Page 20 of A Whisker in the Night (Country Cottage Mysteries #29)

T he 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?

Stay calm. He’s gone now. He certainly can’t ruin anything else... She frowns with the thought . But then, I think both he and I know he’s perfectly capable of that supernatural feat. It wouldn’t surprise me one bit if Hamish ruined my life from the great beyond.

“Mrs. Westoff.” I give a mournful laugh as I glance down at my plate. “Boy, am I glad this didn’t end up all over the front of your dress.”

“You and me both,” she says as we share a laugh.

I sober up quickly. “I’m so sorry about what happened to your ex.”

“Well, I’m sorry about what happened to you.” She tips her head my way. “It happened on your property. I sure hope the inn doesn’t see a decline in reservations because of it. I’m pretty sure having a dead body on the grounds is more or less a pox.”

“One would think,” I say under my breath.

Actually, it’s turned out to be quite the opposite. People travel from all over the world to stay at the inn—mostly because they think it’s haunted.

She sighs hard. “Honestly, I don’t even know what he was doing there that day. He knew I would be there and we had an informal agreement to steer clear of one another in public. I had asked him to agree to it and up until that day he complied. He’s embarrassed me enough for a lifetime after he took off with that tramp.”

Hamish took off with That Tramp? Jellybean pokes her head out from under the table. Why, I think she’s talking about Verity.

Why, I think she’s got it.

I give the little cat a secretive nod. Now she’s catching on.

“I’m so sorry you had to go through that,” I say with a heartfelt sigh, and I mean every word. “I can’t image how hard that must have been. If my husband pulled a stunt like that, he’d most likely find himself in the morgue, too.” I suck in a quick breath and bring my hand to my lips, nearly toppling my plate in the process. “I’m so sorry.”

Matilda belts out a good-natured laugh. “Don’t be. I felt the same—well, at least I did until he actually died.” She closes her eyes for a moment too long.

“I can imagine it’s been difficult,” I say, choosing my words carefully this time. “You know, realizing there’s not a place on this planet you can go to speak with him anymore. I mean, you did care about him once. And I’m sure he cared about you.”

Cared about her? I practically balk at my own words. I should really look into a muzzle.

“Oh, please.” Matilda waves a perfectly manicured hand at the thought. “Hamish stopped caring about what was difficult for me the day he threw away thirty years of marriage for his plastic overinflated, underqualified secretary.” Her expression darkens and I have a feeling so will her thoughts. After everything I put into this place. All those years of hardly breaking even, and now she thinks she’s getting half? I can’t wait to laugh in her face and that of Hamish’s divorce attorney as well.

Verity wants half? Or more like Hamish wanted half and now Matilda figures it will go to Verity? I can’t imagine how painful that would be. That’s the equivalent of me giving half the inn to Jasper’s mistress. There would definitely be a second homicide if anyone even tried to float that idea. Scratch that. It would have been a double homicide to begin with.

“Thirty years is a long time to just throw away,” I say lower than a whisper.

“Oh, I agree,” she says. “And the worst part?” She takes a sip from her pink goblet and her hand shakes slightly. “He acted like he was the innocent one. Like I was the problem. It was infuriating.” As if I hadn’t spent two decades trying to keep this place afloat while he played doctor with that blonde bimbo.

My sweet baby does another flip. Apparently, my child is as interested in hearing about the family drama as I am.

“That must have been quite a shock,” I say. “I mean, the day you found out about Verity.”

“Shock?” She lets out a laugh that sounds about as genuine as Georgie’s Jell-O is appetizing. “The shock was him threatening to push me out of the farm completely.” Those threats regarding the news he discovered. She shudders. It’s all over now. Thankfully, Hamish took his threats and what he knew with him to the grave. The last thing I need is something like that getting out. I’m the victim here. And that’s exactly what’s going to drive the sales of my new book all the way up the charts.

What in the world did he know?

I bet whatever it is, that’s what he was blackmailing her over.

“It sounds… complicated ,” I offer in an effort to keep her talking.

“Complicated?” Her smile tightens. “That’s one word for it. You know what he told me that afternoon before he bit the big one? He said had something to show me. He said Hammie Mae deserved to know what kind of mother she really had—as if I was the monster in that equation.” I probably was in Hamish’s eyes, but not one part of me believes he would have told Hammie Mae what he discovered. But then again, that has been my biggest fear all along. “Anyway, the man nearly ran this place into the ground. The best thing he did for the farm was leave it in my hands. I resurrected it from the beyond. We’re turning a decent profit for the first time in years. He ran this place into the ground just the same way he ran our marriage into it.”

“Well, I’m so glad you were able to turn things around. As a woman who runs her own business, I can appreciate the hard work you put into it,” I say.

A commotion over at another table catches my eye and there’s a small crowd gathered around Georgie while she demonstrates that hummingbird contraption that sits over her face. Hammie Mae is there chatting it up with my mother and she also happens to be pointing over at Georgie with amusement.

“How is Hammie Mae handling all of this?” I ask, mostly in an effort to keep the conversation alive. I can feel it petering out and I still haven’t gotten to the bottom of the blackmail yet.

“Oh, my poor daughter.” Matilda’s voice drips with maternal concern. “She has more than enough on her plate with the baby coming.” There was no way I was about to let Hamish douse her with any dark news regarding something I may have done. Another reason I needed to silence him. And thankfully, he’s silenced forever.

I suck in a quick breath. What did she do? How did she silence him?

But I have a feeling I’m well aware of the how—I just don’t know why.

Matilda sets her face to the wind. “Hammie Mae and Hamish might have had a falling-out after he detonated our family, but deep down I know she will always be a daddy’s girl with or without him here.” And without him here, there’s no way she or anyone else will ever find out what I’ve done—and what I’ve done to cover it up forever as well.

I’m about to push further when an entire cacophony of high-pitched screams pierces the air.