Page 12 of A Whisker in the Night

Macy giggles. “Jordy Crosby, sometimes I think you can read my mind.”

Now I’m really rolling my eyes. Anybody can read my sister’s mind and her body language. And those dirty looks she’s prone to cast aren’t harboring any secrets either.

Neither of them knows that I have the ability to pry into their grey matter. And thankfully so.

Jordy gives a dark laugh as his thoughts begin to stir.If Macy knew half the spicy stuff that runs through my mind about her—well, it’s probably the same spicy stuff that runs through her mind about me. That’s exactly why we’re so perfect for each other.

I nod his way because I couldn’t agree more.

The doors to the inn open with another whoosh, and in strides my sister-in-law, Mackenzie, with her long chestnut locks bouncing in stride and her hot pink power suit showing off the healthy tan she sports year-round.

Mackenzie is a stunner. It’s no wonder my brother is so smitten with her.

“Mayor Woods,” I say with a sigh because I know what’s coming.

“Another murder, Bizzy? Really?” She doesn’t disappoint. “The Hip Hip Parade had better go off without a hitch on Easter Sunday. The entire school district is participating, and the Women’s League has been working on those floats since Valentine’s Day!”

“Everything will be fine,” I assure her, though the baby offers up a skeptical kick. It’s clear this baby is already too smart for their britches. “The Hip Hip Parade will end here at the inn as planned,” I continue. “The egg hunt on our glorious green lawns will be epic, and the prizes will be amazing. No drama, I promise.”

I sincerely hope.

Mackenzie glares my way. “There had better not be, or so help me—” she lets the threat dangle before spinning on her designer heels and marching out, leaving my imagination to fill in all the catastrophic ways she could make my life miserable. There are so many tried-and-true methods she’s already implemented, the possibilities are endless.

Macy and Jordy take that as their cue to leave, too, with Candy taking off behind them, but not before casting one last suspicious glance at poor Jellybean.

Emmie takes off for the café, leaving Mom and Georgie to sidle up to the counter. Apparently, they’re still at a loss as to who sent those flowers.

“So…” Georgie grins. “When are we going to start shaking down some suspects? You know, before someone else gets shaken down permanently? Word on the mean streets of Cider Cove is there’s a killer on the loose. And your mama and I are hot-to-trot to catch them. And I hope they’re hot, too. I could use a killer good time in the bedroom, if you know what I mean.”

Mom gasps in horror. “Would you hush? Someone is bound to hear your ramblings and think you’ve lost your marbles. Little would they know you landed on the planet this way.” She shakes her head at me. “Never mind what she said. We’re not shaking down any suspects—especially not you, Bizzy.” She motions to my growing belly.

“Maybe not,” I say, looking over at Jellybean with her sweet pink satin bow. “But I just so happened to have some business to conduct with the daughter of the deceased.”

Hammie Mae Westoff, ready or not, here we come.

Chapter 7

Mom, Georgie, Fish, Sherlock, and Jellybean pile into my car as we head over to the upper west side of town where the fields are verdant, the spring flowers dot the hillsides in every shade of pastel, and the sky is the perfect shade of robin egg blue.

The winding drive to Blueberry and Chocolate Heaven at Westoff Farms feels like ascending into an ethereal dream.

The sprawling property sits regally atop rolling hills overlooking Cider Cove, with the Atlantic Ocean stretching endlessly beyond its reach in a shade of gorgeous cobalt.

The dirt parking lot is relatively full, which assures me this is the farm’s busy season. Miraculously, I find a spot near the front before we all jump out of the car and stretch our legs as if we drove fifteen hours and not fifteen minutes.

The earthy scent of the surrounding pines mingles with the sweet scent of warm chocolate, and suddenly I can’t take in enough air to satisfy my cravings. The baby gives a little tap to my ribcage as if beckoning me to go straight to the chocolaty source, and I pat my belly, assuring them of just that.

I don’t make it a practice to miss out on any available chocolate, and I’m certainly not going to start now.

I take in the sights and gasp.

“Geez, I haven’t been here in years. Just look at this view,” I say, looking out over the rest of Cider Cove below, and from this height, I can even spot the Country Cottage Inn looking like a tiny little dollhouse among the spring greenery below.

“I came last week with the Women’s League,” my mother is quick to say.

“Showoff,” Georgie says, scooping up Fish and Jellybean and helping me land them in my tote bag. A lot of places don’t mind dogs coming along for the ride, but a loose cat usually turns some heads.

“I am not showing off.” Mom swats Georgie on the arm. “While I was here, I spoke with the manager of the gift shop and got them to take a few of our Easter-themed wonky quilts for us. They’ll get a commission, but we get the bulk of the sale, and I attached a business card to every quilt with a thirty percent off coupon if they visit Two Old Broads.” Two Old Broads is the boutique that Mom and Georgie own and run over on Main Street. Macy gave the shop its moniker as a joke, but the name stuck and I think some of their success exists because of it. “It’s called networking”—Mom continues—“andadvertising. You’ll thank me at the end of the month, when our bottom line expands.”

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