Page 32 of A Whisker in the Night (Country Cottage Mysteries #29)

E aster Sunday at the Country Cottage Inn is a feast for the senses.

The rolling green lawn sparkles with morning dew along with hundreds of pastel-colored eggs, while the spring breeze carries the scent of fresh-cut grass and, of course, chocolate.

It’s as if all of Cider Cove—scratch that—all of Maine has shown up to run wild on the lawns at the inn. The marching band showed up, too, and they’re playing a cheerful ditty to keep the kids and adults alike moving and grooving while trying to load their baskets to the hilt.

After this morning’s rather infamous parade, which the locals are already calling “The Great Easter Bee-trayal,” this egg hunt feels downright peaceful. And that’s an irony in and of itself considering a cast of thousands has shown up.

The egg hunt is well underway, and I can’t get enough of all the adorable toddlers waddling around in their Sunday best. Miniature suits with shorts for the boys and an entire palette of pastel dresses for the beautiful little girls. Each of them is armed with a basket and a parent on their heels recording the entire event for posterity.

Emmie and I have claimed prime viewing spots just shy of the lawn as we cuddle with two cute furry babies. She’s holding Fish while I hold Jellybean. I figure it’s good practice for when our far less furrier babies arrive.

A toddler races past us and nearly misses taking off Sherlock’s head with their basket.

The indignity, Fish mewls. This goes to show what lengths hoomans will go through to procure some chocolate.

“It is free chocolate,” I’m quick to point out before relaying the conversation to Emmie. “And quality chocolate at that. Matilda Westoff provided all of the sweet treats for the Women’s League to stuff the plastic eggs with.”

“ Free is my favorite word,” Emmie says with a sigh. “Especially when chocolate is involved. Or jellybeans.”

Jellybean snickers. Like I say, ’tis the season.

I relay it to Emmie and we have a good chuckle.

Jasper and Leo are down at the Seaview Sheriff’s Department helping book Verity Westoff for the murder of her husband. And ten bucks says they’re probably doing their best to ignore her complaints about the jumpsuit she’s just been outfitted with. Sadly, for her, there aren’t any designer duds in prison. In fact, the entire stay is rather a dud.

“I still can’t believe she was the killer,” I tell Emmie, watching a particularly determined five-year-old tackle an egg hidden under a dogwood bush. “To think, a slipup here or a slipup there on my part and she might have gotten away with murder.”

Emmie lets out a wild cackle that makes Fish’s ears flatten.

“What’s so funny?” I ask, stepping back to observe her better in the event she’s having some sort of a hormone-induced meltdown. She is ready to pop. Maybe this is her version of labor? Instead of contractions, Emmie has a laughing fit. Wouldn’t that be great? I much prefer laughter to pain.

“The fact you keep forgetting that Jasper was the one assigned to the case,” she says, wiping the tears from her eyes as she continues to chuckle. “You do realize he, too, would have caught the killer—eventually.”

I bite my lip. “I do have faith he would have—eventually. But Verity was about to leave the country. If we rely on anything to happen eventually, we might end up with a cold case on our hands.” I cringe at how cold that sounds indeed. “Maybe we don’t tell Jasper that.”

Emmie crosses her heart and blows me a kiss. “You’re still the best homicide detective I know, Bizzy Baker Wilder.” Now it’s her turn to cringe. “Maybe we don’t tell Jasper that either.”

Fish chitters with a laugh. You’re both lucky Jasper can’t understand a thing Sherlock has to say. He’d rat you out in a New York minute. Or even better—a Maine minute, considering how quickly these kids are snapping up those eggs.

Sherlock gives a soft woof. I happen to agree with Emmie. Jasper would have solved the case—eventually. He lifts his head and surveys the crowd. Now if you ladies don’t mind, I’m going to join Cinnamon, Gatsby, Candy, and Cane on the great egg chase.

He takes off like a bullet toward what appears to be a canine tornado forming near the woods.

“Remember, no chocolate,” I call after him.

No worries, he barks back. Georgie said that the Easter Bunny planted bacon in the bushes for the four-footed among us! Some bunny loves us!

Some bunny loves them indeed.

Speaking of Georgie, I squint into the sea of bodies running to and fro out on the lawn.

Quickly enough, I spot Mom and Georgie helping little Mack hunt for eggs, since Mayor Woods wouldn’t be caught dead jaunting around with a bunch of toddlers.

Mackenzie isn’t exactly maternal in that way, or any way, come to think about it. She’s about as maternal as a cactus. And well, Hux is far more content documenting his son’s every move. He’s paternal that way and in every way.

Emmie elbows me. “ Ooh , check this out.” She nods toward the front of the inn where a golden throne has been set up for photos with the Easter Bunny (currently experiencing a lull since all the kids are too busy creating chaos in pursuit of plastic eggs). Sure enough, there aren’t any kids in line, but a handful of adults all wait their turn with the overgrown bunny. And as fate would have it, I recognize the trio currently up at bat.

It’s Macy, Jordy, and Camila all fighting for space next to the big bunny.

Macy and Jordy are attempting to take a romantic Easter photo while Camila tries her best to simultaneously sit on both the Easter Bunny’s lap and Jordy’s.

Macy either hasn’t noticed Camila’s current man-hunting expedition or she’s enjoying watching Camila sweat while she indulges in Jordy’s kisses. I’d like to think it’s the latter. In fact, I’m one hundred percent sure it is.

Macy is no fool. She can spot a man-eater a mile away. After all, it takes one to know one.

The baby gives an amused kick just as Matilda and Hammie Mae approach, still wearing their parade finest.

“Bizzy, we wanted to thank you”—Hammie Mae says with a tiny grimace—“for catching the killer.”

“It was my pleasure,” I say as I wince. “I mean—well, you know what I mean. Anyway, I hope you have peace now.”

“I do.” She gives a pained smile before nodding to Emmie as well. “I hope you both have easy pregnancies from here on out, too. I wish you both well in that respect. Oh, and remember to ask permission before giving birth!” She gives her belly a quick pat. “Like this: may I give birth to you now?” She winks our way. “Of course, I wouldn’t dare say those words unless you actually wanted to go into labor.” She pats her belly once again. “You hear that? I didn’t mean it. You just keep baking as long as it takes!”

We share a quick laugh, but Hammie Mae’s expression quickly grows sober as she spots Jellybean.

How I wish I had something to remember my father by, she thinks to herself with a sigh. And no matter what, that man will always be my father.

Matilda pats her daughter’s arm as if she knows exactly what she’s thinking and she’s trying to comfort her.

Well, it’s done, Matilda takes a breath as she muses to herself. Hamish may have held the dirt over my head for a good while now, but I went ahead and told Hammie Mae the truth after Verity was arrested.

I gasp at the thought and tip my ear her way as if that might somehow help me catch more of her internal musings.

I still can’t believe I did it, Matilda continues. Hamish and I had split up for just a few months and then there was that cad I latched myself onto. And well, Hammie Mae was the result. But by the time I knew I was with child, Hamish and I had made up and were already walking down the aisle. Of course, I made the mistake of telling him after he dumped me for Verity. I wanted to hurt him as bad as he hurt me. But I only ended up wounding myself in the end. The way that man held it over my head—and took pleasure in it, no less. A part of me thinks he would have never told Hammie Mae the truth. She was his whole heart. But he sure knew how to make me sweat. However, in the end, I told her the news and she took it in stride like a champ.

So that’s what he held over her!

Hamish found out that he wasn’t Hammie Mae’s father. I bet that stung—almost as much as it stung Matilda to find out Hamish was two-timing her. Two wrongs never make a right. Everything about what transpired with the Westoffs was sad all around.

“Would you mind if I held Jellybean?” Hammie Mae asks as her eyes glisten with tears.

“Not at all,” I say as I hand her the furry cutie. A thought hits me. “In fact, would you like to keep her? You know, in memory of your father?”

Hammie Mae’s face lights up as if Hamish himself just reappeared. “ Yes! Oh yes!” She quickly snuggles with the cute kitty and dusts her furry face with kisses.

We say our goodbyes to Jellybean and both ladies wish us a happy Easter before taking off, chattering a mile a minute about their impending shopping spree at the pet store.

“Something tells me that Jellybean is going to be one spoiled kitten,” I say. “And I mean that in the very best way. She certainly deserves it.”

“I guess all’s well that ends well,” Emmie says. “Speaking of ending well…” She gives her enormous belly a pat. “You’ve been baking for nine solid months, going on ten,” she teases. “May I please give birth to you eventually?”

A laugh jumps up my throat, but before it can fully initiate, a distinct splat hits the lawn beneath Emmie’s feet.

“ Oh my goodness .” Emmie gasps as she looks down at the sparkling puddle.

“Don’t you dare be embarrassed.” I’m quick to wave it off. “I tinkled on myself while laughing last week, and while sneezing, and while sleeping. It happens to the best of us.” Albeit I wasn’t as prolific as she managed to be. And in one fell swoop at that.

“ Bizzy ”—Emmie’s eyes widen with horror—“I didn’t tinkle. My water just broke.”