Page 9 of A Whisker in the Night (Country Cottage Mysteries #29)

T he thick, sweet scent of chocolate suddenly feels heavier, weighted down by the tension that’s crept into our conversation.

Even the twinkle lights seem to dim a bit as if sensing the shift in mood.

“My father is— was —actually Hamish Westoff the third.” Hammie Mae’s voice hitches a notch as she references her father in the past tense as we stand in the gift shop here at Westoff Farms. She closes her eyes for a long moment, drawing both Jellybean and Fish closer as she drops a kiss to their furry foreheads. “He was hoping for a boy to carry on the tradition, but he got me instead. My formal name is Hammatha Matilda.” She wrinkles her nose and sheds a whisper of a laugh. “My mother thought it up as a conciliatory prize since she knew she didn’t want more children. And my mother, not one to be left out, threw her name in there, too.”

The baby gives a sympathetic kick, or maybe it’s just reminding me we still haven’t sampled those chocolate-covered blueberries. That or it’s putting in its vote against me combining my name and Jasper’s. And don’t think I haven’t thought of it. Although Jizzy and Basper haven’t exactly made it on the long list.

“But thankfully, Hammie Mae was quickly gifted to me as a nickname,” she laughs as she goes on. “How did you get your name? I just love it.”

Don’t let her change the subject, Bizzy. Fish’s whiskers twitch with the warning. We’ve got her right where we want her!

Where do we want her? Jellybean sits up straight in Hammie Mae’s arms and the alarm is clear in her voice. You don’t think Hammie Mae killed my precious Hamish, do you?

I bite my lip, unable to offer the sweet cat any reassurance. The odds seem low, but in Cider Cove, stranger things have happened. Usually around holidays. And usually, they somehow involve me.

Sherlock gives a soft woof. Don’t worry, Jelly Belly. Jasper will get to the bottom of this.

Jelly Belly? I fight the smile curving my lips until it occurs to me that he might have been referencing yours truly.

“My name is Elizabeth, same as my best friend Emmie,” I offer up. “We’ve always gone by the nicknames our families gifted us, to avoid confusion.” I wince a little. “And... I’m so sorry about your father.”

“Thank you,” she mouths the words. “You know, he wasn’t perfect but…” she trails off, absently pulling Jellybean close. “Things changed between us after the divorce. After my mother found out he was having an affair with our longtime manager at this place.” Her face darkens. “That would be his new wife.” She rolls her eyes. “Our longtime farm manager. Can you imagine? Thirty years of marriage, and he throws it away for someone who could hardly tell a blueberry from a blackberry. My mother was furious.” So much so that she threatened to kill the man nearly every single day thereafter.

I gasp as that last thought she let fly.

Hammie Mae blinks my way.

“Oh”—I pat my lips—“I’m sorry to hear it. My own father blew apart my family in the exact same way. My mother was pretty furious, too.” Thankfully, a homicide was averted, but not by much. Everyone gets along today, although it took some time to heal from the trauma. “My father proceeded to marry every woman in sight,” I tell her and she gives a mournful giggle.

“Oh dear. Well, my father stopped at Verity.” She pauses to lift her finger as if an idea just sparked in her mind. “Although they were on the brink of divorce.”

“They were?”

“Oh yes.” She nods furtively. “Verity is a pill and super hard to get along with. And she’s materialistic to the hilt. I mean, you can tell just by looking at her. That orange spray tan? Those tissue paper white teeth? They’re all capped by the way. She had my father pay for them along with her boobs and her new nose. The woman is a walking, talking testament to plastic surgeons everywhere. In fact, rumor has it, she had an affair with her plastic surgeon, that womanizer from Brambleberry Bay, Dr. Stanton Troublefield. Have you heard of him?”

I give a little gasp. “I have. My cousin Hattie works up at the country club in Brambleberry Bay and he’s a member. Believe me, I’ve heard every story about Stanton Troublefield. I guess his wife dumped him and took off to live on a cruise ship.”

“Now she sounds smart.” Hammie Mae gives Fish a quick scratch on the back. “I’d like to think my father was about to give Verity the boot any day now.” Her lips clamp up and I can tell she’s thinking about something. My poor mother. I can’t let it end like this for her. I have to protect her.

A breath hitches in my throat as I listen in on the thought. She obviously thinks her mother is guilty! And well, according to that wrought iron gold foil bunny left at the scene of the crime, she very well might be.

The baby kicks again, harder this time. Even they can sense there’s more to this story. My sweet baby is intuitive just like their parents.

Hammie Mae presses her lips tight once again. Focus .

“Verity had all these grand ideas,” Hammie Mae continues, her voice far more bitter than before. “Expanding the gift shop, adding the factory tours, building a chocolate empire. Mom just wanted to keep things simple. Traditional. But as it turned out, they were pretty great ideas.” She gives a humorless laugh. “I guess we know which vision won out.” And who won my father’s black heart. She averts her eyes with the thought. My mother didn’t deserve that. And it’s exactly why my father landed in the morgue. How am I ever going to live with this?

I pause a moment to absorb the thoughts that just flew through her mind.

“Verity does sound like a lot,” I say. “I’m so sorry you and your mother had to go through all that.” I nod, hoping to spur her thoughts along regarding her mother once again.

“Oh, Verity is a living, breathing nightmare.”

Okay, so she didn’t lead with Matilda, but I’ll take Verity for now.

“She actually had an employee sue her and my father to the hilt,” she continues. “She had this bright idea to pit her employees against one another in a competition to see who could work the hardest for a month solid, and in exchange she said she’d give them a Corvette.”

I gasp. “Wow, talk about an incentive. That was generous of her.”

“More like wicked ,” she points out. “At the end of the month, she gave some poor girl a Hot Wheels instead of the real deal. And well, that woman sued and, rumor has it, she can now afford to buy an entire fleet of Corvettes.”

My mouth rounds out.

Hammie Mae nods. “The woman is a dingbat if she didn’t see that coming.” She curls the cats in her arms. “And get this, for my dad’s last birthday, she gifted him one of her wisdom teeth dipped in gold.” She rolls her eyes.

“She gave him a tooth?” I balk.

She nods. “I’m telling you the woman is off her rocker.” No more than my mother seems to be these days, she muses that last bit to herself.

Before I can process that particular thought, a commotion erupts from the direction of the chocolate factory.

The crowd parts like the Red Sea, only to reveal two familiar figures—one of which is wearing a pastel kaftan. Both are bent over the conveyor belt, shoveling chocolates into their mouths as if they’re training for the chocolate gobbling finals.

“Oh no,” I groan as I quickly recognize the pair.

“ Oh no is right.” Hammie Mae sighs. “I’d better handle this before someone calls the health department. Last week someone tried to swim in the chocolate fountain. Let’s hope we don’t have a repeat.”

Knowing Georgie, we will. It seems to be a theme with her.

She hands me the cats and hurries off with Sherlock right by her side.

I think that’s where they keep the bacon, he barks as he heads toward the chocolate-covered calamity.

And that leaves me to quickly gather armfuls of adorable Easter baby clothes—two of everything, because Emmie would never forgive me if I left her out of this cuteness overload.

I also stock up on enough chocolate to satisfy both my baby’s cravings and mine—and probably put us on some sort of chocolate watch list at Dr. Applewhite’s office.

Not long after I ante up at the register, I watch as Mom and Georgie are being chased around that crime scene as vats of liquid chocolate splash all over the walls and windows of that delicious yet somewhat disastrous factory in the back.

Hammie Mae howls and screams along with the rest of the crowd here in the barn as all out chaos breaks out.

I can’t help but think that while Hammie Mae had plenty to say about her father’s relationship with Verity, I still need to hear Verity’s side of the story. That and return her sweet cat.

One way or another, I have a feeling I’m getting closer to solving this case.

The baby kicks in agreement with my detective work. That or they’re staging a protest until I unwrap one of the chocolate gold foil bunnies I just invested in.

These days, it’s getting harder to tell the difference.

But I’d like to think it’s both.

Georgie and my mother run this way, covered in brown goo from head to toe. If I didn’t know better, I’d think they’d gone mudding.

“Let’s go, Preggo,” Georgie shouts as she links arms with me. “It’s time to make the great chocolate escape!” She turns back to look at my mother who seems to be lagging. “We’re going to get away with it, Red!”

We make our way out of the barn and into my car, with all of our furry friends included.

Georgie and my mother might be getting away with something, but there’s a killer out there who won’t be getting away with anything—especially not murder.

I’ll see to it myself.