Page 35 of A Whisker in the Night

It looks as if the party is over, all right. And so is my time with my prime suspect.

Matilda Westoff had something to hide while Hamish was still with us, and I’m wondering if she has even more to hide now that he’s gone, too.

Like perhaps the fact she’s the killer.

Georgie and Mom amble this way with the pets in tow.

Georgie is about to say something when a buzzing sound emits from her pocket.

“Don’t tell me that’s another bee,” Mom groans.

“It’s just my phone,” Georgie says, fishing it out and looking at the screen. “It’s a message from my bank. They want to know if I meant to have all of my money wired to an offshore account in the Maldives.”

“What?” my mother and I shout at once.

“Why in the world would you do that?” Mom asks, looking horrified at her friend.

“I didn’t.” Georgie’s face loses all color. “I’ve been robbed.”

Chapter 22

The Seaview Sheriff’s Department smells like coffee, donuts, and questionable life choices for those unfortunate enough to be booked.

As soon as we realized that poor Georgie was the victim of a virtual bank heist, we hightailed it to Seaview in hopes that my handsome hubby could right all the wrongs in this cruel world—or at least help track down Georgie’s money.

What is this place?Jellybean asks from her perch in my mother’s arms while Georgie holds Fish. Both women are a jumble of nerves and I suggested they snuggle with the cats to help calm them down. But judging by the fact both felines look as if they’re being squeezed to death, I’d say the calming effect has yet to kick in.

The Seaview Sheriff’s Department is a large boxy building filled with white walls, desks, and floors. It holds the strong scent of bleach and stale coffee and is a beehive of men and women in blue.

Fish wiggles her whiskers toward Jellybean.This, my friend, is the place where criminals’ dreams go to die.

Jellybean’s little nose twitches.That must be why I smell ulterior motives.

Fish nods as we approach Camila’s desk.And cheap perfume.

I smell donuts!Sherlock’s tail wags with hope.

You always smell donuts.Fish sighs.Though I have to admit, the perfume is a bit much. What is that, Desperate Ex No. 5?

Actually, Camila would be desperate ex number one, seeing that Jasper doesn’t exactly have a long line of desperate exes.

Camila Ryder rises from her desk like Venus emerging from the sea—if Venus shopped exclusively at stores that think professional attire is something more along the line of a far too revealing cocktail dress. Camila’s long chestnut hair has a body of its own, and her curves are doing things that probably violate several local ordinances. And her face, well, she’s definitely supermodel material.

Have I mentioned she’s my husband’s ex-fiancée and current secretary? Because that’s always fun.

She’s about to head this way but stops short as her eyes do that broken elevator thing while inspecting my body—and not in a good way. Her perfectly glossed mouth drops open as she takes in my current state.

“Wow, Bizzy.” She gags on my name. “You’re the size of the Chrysler Building.”

“Gee, thanks,” I grunt. “I was going for the Empire State Building, but pregnancy is so unpredictable.”

The baby kicks, either agreeing with my sass or protesting Camila’s choice of structural analogies.

“I mean”—Camila continues, circling her desk like a shark in stilettos—“you’re absolutely glowing. In an expanding universe kind of way.”

“Careful,” I warn as I pat my belly. “The universe can get rather violent while in expansion mode.”

I don’t usually make it a practice to threaten Camila—that’s typically her territory—but that dig warranted it.

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