kicks in agreement, assuring me we’re on the same page. After all, what’s a little culinary trauma when there’s a chance to get closer to solving a murder?

Here’s hoping I can get Matilda Westoff to hum like a hummingbird and spill the tea on why her ex may have tried to blackmail her—and whether or not it was grounds for murder.

Chapter 18

Awooden sign that could probably be seen from the space station readsBlueberry and Chocolate Heavenwith a smaller, more modest sign underneath declaringWelcome to the Spring Fling Side Dish Swing!

The verdant grounds here at Westoff Farms hold the scent of rosemary roasted potatoes and fresh baked dinner rolls, not to mention that the place is decked out like a pastel dream from top to bottom.

Someone—most likely Matilda—has gone all out with the decorations. Pastel buntings flutter in the warm breeze like butterfly wings, and there is enough Easter décor scattered around the grounds to make the Easter Bunny himself file a trademark infringement suit.

The parking lot is packed with what looks like half of Cider Cove’s population, all clutching covered dishes and recipe cards while racing to enter their dishes and win the thousand bucks on the line. I spot at least three different versions of potato salad being carried past us. At least two pasta salads, and one macaroni and cheese casserole that is begging me to follow it and give it a new home inside my stomach.

The never-ending rolling green lawns here glow with the dew of springtime, and the blueberry fields fade in the background, but the oversized red barn looms to our right like a beacon.

Both Mom and Georgie have promised not to go anywhere near the facility after I reminded them of their lifetime ban. Mom said she would rather die than go through the embarrassment of being kicked out on her keister once again. And Georgie said she’d rather dance naked in a vat of chocolate and said it would be worth two consecutive lifetime bans to do it. And oddly, I still think she somehow got the point.

The side dish competition area sprawls across the grassy field like a potluck gone rogue. Elongated tables draped in pastel linens stretch as far as the eye can see, already groaning under the weight of what must be half of Cider Cove’s kitchen output.

The scents of herbs, spices, and at least three different varieties of baked beans mingle in the air. And scattered all around are smaller round tables with elegant pink and blue tablecloths strewn over them.

A pastel flower arrangement is set in the center of each table, and standing on the gold chargers set out at each plate setting is a gold foil treat for everyone who shows up this afternoon. That is mighty generous of the Westoffs. Those ten-inch gold foil chocolate bunnies certainly aren’t cheap.

I count seventeen hundred chocolate bunnies,Sherlock announces proudly.No, eighteen thousand! And is that bacon-wrapped asparagus I’m smelling?

Suffice it to say, math isn’t Sherlock’s strong suit, but bacon is.

You smell everything. Your nose is basically a food-seeking radar system.Fish sighs from her perch in my tote bag where she’s nestled alongside Jellybean.Though I have to admit, some of these dishes actually look edible.

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