Page 34 of A Whisker in the Night

I suck in a quick breath. What did she do? How did she silence him?

But I have a feeling I’m well aware of the how—I just don’t know why.

Matilda sets her face to the wind. “Hammie Mae and Hamish might have had a falling-out after he detonated our family, but deep down I know she will always be a daddy’s girl with or without him here.”And without him here, there’s no way she or anyone else will ever find out what I’ve done—and what I’ve done to cover it up forever as well.

I’m about to push further when an entire cacophony of high-pitched screams pierces the air.

Chapter 21

Both Matilda and I look over to see Georgie running like mad with her arms stretched out in front of her and that storm cloud that sits on her head trailing just past her scalp as if it had a hard time keeping up.

“BEEEEEEEES!” Georgie’s voice rises above the screams of the crowd. “THEY’RE IN MY HAIRRR!"

“Oh no,” I groan just as Fish, Sherlock, and Jellybean sprint after her. And for reasons unknown to me, the sight of that furry parade only makes the crowd scream that much louder.

What happens next seems to unfold in slow motion.

Georgie runs and howls in a large figure-eight pattern while moving like a windmill in a hurricane. She makes a hairpin turn and comes in this direction, sending the crowd running and their plates tossed high into the sky—mine included.

Matilda helps pull me to safety just as Georgie makes a beeline (pun intended) toward the food like the pastel kaftan tornado she is.

That funny hummingbird contraption on her head catapults in one direction while she cartwheels in another. As if in an effort to slow herself down, she latches on to the tablecloth that spans thirty feet long, and with her momentum and speed, shemanages to cast every salad, casserole, and deviled egg straight into the air.

And just like that, Sherlock Bones has his most ardent wish come true.

It is indeed raining bacon at the moment—and well, everything else.

Duck and cover,Fish yowls as more serving dishes start to take flight.

Food incoming,Jellybean shouts.

Sherlock’s tail wags with unholy glee.Dibs on everything!

Little does he know that no one here will fight him on it.

When all is said and done, plates are turned over, food is littered across the field like culinary confetti, and there’s a gurgle of some sort coming from the chocolate fountain over on the dessert table.

I’ve got to hand it to her. Georgie’s path of destruction is pretty impressive.

Georgie comes to a grinding halt but not before taking out an additional three potato salads, a quinoa surprise (though that might be a mercy killing), and what appears to be an entire table of more deviled eggs. The eggs go airborne like tiny white missiles raining down on the stunned crowd.

Mom’s broccoli salad and Georgie’s Jell-O surprise—they’re both gone as well. I do a double take at the Jell-O surprise. Miraculously, that green lobster is still intact and?—

The crowd begins to scream once again.

“It’s crawling,” someone shouts while pointing to the green monstrosity.

Within minutes the estate has all but cleared out.

Most women aren’t big fans of small things that scuttle across the ground—Jell-O salad included.

“My Jell-O,” Georgie wails with all the drama she can afford. “My hummingbird hat! My dignity!”

“Oh, give it a rest,” Mom grunts, helping Georgie free from the tablecloth predicament she’s wound up in. “Two out of three of those were questionable to begin with.”

A titter of laughter circles what’s left of the crowd, and just like that, the competition is over.

I glance over at Matilda gathering up her waitstaff and instructing them on what to do while a beefy security officer makes his way over and kindly asks Georgie to leave the premises.

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