Лейганн Доббс - A Twist In The Tail

Her eyes narrowed. ‘What? No. I didn’t know anything about the victim. Look here, just because you got one of your guests murdered and you’re jealous that Mike likes me better than you doesn’t mean you can come over here and start accusing—’

Splat!

Seagull poop landed smack dab on the toe of her white tennis shoes. Darn, what a shame, she’d probably never get the stain out. Good luck for me though, because it gave me another opening. ‘That’s going to stain. You should probably be wearing your chef’s clogs out here.’

Stella had crouched to rub vigorously at her shoe. She scowled up at me. ‘Clogs? I don’t wear chef’s clogs. These sneakers are more flexible. Easier on the feet in the kitchen. Not that it’s any of your business.’

‘I was just making a suggestion.’ I shouldn’t be surprised she didn’t wear clogs. Like I mentioned before, I didn’t think she had the brains to be the killer. But something about her told me she wasn’t telling the whole truth about why she’d been at my guesthouse. Mike hadn’t seemed like he was lying. But why would Stella? But she didn’t wear clogs, so that ruled her out as the killer. Unless she was lying about that too.

‘Well I don’t need your suggestions.’ She scrubbed harder at the shoe. Just as I’d suspected, that stain was not going to come out easily. ‘If I were you, I’d pay more attention to your own inn instead of coming over here and trying to find out what’s going on with mine. Maybe if you did, your guests won’t need to seek accommodations elsewhere.’

What was she talking about? Were my guests leaving now because of the murder? That’s all I needed. No guests meant no income and no income meant failure. I just couldn’t let that happen. And I certainly couldn’t let it happen if it meant the guests would now be staying at the Smugglers Bay Inn. Was that why Stella had been lurking? Had she been poaching my guests?

‘What are you talking about?’ I asked.

She stood up, a nasty smirk spread across her face. ‘Oh, you didn’t know? I’m sure I saw one of your guests checking in to the sleazy motel out by the highway. You know, the Timber Me Lodge. They rent rooms by the hour. Too bad I’m full up or they could have come here where it’s safe.’

I reigned in my temper. She was just trying to make me mad. I was sure she hadn’t seen any of my guests there because no one had checked out. I crossed my arms over my chest and cocked my head to call her bluff. ‘Oh really? And which guest might that be?’

‘That ditzy blonde one. You know, the one that’s in her forties but tries to look like she’s a lot younger? Drives a black Volkswagen Beetle.’

Tina? The description fit and Tina drove a black Beetle. She couldn’t be talking about Tina though. Tina was still registered with me. Sure, she’d taken Charles’ death pretty hard, but not hard enough to move out. I hoped. ‘When did you see this?’

Stella looked up at the sky as if that’s where she kept her memory – apparently we hadn’t called her an airhead in high school for nothing. ‘Oh… two nights ago, I believe.’

Ha! Charles hadn’t even been killed yet. ‘Shows how much you know. The murder didn’t happen until last night.’

‘Even worse. If your guests were already jumping ship before the murder, things weren’t so great at your place then. Imagine what will happen now that someone’s been killed.’

Nero sat on the crest of the hill at the base of a tall scotch pine watching Stella and Josie down at the Smugglers Bay Inn. He couldn’t hear what the women were saying, but their body language indicated that the conversation was less than friendly. The sun was low in the sky, turning the wings of the gulls that flapped above the two women a brilliant white. The briny smell of the ocean mixed with the pine of the trees in a most pleasant aroma.

Beside him Marlowe was crouched with his front paws tucked underneath him, the sun warming his back. Stubbs, Boots, Poe and Harry were also there. They were waiting for Juliette, who was commonly late.

‘I don’t trust that Stella Dumont.’ Stubbs short tail twitched as he watched the two women with keen, intelligent eyes. ‘Never trust a dame who wears that much makeup.’

‘Me either,’ Marlowe said. ‘She’s been lurking around the kitchen at the guesthouse and I saw her sneak across the field from her inn late one night.’

‘Didn’t you say you smelled gulls on the victim?’ Harry jerked his chin toward the gulls circling above the deck.

As the cats watched, one gull dropped a gift onto Stella’s shoe.

‘Looks like the gulls are good for something,’ Stubbs chuckled. ‘She’ll never get that stain out of those canvas shoes.’

‘Stella Dumont might not be upset about the gulls’ dwindling numbers.’ Poe pushed a gray paw behind his ear.

Boots looked up from his task of smoothing the spot on his chest where the white fur met with the black. ‘Do you think she could have something to do with what is happening to them?’

Poe shrugged. ‘I can’t say.’

Doubtful,’ Harry cut in. ‘She’s the type that doesn’t like to get her hands dirty.’

Nero decided to reign the conversation in before it got off track. They were here to discuss the clues in Charles Prescott’s death. The reputation of the guesthouse was a more pressing matter to him than the fate of the gulls. ‘That is another mystery for us to solve later. Right now we need to get to the bottom of the death at the Oyster Cove Guesthouse.’

‘Sorry I’m late guys,’ Juliette trotted up, her silky fur blowing back slightly in the wind like a supermodel at a photo shoot. ‘They had a lobster special down at Salty’s Crab Shack and you know how the humans never take the time to get that succulent meat out of the tiny lobster legs. Billy tosses me the scraps in the back alley and I guess I lost track of time.’

Juliette glanced down the hill at Stella and Josie who were now glaring at each other in what looked like a human stand-off. It was hard to tell with humans, their hairs didn’t stand on end, their tails didn’t stick up straight and they didn’t hiss or bare their teeth. But if they did, Josie and Stella would be doing that right now.

‘Are they having a cat fight?’ Juliette asked.

‘Could be,’ Harry said. ‘We were just saying how we don’t like Stella, and Marlowe has seen her lurking around the guesthouse, and Nero smelled gulls on the victim’s clothing.’

‘You think she could be the killer?’ Juliette asked. ‘Didn’t Nero also smell dog?’

‘I did,’ Nero said. ‘But Stella doesn’t have a dog.’

The cats knew every dog in a10-mile radius, of course. That was cat 101 to know where canines lurked so they could avoid the unfriendly ones. Though not all dogs were unfriendly. Nero had even teamed up with one or two to solve cases at times.

Boots huffed and groomed his long whiskers. ‘I don’t think her not having a dog comes into play. We’ve already determined the victim was up on the cliffs near both the gulls and the lousewort. That could explain both smells. We should be careful about jumping to conclusions at this early date.’

‘Yeah,’ Harry said. ‘We need a motive. Find the motive and it’s easy to find the killer.’

‘And we need to evaluate all the clues thoroughly,’ Nero added. ‘Like the footprint in the mulch Marlowe and I discovered outside the window of the crime scene.’

‘A footprint? Do tell.’ Boots ran his paw along his long whiskers, making sure to twist so the whiskers curled up at the ends.

‘It was a chef’s clog print,’ Marlowe said proudly.

Everyone looked toward Stella and Josie.

Poe’s green eyes narrowed. ‘Stella Dumont is not wearing chef’s clogs, but Josie is.’