Page 14 of A Whisker in the Night (Country Cottage Mysteries #29)
V erity Westoff leads Emmie, Jasper, and me—and the furry among us by proxy—to a prime corner table on the patio, right here at the Celebration Café where the service kicks into overdrive.
A waitress materializes out of nowhere with heated hand towels scented with cucumber and mint—because clearly, we’re not in Cider Cove anymore. Another waitress follows with fresh flutes of sparkling cider and what looks like a five-star culinary cornucopia filled with edible flowers, tiny vegetables, and artfully arranged dipping sauces that I’m pretty sure cost more than my maternity jeans—and these jeans were not cheap.
“Our chef’s seasonal gift,” the server sings as if he were presenting us with the Crown Jewels. “And here are today’s menus.”
The leather-bound menu newly in my hands is a work of art with each dish described in flowing calligraphy so elegant it could make any wedding invitation green with envy.
The baby does an excited flip as I spot the Szechuan chicken lettuce wraps with pickled watermelon radish, crispy rice noodles, and house-made hoisin sauce. Oh yes, baby, we are definitely ordering that. I give my belly a pat as if to reassure them of the fact.
Fish sniffs from over my shoulder. Even the menu is trying too hard, she mewls from her perch on the seat next to me alongside Jellybean.
Sherlock gives a soft woof from down below. Get a load out of that seafood tower heading our way! I have a feeling this place isn’t trying too hard—they’ve got the food to back it up.
He’s not wrong.
A server quickly walks by with what can only be described as a masterpiece set on four tiers of silver. Butter-poached Maine lobster tails. Oysters nestled in seaweed like they’ve just been plucked from a mermaid’s dinner table. Massive king crab legs. Smoked salmon. And right in the center? A glass bowl of caviar, surrounded by tiny buckwheat blini that are almost too cute to eat.
Verity spots me drooling over it and snaps her fingers at the waiter, stopping him short and pointing at him hard to land the food on our table and he does just that.
Both Emmie and I gasp with delight.
“Compliments of the house,” Verity says with a smile so tight I half expect it to snap like an overworked rubber band. “You simply must try our signature tower. The smoked salmon is Hamish’s own recipe.” Was his recipe. Was.
We thank her profusely and soon we’re putting in our orders—the lettuce wraps for me, spring lamb for Emmie, and lobster thermidor for Jasper. And the longer Verity remains in our presence, the more her hand keeps drifting to the tiny rose pendant on her necklace as she zips it back and forth with a sizzle.
Interesting tic she’s got there, Fish mewls my way and I nod in agreement.
She only does that when she’s nervous, Jellybean points out. Like the night she and Hamish fought about the ? —
“Well, I guess I’ll leave you to your meal.” Verity’s lips quiver as she says it.
“Please join us,” I’m quick to offer. And note to self: shake down Jellybean later to find out what Verity and Hamish argued about. Although they were married. They could have argued about leaving the toothpaste cap off, and that’s hardly grounds for murder.
I cast Jasper the side-eye. Unless, of course, they choose to do it over and over again no matter how many times being told not to. Then it’s murder by way of insanity on the part of the killer.
Verity’s thoughts begin to come in fast and furious as they cartwheel in my direction. Keep them happy… Keep them distracted… Matilda is obviously behind this whole thing…Why did Hamish have to get a cat, anyway?
“Join you?” She takes a breath and her smile falters. “You bet. But only if you don’t mind talking about my poor husband.”
Jasper nods her way. “We don’t mind at all.”
I nod her way as well. “Not one bit.”