I maneuver the stroller through the crowd, navigating between excited children and parents loading up on treats. The rich scent of chocolate only grows stronger as I approach Hammie Mae, and I mentally rehearse my opening line despite the fact.
How exactly does one casually inquire about murder, family secrets, and ghostly doppelgängers without seeming completely unhinged?
“Just be natural,” I whisper to myself, which is easier said than done when you’re pushing a baby stroller through a chocolate wonderland while investigating potential family members for murder. “You’re just two moms chatting. Two moms—one of whom might be investigating the other’s mother for murder. Totally normal.”
And how is it that Hammie Mae Westoff has crept up on my suspect list twice in one year?
More to the point, how have I had more than one suspect list to deal with in a single year?
Poor Ella. She has no idea who her mother is or what kind of luck she brings to every family gathering. She’s probably going to grow up thinking crime scene tape is a normal household decoration. She’ll probably want to decorate her bedroom with it when she’s a teenager and become obsessed with bad boys with a tendency to commit homicides. Jasper is going to have a heart attack, and it’s all my fault.
As I draw closer, Hammie Mae looks up from her display and notices me. For a moment, our eyes meet across the crowded room, and I push forward, determined to get answers—no matter how uncomfortable those answers might be or how many family secrets I might uncover in the process.
CHAPTER 18
Hammie Mae’s eyes widen as I make my way to her right here in the barn that houses a chocolate paradise located at Westoff Farms. Her face breaks into a warm smile that transforms her tired features from exhausted new mom to exhausted new mom who’s genuinely happy to see you.
She’s holding a tiny bundle wrapped in a pumpkin-patterned blanket—her sweet daughter Matilda, who’s blinking sleepily at the world with curious hazel eyes that match her mother’s and the general expression of someone trying to figure out why everything is so bright and loud.
“Bizzy Baker!” Hammie Mae calls out, adjusting Matilda in her arms with the ease of someone who has adjusted to doing everything one-handed. “What a nice surprise to see you back at the farm!” Her gaze drops to my stroller where Ella is miraculously still asleep despite the cacophony of the chocolate barn. “And my goodness, little Ella just keeps getting cuter and cuter! I swear she’s grown since the festival last week. I caught up with her when your dad and Gwyneth were taking off with her.”
My lips press tight. She ran into my father! Who could very well be her father, too.
“Yes, Ella is growing by the minute,” I confirm, smiling at little Matilda who’s now staring at me with the intense focus only babiescan manage. “And look at Miss Matilda. She’s getting so big! Four and a half months already, right?”
“Four months and exactly three days,” Hammie Mae confirms with the precision only a mother can muster when keeping track of developmental milestones. “And determined to hit every milestone a month early, especially the ones that involve making messes or refusing to sleep. I named her after my mother. Seemed fitting since she’s just as stubborn and opinionated as her grandmother.”
We share a knowing laugh and the camaraderie of sleep-deprived mothers seems to transcend any awkwardness—despite the potential murder connections.
“Here, let me introduce our daughters properly,” Hammie Mae says, crouching down to peer into my stroller like she’s facilitating a very important business meeting. “Matilda, this is Ella. You two will probably be in the same class at school someday, assuming we can all survive the toddler years.”
“School?” I gawk with a laugh. “Why does everything feel like it’s already moving way too fast?”
We share a little laugh as she bounces Matilda on her hip as she begins to fuss a little. And if she’s anything like Ella, she will voice her displeasure for all the barn and the rest of the world to hear. “I think someone is getting hungry. Follow me to the café. I was just about to take my break anyway.”
I glance back to check on Mom and Georgie, spotting them near a Halloween display where Georgie appears to be explaining something about her fake mustache to a skeptical shop assistant. Mom’s smile looks increasingly strained, like someone trying to negotiate a peace treaty with a sugar-fueled toddler. I’m not all too concerned. She’s done it before. Not well, but still. Georgie is a steep learning curve.
“Lead the way,” I say, maneuvering the stroller after Hammie Mae as she weaves through the crowded shop.
The café area just so happens to be tucked into a cozy corner of the barn, with rustic wooden tables and chairs decorated with tiny pumpkins and gourds. Hammie Mae guides me to a quiet table in the back, away from the main traffic flow and the chaos of children with sugar-highs —andthe adults with the same.
“I’ll be right back,” she says, handing Matilda to me without hesitation. “Let me grab us some sustenance. New mom fuel to the rescue!”
I sit there, slightly stunned at the fact I’m suddenly in charge of two babies—sleepy Ella in the stroller and now Matilda in my arms, who happens to be studying my face with comical seriousness as if she’s conducting her own investigation into my qualifications for temporary babysitting duty—or motherhood for that matter.
Sherlock and Fudge settle at my feet while Fish remains curled at the bottom of the stroller, and judging by the look on her furry face, she’s declared the entire expedition beneath her dignity.
Wake me when there’s actual progress in this investigation,she meows.Or for catnip. Preferably catnip.
I like it here.Fudge gives a happy little bark with his tail wagging as he looks around at the friendly chaos.Lots of people, lots of smells, and that lady smells like Heath sometimes. Good Heath smells!
I’ll be the last to tell Hammie Mae she smells like a man. But honestly, I think she holds the scent of yummy chocolate. If Jasper smelled like chocolate, we would never leave the cottage, and Ella would have more siblings than she could count. Yummy, chocolate-scented siblings.
Oh, I adore Westie terriers,Jellybean purrs as she pops out and rubs against Fudge’s furry little legs.You’re all so spirited and optimistic. It’s refreshing after spending so much time with these pessimistic felines. Cats can really be a downer sometimes.
Hey!Fish protests from the stroller basket.I resemble that remark.She chitters to herself with a laugh.
Hammie Mae returns quickly with a tray holding two large mugs topped with whipped cream that looks like it could be its own food group and a plate of chocolate truffles in different colors that should probably come with a warning label.
