Page 4 of A Whisker in the Night

Georgie sidles up next to me, munching on what I can only assume is her sixth chocolate bunny of the day. And along with her trot Fish and Sherlock.

“This is better than listening to your mama spill the tea,” Georgie whispers as she elbows me. “Do you think they’ll throw punches? Or better yet, chocolate?”

“I’m rooting for chocolate,” I say.

“Shh,” Mom hisses, unable to take her eyes off the unfolding drama. And to be honest, neither can I.

Fish groans as she twirls around my ankles.I’ve got a bad feeling about this.

You say that about everything,Sherlock sniffs.And you’re always wrong.

Fish’s eyes widen and I recognize that look of indignation on her face, although it’s quickly morphing into a look that spells out revenge.

I don’t want to argue about who’s wrong and who’s right. She slices the air with her tail.How about we call a truce? I’ll even find you a nice piece of chocolate that you can enjoy.

I shoot her a look. She knows full well that chocolate is lethal to dogs.

“Hello, Matilda,” Hamish says to his ex-wife, his voice oozing with charm that’s about as smooth as melted chocolate. He shakes his head at the woman.You know what they say—he thinks to himself—the devil works hard, but Matilda Westoff works harder. Judging by that look in her eye, she’s bent on making me miserable. But I know just how to win her over.“You look wonderful, per usual,” he tells her.Wonderfully wicked.He chuckles at the thought.

“Oh, stuff it. I don’t have time for your head games, Hamish,” Matilda bites out the words while straightening her posture like a queen preparing for battle. “Find someone else to irritate.”

“Now, now.” Hamish widens his devilish grin. “I’m here for the festival, same as everyone else. What’s the Easter holiday season without a little chocolate and family bonding?”

“Family bonding?” Matilda scoffs with a brittle laugh. “You wouldn’t know the meaning of family if it hit you over the head with a chocolate mallet.”

“Ouch.” Hamish places a hand over his heart as if she’s wounded him. “Still holding onto the same old grudge, are we?”

“Better than chasing after women half your age,” Matilda snaps back, her designer heels sinking slightly into the fresh spring grass.

A collective gasp circles through our small group.

The spotted cat in Hamish’s arms lets out another dramatic sigh like only a furry diva can.Hoomans. Always going for the jugular when chocolate is involved.

I’ll say.

“All right, you two.” Hammie Mae steps between her parents with her hand protectively covering her baby bump. “Let’s not start with the accusations. This is supposed to be a celebration. I just won the contest, in case anyone cares to acknowledge that.”Not that either of them has ever bothered to acknowledge anything about me as of late.And notthat I care what my father has to say. I haven’t spoken to him in a solid year.

Ouch. I guess it’s safe to say they’re on the outs.

“Of course, we care, sweetheart,” Hamish tells her, though his eyes never leave Matilda’s face. “Your mother here just seems to forget that I own fifty-one percent of the company that provided those very bunnies you just devoured.”

“Temporarily.” Matilda’s smile could cut glass. “But I doubt the general public will want you anywhere near the property once my new book comes out.”

My mother actually squeals with delight at this revelation. “I’ve already preordered a copy ofChocolate-Dipped Deception: What Really Happened at Westoff Farms!My book club and I can hardly wait to read it.”

“Mother,” I whisper as I grab her arm in an effort to keep her from texting the gossip committee all about the exchange at hand. And is she still recording this?

I gasp once I see that red light of hers still glowing on her phone.

The spotted cat in Hamish’s arms gives a lazy stretch of her furry little limbs.I give it ten minutes before someone ends up wearing one of those chocolate bunnies as a hat.

Fish’s whiskers twitch at the thought.My money is on five.

“Hey there, stranger.” A honeyed voice cuts through the tension like a hot knife through chocolate ganache. “Looking for me?”

We watch as a willowy blonde in a pale pink power suit, bright red high heels with tiny gold Vs on the front, and a matching giant designer handbag that probably costs more than all the money I have in the bank glides across the lawn toward us. And that handbag is about the size of half of her body.

I lean toward Emmie. “Who is this?”

---