Лейганн Доббс - A Purrfect Alibi

“Yeah, and don’t think it was Josie’s cooking either,” Mom said. “She’s getting a lot better.”

Meow! Nero, a black-and-white tuxedo cat that had come with my purchase of the guesthouse, hopped up onto the windowsill and fixed my mother with a slit-eyed gaze. I nodded at him approvingly. At least someone was sticking up for my cooking. I mean, that little incident when I practically burned down the guesthouse with my overcooked banana loaf was just one teeny mistake. I’d been whipping up some fine breakfasts lately, even if I did say so myself. Sunlight spilled in from the window highlighting Nero’s glossy, jet-black fur. His intelligent golden eyes met mine and then he glanced out the window. Following his gaze, I caught a flash of something pink. What was that?

I leaned over to look outside. “Did you see that?”

“What?” My mother glanced out as Marlowe, the other guesthouse cat, hopped up to join Nero. She settled in next to Nero, her black-and-orange tortie-patterned fur mingling with his jet black. I went to get a better look. The window was cracked open and I could smell the ocean breeze and hear the far-away call of the gulls. The guesthouse sat atop a hill with a sweeping view of Oyster Cove, but not from the front parlor. From here all I could see was the long driveway and part of the overgrown gardens. Wait… was that movement? I could have sworn I saw someone moving around in the thick shrubbery, but who would be lurking outside?

“I don’t see anything,” Mom said.

“Me neither.” Victor had come over to look out. “Let’s get back to these dead people. You say there have been several deaths here over the past few weeks?”

Millie turned to face him. “Yes, but let’s not dwell on that. I mean, it could happen anywhere.”

Mom nodded. “That’s right. When a person is determined to kill someone, the location is hardly a consideration. Just because it happened here shouldn’t be a concern.”

“Oh, I’m not concerned,” Victor said. “I’m intrigued. Their spirits may still be around, and it would be good practice to talk to them. Might help me get a line on old Jedediah Biddeford.”

Getting a “line” on old Jedediah Biddeford was the reason my guesthouse was filled with psychics. A few weeks ago, his skeleton had been found inside the wall during renovations. Turned out someone had put him in there about three hundred years ago. So, I guess there had actually been three murders at the Oyster Cove Guesthouse. Well, three that we knew about, anyway. Jed had been a seafaring merchant back in the day and had set off for Europe to bring back treasure. He’d never returned. Or, so they’d thought. Turns out he had returned and someone had killed him and closed him up inside the wall. No one knew what had happened to the treasure. Was it buried here on the grounds or had the killer taken it? My bet was on the latter, but these psychics had all come to try to communicate with his ghost so they could find the treasure.

I doubted there actually was any treasure, but they were paying guests and I needed the money. I’d spent my life savings on buying the guesthouse and had recently taken out a substantial loan to get the renovations done. I wasn’t about to turn away guests, even if they did think they could chat with someone who had been dead for three hundred years. I just hoped they wouldn’t kill each other in the process. Judging by the level of animosity between them, I would have to keep a close eye out.

“You do need the help communicating, Victor,” Madame Zenda muttered. See what I mean? These folks had history and were constantly sniping at each other.

“Look who’s talking.” Victor waved at the tarot cards. “Your readings are never anywhere near accurate. Predicting something that happened weeks ago.”

“You should talk.” Gail Weathers stood in the doorway cupping a mug of tea in her hands. Gail was a short, stout woman with long, snow-white hair. She was a tea-leaf reader and had just about depleted my stock of Earl Grey. Millie was partial to her because she’d read her tea leaves and told Millie she would soon find love and fortune. “Last week you were called out for researching your audience in advance of the show you did in Boston.”

“I like to know who is in the audience. I wasn’t cheating; those dead folks really did come through for their loved ones.” Victor crossed his arms over his chest and stepped toward Gail. “At least I can read something . Those tea leaves of yours are useless. What a scam. You can’t be very good if I’ve never heard of you, I’ve worked with the best in the business.”

Gail glared at him as she proceeded to the sofa, carefully holding her mug.

“People! Stop arguing.” Esther Hill, a pleasant little old lady with sparkling blue eyes, got to her feet from where she’d been seated at a small, square, oak table near a window. The table had been set up with a black velvet cloth upon which sat a luminous crystal ball. If you ask me, she was the nicest of the bunch. Unlike the others, she was dressed normally in a powder-blue cardigan and navy slacks. “If you want a reading, Josie, come over here. I have much to tell you.”

She motioned me to the chair across the table from her and we both sat. In between us the crystal ball winked ominously. I wondered if it, too, would reveal death. Mew.

Nero hopped up on the table and gazed into the ball as if he was wondering the same thing. Esther smiled down at Nero and petted the top of his head. Nero purred and looked at her adoringly. I scowled. The cats never looked at me that way. I was still getting used to being owned by cats. Yes, you heard me correctly. Since I’d come to the guesthouse, I’d learned that one didn’t own cats, it was the other way around. Though my relationship with Nero and Marlowe had improved vastly since that first day, I still had a lot to learn. Esther waved her hands over the crystal ball. Unlike Madame Zenda, she didn’t have a lot of jangly bracelets or loose-flowing sleeves, but her technique was just as impressive. She bent her neck to peer closer into the ball. I did the same. Nero did too. Esther was making a lot of faces. I wasn’t sure what she was seeing; all I saw was my own reflection, except upside down.

“Aha!” She lifted her head, a mischievous smile on her face. “I see something in your future.”

“What is it?” Hopefully not a dead body.

Her smile widened. “Someone tall, dark and handsome.”

“We know who that is!” my mother said.

“That’s right. Mike. I told you you should ask him out,” Millie added.

“See? My reading wasn’t off,” Madame Zenda said from the corner where she’d been pouting.

“I saw that in the tea leaves!” Gail piped in from the sofa.

“Lots of men are tall, dark and handsome,” I said. Though Mike really was tall, dark and handsome. Still, it was the cliché crystal-ball reading and I wasn’t putting much weight into it.

Thunk!

We all jerked our attention in the direction of the mantle where a small candlestick had fallen on the floor.

“Where did that come from?” Gail asked.

“That looks like Great-grandma Sullivan’s brass beehive candlestick.” Millie bustled over and picked up the stick, then placed it back on the mantle. “It must’ve been right on the edge. Maybe Flora moved it too close when she was dusting.”

I was skeptical about that because I wasn’t sure Flora actually dusted the mantle. Flora had been the maid at the Oyster Cove Guesthouse since Millie was a child. No one really knew how old Flora was, but one thing I did know was that she was the world’s worst maid. Almost every chore I asked her to do was met with an excuse as to why she couldn’t, or wouldn’t, do it. But Millie had been pretty insistent that I keep Flora on. She’d explained that the elderly maid didn’t have much in social-security income. She depended on the wages here and she’d been very loyal to Millie’s family. No one else had applied for the job, so I’d kept her. Anyway, I shouldn’t complain—she had come through for us during the apprehension of the latest killer, so I guess I should give her a pass on the dusting and, I had to admit, I was getting sort of attached to her.