Page 6 of A Whisker in the Night (Country Cottage Mysteries #29)

T he soft hum of spring mingles with the sweet aroma of chocolate as sunlight filters through the inn’s windows, catching on the glittering pastel egg garland I insisted on draping everywhere. Easter has definitely exploded in the Country Cottage Inn, and I have a feeling my sister is about to do the same.

“What’s this I hear about you poaching my customers?” Macy’s blonde bob bounces as she points a glossy red fingernail my way. “Bizzy, why did you have a booth out on your lawn yesterday that featured both candles and soap? You know that’s my territory!”

Macy’s words are laced with loose threats dipped in sarcasm. It’s her signature tone. One I’m all too familiar with.

“Macy, what are you talking about?” I ask, managing to keep my voice even. With Sherlock and Fish joining Candy as she chases poor Jellybean, the inn has enough chaos and drama at the moment. Sorry to inform Macy, but we’ve met our quota for the day.

The baby gives a swift kick, clearly not enjoying the chaos either. Or maybe he or she is just politely asking for another chocolate egg. Honestly, it could go either way.

Come to think of it, it’s definitely the chocolate.

Macy doesn’t even let me finish before she launches into her rant. “Hammie Mae Westoff has plastered that cheap gift shop of theirs all over social media, letting the world know they sell far more than chocolate. As in candles and soap, Bizzy! Candles . And. Soap .” She pauses with all the drama she can afford. Never mind the fact her words are laced with enough venom to make a cobra envious. “She’s letting everyone know they were the best sellers at that Hop Until You Die Festival you hosted. Every last comment mentioned what a great time they had at the Country Cottage Inn .” She stops just long enough to narrow her eyes at me. “Okay, some of them mentioned what a house of horrors this place is and that it should be demolished as an act of public safety, but I digress. My sales are down this morning—and you’ve singlehandedly demolished them.” Sometimes I wish I had another sister, she seethes that last part to herself and I gasp. One that wasn’t successful at anything she did. An unmarried sister, unpregnant, and unemployed. One that lived in my mother’s basement playing video games—so that my light could shine a little brighter for once.

I press my lips tight to keep from laughing.

“Macy, you’ve only been open for an hour,” I counter, popping another pastel chocolate egg into my mouth for the sustenance I need to deal with the sister who wishes I didn’t exist. “All business is down at this time. Besides, Easter is this Sunday. You know your customer base is too busy filling baskets and baking sweet treats to do any shopping. It’s as if all time stops for a few days in their lives and they have chocolaty things to tend to.”

Which reminds me… I snap up another chocolate peanut butter egg as if to prove a point.

“It truly is the most wonderful time of the year,” I tell her. “Or at least it’s a tie for the second.”

“That’s not the point, Bizzy.” Macy doesn’t miss a beat. “My point is, you’re stepping on my ruby red toenails.” She leans in and that perfectly manicured finger is wagging dangerously close to my nose. “And if you think for one second that I’m going to let some bargain-bin gift shop encroach on my Lather and Light empire, you’re sorely mistaken.”

Empire? I raise a brow her way.

Someone thinks highly of herself.

Oh, who am I kidding? Macy entered this world thinking highly of herself.

Macy is not only my older, far saucier sister who happens to own Lather and Light, a soap and candle shop on Main Street, just a skip and a hop from the inn, she also happens to be dating my ex-husband.

Jordy Crosby is Emmie’s older brother, and well, we may have accidentally gotten hitched on a trip to Vegas once. Bad whiskey and an Elvis impersonator were involved.

Suffice it to say, our union was never consummated, and we quickly sought the assistance of Huxley’s shiny new law degree to help dismantle it.

Ironically, Macy and Jordy are basically the same person. She’s spent her thirty-plus years on the planet as a maneater, and he’s logged equal time as a rather prolific womanizer. It’s a match made in hot-and-heavy heaven—or more accurately, that other, far more hotter place. Jordy and Macy are still pretty new, but they’re not shy about it. At all.

The front doors swing open, and in walks Mom in all her glory—sporting a turquoise windbreaker that screams 1985 and her signature red curls bouncing with each step. Behind her comes Georgie, floating along in a pastel kaftan that looks like a pastel Easter egg rolled right over it (her signature look for any season—yes, even our brutal winters). And in Georgie’s arms is the most enormous spring bouquet I’ve ever seen.

“Wow, are those the flowers from your secret admirer?” I ask as Emmie gives an appreciative whistle at the sight.

“You bet your knocked-up britches they are,” Georgie beams. “But here’s the oddball kicker?—”

Mom lifts a finger. “There’s a QR code we’re supposed to scan to find out who sent them,” she says, practically vibrating with curiosity. “But nothing happens when we try.”

Georgie nods. “I’ve scanned all night until my phone battery died, and I still don’t have answers.”

“I’m sorry,” I tell her. “But from the sound of it, you have one very tech-savvy admirer.”

“Let me see if I can help,” Emmie offers, and both Mom and Georgie follow her to the bay window where sunshine pours through the stained glass.

“Georgie has a stalker?” Macy asks as if her curiosity were piqued.

“I said secret admirer,” I correct.

She shrugs. “I find there’s very little difference. Why does Georgie get to have all the fun?”

I’m about to say something to Macy when that aforementioned tall, dark, and handsome ex of mine strides through the door in a white T-shirt and well-worn jeans.

Jordy is the handyman here at the inn, and judging by Macy’s sudden intake of breath, the way she’s just pulled back her shoulders and hoisted her boobs out for the world to see, she thoroughly approves of how those jeans fit.

“Ladies.” Jordy tips his ballcap our way. “Bizzy, just so you know, it’s raining eucalyptus branches all over the main walkway in the back.”

He grabs Macy and they dive into a rather sloppy smooching spree right here at the reception counter.

“Are you kidding me?” I gasp and it has nothing to do with the aforementioned sloppy kisses I’m currently subject to. “Jordy, those branches could kill someone!” While eucalyptus trees aren’t all that common in Maine, the last owner took a liking to them and dotted them all over the property. He thought it was a nice break from all the evergreens surrounding the place.

Falling tree limbs?

All sorts of dark thoughts run through my mind. The last thing I need is a trail of bodies lining the walkway. Heaven knows it’s happened before.

“Those kinds of trees are self-pruning,” he says with a sigh. “And that’s exactly why I’m going to spend the day hacking them back.”

“ Ooh .” Macy wraps her arms around him with far more vigor and more steamy kisses ensue. It’s all I can do not to roll my eyes.

She comes back up for air while looking right at him. “I guess that means you’re going to get all hot and sweaty today?”

“And I guess that means you’ll be coming over tonight,” he counters.

Macy giggles. “Jordy Crosby, sometimes I think you can read my mind.”

Now I’m really rolling my eyes. Anybody can read my sister’s mind and her body language. And those dirty looks she’s prone to cast aren’t harboring any secrets either.

Neither of them knows that I have the ability to pry into their grey matter. And thankfully so.

Jordy gives a dark laugh as his thoughts begin to stir. If Macy knew half the spicy stuff that runs through my mind about her—well, it’s probably the same spicy stuff that runs through her mind about me. That’s exactly why we’re so perfect for each other.

I nod his way because I couldn’t agree more.

The doors to the inn open with another whoosh, and in strides my sister-in-law, Mackenzie, with her long chestnut locks bouncing in stride and her hot pink power suit showing off the healthy tan she sports year-round.

Mackenzie is a stunner. It’s no wonder my brother is so smitten with her.

“Mayor Woods,” I say with a sigh because I know what’s coming.

“Another murder, Bizzy? Really?” She doesn’t disappoint. “The Hip Hip Parade had better go off without a hitch on Easter Sunday. The entire school district is participating, and the Women’s League has been working on those floats since Valentine’s Day!”

“Everything will be fine,” I assure her, though the baby offers up a skeptical kick. It’s clear this baby is already too smart for their britches. “The Hip Hip Parade will end here at the inn as planned,” I continue. “The egg hunt on our glorious green lawns will be epic, and the prizes will be amazing. No drama, I promise.”

I sincerely hope.

Mackenzie glares my way. “There had better not be, or so help me—” she lets the threat dangle before spinning on her designer heels and marching out, leaving my imagination to fill in all the catastrophic ways she could make my life miserable. There are so many tried-and-true methods she’s already implemented, the possibilities are endless.

Macy and Jordy take that as their cue to leave, too, with Candy taking off behind them, but not before casting one last suspicious glance at poor Jellybean.

Emmie takes off for the café, leaving Mom and Georgie to sidle up to the counter. Apparently, they’re still at a loss as to who sent those flowers.

“So…” Georgie grins. “When are we going to start shaking down some suspects? You know, before someone else gets shaken down permanently? Word on the mean streets of Cider Cove is there’s a killer on the loose. And your mama and I are hot-to-trot to catch them. And I hope they’re hot, too. I could use a killer good time in the bedroom, if you know what I mean.”

Mom gasps in horror. “Would you hush? Someone is bound to hear your ramblings and think you’ve lost your marbles. Little would they know you landed on the planet this way.” She shakes her head at me. “Never mind what she said. We’re not shaking down any suspects—especially not you, Bizzy.” She motions to my growing belly.

“Maybe not,” I say, looking over at Jellybean with her sweet pink satin bow. “But I just so happened to have some business to conduct with the daughter of the deceased.”

Hammie Mae Westoff, ready or not, here we come.