Page 3 of A Whisker in the Night

Jasper and Leo have been best friends for almost as long as Emmie and me, and that makes the friendship among the four of us that much more special.

They take off with the promise of bringing us both back a glass of something creamy and dreamy, while Emmie and I head over to where Hammie Mae is speaking to my mother.

Mom spots me and waves us close. “Girls, meet your competition. Hammie Mae, this is my daughter Bizzy, and her best friend Emmie—a couple of chocolate lightweights.”

“Very funny,” I say as I extend my hand to the woman. “It’s so nice to meet you.”

“Nice to meet you, too, Bizzy,” Hammie Mae says with a laugh and her freckled face lights up as she offers me a handshake. “I just love what you’ve done with the inn—especially the café.”

“Thank you,” I say. “This is my best friend Emmie. She’s the one in charge of the café and she gets all the credit.”

Before Hammie Mae can respond, another woman strides over. An older redhead with a silver streak lying thick over the top of her crown with pride. She’s tall, statuesque, and exuding an executive level of poise. She also happens to be a vision in a lavender blouse and matching tailored slacks. She’s holding a gold foil bunny with a dark flat bottom, and by the looks of it, it seems as if it has some serious heft to it. I bet that’s solid milkchocolate! Thankfully, the chocolate bunnies in the competition were hollow, not that it gave me much of an advantage. It almost seems unfair that Hammie Mae won, seeing that her parents own the company. But then, I suppose she’s been training her entire life for this day.

My mother’s eyes light up at the sight of the older woman. “Matilda!” she cries with glee as they share a quick embrace. “Bizzy, Emmie, this is Matilda Westoff, Hammie Mae’s mother. She’s a legend in the lifestyle world. You’ve probably seen her on TV.”

“Only on every channel,” I say, offering a smile. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

Emmie gives a quick nod. “I echo the sentiment.”

“The pleasure is all mine,” Matilda purrs with genuine warmth.

“That bunny looks delicious,” Mom says, nodding to the gold bunny in the woman’s hands. “Your chocolates are simply the best. Thank you for sponsoring today’s events.”

“Of course!” The redhead beams. “And thank you for the compliment, but this bunny is actually a wrought iron bookend. He’s part of a set. I was just showing him off to a few of my friends. We have a fully stocked gift shop back on the farm with so much more than just chocolate. In fact, I’ve opened a booth here at the festival and these beauties are in abundant supply.” She offers me a peaceable smile. “Bizzy, I hear you run the inn. You must be the one keeping this festival running so beautifully.”

I blush under her praise. I’m about to tell her that it’s a team effort when an older man with a head full of glorious white hair steps into our circle. He nods over at Hammie Mae, then Matilda, and that mischievous smile on his face only widens. And in his arms happens to be the cutest black and white spotted cat I ever did see with a pink bow tied around her collar.

Fish and Sherlock bolt this way as well.

“What the hell are you doing here?” Matilda snips at the man and both Emmie and I gasp at her sharp and unexpected word choice.

The man’s mischievous smile widens twice its size and that little black and white cat in his arms sighs.

Here we go again,she purrs.I wonder if they’ll actually kill one another this time? Although at this rate, it’s not a matter ofif—it’s just a matter ofwhen.

A breath hitches in my throat at the thought.

The last thing we need in Cider Cove is another homicide.

Although with our track record—it’s not a matter ofif—it is indeed a matter ofwhen.

Chapter 3

The spring air is sweet, carrying the scent of wildflowers and chocolate as it mingles with the sound of laughter and chatter from the bustling crowd right here at the Chocolate Bunny Hop Festival.

The sprawling lawn of the Country Cottage Inn is buzzing with families snapping photos near one of the many topiary bunnies, children chase each other with sticky fingers and chocolate-stained smiles, and vendors hawk chocolate-dipped everything. That last bit is my favorite part.

The scene is pure celebratory perfection—or at least it was right up until now.

Matilda Westoff glares daggers at the white-haired man who doubles as a silver fox—albeit a silver fox with an insufferable smirk.

Hamish Westoff. I recognize him immediately from all those old Blueberries and Chocolate Heaven ads that used to take over the airwaves on local TV. He’s holding a black and white cat decked out with a bright pink bow, and the cat looks just as unimpressed with him as Matilda does.

“What the hell are you doing here?” Matilda snaps once again, her voice sharp enough to slice through any one of those giant chocolate bunnies on display.

A passing crowd notices the brewing tension and their heads turn this way like sunflowers following the light.

Mom still has her phone out, and to my horror, I can see she’s actually recording the event before us. It’s safe to say she forgot to stop once the competition was over. But it’s not her fault. Mom isn’t exactly the most tech-savvy among us. She still refers to text messages as emails no matter how often we correct her.

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