A Twist in the Tail: An absolutely purrfect cozy mystery (The Oyster Cove Guesthouse Book 1)

by Leighann Dobbs

  Nero’s brows shot up. ‘And did she do something suspicious?’

  Stubbs’ shoulder sagged. ‘Not really. I spotted her downtown and that’s when I started the tail. She did a little shopping. Bought a purse. And then she went to The Marinara Mariner. I couldn’t follow her in of course, so I lost the trail.’

  ‘Why didn’t you wait outside?’ Harry asked.

  ‘I did. I sat out on the sidewalk for more than an hour, but then the wife came out and shooed me away with a broom. She’s a shrew! The owner Tony is nice, but that wife. Yeesh.’ Stubbs shook his head. ‘Anyway, I waited around back at the dumpster after that, but I never spotted her again. You can’t see the front door from the dumpster and I didn’t dare go back on the sidewalk with that wife around.’

  ‘Is it possible you were too busy looking at the contents of the dumpster to notice?’ Juliette’s voice was tinged with friendly sarcasm.

  Stubbs drew himself up to his full height. ‘No. I kept watch the whole time.’

  ‘Perhaps you should’ve been tailing the Weatherbys,’ Poe said with an annoying air of superiority. He could be that way.

  Stubbs made a face at him. ‘Maybe. I didn’t know Juliette had seen them on the cliff and I was going on my instincts. What did you find?’

  Poe simply pretended to preen his whiskers.

  ‘You did the right thing,’ Nero glanced sideways at Poe. ‘At least you had some new information for us, though I don’t see what it proves other than the fact that Tina likes to shop and eat. Too bad you weren’t tailing her during the crime, then we’d know if she was the killer.’

  ‘But it doesn’t all add up. What does the missing cookbook, the footprint, the affair and the cliffs have to do with Charles Prescott’s murder?’ Harry asked.

  ‘Perhaps we need to put our noses to the grindstone – literally. The sticky part is the footprint. The Weatherbys and Tina are both guests at the guesthouse. Why would they climb out the window?’ Nero mused.

  ‘What about this footprint… did you scent anything on it?’

  Marlowe glanced at Nero and Nero nodded for him to continue. He had picked up several scents, but he wanted to see if Marlowe had also. He felt a little bad he hadn’t thought of this angle before. He’d been so focused on finding who wore the shoes, he hadn’t considered that the scents could lead them to a particular place.

  Marlowe screwed her eyes shut and thought for a few seconds then said, ‘I smelled the usual things, bark mulch, anxiety, fear, but mixed in was another smell that I haven’t smelled around the guesthouse. A flowery sweet smell with just a hint of bitterness.’

  Nero glanced at Josie and Stella, who were wrapping up their conversation. Josie was turning to leave.

  ‘Was it cinnamon?’ Juliette asked. ‘I smelled cinnamon in the field between the Oyster Cove Guesthouse and the Smugglers Bay Inn.’

  Marlowe shook her head. ‘No, it wasn’t cinnamon. It was more cloying. Like a flower.’

  ‘Hmmm, perhaps a flower garden?’ Harry suggested.

  ‘Maybe.’ Marlowe looked undecided.

  ‘Well I guess that’s what we’ve got to work with,’ Nero said. ‘We need to explore all these angles. And put a tail on the Weatherbys.’

  The cats all stretched and turned to go in their opposite directions. Just as they were walking away, Poe turned around, his head cocked to the side, his green eyes thoughtful. ‘Oh, one more thing.’

  Nero sighed. Poe was always doing this. Saving up his little tidbit of information for the very last minute when they were all about to go their separate ways. But often Poe’s little tidbits were vital to the case, so he tamped down his exasperation and patiently said, ‘What is it, Poe?’

  Poe looked at Marlowe. ‘That scent on the footprint… was it sharp on the sweetness and tangy on the bitterness?’

  Marlowe nodded vigorously, her eyes wide.

  Poe nodded. ‘Well then, we might want to check the Marinara Mariner more thoroughly, because what you describe is very similar to the scent of saffron, and I happen to know that Tony had a saffron squid ink pasta special running this week.’ Poe licked a paw. ‘It was quite delicious too.’

  Down the hill, Josie was starting back to the guesthouse. Nero thought about Poe’s suggestion. Was it any coincidence that the chef clog had the scent of a special down at the Marinara Mariner and Tina was seen at the same restaurant? But did Tina wear chef’s clogs? If she did, why in the world would she climb out the window after killing Charles?

  Nine

  It was a good thing that I didn’t have to prepare supper for my guests because I was in no mood after that run-in with Stella Dumont. Where did she get off implying that the accommodations at a sleazy motel were preferable to those at the Oyster Cove Guesthouse?

  Halfway across the field, I saw two familiar figures. Nero and Marlowe were bounding across the tall grass toward me from the path that led up the hill. I wondered what they had been doing up there.

  They fell in step beside me. Unusual, because they usually ignored me. Maybe this was a good time to try to bond and make friends, like Millie had suggested?

  ‘Where have you guys been?’

  Nero looked up at me, his golden eyes almost glowing in contrast to his jet-black fur.

  Meow. Merow. Meroop.

  ‘Up on the hill you say? Yes, lovely view up there.’ Was that the appropriate reply? I wasn’t sure exactly how one spoke to cats. Surely they didn’t understand the actual words, it was probably more down to tone and gestures. Did you talk to them like little babies? I glanced down at them. Nope. Not these two. Millie had said to talk to them as if they were superior beings.

  Marlowe flicked her striped tail.

  Meyou.

  I had no idea what meyou meant but I decided to answer anyway. ‘Oh me? I was over talking to Stella Dumont. Can you believe that she insinuated one of the guests had preferred accommodations in that sleazy motel out on Route One?’

  Meooow!

  Clearly Nero was as outraged at that thought as I was. ‘I know, right?’

  We let ourselves in through the front door. I sauntered over to the guest register just in case Stella had been right. I didn’t think she was, but it didn’t hurt to double-check. I knew I hadn’t checked Tina out, but maybe Flora or Millie had done it.

  Tina was still signed in. I checked her folder and the bill was still open. She hadn’t checked out. Take that Stella Dumont!

  Nero hopped up onto the desk and pushed at the register with his paw.

  ‘Yeah, it’s just as I had thought, Tina didn’t check out. Stella doesn’t know what she’s talking about.’

  Nero blinked.

  ‘But it makes me wonder… did Stella see someone who looked like Tina or did she lie? And if she did lie, then why?’

  The guesthouse was extremely quiet. My stomach broke the silence with a growl so loud that it startled Nero, not to mention myself. It was unusual for it to be this quiet. Normally I could hear the hammering and sawing that indicated Mike was at work, or the television, or guests talking. But it was past supper time, Mike had gone home and it seemed that the guests were all out to dinner, as evidenced by the absence of their cars.

  Just as well, I didn’t really want company. I headed back to the kitchen, the cats on my heels and thoughts of my visit with Stella on my mind.

  I rummaged in the fridge, pulling out a bedraggled slice of pepperoni pizza, a few muffins that were leftover from breakfast and the remains of the seafood dinner I’d had two nights ago. Two glass baking dishes with foil wrapped around the tops were neatly stacked in the back. A note from Millie indicated they contained broccoli quiche for breakfast the next day.

  That reminded me, I needed to figure out what to feed them for the rest of the week. I glanced over at the counter. Hadn’t Millie mentioned the sour cream coffee cake?

  I shut the fridge, to the protesting meows of the cats. ‘Don’t worry guys I’ll get your dinner in a second.’

  I opened a
batter- and food-stained hardcover copy of The Joy of Cooking and leafed through the loose recipes stuffed inside. Some were on index cards, some ripped out of magazines, some just on pieces of paper. All in Millie’s bold scrawl in fading ink. A smile tugged at my lips. I remembered some of these recipes from when I was a kid and had visited Millie here at the guesthouse with my mother.

  As I leafed through the recipes looking for something that sounded tasty but looked easy, I chatted out loud to my feline audience.

  ‘It’s too bad Stella didn’t have clogs on. If she had I would seriously suspect her as the killer. Then again, maybe she lied about having clogs.’ I stopped the sorting and thought about that for a second. ‘I guess if she was the killer and wore the clogs, she might be afraid they had blood or some other evidence on them and lie.’

  Meow.

  I pulled out a couple of recipes that looked interesting and put them on the counter. ‘And maybe she made that story up about Tina, but why?’

  Mew.

  ‘She probably just did that to be mean. She’s like that, you know.’ I glanced down at Marlowe, who was watching me with her head cocked to the side. Did she give a little nod? I must have imagined it. ‘In high school she was one of those mean girls. Never could figure out what Mike saw in her. Not that I care. Is that why she keeps coming here, to see him?’

  Merope.

  ‘Why would Mike lie about that?’

  Meow.

  ‘I know. Men. Who can figure them out?’

  I laid the recipes of interest on the countertop. I didn’t find the sour cream coffee cake recipe. I’d just have to pick something else.

  ‘I suppose Stella could have been here for a more nefarious reason.’ I glanced in the direction of the Smuggler’s Cove Inn. I could see the gulls circling it from the kitchen window. The deck had been set for dinner, but no guests were out there. Maybe they stayed inside because of the birds?

  Was it possible that bookings at the inn were suffering because of the gulls? Stella had entered that contest where the winner would get five grand. Was it for the prestige of winning or because she needed money? And if she needed money, then having the Oyster Cove Guesthouse shut down would mean more customers for her. But would she stoop so low as to kill someone?

  And let’s not forget that if Charles really was writing a new cookbook, then that book was missing. Had Stella somehow known about that and stolen it from Charles? What if that’s why she’d been here and he’d caught her and a struggle ensued that ended up in the closed off section of the guesthouse?

  Nero jumped up on the counter and nudged my hand. Was that his signal that he wanted to be petted? But when I reached out a tentative hand, he let out a loud meow and almost scratched me. All righty then, here I was thinking that cat wanted affection but probably was just getting impatient for supper.

  ‘I know, you must be hungry but you have to get down from the counter. If Barbara Littlefield came in and saw you, she’d close me down!

  I bent down and opened the cabinet where I kept the gravy-style canned cat food Millie had said they liked. The recipes fluttered down onto the floor around me. Nero had pushed them off the counter.

  I looked up to see him peering over the counter at me. ‘That’s no way to get your supper.’

  Nero jumped down and batted at them.

  ‘Hey don’t rip these, they’re the only recipes I’ve got.’

  Nero sat back and I started putting the papers into a pile. The recipes triggered a memory of the ripped note the police had taken.

  ‘Oh that’s right. That’s the other clue. The review that Charles was writing. But was it really a review?’

  Merooo.

  I hadn’t actually looked at the note in any detail, but when Seth Chamberlain had held that bag up I could see it was just a scrap of paper. Not even enough words to tell who the review was about. If it even was a review. Clearly the killer must’ve taken the other half. It seemed odd that the scrap of paper was found in his room, but Charles’ body was in the West wing.

  Had he fought with the killer in his room and then somehow gone down to the closed off wing with them? That would indicate it was someone staying at the guesthouse. Of course, it could have been a review about the Oyster Cove Guesthouse. But if it had been, then who had taken the other part of it and why? Seems like I would be the only one interested in keeping that from publication.

  The piece of paper might not even be a review, but that didn’t mean that Charles hadn’t written a bad review of someone else recently. What if he had? And what if that chef heard he was in town and wanted to exact their revenge?

  I glanced in the direction of the Smugglers Bay Inn again, except I couldn’t see it because I was crouched on the floor. I didn’t need to though, because the thought was already in my head. If he’d previously written a review about Stella, maybe I could find it online.

  I grabbed two cans of cat food in one hand and stood with the recipes in the other. The cans went onto the counter and I pulled out a recipe entitled ‘Brunch Egg Dish Casserole’ that looked interesting. Bread, cheese, eggs, milk and ham. I had the ingredients for it. I could assemble it at night and pop it in the oven in the morning. If I wasn’t mistaken, mom had gotten this recipe from Millie and made it many times when I was a kid. It was quite tasty and seemed easy (at least it did when Mom made it). I put the recipe beside the cans and tucked the other recipes back into The Joy of Cooking.

  Meow.

  Marlowe had jumped onto the little table under the window that I used as a work desk and was prowling around my laptop.

  ‘I’m one step ahead of you about looking online.’

  Mewoow!

  I sat down and started typing. Turns out finding Charles’ Laughing Gourmet reviews wasn’t as easy as I thought. A search for the Laughing Gourmet brought up a website all about Charles, but when I searched for ‘Smugglers Bay’ on it, no review came up. Odd, because I saw a few other reviews of restaurants in New York and Connecticut. I searched Yelp. No review was posted by him on there either. Charles probably didn’t use common places where anyone could post a review though. I decided to do a search on the Smugglers Bay Inn.

  My phone chirped and I glanced at the display. It was my daughter, Emma. My heart filled with warmth. As I answered, all thoughts of murder and bad reviews fled.

  ‘Em! How are you doing?’ I chirped.

  ‘Great, Mom. What about you? Gram said there was some excitement in Oyster Cove today.’ Emma’s voice had an edge of concern, and I wanted to put her at ease right away. As the parent, I was the one who was supposed to be doing the worrying, not her. Speaking of parents, what was my mother thinking, telling Emma about Charles? Hopefully she hadn’t mentioned that the excitement involved a dead body.

  ‘Oh, a little excitement is always good. It’s nothing to be worried about,’ I lied.

  ‘A little excitement?’ Emma sounded incredulous. ‘I would say a dead person is more than a little excitement. And I heard it was murder? Are you okay out there?’

  Oops… apparently Mom had told Emma the details. The concern in Emma’s voice made my heart swell, but I didn’t want Emma worrying about me. I made a mental note to tell my mother to keep things like this under her hat. Not that I expected ‘things like this’ to happen often.

  ‘I’m fine. There’s no danger. That poor man was killed over some sort of lover’s quarrel or old feud.’ I laughed to show just how unconcerned I was. ‘It’s not like there’s a serial killer running around town.’

  Was there? I had assumed that Charles’ death was perpetrated by someone who had a reason to kill him, but what if there was a homicidal maniac running loose. For the first time I felt a niggle of worry. If the killer wasn’t targeting Charles in particular, were the rest of us in danger? I pushed that thought to the back of my mind, maybe I would be extra-cautious, but no attempts had been made on anyone else and Charles had had a reputing for rubbing people the wrong way. Hopefully his death was just a one-o
ff.

  ‘Okay Mom, but if you need me to come out there—’

  ‘I wouldn’t dream of it! You’ve got your new job.’ Emma had just finished college and was a rookie at the FBI Academy. Though, come to think of it, maybe but I could use her help to figure out who killed Charles… but of course I would never involve her in something like this. Besides, I was a smart confident woman on my own now and I didn’t need anyone to bail me out. Not my ex. And not my daughter. I wanted to show her how I could survive on my own, prove that I was competent and show her that women can do anything they set their minds to.

  Mew.

  Nero walked across the keyboard, his silky paws pressing the keys. I picked him up and put him on the floor but he just came right back and walked across it again.

  ‘Okay well if you say so,’ Emma said.

  ‘Of course. The police have it all wrapped up and there’s nothing to worry about. How are things going at the new job?’ I said, steering the conversation in another direction.

  The murder took a back seat in my mind as Emma described her new job. I could tell by the enthusiasm in her voice that she loved her life. Part of me felt a little sad that she was all grown up and no longer needed me. She was living on her own and starting a promising career hundreds of miles away. But the other part of me was bursting with pride and happiness for her.

  It was a constant chore to keep the cats away from the computer. Apparently they liked electronic devices, because they seemed to be taking turns either walking or laying on the keyboard and sitting behind the computer with their tails swishing on the screen.

  By the time I hung up with Emma, I felt much better about the situation at hand. Emma was doing great in her new job and I’d persuaded her there was nothing to worry about here. Somehow just talking to her had imbibed me with new confidence about figuring out who had killed Charles, or at least persuading the police that it wasn’t me.

  Meroo!

  Nero stuck his tail in my face and I pressed my lips together and backed away. Yech. These cats sure got into everything. And they were starting to be pests with the way they were hanging around the computer. I’d never get any work done.