Page 27 of A Whisker in the Night (Country Cottage Mysteries #29)
“ H
e is risen!” Mom and Georgie shout my way.
“He is risen indeed!” I shout back as I navigate the crowd right here on Main Street this warm, and might I add, perfect Easter morning.
The entire town has turned out in their Easter Sunday best for the Hip Hip Parade, transforming these cobbled streets into a sea of pastel, complete with elaborate hats that would make the Kentucky Derby jealous.
The crowds are thick, the air is perfectly balmy, and the sound of the high school band along with the roar of the crowd competes for my ears, while the scent of fresh baked hot-cross buns and popcorn compete for my appetite.
Jasper had a few leads he was following in the investigation of Georgie’s missing money and went to his office early this morning but assured me he’d be back before the parade ended.
Fish jockeys to stand tall in the tote bag slung over my shoulder. If one more float blasts “Here Comes Peter Cottontail,” I’m declaring this parade a bushy-tailed disaster zone.
At least you’re not being crushed by that bunny’s bushy tail. Sherlock gives a soft woof that sounds more like a laugh and I can already feel the zinger coming. But I’m pretty sure your tail takes up half that bag. Sorry about that, Jellybean.
“I’m afraid it’s my belly that’s taking up half that bag,” I say. “And yes, I just took a dig at my own size.” I laugh, adjusting the bag as best as I can.
“Oh, you look perfect,” Mom says as she and Georgie swoop in like a couple of pastel-colored hurricanes complete with Easter bonnets—who just so happen to have a fair amount of glittery beads hanging from their necks.
It’s sort of a Cider Cove tradition that no matter what the holiday, if there’s a parade, then parade beads get tossed out into the crowd. I’ve yet to catch any, but then, I don’t need another ounce to weigh me down. My feet are already killing me and it’s not even nine in the morning.
Mom adjusts her hat and I love every lavender inch of it with its fluffy white flowers that circle the brim.
Georgie’s hat is a red disc that sits on her head filled with red and yellow daisies. I try not to think too hard about what that might mean.
They both offer up a hearty happy Easter along with a quick embrace and I nearly knock Georgie’s hat right off in the process.
“Oh, sorry,” I say, helping her adjust it and it’s only then I notice it’s made entirely of—plastic?
“Watch it, sis,” Georgie says, securing a buckle under her chin. “This hat is chock-full of nectar. I’m on a mission to land me a hummingbird or twelve.”
“Not again,” I moan at the memory of what happened the last time she donned one of these contraptions. Albeit this one doesn’t come with a protective face mask and that has me worried.
“Oh, it’s happening again, all right.” Mom tosses up her hands at the thought. “I tried to stop her, but she’s too stubborn to listen to me.”
“I am not. There’s nothing to listen to.” Georgie turns my way. “I found out that the only reason I was attacked by a swarm of bees is because Westoff Farms is crawling with those cute little fuzzy stingers. We don’t have anything to worry about here in the open. Just promise me something. If you see those winged little divas hanging out with my hat—and I mean the ones that hum, not the ones that buzz—snap a few pictures, would you? I’m going to go viral with these babies. I just know it.”
She most likely will. Mom sniffs to herself. Just not for the reasons she thinks.
Here’s hoping my mother is wrong for once. And it would be just the once.
Georgie shields her eyes with her hand as she cranes her neck farther down the parade route. “I think I see a float covered with chocolate bunnies heading this way!”
Jellybean stretches her furry little neck in that direction as well. That would be the Westoff Farms’ float. Hamish participated in every parade this town held, every single year.
Sherlock jumps on his hind legs and stares that way in anticipation. I bet they have bacon! BACON! BACON! He barks those last two words out as if he were starting a bacon revolution.
“You listen up, Georgie.” Mom shoots her bestie the side-eye. “I don’t care how many chocolate bunnies they have on that float. I don’t want you going anywhere near it. Besides, I know for a fact the Easter Bunny left a giant basket brimming with Westoff chocolate bunnies right on your front porch this morning.” The Easter Bunny would be me, Mom muses that last bit to herself.
“ Aww ,” I coo audibly without meaning to.
“Yeah, yeah, I saw it,” Georgie grouses. “But after that mystery flower disaster, I thought it was best if I didn’t take any chances. I chucked that whole basket into the dumpster behind the inn.”
“You what?” Mom balks in horror. “I spent close to two hundred bucks on all those bunnies.” I figured it would be cheaper than bailing her out of jail when she took flight after every chocolate bunny that reared its milk-chocolate head during this morning’s parade .
Come to think of it, she’s probably right about that.
But before Georgie can answer, someone gives a sharp whistle and we look over to see Huxley making his way toward us, looking like a dapper ad for business suits come to life with his slicked back dark hair and bright blue eyes.
Baby Mack sits perches on his hip and looks every bit a miniature version of his daddy. He, too, looks dapper while gussied up in a tiny seersucker suit along with a bowtie that’s somehow staying perfectly straight despite all that toddler energy he’s exuding.
And, of course, there’s a ball of white fluff trying to keep up with them. That would be Cane, Huxley’s Samoyed, trotting beside them looking exactly like his canine soulmate, Candy—that would be Macy’s dog. They might be mistaken as twins, but in reality they are from completely different litters and actually have a rollicking romance brewing between the two of them.
Bizzy, nice to see you again! Cane gives a happy bark before sniffing and dancing a circle around Sherlock. Rumor has it, you’re up to your eyeballs in cats.
Fish snorts. You say it like it’s a bad thing.
“There’s my sweet grandbaby,” Mom coos as she snatches up Mack before Hux can blink. Little Mack giggles, already reaching for the parade beads around Mom’s neck and proceeds to strangle her with them.
Note to self: secure a death grip on my child at all times, especially seeing that some of these women can perform a baby heist before you ever notice your little one is gone.
Add that to the long list of things to worry about.
“Happy Easter,” Hux says with a laugh before offering me a quick embrace. “Is that Fish?” he says, giving her head a little pat. “And a feline friend? Here, let me take the cats,” he offers, taking the tote bag from me. “Your legs have enough living beings to carry as it is.”
The baby gives a kick of agreement.
“Living beings and that triple helping of chocolate chip waffles I woofed down this morning,” I tease. Only I’m not teasing.
Hux nods my way with a sudden look of concern. “Mom and Georgie called me up this morning and told me about that QR scam with the flowers.”
“That’s right,” Mom says, bouncing baby Mack on her hip and he gives a giggle. “We called him at six this morning and told him everything.”
“At six?” I balk.
“I didn’t want Mackie to miss the big parade.” My mother turns to Hux. “Bizzy doesn’t know the latest.” She bounces Mack once more until they’re both facing my direction again. “They not only vacuumed all the money from Georgie’s bank account, but they ran up all of her credit cards, too.”
“What?” I gasp as my heart sinks. “Oh, Georgie, I’m so sorry. But if it’s any consolation, Jasper is already making progress in your case. He’ll fix this. I promise.”
I hope.
I press my lips tight with the thought.
“This is terrible,” Hux says. “And it really steams me to hear about people being taken advantage of—especially old people.”
“Who you calling old, you little squirt?” Georgie shoots back.
“Sorry.” He winces. “But it’s official,” Hux says, somehow managing to look professional despite having two cats using him as a climbing post at the moment. “I’m starting a new website where people can submit and verify scams. And creating a database of known scams as well.”
“That sounds wonderful,” I tell him. “And so very much needed. Can you include scams regarding babies in there, too? You know, just in case someone wants to steal an infant or two?” I’m not usually this paranoid, but let’s face it, the world is giving me reason to be.
Before he can answer, a cacophony of music, cheers, laughter, and wild shrill screams breaks out all around us.
Why do I have a very bad feeling about this?