Page 8 of A Whisker in the Night

“Potato, po-tah-to,” Georgie growls. “We could solve this case before dinner!”

“What do you meanwe?” Jasper lifts a brow. And for as unamused as he might be, he’s inadvertently twice as handsome.

Crass of me to notice with a body nearby, I’m well aware. But I can’t help it. This sweet baby in my belly has turned me into a factory of hot-to-trot hormones.

Who knew having a baby on board would make me crave my husband more than I do chocolate? And believe me, neither of us is complaining.

“Don’t worry, Jasper”—my mother says, grabbing ahold of Georgie’s hand and mine—“I’ll make certain that both of these women stay out of your hair.” She tugs us along into the crowd and away from the body. “Bizzy, you have a baby on the way. I forbid you to insert yourself in danger.” She turns to Georgie. “And you’ve got another mystery on your hands. I just walked by your cottage and spotted a big bouquet of flowers at your door!”

“You mean I’ve got a secret admirer?” Georgie squeals so loud, she can almost wake the dead. I glance back at Hamish, but he’s still face down.Almostbeing the keyword there.

“I guess you do have an admirer,” Mom says and within seconds they leave me in the dust as they speed off in the direction of Georgie’s cottage that sits just west of the inn.

I’m about to head in that direction myself when I pause to catch my breath. I glance back at the stark cold woods as the crowd presses up against the tree line, trying to get as close as they can to see what’s happened.

Poor Hamish.

I can’t believe my eyes. Alas, he’s dead, a disembodied voice calls out and my head snaps every which way.

If I’m not standing directly in front of someone, it’s hard to tell who’s thinking what, or even if it’s a man or woman having the thought. At a fair distance, everyone seems to sound a bit androgynous.

I can’t believe he’s gone,another voice chimes.And sadly, now I might finally have some peace. My secret is safe forever.

I can’t believe I actually killed him.The perfect plan on the perfect day. It seems almost poetic.

I suck in a quick breath and quickly scan the crowd for anyone who might look guilty in the least, but I come up empty.

And the best part? I’m about to get away with murder.

Another breath hitches in my throat before I give an incredulous huff.

Nobody is getting away with anything around here—least of all murder.

Not on my watch and not at my inn.

Chapter 5

The early morning light streams through the inn’s floor-to-ceiling windows, catching on the sparkly Easter eggs dangling from pastel ribbons and making them dance like disco balls.

The marble reception counter where I’m checking out the last of our overnight guests is adorned with a centerpiece of chocolate bunnies wearing tiny bowties, surrounded by candy-filled baskets and artfully arranged spring flowers. There’s even a ceramic bunny family that looks suspiciously like my own family (complete with a pregnant mama bunny, a cat, and a dog).

The Country Cottage Inn isn’t just any coastal Maine establishment—it’s the grande dame of hospitality, rising proudly against the crisp Maine sky with its stately white walls covered in climbing ivy and trimmed with those signature bright blue shutters I insisted on keeping when I took over. With over seventy rooms in the main building and three dozen charming cottages dotted across the rolling grounds like cute little Easter eggs in a basket, we’re practically our own little village here.

Jasper and I happen to call one of those cute little cottages home, as do Emmie and Leo just down the winding path fromus, and even Georgie has taken up permanent residence in one of the cottages on the property.

There’s something magical about coastal Maine in any season, but spring might be my favorite—though don’t tell that to the fall foliage. Every morning when I open up these doors, I still can’t believe this place is mine, even if it does occasionally double as a crime scene.

Have I mentioned that the back end of the inn butts up to the sandy cove? Yes, we’ve got beachfront property with unbelievable sunrises and sunsets.

The Country Cottage Inn is a dream come true in every way—with the exception of the rash of homicides. In that respect it’s been a bit of a nightmare.

My little one gives an insistent kick, and I know exactly what they want. More chocolate bunnies.

I eye the display on the counter with a twinge of guilt. You’d think after yesterday’s tragedy I’d be put off by chocolate bunnies for life, but apparently my baby didn’t get the memo—and neither did my appetite.

The fact that one of these innocent bunnies was used to take a man’s life should give me apregnantpause. But then again, the one used to kill Hamish wasn’t actually edible, so I suppose that makes gobbling up my weight in chocolate more than okay.

A furry parade bounds toward me—Fish, Sherlock, and our newest addition, Jellybean. It turns out, Hamish’s sweet black and white cat is just as adorable as her name suggests.

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