A Purrfect Alibi: A pawsitively gripping cozy mystery (The Oyster Cove Guesthouse Book 3)

by Leighann Dobbs

  The rest of the cats were already there. Juliette, the gray cat with a white diamond on her forehead, sat atop a stack of lobster traps, her fluffy gray tail dangling over the edge. Below her, Poe with his bright green eyes was finishing off the tail of a fish—haddock it looked like to Nero. Boots sat on another lobster trap, watching them approach with his usual superior manner. Truth be told, Boots and Nero had a bit of a rivalry going on, as they were both black with white markings. Nero, however, had the white tuxedo on his chest and Boots only had white on his paws. Nero figured that Boots felt inferior because of this and that’s why he acted so obnoxious.

  Stubbs, the ginger cat, wiggled his stub of a tail and nodded at Nero and Marlowe. Beside him, Harry, the fluffy Maine Coon, picked a burr off his tail. Fluffy tails were nice for show, but they did tend to collect all kinds of burrs and twigs and could easily become painfully matted.

  Louie Two Paws, a sleek seal-point Siamese, lounged in a patch of sun. His paws were splayed out in front of him and the extra toes made it look like he was wearing furry mittens. The velvety brown points of his ears matched the mask on his face, which highlighted his extraordinary sapphire blue eyes.

  “Hey, Louie, how’s it going?” Nero asked as he plopped down beside Stubbs.

  “Going pretty good.” Louie licked one of his paws. He was always doing that to call attention to their uniqueness. Apparently this impressed the female felines. “I was just telling the others that I got into the evidence room and sniffed the evidence. The murder weapon didn’t have any unique identifying scents on it, but that buckle was interesting.”

  “How so?” Nero asked.

  “That thing is old as the hills.”

  “So it’s not a replica that someone picked up to make it seem like it was Jed’s?” Marlowe asked.

  Louie shook his head. “Nope. That thing has to be about three hundred years old. It smells like antique molasses and old regrets. No fingerprints on the murder weapon. The note, of course, was not blood. Drippy red ink.”

  “Of course,” Nero said. He’d thought he’d smelled as much on the body, but couldn’t be sure with the actual blood smell from the wound.

  “And what information do you have?” Poe preened his long curly whiskers fastidiously as he addressed Nero. “Have you set your superior intellect into figuring out if the killer is one of the guests at the guesthouse?”

  “Yeah, seems like one of those kooky guests would be the perp.” Harry liked to use old detective slang. His human was an older gentleman and liked to read Dashiell Hammett and Raymond Chandler aloud to the cat. Apparently he’d picked up the lingo.

  “Well, they sure are kooky.” Nero couldn’t argue with the other cat’s assessment.

  “And they did seem to be in competition to see who could talk to Jed’s ghost. However, we have an inside scoop about that.” Marlowe puffed up proudly.

  Juliette raised a brow. “Do tell.”

  Marlowe’s tail swished back and forth and her tone took on an air of importance. “We talked to Jedediah Biddeford’s ghost himself. Turns out he hasn’t spoken to any of them.”

  “Not even Madame Zenda?” Poe asked.

  “Nope, she made it up.”

  “Humans always confound me,” Harry said. “Why would anyone lie about talking to a ghost?”

  Juliette hopped down from the lobster trap, her pads making a soft thud as she landed on the wharf. Her eyes gleamed with excitement as she causally said, “Maybe it has something to do with the movie.”

  “Movie?” Boots must have been surprised at that news because he lost his grip on the whiskers he’d been grooming and they sprung back into a tight curl. He quickly set about smoothing them again.

  Juliette fluffed her tail. “Yes, a producer was in to talk with Father Tim about a movie he wants to produce about Jed’s ghost and the treasure. He wanted to set some of the scenes in the church and cemetery.”

  “Why would they set scenes in the church?” Stubbs asked.

  Juliette shrugged. “Who knows? At first, Father Tim didn’t like the whole idea. He felt it was sacrilegious, but then the producer mentioned the donation to St. Michael’s could be quite hefty. Apparently a movie like this would make a lot of money.”

  “Ahhh, money.” Boots started pacing. “It’s usually the root of the crime. That explains why all these psychics are really here. They must have gotten wind of the movie and wanted to reap the rewards. Madame Zenda lied so she could be the one in the spotlight.”

  “And someone else wanted to make sure she didn’t get it, so they offed her,” Stubbs said.

  “But it might not be one of the guests,” Nero pointed out. “Anita Pendragon has been lurking around the place too.”

  “And she was the first one to discover the body,” Marlowe added.

  “The director did say it could make any of the people involved very famous.” Juliet trotted over to a lobster trap and poked around inside for any scraps of bait that might be left.

  “People?” Marlowe’s eyes narrowed. “What about cats? We’re the ones that Jed is actually talking to!”

  “Don’t be silly, cats never get credit. But if they did have cats they would use feline actors just like they use human actors for people.” Juliette fluffed up her tail to its fullest. Nero thought it looked like a long gray toilet brush, but Juliette claimed that her fluffy tail was a sign of delicate beauty. “They try to choose cats that have a certain aesthetic appeal. I was thinking I could play Nero if I get discovered. I tried to call attention to myself by jumping on the producer’s lap and fluffing my tail in his face but all he did was sneeze and shoo me away.”

  Boots preened his whiskers. “Just as well. I think I would be a better choice. They need a cat with brains.”

  Nero scowled at Boots. Was that a compliment or an insult?

  Boots continued, “Hopefully they’d pick actors that look better than the actual people, too. Take that Victor with his odd mustache. He won’t look good on the big screen.” Boots patted his mustache with his paw as if to highlight how much better looking his tache was.

  “Your mustache is much nicer than that Victor’s,” Juliet said.

  The other cats rolled their eyes, echoing Nero’s thoughts that Juliette didn’t need to inflate Boots’ ego any more than it already was.

  “You’ve seen Victor?” Harry asked. Good point. When had the other cats seen Victor?

  “Yes. Father Tim and the producer were talking on the church steps and I was trying to highlight my acting abilities by skulking in the bushes when I startled a man who appeared to be lurking around the corner of the church. I thought he was eavesdropping, but then he came right over to Father Tim and introduced himself.”

  “Did he say why he was there?” Harry asked.

  “Not really. He had on the most luxurious velvet jogging suit in a deep plum. I couldn’t help but run my paws over it.” Juliette sighed and looked off into the distance as if remembering the soft feel of the velvet. “I think he was hinting around at playing the lead in the movie though.”

  Nero’s whiskers twitched. “Victor was at the church? Was this before or after Madame Zenda was murdered?”

  “Oh, it was before. That very morning, in fact,” Juliette said.

  Nero glanced at Marlowe. Victor knew about the movie. Funny though, Nero hadn’t heard Victor mention that to the others. Which made him wonder just how far Victor would go to make sure he got the lead.

  Thirteen

  On the walk to the car, my phone rang. I pulled it out of my pocket and saw my daughter’s name on the display. “Oh, it’s Emma. I’m going to take this.”

  My mom’s eyes lit up and she yelled into the phone as I was answering, “Hi, honey! Hope you’re having a good time.”

  “Was that Grandma?” Emma asked as I pressed the phone to my ear and sidled away from my mother.

  “Yep, we’re downtown shopping.” I moved further away because my mother looked as if she was going to grab the phone. Mom w
as in the habit of blurting out all kinds of things to Emma that I really wished she wouldn’t. Like things about dead bodies in the guesthouse and my non-existent love life.

  “I talked to her earlier. I hear you have another dead body, another murder,” Emma said.

  See what I mean?

  “Oh that? It’s nothing to worry about. The police have it under control.” I glanced back at Mom and Millie who were obviously listening in. The raised brow look they shared didn’t escape me and I moved further away.

  “Well, if you say so, Mom. I guess by now you know how to handle them.” Emma laughed. “I just wanted to check in and make sure you were okay.”

  I couldn’t help but smile. I was touched that my grown daughter, who now worked for the FBI, was checking in on me. “I’m fine!” I hoped my forced, chipper tone didn’t come across as sounding false. “You know me, steady as she goes. Same old, same old.”

  “Uh-huh. So things are going good at the guesthouse? You’re getting a lot of bookings?”

  My stomach churned remembering the cancellation this morning. “Yes, it’s going really well. The renovations are on track and pretty soon I’ll have made back my investment and be sitting pretty.” A slight lie depending on one’s definitions of pretty soon and sitting pretty.

  “That’s great, Mom.”

  “How are things going with you?” I steered the conversation to her, which was much more interesting for me anyway.

  “Work is going great! I’m getting a vacation in a couple of months and I thought I’d come out and visit.”

  Panic shot through me. What would happen when she came to visit? Would there be a dead body? Would she and my mother gang up on me about Mike? I took a deep breath. She’d said a couple of months. No need to panic now. Besides, my desire to see my daughter outweighed everything else. “That would be great.”

  “Okay. Good. We’ll make plans later on. Gotta run, break time is over.” She clicked off and I put the phone back in my pocket.

  “Emma is doing good, it seems,” Mom said.

  “Yes, she is.” I knew Mom wanted to know more about the conversation, but I wasn’t going to give her that satisfaction. Besides, she’d already overheard everything on my end.

  Millie had wandered down two stores and was gesturing toward the window. “Boodles is having a huge purse sale!”

  Mom rushed over and I followed at a more sedate pace. The store was a cute boutique with a pink-and-yellow striped awning and displays of designer purses in the window. A little red leather clutch with a studded butterfly design caught my eye, but the last thing I could afford was to buy a purse—especially now that someone had cancelled.

  “You guys go ahead and shop. I’m going to visit with Jen at the post office.”

  “Okay, dear, we’ll meet you there in a half hour,” Millie called over her shoulder, as she disappeared into the store.

  Jen Summers had been my best friend all through school. Even when I’d moved away, we’d kept in touch. One of the positive things about moving back was reconnecting with her and it was as if the decades in between had never happened.

  Jen was the postmistress for Oyster Cove, and I have to admit that did come in handy when investigating a murder, as I’d found myself doing all too often this summer. The post office was the grapevine for the town and if there was anything to be learned about this movie producer or the murder at the guesthouse, I’d hear it there.

  As I opened the door to the old brick post office, Mrs. Pennyfeather was leaving. I held the door and she scooted as far away from me as she could, crossed herself and rushed out into the street.

  Jen was behind the counter.

  “What’s with Mrs. Pennyfeather?”

  Jen’s left brow quirked up. “Words gotten out you had another murder and something about a ghost. I think she’s a little worried you might be the devil.”

  “Great. Is that what people are saying?” I crossed the old black-and-white marble floors to the counter. The Oyster Cove post office was a wonderful throwback to the 1930s, with its oak-paneled doors, wainscoting, brass fixtures, gold stenciling and frosted glass. It even had the vanilla-tinged scent of old paper.

  Jen was replacing the roll of labels in the machine that printed out priority mail stickers. “It’s no secret that you have all those psychics and mediums up at your place. They’ve been running around town telling fortunes and offering to contact deceased relatives.”

  “Yeah. But no ghost.”

  “So you say. People seem to think there really is one, though. What happened?”

  I told her all about my unusual guests and included the details of how we’d found Madame Zenda with the note and buckle.

  “Agnes Withington just told us that a television producer is in town asking about the guesthouse. I think it’s weird timing, especially with Anita Pendragon lurking around outside the mansion.” I picked a chocolate kiss out of the bowl Jen kept on the counter. Today she had the ones with the almonds inside. I like the solid chocolate better, but beggars can’t be choosers.

  “What was she doing there?” Jen squinted into the machine and pulled out a ripped piece of sticker backing.

  “At first I assumed she was trying to get information for a story. The psychic guests came because of the discovery of Jed’s skeleton. They’re attempting to communicate with him and find out where the treasure is.” I popped another kiss into my mouth. “But seeing as she’s the one that found Madame Zenda’s body and claims not to have seen anyone else around…”

  Jen glanced up at me from the machine. “You think she could’ve killed her? Why? Seems like she’d want to keep her alive so she could get the story from Jed.”

  Jen had a point. If Anita thought there really was a ghost and she killed off Madame Zenda, she’d be killing off the cash cow. “I think all this ghost business is malarkey. Someone is just hyping it up for their own purposes. What if Anita found out Madame Zenda was a fake? She saw all her hopes for an exclusive article and possibly selling the rights to the movie producer go out the window, so she killed her and staged it so she could make up some story about how the ghost killed Madame Zenda.”

  Jen pointed to the Oyster Cove Gazette on the counter. “She’s already published the story. Front page, too.”

  I glanced over to see the headline: Ghostly Murder at Oyster Cove Guesthouse. That was sure to go over great with Myron and any potential guests.

  Jen slammed the machine shut and pressed a button. The stickers advanced and she ripped off the first one and then leaned against the counter opposite me. “What are the police saying?”

  “Millie hasn’t been able to get anything out of Seth thus far.”

  “Maybe Millie needs to ramp up her efforts to extract information from him.” Jen was quite familiar with the methods Millie used to get information out of Seth and we both made a face. Neither one of us needed that visualization.

  “I just hope it gets solved quickly. Myron seems very nervous about the loan. He’s afraid that it’ll hurt business at the guesthouse and I won’t be able to make the monthly payments.”

  “Myron’s annoying. Maybe it will help business.”

  “I don’t know. Someone did cancel this morning.”

  “Maybe they were sick or getting a divorce or had some other reason to cancel.” Jen’s gaze drifted over my shoulder and the lines around her lips tightened. “Crap. Here he comes now.”

  “Who?” I turned around just as Myron opened the door and trotted in, trailing an air of importance behind him.

  “Josie! I’m glad I’ve caught you here,” Myron said.

  “Me too,” I lied.

  “I need to talk to you about this business at the guesthouse. I’m very worried.”

  “There’s nothing to worry about, Myron. It’s just a simple murder. I mean, it’s highly unlikely word would get out to anyone coming here to stay. Most of the guests are from out of town.” I leaned my arm on the paper to cover up the headline just in case he hadn
’t seen it yet and conveniently didn’t mention the cancellation from that morning.

  Myron scowled. “Be that as it may, it’s no good having those people in the guesthouse. You don’t know what they’re going to do next. Maybe even something ungodly like a seance. I say you need to get rid of them before something else happens.”

  “What could possibly happen that’s worse than a murder?” I asked.

  Myron shuddered. “Who knows with that ghost running about and all that.”

  “Myron, you don’t actually believe in ghosts, do you?” Jen asked.

  Myron straightened his blue silk paisley tie and pursed his lips together. “Of course not, but something’s going on up there and it’s not good.” He turned to me. “Anyway, I need to stop by later. I left my pen and notebook there and I need my notes.”

  “Okay, I’m heading back soon.” The thought of seeing Myron twice in one day was not appealing; maybe I could just put his pen and notebook in the foyer.

  The door opened and Mom and Millie bustled in, narrowing their eyes at Myron.

  “Myron.” Millie nodded at him, then turned to me. “Josie, it’s time to go now. Are you ready?”

  “Definitely.” I waved at Jen and let them pull me away. When I got to the door, I looked over my shoulder at Myron. “Stop by anytime. I’m headed home now.”

  Outside Millie let go of my elbow. “He’s stopping by? Told you he had a crush.”

  “Never mind Myron. Did you find anything out from Jen?” Mom asked.

  “I didn’t find out much. Except that the murder and the ghost made the headlines. And it appears that Myron is getting more nervous about the loan he gave me.”

  Fourteen

  Nero usually didn’t spend much time in the attic unless he was hunting for mice. The small dormer windows didn’t let in enough sun for his liking and the smorgasbord of smells from the generations of people who had cast away their belongings was distracting.

  The space was packed with broken old furniture, old clothing and various household items. Had no one who lived in this house ever thrown anything away? And the dust! It lay thick like a carpet on the floor, especially in the back area where the oldest items were. Nero had to tread carefully so as not to stir up too much of it. He didn’t want to get dirt on his pristine, white tuxedo chest.