Page 15 of A Whisker in the Night (Country Cottage Mysteries #29)
I take another sip of my sparkling cider, watching Verity like a hawk in her snow-white designer blazer and her matching snow-white dazzling smile. But it’s the fact her fingers keep fiddling with that rose pendant on her necklace that has my attention. I have a feeling if nerves were an Olympic sport, she’d be on the podium clutching a bouquet right about now.
“Verity”—Emmie leans toward the pretty blonde while I nibble on the complimentary seafood tower before us—“that foundation you’re using makes your skin absolutely glow. I must know what it is.”
My mouth rounds out. Is Emmie serious? The only thing Verity’s skin glows like is a pumpkin.
Emmie wrinkles her nose my way. Don’t look at me that way. I’m trying to get a conversation going. You know, ease her into the bit about the dead husband.
Oh. I give a hardly noticeable nod. Emmie is right, we should probably turn up the heat slowly. After all, Verity is Hamish’s widow. Although you wouldn’t know it by that flash of lightning smile and the fact she’s dressed more like a bride than your traditional widow.
Not that I’m judging her. In fact, I learned long ago not to judge people over their wardrobes or their thoughts. After all, they don’t realize anyone is listening in and what flits through a person’s mind is sacred as far as privacy goes. Unless, of course, there’s a mind reader around to listen in.
“What foundation?” Verity laughs openly at Emmie’s seemingly silly little question. “Oh hon, I don’t wear beauty products. I was born gorgeous.” She belts out an egregiously loud laugh and I can’t help but give a nervous laugh right along with her.
She’s confident, Fish muses. I’ll give her that.
That she is. Jellybean laughs herself. But she’s not telling the truth. Verity has an entire beauty store sitting on her bathroom counter and she spends at least an hour slathering it all over her face. Hamish used to say she was putting her mask on.
Sherlock gives a light growl at the thought of it. She’s not telling the truth!
Hmm . I wonder what else she’s willing to lie about.
“I’m just teasing.” Verity gives Emmie’s arm a quick tap. “All of my cosmetics are shipped straight from France, organic, fairtrade produced without harming the environment, of course, and custom made for my skin’s exact shade. I’ll give you one of their business cards before you leave if you’re interested.” Unfortunately, she’ll have to trade that baby in her belly for it. The stuff costs more than gold per ounce. And I would much rather have my cosmetics than a baby.
I shake my head at Emmie as if to say don’t bother with the business card . I’d much rather she keep that baby in her belly.
“So Verity”—Jasper starts politely—“Hamish sounds like he was quite a man. It must have been a lot to juggle the farm and this place.”
Verity’s smile tightens as if someone just adjusted the dimmer switch on her face.
“Oh, absolutely.” She clears her throat. “Hamish was—passionate. He lived and breathed that farm.” And he let it take over everything, she thinks that last part to herself. Even me.
“The farm is gorgeous,” I say, leaning her way, giving her what I hope looks like an expression that says tell me all about your husband and not so much tell me all of your deep, dark secrets . But the latter is at peak curiosity in me at the moment. “That must’ve been tough for him. Balancing the farm with everything else. And for you, too.”
“You’d be surprised how much energy Hamish and I had for the things we were passionate about.” She lifts her chin. We were especially passionate about each other, she muses to herself. At least in those early days while we were still fun and flirty right under that witch’s nose.
I cringe at the thought she just let fly. I know for a fact she and Hamish were having an affair. Everyone knows that for a fact.
“Wait a minute…” Emmie shakes her head at the woman. “I thought I heard Hamish’s ex-wife got the farm in the divorce?”
“Not true,” Verity says and the words come out quick and sharp like only the truth can. “But that’s the lie Matilda and his daughter, Hammie Mae, like to propagate.” She openly rolls her eyes. “I mean, maybe they’ve mistakenly told people that about the farm, but the truth is that Hamish is still— was still battling it out over the property.” She gives a heavy sigh. I meant what I said the first time. They’re both a couple of liars.
“Sorry.” Emmie winces. “I guess Hammie Mae didn’t mention that.”
“No, she wouldn’t.” Verity casts a steely look toward the water. “And I suppose neither she nor her mother would mention the fact the judge ruled that in the meantime Matilda give Hamish a monthly alimony allowance of sixteen thousand dollars.”
The three of us take in a sharp breath at the steep number.
“I’m sorry”—Jasper leans in a touch—“did you say sixteen thousand?”
“ Dollars ,” Verity adds with an aggressive nod. “But don’t feel sorry for her. That farm generates thousands of dollars a day. It’s just a drop in the blueberry bucket.” Her lips press tight for a moment as she glances at the water again. “But then, Matilda has been battling that, too. Oh, she did not want to pay him a dime. Even though she agreed to the terms in the beginning, she’s been in contempt of nonpayment ever since. I believe the words she said last regarding the subject were I’ll pay you over my dead body .” Her shoulders give a playful bounce. “I guess it was over his dead body instead.”
I lean back as I take the woman in. “Verity, are you saying you think Matilda did this to him?”
“I didn’t have to say it.” She tips her head my way. “You were smart enough to figure it out.”
Heat fills my cheeks at the wayward compliment. And whether or not I’m being played, I seem to appreciate getting my ego stroked just the same.
“You really think Matilda is capable of murder?” Jasper asks point-blank, promptly ignoring my moment in the ego-stroking sun.
“Heavens no.” Verity’s eyes widen a touch as she shakes her head. “But look, I’ve been married before. And believe me, there were times when I wanted to murder my ex, too. And honestly? If we were locked in a heated argument and I was holding a ten-pound bookend in the middle of nowhere, I might be tempted to bonk him over the head with it, too.”
Emmie groans. “You think that’s what happened?”
“Most likely.” Verity shrugs. “I mean, who else would want Hamish dead? The man was as happy-go-lucky as you could get. With the exception of when he was with his ex. It seems that all they did these last few years was argue.”
Jellybean swings her furry little head my way. That’s the truth. They did nothing but argue whenever their paths crossed. And if it wasn’t about That Tramp, then it was about the farm . She twitches her whiskers to the sky. I’ve often wondered who That Tramp was.
I take a deep breath as I look over at Verity. Because it’s pretty obvious exactly who That Tramp was.
She waves me off as if she heard. “Look, I know all about the nasty names that Matilda Westoff calls me behind my back—Gold Digger, White Trash, Too Tan Barbie—” Verity shoots a dirty look into the sea, seemingly leaving out the other nickname—That Tramp. “And I guess I deserved them because of what transpired between Hamish and me while he was still married. But in the end, Hamish chose me, not her. And I guess she couldn’t get over it. Every time Matilda got him alone, she took a dig at me and harped about wanting full ownership of the farm. And just for the record, I’m no gold digger. I may have managed the Westoff farm for years, and I do the same for this place, but that’s because I like to keep busy. I have my own money. I’m an inventor by trade.”
“An inventor?” I blurt without meaning to.
Now this I’ve got to hear.