Лейганн Доббс - A Whisker In The Dark

Four

Nero stretched out in the puddle of sunshine on the conservatory floor. The guesthouse was blissfully silent; all the guests had gone out to buy shovels and Josie had gone to the store. He rolled this way and that, enjoying the warmth on his fur and smelling the fresh scent of the dirt from the plants. He stretched his claws, noting that there was still a smidge of dirt under the nails from digging in the enormous pot of the ficus tree that sat next to the window. Sure, they could dig all they wanted outside, but there was nothing like digging up a plant in the comfort of your own home. Plus, it would help keep Josie on her toes, and impress upon her that cats didn’t simply obey human orders.

The conservatory faced east and therefore had a delightful view of Smugglers Bay, with its craggy rock inlet and sun-dappled waves. Too bad most of the conservatory windows were boarded up. The room would have a magnificent view once new ones were installed.

Nero didn’t mind the windows on the far side of the room being boarded as those blocked the view of the neighboring Smugglers Bay Inn. Not only was that inn somewhat of a rival to the guesthouse, but the owner, Stella Dumont, and Josie were rivals for the affections of Mike Sullivan. Even if Josie herself didn’t realize this yet, Nero was firmly on Josie’s side. The less he had to look at Smugglers Bay Inn and Stella Dumont, the better.

From his spot, he could just see the edge of the deck where Stella served meals. He watched the gulls swooping in circles above it. There were more there now than there had been last week, and he was glad their numbers were no longer diminishing, even though they insisted on tormenting the cats by dive-bombing them.

Of course, Nero himself was not afraid of the gulls. Those times he ducked under a hydrangea when a gull swooped were only to demonstrate to the other cats what they could do to protect themselves… even if no cats were around to see.

“The gulls are in good form today I see,” said Marlowe, her luminescent green eyes following Nero’s gaze.

“Let’s hope they discourage some of the diners at the Smugglers Bay Inn.” Nero figured anything that drove customers away from the inn was good for the guesthouse.

“It’s nice and quiet in here now with all the guests gone.” Marlowe trotted to another small patch of sun in the corner and curled into a tight ball, wrapping her tail around her nose.

“Silly of them to run off after shovels, don’t you think?” Nero asked.

Marlowe raised her head. “I suppose so. Humans are always looking for some sort of treasure when all they really need to make life worth living is free. What would they do with it anyway? Probably just spend it on silly material things.”

Nero nodded sagely. “Humans just don’t get it like we do. All we need is a warm meal and a comfortable spot in the sun. Though I do enjoy the gravy cat food and manufactured treats that Josie buys from the store.”

Nero heard a commotion in the foyer.

“Looks like the blissful silence is over. Someone is home.” Marlowe sighed.

Nero’s ears perked up, listening to discover who it was. He couldn’t quite hear what was being said, but he sensed it was the two brothers, Bob and Earl. His whiskers tingled. Something was going on between them and he was sure it was not good. He stood and stretched.

“I think we should take a trot upstairs and see what these humans are up to.”

Marlowe slit one eye open, obviously reluctant to leave her sunny spot. “You think they’re up to something? I have noticed a certain amount of strain between the siblings. Not to mention a tinge of animosity and nefarious thoughts.”

“Indeed. Perhaps this treasure will bind them together.” Nero gestured toward the doorway. Marlowe could be a bit lazy, but skulking around and finding out what the humans were up to was important cat business.

“Or set them at each other’s throats even more.” Marlowe rose, stretching so hard that her back cracked.

“Let’s take the back stairs. I hear them up near their rooms.”

The mansion had several sets of stairs, but the back stairs near the kitchen were Nero’s favorite. The old narrow treads that creaked under human weight were silent when cats ran up them, allowing Nero and Marlowe to sneak around the mansion without being heard. They were covered in layers of white paint so thick that it was almost soft. No human liked to go in the confined space, which made it even more perfect for cats. He and Marlowe trotted up stealthily, spilling out into the jewel-toned oriental runner that ran the length of the second-story hallway where most of the habitable rooms were situated.

Nero was surprised to see Flora standing in the middle of the hallway with a pink feather duster in her hand. She was dusting off a credenza on which sat various knick-knacks that Nero liked to push to the floor every so often. Her head was bent about two inches from the surface so that she could inspect her own work. Poor Flora—even with her coke-bottle glasses, her eyesight wasn’t the best.

Marlowe and Nero exchanged a glance. They’d never seen her so intent on cleaning. Was Flora turning over a new leaf?

They skulked along the perimeter of the hallway, ears cocked and superior hearing senses on alert to overhear what the humans were saying. Nero was a little worried. He’d already suspected the humans were not enamored with each other and now he was concerned the thought of this treasure might cause them to do something crazy. The last thing the guesthouse needed was another scandal. But if such a thing happened, he wasn’t going to fall down on the job like he did last time.

“They’re each in their rooms,” Marlowe whispered. Aiming her ears first toward Earl’s room and then toward Bob’s. “It’s boring when they are quiet.”

No sooner were the words out of Marlowe’s mouth than Bob’s door flew open. He stormed over to Earl’s room, knocking loudly before being let in.

Marlowe turned and looked at Nero, the whiskers over her left eye sticking up slightly. They both glanced at Flora, who hadn’t noticed. She moved on to dusting a plinth that held a marble bust outside of Earl’s room.

Yelling drifted from inside the room. The two men were arguing. Nero strained to listen, and Marlowe followed suit. But the arguing had stopped.

Flora continued dusting. She probably couldn’t hear them since Nero was sure she was also hard of hearing.

Nero pressed closer to the door. He could hear hushed tones, but he couldn’t make out the whole conversation, only snatches.

“… secret book!…”

“… reveal to the rest of them…”

Reveal what? Something in the secret book? Something to do with the treasure?

The door flew open.

Flora jumped back, dropping the duster.

The cats scattered.

Bob stormed out, slammed the door shut and continued to his room.

Flora scowled at him, then shrugged, picked up her feather duster and kept dusting.

Nero sat on his haunches and washed behind his ears. Apparently the Biddefords were already in deep competition for the alleged treasure, and judging by the way he’d seen them fight over pancakes, they might not be willing to share.

Five

The kitchen of the Oyster Cove Guesthouse held a lot of fond childhood memories. Mom had brought me here often when I was a kid and Millie always had a fresh baked treat for me. Now it was my turn to carry on those delicious recipes. It was a daunting task since everything I tried to bake either came out dry, burned or tasting like dirt.

The kitchen was a mixture of old antique fixtures, cheery yellow-painted cabinets and newer stainless-steel appliances. The worn, wide, pine flooring creaked in all the right places and the space always had the savory, sweet smell of family-style cooking. At least it had when Millie owned it. Now it mostly smelled like a two-alarm fire.