Page 7 of A Whisker in the Night

Jasper frowns at the scene, but it’s that gold-foiled menace that has his attention. “Don’t tell me they used a sweet chocolate bunny as the murder weapon.”

“I think they may have, but there’s nothing sweet about that bunny.” I lower my voice as if there were a cast of thousands surrounding us—well, there are, they’re just not anywhere near the vicinity. “I saw Matilda holding a gilded bunny just like that one earlier. That’s no chocolate bunny. It’s a wrought iron bookend, dressed up like a sweet treat. I think it has some serious heft to it.”

“Judging by that cut on his head, I’d say it had a lot of heft.” His frown deepens. “Actually, I think I saw these for sale at one of the vendor booths.” He shrugs my way. “I was going to pick up a pair for you.”

“Aww,” I coo and the baby gives a swift kick from my stomach to Jasper’s and we both bite down a smile. “You know how to make a pregnant bookworm feel mighty special.”

He ticks his head to the side. “You know what they say. Nothing says ‘I love you’ like matching potential murder weapons.”

“Touché,” I say with a sigh.

The sound of approaching footsteps garners our attention and Jasper whips out his phone.

“I’d better document the scene and land that bookend in an evidence bag before company arrives.” He starts snapping photos posthaste. “Let’s keep this gold-foiled weapon quiet until we have more to go on.”

“I won’t say a word,” I say, crossing my heart and taking a step back to give him space to work while Leo strings up yellow caution tape between the trees. And on a play on Jasper’s words—nothing says “the festival is over” quite like police tape. Here I thought we were going to get away without a murder. We’ve been on such a good streak, but unfortunately it seems ourkillerstreak is winning out instead.

The baby stirs in my belly. Most likely because it’s ready for its next chocolate fix.

I’ll admit, I’ve been mainlining chocolate starting at Christmas, then sailing right into Valentine’s Day, munching my weight in milk chocolate in March, and, of course, I can’t resist some scrumptious Easter chocolate bunnies—especially not during the month of April. And judging by the way my sweet baby is tugging at its umbilical cord, I’d better get back to the festival and snag a bunny or two before we close up shop.

I cast another quick glance at the body and its proximity to the gold-foiled bunny nearby when something odd catches my eye—a set of tiny indentations in the dirt that seemingly nestle around the body before leading back to the festival.

Are those footprints? What animal leaves behind little indentations like that? A rat? And just beyond that, I spot a pair of slanted footprints—definitely not that of an animal, unless of course, it was a human animal also known as a killer.

More footfalls rush in this direction and I suck in a quick breath. Without putting too much thought into it, I pull out myown phone and quickly begin to document the scene myself. I can’t help it. At this point, it’s my favorite morbid habit.

“Oh my living word,” an older woman booms from behind and I turn to see Matilda Westoff with her very pregnant daughter on her heels—along with that aforementioned cast of thousands in tow.

“What in the world?” Matilda’s voice cuts through the air like a knife through chocolate fondant as she stands at the edge of the trees with one hand pressed to her mouth. “Is that?—”

“Dad?” Hammie Mae pushes past her mother as her freckled face quickly goes pale. “Daddy!” she thunders so loud that she shakes the birds right out of the evergreens towering above us.

The baby offers up a swift kick to my ribs and suddenly my heart breaks for Hammie Mae. No matter how much they might not have gotten along, he’s still her father.

Jasper moves in to intercept. “I’m sorry, ladies, I need you to take a step back. This unfortunately is an active crime scene.”

“An active crime scene?” another voice chirps in distress as Verity Westoff pushes her way through the crowd, still looking impossibly put-together in her hot pink suit. “What happened to my husband?”

“Yourhusband?” Matilda’s voice could freeze hell over. “You meanmyhusband? You haven’t been married for all of five minutes! I spent thirty years with the man.”

Verity wastes no time jumping in Matilda’s face. “Thirty miserable years that man will never get back!”

“Ladies.” Jasper pulls out his badge and waves it at the burgeoning crowd that happens to be gasping, screaming, and overall whispering amongst themselves. “I need everyone to please step well behind the caution tape.”

“But that’s myfather,” Hammie Mae wails with one hand on her belly. “I have a right to?—”

“Know exactly what’s going on.” Georgie strong-arms her way through the crowd, and just a few feet away I spot my mother’s red mop bopping in this direction as well. “And you will know everything, Toots,” Georgie continues as she reassures Hammie Mae. “Just as soon as the real detective does her job.” She loops her arm through mine. “Right, Bizzy?”

I recognize that demented gleam in her eye. It’s the same one she gets when she’s about to suggest we do something incredibly ill-advised—like hunt down a killer while I’m playing the part of a human incubator.

“Georgie”—I shake my head at her—“I’m leaving this to the professionals.”

“Thank you,” Jasper says, sounding more than mildly surprised.And I hope you mean it.He offers me a sober nod with the thought.

“Yeah,yeah.” Georgie waves Jasper off. “We know you’re the hunk with handcuffs—and seeing the state of your wife, it’s clear you’ve used them a time or two.” She reverts her attention back to me. “I’m just saying, between yourspecial skill set”—she taps her temple—“and my natural ability to be nosey…”

“Ha.” Mom plucks Georgie a good foot away from me. “You mean your tendency to land yourself in trouble?”

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