Лейганн Доббс - A Whisker In The Dark

I’d just returned from picking up some supplies and was riffling through the yellowed, grease-smudged recipes trying to pick out another type of sweet bread since the pumpkin hadn’t worked out so well, when I glanced out the window to see Stella Dumont on the deck of the Smugglers Bay Inn looking toward my place.

Yes, that Stella Dumont. The one Mike had dumped me for in high school. Not that that had anything to do with the urge I had to trip her every time I saw her. Those feelings were more to do with her acting superior about her inn, as if it was more desirable than mine. Sure, hers was closer to the ocean with that deck overlooking the water, but at least I didn’t have seagulls pooping all over my guests’ food.

Her inn was pretty far from my place, separated by a large field that gently sloped downward. My guesthouse was situated atop the hill and had a nice panoramic view of Smugglers Bay and the Atlantic Ocean. Some said it was a much better view than Stella’s inn had and I agreed.

I kind of had to squint to make out who the scrawny figure on the deck was, but I was pretty sure it was her. Why was she looking in this direction? It looked as if she was scoping out the property. Of course, she could be looking for Mike. She’d been known to pop over here a time or two to try to talk to him while he was still working here, finishing up the renovations Millie had hired him to do before she sold the place. Mike didn’t work here anymore, so what was Stella looking for? Had word already gotten around town about Jed’s skeleton and the mythical treasure? I hoped she wasn’t looking for potential treasure-hiding spots. Would more people come and try to dig? I was kind of hoping it would all die down and I wouldn’t have to figure out how to stop people from churning up the grounds. The Biddefords were my immediate problem. They seemed keen to dig up the treasure but I was sure I’d heard at least two of them come home and no one had started digging yet, so maybe they weren’t as keen on putting in the manual labor necessary.

“Seth’s done in the west wing and the body has been removed.” I jumped at the words, then turned to see Mike lounging in the doorway. His gaze shifted to the window. Was he looking out hoping to see Stella?

“I didn’t realize you were still here,” I said.

“Yeah, I wanted to make sure that the Sheriff’s Department didn’t mess with the structural integrity of the wall when they were getting their evidence out,” Mike said.

“Oh, I didn’t realize that was part of the building inspector’s job.” Was it? Or was he giving the guesthouse special treatment? Of course, if he was giving it special treatment it was probably because his aunt was still attached to it, and not because of me.

“Also, Ed wanted me to double-check on his plan for redoing the conservatory, so we don’t run into any code violations later on.”

“Oh.” I guess maybe he was here officially. I turned back to my recipes.

“So anyway, this treasure thing is kind of interesting, huh?” He’d made his way across the room and was now leaning his hip against the countertop, mere inches from where I stood. “You think there really is a treasure out there?”

“I doubt it. If there was, my mom and Millie would’ve probably dug it up by now.”

Mike laughed. “Yeah, they sure are a pair, aren’t they? I heard something about them going downtown for shovels. Probably rushing back already so they can start digging any minute.”

I snorted. “No doubt.” Millie had requested I meet them at the town common later that day to go over how I wanted the Oyster Cove Guesthouse display to be setup for the town celebration. She’d said this was of the utmost importance because the display needed to be perfect so that tourists coming for the celebration would be enticed to book a future vacation at the guesthouse, but I wouldn’t be surprised if she cancelled so she could dig for treasure.

“Are you going to go out and dig?” He leaned in closer.

I sidled away, clutching at the recipe I’d just pulled out. Cranberry-orange bread. I guess that would do for the celebration. “Nope.” I held the recipe in the air between us. “I need to try out this recipe for the town celebration. It’s really important I have something to offer that represents the Oyster Cove Guesthouse.”

His eyes drifted out the window again in the direction of the Smugglers Bay Inn. My heart twitched. If I kept putting Mike off, I was driving him right toward Stella Dumont. But if he had intentions toward her, I didn’t really want him anyway.

He pushed away from the counter. “Well, I gotta get back to the town offices. Let me know if you need anything and don’t forget to make sure you get your proper inspections for Ed’s work.”

He was all business now, probably thinking about what he might like to inspect over at the Smugglers Bay Inn.

“Will do.” I watched him leave, glad to have some alone time. I needed to concentrate on the loaf recipe.

As I pawed through the file trying to choose between the cranberry-orange bread I had in my hand, the apple-pecan bread and the peanut-butter-banana bread, I could hear the Biddefords coming back inside. They were in rare form, jostling and arguing. Not much different from before the discovery of the skeleton, but I’d probably have to lay down the law about digging. I didn’t want the yard filled with dangerous holes.

I glanced into the yard just in time to see Henry skulking around the corner of the old chicken coop, near the shed. Now there was an odd one, always with his head buried in a book. He was very quiet and didn’t seem to mesh with the rest of the family at all. I’d heard in snippets of conversations that Henry was also one of the most-skilled cheese sculptors of the entire clan and had become famous for a very detailed sculpture of the Taj Mahal in white cheddar.

What was he doing out by the shed? The shed was a newer structure and old Jed wouldn’t have used it as a landmark for his treasure cache since it wasn’t around during his time.

I craned my neck, pressing my face almost to the glass to get a better look. It didn’t look like he was digging up anything. He didn’t even have a shovel. It almost looked as if he was spying on someone, but I couldn’t see who because he was casting furtive glances in my direction. Whoever the person was they were hidden behind the tall, overgrown shrubbery on the other side of the kitchen window.

I rushed to the pantry because the window in there was on the other side of the shrubs. Darn it! I still couldn’t see anyone, but I could hear the low murmur of voices.

“Just what do you think you’re getting at?”

I recognized Carla’s nasal Ivy League twang but she obviously wasn’t arguing with Henry. He was on the other side of the yard spying on her.

“You know what I’m getting at…”

Was that Bob? He sounded awfully mean and mad.

“… not gonna stand for it, you make it right or else…” Bob again. What wasn’t he going to stand for?

“Ha! I don’t answer to you.” Carla’s hushed whisper was sharp with anger.

Unfortunately, they then lowered their voices and I couldn’t hear what they were saying. After a few minutes of ear straining, Carla’s voice came through once more, loud and clear. “Don’t bet on it.”

The sound of rustling shrubs and Carla cursing under her breath signaled the end of the conversation. I rushed back to the kitchen, my mind whirling. What in the world was that about? I knew the whole family was at odds but clearly Carla was up to something and Bob was calling her out.

I peeked out the window in time to see Henry walking over to meet Carla. They were about twenty feet from the window now and I could see Carla had two shovels.