Page 32 of A Whisker in the Night

Now that’s a thought terrifying enough to send anyone into labor.

I scan the crowd again, this time spotting a familiar redhead with a silver streak in her hair standing near the judges’ table.

Perfect.

It’s time to see what Matilda Westoff knows about golden bunnies and her ex-husband’s untimely demise.

But first, I might need to sample some of these delicious side dishes.

After all, what’s a little murder investigation without a snack or two?

The baby gives a gentle knock over my belly.

At least someone agrees with my priorities.

I’m definitely eating for two detectives.

Chapter 20

The Spring Fling Side Dish Swing is in full... well,swing.

The competition field at Westoff Farms looks like a potluck flew in straight from a Martha Stewart magazine spread with pastel tablecloths fluttering in the breeze and enough food to outfit all of Cider Cove.

I’m making my way through the endless rows of dishes, trying to keep track of Matilda Westoff while overloading my plate with a little of everything and pretending I’m not actually heading straight for Mom’s broccoli salad.

I’m not sure why, but I’m suddenly drawn to it and I can’t seem to stop. It’s as if it’s cast its green, creamy spell on me.

Fish spots me from under the table and her mouth rounds out with surprise.

Is that plate all for you?she muses.It looks as if your dignity left the building about three servings ago.She observes as I pile another spoonful onto my plate.

I give a little laugh. “That would be an accurate assessment of my life overall.”

Live and let eat,Sherlock barks as he tries to defend my culinary choices, and the quantity of said choices, too.Although I have to say, this pregnancy has given you some interesting cravings. Just last week I saw you eating pickles with peanut butter.

I give a quick nod his way. “A startlingly good combination.”

At least I managed to abstain from adding anchovies to it—even though the pull to add them was strong.

I pile on a scoop of Mom’s broccoli salad and sneak a quick bite.

“Oh my word,” I mumble through a mouthful. “Mmm, this really is delicious.”

The baby gives a soft swirl and a kick as if begging for more.

I almost hate to admit it, but her creamy dreamy broccoli salad is actually living up to its name. Something about the combination of fresh broccoli, bacon, and whatever magic dressing she’s concocted has me—and apparently, my unborn child—completely hooked.

Is no one going to mention the fact that Georgie’s Jell-O surprise is actually pulsating?Jellybean asks as she carefully backs away from the table.

Sure enough, a mold of what I think is a lobster sits gleaming with green glibbery pride—with all sorts of odd-looking bits suspended in its verdant gelatinous matter like a wayward solar system just begging for a black hole to swallow it down.

But there’s not a hole in my head willing to have anything to do with it.

I’m about to scoop up another helping of Mom’s broccoli salad when I quite literally bump into a woman in a bright yellow sundress and it’s none other than Matilda Westoff herself.

She narrowly misses christening me with whatever liquid is in that pink goblet in her hand. And I can’t help but notice that she’s dressed like a sophisticated human version of a baby chick with her silver-streaked hair swept up into an elegant bun.

Isn’t this Ree’s daughter?Her brows furrow a notch.Didn’t I hear whispers that she’s the only true homicide detective in all of Maine? Or was it the Eastern Seaboard? Surely, she’s not here to pin anything on me. Is she?

---