Page 15 of A Whisker in the Night

Hammie Mae’s smile falters.Just about everything belongs to that witch these days.

A breath hitches in my throat at her internal musing.

“Thank you,” she says just above a whisper and her voice is warm despite her thoughts. “That was very thoughtful of you.” Her eyes moisten with tears and she quickly blinks them away. “So when are you due?” She plasters on a manufactured smile as she quickly changes the subject away from her father.

I get it. If something happened to my father, I couldn’t talk about it either.

And that means getting her to talk about what happened will be harder than I thought.

“I’m due in late August.” I’m quick to say. “And you?”

“June and it can’t get here soon enough,” she says and we share another laugh. “Who are you seeing?”

“Dr. Grace Applewhite,” I say with a touch too much enthusiasm, but I can’t help it. I just love my obstetrician to death. I cringe a little with the thought, considering my track record with dead bodies.

“Really?” Her face lights up. “I’m seeing Dr. Applewhite, too. She’s fantastic!”

“Oh, I love her. My best friend Emmie is seeing her as well.” The baby gives an enthusiastic kick when I mention Emmie. I like to think that our babies are already besties. “In fact, I always go to Emmie’s appointments with her, along with her husband, of course,” I say. “Then we get Mexican food after—Emmie’s favorite food. And she comes to mine, along with my husband Jasper, then the three of us hit up that great Chinese place on Main Street—my favorite food.”

Her expression dampens. “I wish I had someone interested enough to come to any of my appointments.” Hammie Mae sighs.

“Oh gosh, I’m so sorry.” My hand flies to my mouth. “I didn’t mean to?—”

She laughs again, but it doesn’t quite reach her eyes this time. “It’s fine. The father was a loser boyfriend who took off after he found out the news. I’m better off without him. I can support myself—I’m the manager here at the farm. And lucky for me, my mother got the farm in the divorce.”

She stares out at the bustling crowd.I hope Mom is on the phone right now canceling that nasty tell-all book with the publisher. What kind of a title isChocolate-Dipped Deception: What Really Happened at Westoff Farms, anyway? One that screamsI’m about to air all of my dirty laundry and I don’t care what the fallout might be.

The divorce was bad enough to live through. Must she tell every sordid detail of how my father wronged her?

She gives a few rapid blinks before forcing a bright smile my way. “Bizzy, I just must show you all of our baby things. You’re going to love them.”

The next few minutes are a whirlwind of adorable Easter-themed baby clothes—tiny bonnets with bunny ears, onesies with chocolate-dipped strawberry prints, and the sweetest little baby chick knit booties I’ve ever seen.

“Ohwow,” I moan at the sight of all the adorableness. “Good thing these are all gender neutral. I’m going to snap every single one of these up. Make that two of each. I’d hate to leave my best friend out of the cute loop.”

“Can’t say I blame you.” She tips her head at the thought. “I’ve already beat you to the cute punch. Do you know what you’re having?” she asks while holding up a pink dress with embroidered spring flowers and a glittery bunny embossed on the front.

“No. I guess you could say we like surprises,” I tell her just as the baby kicks as if to protest this decision. I won’t lie. The suspense is killing me. “How about you?”

“A girl,” she beams, then shows me about a half dozen more precious girl items. “I’m thinking of naming her Michaela.”

“Oh, that’sbeautiful,” I say. “Speaking of names, how did you get yours? “Hammie Mae is pretty unique.”

“I’ll say.” She laughs, but it sputters out quickly. “It’s so unique, I’ve never seen my name on a pen or a mug.” Her expression darkens as she glances into the crowd. “I was named after my father.”

And just like that, we’re about to dive into the very subject I was hoping to explore. The baby gives another kick, as if they were pleased by this, too. And let’s face it, the sooner we interrogate the suspect at hand, the sooner we can stuff our face with all the chocolate bunnies we can get our mitts on.

After all, ’tis the season.

Chapter 9

The thick, sweet scent of chocolate suddenly feels heavier, weighted down by the tension that’s crept into our conversation.

Even the twinkle lights seem to dim a bit as if sensing the shift in mood.

“My father is—was—actually Hamish Westoff the third.” Hammie Mae’s voice hitches a notch as she references her father in the past tense as we stand in the gift shop here at Westoff Farms. She closes her eyes for a long moment, drawing both Jellybean and Fish closer as she drops a kiss to their furry foreheads. “He was hoping for a boy to carry on the tradition, but he got me instead. My formal name is Hammatha Matilda.” She wrinkles her nose and sheds a whisper of a laugh. “My mother thought it up as a conciliatory prize since she knew she didn’t want more children. And my mother, not one to be left out, threw her name in there, too.”

The baby gives a sympathetic kick, or maybe it’s just reminding me we still haven’t sampled those chocolate-covered blueberries. That or it’s putting in its vote against me combining my name and Jasper’s. And don’t think I haven’t thought of it.AlthoughJizzyandBasperhaven’t exactly made it on the long list.

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