“It makes a good weapon, apparently,” Mom said.
I crossed my arms and leaned back against the counter as Millie poured the batter into muffin liners. It wasn’t a surprise that Millie and my mother were automatically jumping into a new investigation. What was a surprise was that I’d followed right along with them. Apparently investigating the last two murders had fostered some sort of detecting skill I didn’t know I’d had.
Of course, the idea that a killer was running around loose wasn’t very appealing. Nor was the idea that it could affect my bookings or my loan. Seth Chamberlain wasn’t what I’d call a crack investigator. He did the best he could, but the town of Oyster Cove didn’t normally have any murders and he just didn’t have the experience. If Mom, Millie and I needed to do a little detecting on the side to catch a killer, then so be it.
“It’s getting late. I think we need to sleep on it and come up with a game plan first thing tomorrow,” Millie said as she shoved the muffins in the oven.
“I already have one. Or at least the start of one,” Mom said.
Millie shut the oven door, straightened and turned to look at my mother. “What is it?”
“Someone went to a lot of trouble to dress up the murder scene. We don’t know their exact purpose for that yet, but we do know one thing.” Mom’s eyes glittered with excitement. “Someone had to get an old buckle similar to what Jed would have worn. Do you remember seeing a buckle like that in here, Millie?”
Millie shook her head. “No. The stuff from Jed’s time is way back in the attic and I’ve never looked in there. I suppose there could be such a buckle, but how would someone get it? You still keep the door locked, don’t you, Josie?”
“I do. Can’t have guests getting hurt up there.”
Millie pressed her lips together. “Seems like a lot of trouble for someone to search the house.”
“Yeah, there are easier ways to find old buckles or buckles that look like they are old,” Mom said. “In fact, I think I’ve seen them at the fabric store.”
“Ones that look like the one on the body?” Millie asked. “It would make more sense that someone just got a replica.”
Mom frowned. “I don’t remember exactly what they looked like, but it behooves us to go downtown and check it out. If we can find who recently acquired such a buckle, then we just may have our killer.”
Nine
Nero and Marlowe had spent a restless night at the foot of Josie’s bed. It was no easy task sleeping with a human. You had to be vigilant so you could judge the right time to inch your way up to the top of the bed and curl up around their nice warm heads while they were sleeping without getting swatted away too many times. And then there was the pressure of waking up early—a necessity if you wanted to lay on their chest and stare at them as they woke. Nero always got a kick out of Josie’s wide-eyed reaction when her eyes fluttered open and she saw his face inches from hers.
While Josie was in the kitchen getting the breakfast ready for the guests, the cats did a cursory inspection of the rest of the house, which would be followed by their plan to search the attic. They found Flora in the dining room setting the table and they trotted in to rub against her saggy panty-hose covered legs to get their morning petting, before heading to the parlor where they could catch some rays from the morning sun.
To their dismay, the parlor was not unoccupied. Esther stood in front of the table where Madame Zenda’s tarot cards were still laid out. She was studying the cards with a pensive look on her face.
“She reads cards too?” Marlowe asked.
“Maybe she’s thinking about taking over now that Zenda is out of the picture,” Nero said.
But Esther wasn’t actually reading the cards. She picked them up one by one, placing them gently in a pile and then sighed as she put them off to the side. “Poor Betty Sue.”
Noticing the cats’ presence, her face cracked into a smile. She sat in the chair in front of her crystal ball and motioned for them to come to her.
“I don’t think Esther can be the killer,” Marlowe said as she trotted over and accepted a tuna-flavored treat that Esther had pulled out of her pocket. “She’s nice and has delicious treats.”
“Sometimes it’s the nice ones that you have to watch out for.” Nero felt it was prudent to exercise more caution in his assessments. He’d been around longer than Marlowe and had witnessed how humans often were not what they seemed.
Jed’s ghost swirled into view. “Have you guys been up in the attic recently?”
“I caught a delicious mouse up there last week.” Marlowe smacked her lips.
“Have you been way in the back where my stuff is? Who else goes up there?” Jed asked.
“As far as we know no one goes up there. That place is crammed full and it’s hard to get around, for humans at least. I don’t even think Josie has been through the whole attic yet,” Marlowe said. “But we were just about to go up.”
“Millie went up there when she was younger but, as far as I know, she hasn’t been up there in decades. She’s probably forgotten about everything up there as it is,” Nero added. “It’s all just a bunch of cast-offs and junk.”
“Yeah well someone’s been up there.” Jed fisted his hands on his hips. “I took a look through the trunk with my things in it and my good dress shoes are missing.”
Nero made a face and thought back to what the skeleton had had on for footwear. What was left of the clothing indicated that Jed hadn’t been dressed up and Nero distinctly remembered the shoes didn’t have fancy buckles like the one on Madame Zenda. “Well you have been dead for three hundred years. I suppose in that time someone could’ve gone up there and rearranged things. Or even borrowed your shoes.”
Jed pursed his lips, apparently contemplating Nero’s words. “I suppose. But the dress shoes that are missing had buckles similar to that found on the body.”
This piqued Nero’s interest. Their first clue! “You don’t say? Maybe we better head up into the attic and see what we can find out.”
“Yes, we need to figure out what is going on around here. I don’t like that people are bandying about the idea that I could’ve killed that woman. I’m no killer. In fact, I was a murder victim myself,” Jed said.
“Are you sure? You don’t seem to remember things like where the treasure is.” Marlowe slitted her eyes. “Maybe with your ghostly amnesia you don’t know what you did last night. Have you blacked out or anything?”
“Certainly not. And I didn’t forget where the treasure is. It’s just that the landmarks have changed and I need to do some looking around to find the spot. I tell you, I’m no killer!” Jed’s voice rose in outrage. “You ask me, it was one of these psychics. Probably jealous that Madame Zenda said she could talk to me.”
Nero glanced sideways at Esther. She was gazing into her crystal ball intently, her kind face a study in concentration. Was she hiding something beneath that pleasant exterior? “Maybe we should do some investigating into each one of them.”
“My money is on that blowhard, Victor,” Jed said. “He’s been running all around the estate trying to conjure me up with some lame chants and incantations.”
“You haven’t tried talking to him?” Marlowe asked.
“No. I haven’t actually tried too hard to talk to any of them and even if I did, it wouldn’t be Victor. I wouldn’t give him the time of day.” Jed glanced over at Esther and his face softened. “If I was going to talk to anyone, it would be someone pretty. Like maybe that young filly over there.”
Nero followed Jed’s gaze. He wasn’t sure what Jed was seeing but Nero only saw an old lady with white hair and a network of wrinkles. “Young?”
Jed laughed. “Well, I am three hundred years old, so she’s young to me.”
“Okay then, so back to the shoes. We’ll go take a look. See if we can sniff out any nefarious human activity. But I don’t think anyone has been to that part of the attic in decades.” Nero wasn’t sure if he wanted Jed to fixate on Esth
er. He was getting the same moon-eyed look that he got when he looked at Josie. Apparently the ghost was looking for love and Nero didn’t want to encourage that. He wanted Jed to drift away to the afterlife and not linger in the guesthouse because he had a crush on some human. Then again, maybe if he set his intentions on Esther, he’d leave the guesthouse when she did and they could be done with him.
“I hope it was someone in this century.” Jed’s expression turned somber. “Though I suppose it could be the person who killed me—they were very expensive shoes. Or maybe it was my wife. She was mad that I went off to Europe for so long and there’s no telling what kind of revenge she’d want to enact. Could have taken it out on my shoes.”
Nero mulled this over. Could Jed’s wife’s vengeful ghost be lurking about in the guesthouse? The odds of two ghosts running around were practically nil, besides Nero’s fine senses would have picked up on a second ghostly presence. It made more sense that the shoes had been taken a long time ago, which made them irrelevant to the current happenings. But then how did one explain the buckle?
“Are you sure that buckle was from your shoes?” Nero asked. “I mean, there must be plenty of similar buckles around.”
“That one was old. Back in my day things were handmade so very few of the same thing existed. Sure looked like the buckle I had,” Jed said.
“Too bad the police have taken it for evidence, otherwise I could try to sniff out the age,” Marlowe said.
Nero’s tail twitched in approval. The young cat was coming along nicely in figuring out how to use her superior senses to aid in their investigations. She did have a ways to go in knowing how to use their extensive network of feline detectives though.
Nero turned to her. “Good observation. But even if we cannot apply our noses to the buckle, we do have an informant who can.”
Marlowe’s green eyes widened. “Of course! Why didn’t I think of that? We can ask Louie Two Paws!”
Louie was a polydactyl Siamese that hung around at the police station. He often came in handy when the cats wanted insider information on cases. Marlowe jumped down from the arm of the chair where she’d been perched and started out of the room. “Come on! Let’s go downtown. We can visit Louie and consult with the gang first, then we’ll check out the attic when we come back.”
“The gang” was a group of cats that all helped to solve the various mysteries that cropped up around town. Unbeknownst to the humans, the cats had been doing this for decades. They wanted to keep the quaint ambiance of the town of Oyster Cove and having killers and thieves running around wouldn’t do. Of course, the cats couldn’t let on to the humans that they were the real masterminds behind solving the crimes, they had to make it look like it was all the humans’ doing. It took a bit of cleverness to accomplish that, as humans could be rather dense when presented with clues, but Nero prided himself on the fact that they had a perfect record and no one suspected their involvement.
Nero was about to trot after Marlowe when he caught a whiff of spicy sausage. “We’ll leave momentarily. But first, we might as well slip into the dining room and fortify ourselves with some sustenance. We’ll need energy for the trip downtown. I’m sure Esther will slip us some treats and if we skulk along the edges and then hide under the tablecloths, Josie will never suspect we are in there.”
Nero trotted off toward the dining room. His stomach growled in anticipation and he was only the slightest bit worried that he could be eager to accept treats from a cold-blooded killer.
Ten
Breakfast was a somewhat solemn affair. Esther, Victor and Gail sat together at one table. I hadn’t seen them sit together before and didn’t know if they were clustered together for comfort or to keep their enemies close, each being afraid the other had murdered Madame Zenda.
The smell of sausage and coffee lured me closer to the buffet server and I picked at a lemon muffin as I eavesdropped on their conversation.
“I just can’t believe Madame Zenda was murdered right under our noses!” Gail wailed into her napkin.
“Speaking of which.” Victor narrowed his gaze on her. “Where were you? That scream roused me out of a deep meditation. It was loud enough to wake the dead.”
Gail sniffled and reached for her tea. She turned to Victor, a wan smile on her face, but not before I noticed a hint of malice in her eye. Was it simply that she didn’t like the guy? I couldn’t say I blamed her there, he was annoying. Or was she angry he called the fact she didn’t come running last night to everyone’s attention?
“I’m hard of hearing.” Gail pointed to her right ear. “I drank some chamomile tea and was out like a light. With my hearing problems, I never heard a thing. When I got up, the police were here wanting to question everyone. Imagine my shock when I found out why.”
Guess she hadn’t seen the murder in her tea leaves. A movement under the table caught my eye and I tilted my head just in time to see a ginger-and-black tail disappear under the tablecloth. Marlowe. I was sure Nero wasn’t far behind. Or probably in the lead. He seemed to be the instigator. I watched as Esther broke off a teeny piece of sausage and slipped it unobtrusively under the table.
There was no point in shooing the cats away. I didn’t want to call attention to them in case the other guests hadn’t noticed their presence. I’d also learned that telling them not to do something only made them do it more. Best to let them skulk around unnoticed. They seemed to be able to pick out the guests who didn’t mind having cats in the dining room and were able to hide their presence from those who did, so there was no harm.
“You ask me, it could be that reporter. She discovered the body.” Esther glanced out the window as if expecting to see Anita skulking around.
“But why would a reporter want to kill Madame Zenda?” Victor asked.
Esther shrugged. “Maybe Madame Zenda wouldn’t give her an exclusive.”
“Oh, did Anita ask you for an exclusive too?” Gail asked Esther.
Esther’s eyes dropped to her plate and she got busy eating the rest of her breakfast. “Maybe.”
Gail turned to Victor. “What about you? You’ve been awfully quiet with all your meditation. Did you talk to the reporter too?”
“I’m not quiet, I just don’t associate much with beings on this earthly plane. I prefer to spend my time on spiritual endeavors. I’m perfectly happy to wait for Jedediah to contact me as I’m sure he intends to do,” Victor said, avoiding the question.
Gail took a sip of tea, then looked down in the mug. Was she looking for something in the tea leaves? “But he was already going to talk to Madame Zenda. Why talk to the rest of us too?”
“Pffft… I doubt Biddeford’s ghost was going to contact Madame Zenda, as she has no psychic talent. She was probably making that up for the benefit of the reporter. If such an article got picked up for syndication it could have helped her flagging career.” Victor fluffed his napkin onto his lap with an exaggerated flourish. “You ask me, we should all be wary. There’s a killer on the loose.”
“I wouldn’t be too sure that Madame Zenda didn’t have any psychic talent. She did predict a death… too bad it was her own,” Esther said, echoing Mom’s words from last night.
Just then, the phone in the foyer shrilled. Darn it! I wouldn’t be able to eavesdrop anymore.
I rushed to the foyer and plucked the wireless phone off its cradle. “Oyster Cove Guesthouse!” I chirped in my most pleasant tone. No need to sound somber as if a murder had just happened the day before, that wouldn’t encourage potential guests to reserve rooms.
“Hi, this is Dolores Johnson.”
I hesitated, the name was familiar.
The person on the other end continued, “I had a reservation for next week.”
“Of course! Good to hear from you Mrs. Johnson. How can I help you?”
“Well, I hate to say it, but I have to cancel.”
My spirits fell. “Cancel. But why?”
“Ummm… you see… we’ve decided to go somewhere e
lse on vacation. I read on your website that you can cancel up to seventy-two hours in advance and get a refund, is that correct?”
“That’s correct. So you’re sure you want a refund? I can’t guarantee the room will still be available if you change your mind again.” The guesthouse wasn’t fully booked, but you never knew when new reservations would come so it wasn’t a total lie.
“Oh, I’m sure. Thank you.”
I hung up the phone and stood there. Taking a vacation somewhere else? It was more likely word of the murdering ghost had gotten out. Maybe Myron was actually more perceptive than he let on. If news was spreading and people were afraid to come here, then I had to put a stop to it, and I knew of only one way—catch the real killer and then the newspapers would move on to more interesting stories.
I heard footsteps on the stairs and turned around to see Flora coming down. She had the big pink feather duster in her hand and was running it over the banister as she descended. She glanced down at me, the magnification of her large glasses exaggerated at that angle. “Something wrong?”
I sighed. “I just got a cancellation. I’m afraid all this ghost and murder business might be scaring people off.”
“Darn, that’s too bad.” Flora swished the duster in the air and a shower of dust rained out of it. “I don’t like that one bit. Of course, fewer guests mean less work for me but more guests mean job security and that’s more important. Guess I was right in shooing that reporter off then.”
“You mean Anita Pendragon? The one who has been hanging around outside?”
Flora descended so that we were at eye level, which meant that she was standing about four steps up. “Yeah, I caught her around the kitchen door looking like she was trying to get in.”
“When was this?”
“Couple of nights ago. Though I shouldn’t be surprised with all the goings-on around here. Tarot readings. Crystal balls. You ask me, all these people here are a bunch of weirdos. You should get a better clientele.” She fluffed the air with her duster one more time, then shuffled off toward the front parlor muttering under her breath, “No wonder murders happen here so often.”
A Purrfect Alibi: A pawsitively gripping cozy mystery (The Oyster Cove Guesthouse Book 3) Page 6
