CHAPTER 18
A fter the fiasco at the Crafters Warehouse, we made sure to get Georgie home and cozy in her bed. My mother promised to keep an eye on her while I went and finished up the evening at the front desk of the inn.
It seems like everyone has someone to visit this time of year, and they just so happen to be congregating in this part of Maine.
When I finally get back to my cottage, I no sooner plop down on my sofa and prop my feet up on the coffee table than there’s a knock at the door.
I smell dogs, Sherlock says, sniffing in that direction.
Unfortunately, I do, too, Fish mewls from her perch on the sofa.
For as excitable as Sherlock is about potential guests, Fish is exactly that nonplussed.
I head over and glance through the peephole, only to see my beautiful bestie on the other side.
“Please tell me the kitchen is still intact,” I tease as I swing open the door.
“The kitchen is not only intact, the café has a wait time of twenty minutes. It seems no one wants to cook just days before Thanksgiving.” She holds out a scrumptious treat before me. “I come bearing pumpkin cheesecake—and dogs,” she says, stepping aside as both Cinnamon and Gatsby traipse in with a friendly hello.
“You always bring the best gifts,” I say. “And the cheesecake isn’t bad either,” I tease. “Come on in. I’ll start a fire.”
“Ooh, sounds good. I’ll get us some plates.”
We split ways, and in no time at all, we’re curled up on my sofa together, each with a third of a cheesecake on our plates.
The dogs are playing chase, diving into Fish and Sherlock’s toybox and darting around my tiny living room with such vigor, that they’re just one big blur of fur. They finally settle down by the fire while Sherlock and Fish tell Cinnamon and Gatsby everything that happened to Georgie at the Crafters Warehouse today and all six of them chortle their furry little heads off.
“Oh, Emmie,” I moan through a bite. “I don’t think I’ve ever been so in love with a cheesecake. I think we should offer to ship these all across the country. We’ll be rich.”
“And exhausted,” she says. “The orders will never stop coming in. Can I pat myself on the back for that one?”
“You should!” I glance down to her belly that’s finally starting to pooch out a bit. “So tell me, how does it feel to know you’re going to be a mama in just a few short months? Can you believe you’ll be holding a little bundle of joy before summer arrives?”
Face it, so will I—Emmie’s sweet babe is as good as mine.
“I can’t believe it,” she’s quick to say. “It’s like I’m living in a dream—a dream that requires me to run to the bathroom at all hours of the day, but still. It’s a small price to pay for all the cuteness that’s headed my way.” Tears glisten in her eyes. “It’s something I’ve always wanted. We’ve both always wanted to be mothers.” She hooks her eyes to mine as if to ask the question. “So how are things going with you and Jasper? You know, in the baby-making department.”
I make a face. “Let’s just say things are progressing, but I have no idea if they’re working. I suppose time will tell.”
“No matter what happens, I’m going to be there for you.”
“Thank you. And, of course, you’ll be the first to know—well, Jasper should probably be the first to know.”
Emmie laughs before taking another luscious bite of cheesecake. “I’ll be the first to know, and I’ll probably know before you know.”
We share another laugh because that wouldn’t surprise either of us one bit.
“And, well”—I sigh as I stab my fork into my cheesecake again—“if it doesn’t happen, I guess I’m okay with that, too. I mean, the inn requires so much of my attention. The timing just may not be right.”
Emmie clucks her tongue. “You know what our mothers always say—the timing is never right when it comes to having kids. You just let it happen and you make your life work around them. But I’ll be honest, I’m worried about how I’m going to handle managing the café and the baby.”
“Emmie, your family comes first—the baby comes first. I’ll find someone else to mind the café while you’re taking time off to be with the baby. Your job will always be there when you want it— if you want it.”
“Thank you,” she says as she leans in and we both risk getting cheesecake in our hair to share a hearty embrace. “I really appreciate that. My mother has already offered to babysit when I’m ready to go back to work. She’s so excited, she’s practically put up a nursery in her spare bedroom already. Although I’ll probably need her here with me at the cottage twenty-four seven. I’m sure Leo will love that.”
We share a mournful laugh at the thought. Emmie’s mother is a saint and Leo knows it.
“Oh, and speaking of my maternal needs”—she presses a hand to her belly—“I hope you don’t mind, but we might have to nix our Italian Sunday dinners at the café. As it turns out, even the slightest whiff of garlic sends me running in the opposite direction. Not very many things make my stomach twitch, but my morning sickness seems to kick into overdrive whenever I pick up the scent of the stinky weed.”
“Wow, you usually love garlic.”
She nods. “So strange, right?”
“I guess it could be worse,” I say. “It could be chocolate.”
“Don’t you dare put that pox on me, Bizzy Baker Wilder.”
We laugh at the thought before diving back into our cheesecake.
“Please don’t worry about it,” I tell her. “We’ll nix the garlic from the entire menu. And as for Sunday, we can do something like homestyle country Sunday suppers. I’m sure you’ll come up with a stellar menu. Speaking of stellar menus, what’s on the menu for Thanksgiving? All the usual suspects, I’m guessing?”
“And then some. I’ve got a few culinary surprises up my sleeve. I’ll give you one hint—there’s no garlic in the mix.”
“That’s not much of a hint. But seeing that I trust you with my caloric intake on that sacred day, I can’t wait to see what you have in store for us. And if it’s half as good as this cheesecake, then we’re all in for a treat. I’m officially addicted to this stuff.”
“Yeah, well, if I keep eating it the way I have, I’ll be as round as a cheesecake soon enough. Speaking of my new spherical physique, Mackenzie dropped by this evening and gave me a big tub of her old maternity clothes.”
I gasp just hearing it. Mackenzie isn’t exactly the generous type.
“You’re kidding?” I inch back. “Emmie, that’s so great. Maternity clothes cost a mint. And I bet they’re all designer duds as well.”
“They are.” She makes a face. “But that entire bin was filled to the brim with all these weird power suits. I mean, I can’t imagine where I’d wear them. It’s too bad, because you’re right. Maternity clothes cost a mint.”
“Sorry. But hey? Maybe you and I can go shopping? I’ll buy you a maternity dress. It will be my treat. Consider it my way of helping out and doing something for both you and the baby. Besides, you know I’m dying to do some shopping.”
Emmie laughs. “Okay, fine. But only because I get to spend some time with my bestie.” She tips her head to the side. “So what’s going on with the case?”
I quickly fill her in on my time with Magda, then I fill her in on all of the shenanigans that went down at the Crafters Warehouse today, and by the time I get to Georgie on the runaway scooter, we laugh so hard tears flow down our cheeks.
“I’m sorry.” She tries her best to calm down. “I shouldn’t be laughing. Poor Magda. It sounds like she really got the shaft. But if she’s the killer, I say you give her a pass. She’s suffered enough at the hands of her ex.”
“Believe me, I thought about it.”
We finish up our cheesecake and wrap it up. Emmie gathers her brood, and I wave from the door as they take off, only to keep waving once a familiar car pulls into the driveway.
Jasper hops out and strides my way.
“Now that’s a reception,” he says, giving me a kiss on my lips. “I come bearing gifts.” He holds up a bag of Chinese food. “Beef with broccoli, Kung Pao chicken, and shrimp with garlic sauce.”
“Sounds like the perfect end to an insane day. Thank you. I’ll go grab us some forks.”
“And I’ll get out of this straitjacket.”
I take the bag of takeout and head to the kitchen with a smile, but that smile quickly fades as a barbaric odor stops me cold. My stomach does a revolution, and my face feels clammy as a wild bout of nausea spikes through me.
What the heck?
I give the bag another sniff and a hard groan comes from me.
“Everything okay?” Jasper calls out from the next room.
“I’m fine,” I shout back. “But maybe I’ll skip dinner. I sort of ate an entire cheesecake with Emmie. And lucky for you, I saved you a slice.”
“Lucky, lucky me.” Jasper comes up behind me and kisses the nape of my neck.
We sit by the fire and exchange war stories from the day before we call it a night and head to bed.
All night I wonder about two things: What will I glean from speaking to Beau Betty? And why in heaven’s name am I suddenly so repulsed by garlic?
A part of me is afraid that I already know the answer to both of those questions.