“Seems like you’re getting kind of famous around town,” Marlowe said as she detoured over to sniff a pile of books. On their way back to the guesthouse, the cats had heard the townspeople gossiping about Jed’s ghost and the recent murder. Some were even talking about the treasure again, but no one seemed eager to look for it, thinking that Jed’s ghost was out to kill anyone who did.
“Someone is even talking about making a movie,” Nero added. Jed’s swirling form jerked in dismay. “I don’t think I want to be famous. I’m getting a bit tired of this old place now. I think I want to move on to whatever one moves on to.”
“Well then, why are you still here?” Marlowe asked.
“Good question. I feel like I’m stuck here for some reason,” Jed said.
“Unresolved issue,” Nero said. “There was only one reason for ghosts to hang around and that was an unresolved issue. In Jed’s case it made perfect sense because he’d been murdered. “Probably you want your killer named. You have no idea who it is?”
Jed shook his head. “None at all. I vaguely remember returning from Europe. I had that treasure, you know. But I didn’t trust too many people, so I buried it before anyone knew I was back in town. I had to keep it all a secret because I knew people were watching me.”
Marlowe’s eyes grew large. “They were? Who?”
Jed glanced around uneasily as if those people were still around watching him. “People in my own household.”
“You don’t say,” Nero said. They’d come to the very end of the attic where the light from the east filtered in through a perfectly formed spider web in the round window at the peak of the eaves. Here, the cast-offs were older and much more worn. Newspapers as brittle as dried leaves were piled in one corner. Wooden chairs hung from hooks on the wall, the wicker caning in the seats and backs broken and hanging down. An old steamer trunk sat in the corner practically disintegrating.
“Oh, it’s true.” Jed stood up straighter. “Course, I knew Helena—that’s my wife—might’ve been up to something while I was gone. She was none too happy about my trip to Europe.”
“Do you think she killed you?” Marlowe’s tail swished, sending particles from a patch of dust on the floor into the air.
Jed pondered that for a few seconds and Nero wondered what kind of woman his wife had been. Had she been mad enough to kill? And what happened to her after Jed’s death? Judging by the way the trunk had been shoved in the corner she might have packed up his things and forgotten about him. But that had nothing to do with the current happenings at the guesthouse… or did it?
“Don’t rightly know.” Jed glanced at the trunk. “I was shut up in that wall until now so I don’t know what became of her. I don’t think she had the skills to plaster a body inside a wall though.”
“She might have had an accomplice,” Marlowe suggested.
“If that’s true, they probably took the treasure,” Nero said. He was certain there was no buried treasure on the property as he would have sniffed it out by now. Treasure had a certain hopeful smell to it.
Jed swirled over to the trunk and sat on top of it. “Course that doesn’t explain why someone took my best pair of shoes.”
Nero thought about the buckle. “You mean the fancy ones with the buckle on them?”
“Yep.”
“And they were in this trunk?” Nero inspected the latches. They were broken so someone could get in easily, the only problem was he didn’t see or smell any recent sign of humans. If someone took Jed’s shoes to plant the buckle on Madame Zenda, then wouldn’t there be some sign? And how would they even know the shoes were in there?
Jed looked down at the trunk. “You can see all my good clothes are in there, but no shoes.”
“Actually, we can’t see.” Marlowe gestured toward the trunk. “It’s closed.”
Jed stood and the three of them pushed on the top of the trunk. It was heavy and Nero was careful to keep his claws in lest he break a nail on the old wood. Beside him Jed grunted and struggled, beads of ectoplasmic sweat dripping from his brow. How had Jed gotten the trunk open all by himself before?
Finally, the hinges creaked and the trunk opened. Jed pointed to the deteriorating contents. “See? No shoes.”
Nero and Marlowe hopped inside, carefully pawing through the musty old fabric. The clothing had been chewed by moths and was frayed at the edges, but Nero could see it had once been good quality. A suit, a silk robe and something that looked like a white linen slip. He slid his paw over it and glanced at Jed with his brow raised.
“What?” Jed’s eyes flicked from Nero to the white linen. “That’s my night shirt.”
Nero wasted no time getting out of the trunk. It had been stifling inside there. After a fit of sneezing he looked up at Jed. “You’re right. No shoes. I guess we should close it.”
“Yep. Leave it the way it was,” Jed agreed, but didn’t make any effort to close the lid.
“Can you do it?” Nero asked, not because he was too lazy to help but because he wondered how Jed could have gotten it open and closed when he could barely push salt-and-pepper shakers off the table.
Jed pushed on the top of the trunk, but it only budged a few inches then fell back open. “Guess I need help.”
Nero and Marlowe trotted over to the other side and between the three of them they pushed it closed with a loud thud that Nero was sure Josie could hear downstairs. “It took all three of us to close it,” Nero said.
“Yeah. So?” Jed sat back down on the top of the trunk.
“If it took all three of us to open and all three of us to close it, then how did you know the shoes were missing?” Nero gave Jed one of his unblinking stares. “You wouldn’t have been able to open the trunk.”
Jed didn’t even hesitate before answering. “Easy, I can just pass through to get inside.”
“You can?” Marlowe batted at Jed’s ankle, her paw passing right through the apparition. “Guess you aren’t solid so that makes sense.” Marlowe shrugged at Nero and then hopped up on top of a stack of old newspapers and proceeded to preen her tail.
“How do you think I get into rooms with closed doors? I can go pretty much anywhere it seems. Lucky thing too or I’d be stuck in that old ballroom and it’s mighty boring in there,” Jed said. He had a point. Jed had been going in and out of the west wing and the door to that wing was always closed. Plus he’d gotten into the locked attic with ease. Apparently he was telling the truth.
“Then how come you were stuck inside the wall all this time?” Nero asked. “If you can go through things, why not just come out?”
“I didn’t know any better,” Jed said. “I wish I had, but all I knew was I was in a dark place. Spent most of my time in limbo. It’s kind of fun over there.”
Nero supposed that could be true. Jed sure did look like he was telling the truth, but he cautioned himself. Ghosts were known to be sneaky.
“So, what did this buckle look like? Similar to the one found on Madame Zenda?” If no one had been here recently, had the shoes been taken long ago by Jed’s wife? Was her ghost around trying to eke out some kind of revenge on Jed? Perhaps by killing Madame Zenda and trying to frame him by using the buckle. No. It was ludicrous. How could a ghost save a buckle for three hundred years?
Jed squinted, apparently thinking back to the buckle they’d found on the body. “Yep, near as I remember it was almost exact.”
Marlowe stopped mid-preen. She’d had her leg lifted to get at the underside of her striped tail and was now staring down at the newspapers upon which she was perched. “Hey, are these the shoes here?”
Jed bent down, his face inches from the paper, to look at the paper. On the front page was an etching. It was the one Nero had seen in the town history book depicting the Oyster Cove Guesthouse back in Jed’s day when it was a smaller family estate. Jed sat outside with his wife, children and some servants. It looked like he was wearing the outfit they’d seen in the trunk, though it was in much better shape.
“Yep, those are my good dress shoes. Only had one pair.” Jed smiled. “I remember when that was drawn. The artist was quite good, captured everything perfectly. We had to sit still for a long time. Was hard on the children.”
Nero summoned his cat-like powers of vision. The picture was grainy, but his super senses allowed him to see much clearer. “Yep, that’s identical to the buckle we found on Madame Zenda.”
“And Louie Two Paws said that buckle was three hundred years old,” Marlowe said. “That means it could be Jed’s actual buckle. I guess that’s good. We know where the buckle came from.”
Nero glanced back at the trunk. “But that doesn’t bring us any closer to the most important questions. How did the killer get Jed’s buckle and why did they put it on Madame Zenda’s body?”
“True dat.” Marlowe jumped down and padded off toward the stairs. “Only one way to find out. We need to get Josie up here so she can figure out the buckle came from Jed’s trunk herself.”
Fifteen
I filled in Mom and Millie on what I’d found out at the post office on our way back to the guesthouse.
“You’d think if they were real psychics they’d know who killed Madame Zenda,” Millie said as we let ourselves in through the back door in the kitchen.
“Good point,” Mom said. “Kinda proves they’re fakes.”
“Which means the killer wasn’t a ghost,” I added.
Thud!
We all looked up at the ceiling. “Did that come from the attic?” Mom asked.
“Don’t think so. Kind of loud.” Millie walked around the kitchen, her eyes still glued to the ceiling. “I’d be surprised if we could hear something from the attic two floors below.”
“Must be the cats,” Mom said.
Of course it was the cats, you never knew what they would be getting up to, though usually they were a lot more silent and sneaky.
“Probably knocked something over.” Millie turned her attention away from the ceiling, opened the fridge and started to rummage around. “Have you thought about what you’ll serve for breakfast tomorrow? Even with all this going on the guesthouse has to keep its reputation for fine breakfasts. We don’t need to have another reason for people to think about canceling.”
Shoot! I’d completely forgotten about that. My mind raced to think up the quickest and easiest meal, but I didn’t want Millie to know I was thinking ‘quick and easy’. “I was thinking we should go with something that I can heat up in the morning, like a frittata. And then I could make some waffles too. The sugar will set off those feel-good endorphins and they won’t be worried about the fact that one of them could get murdered next.”
Millie scowled at me. “Do you really think someone else might get murdered? It looked like Madame Zenda’s murder had a specific purpose.”
“Yeah,” Mom chimed in. “I don’t think anyone else is in danger.”
“Probably not, but I can whip up the batter in the morning and cook them hot in the waffle maker for them. I have some spinach I need to use up, I can put that in the eggs.” No sense in wasting food, and I needed to be frugal, just in case.
“Sounds good.” Millie disappeared into the fridge and came out with the ingredients for the frittata.
Mom pushed in beside Millie and pulled out some string cheese. “That’s smart thinking,” she said as she pulled off a string from the cheese and dangled it into her mouth. “Everyone loves a sweet and savory combo and maybe that will have them raving about the breakfast and talking about the dead body not so much.”
Millie put the spinach, eggs, milk and cheese on the counter and preheated the oven.
The cats appeared in the kitchen and trotted over to sniff at the oven, then fixed me with their intelligent eyes. I was relieved to see that Nero had dust on his whiskers, indicating that it had probably been them that caused the thud. It looked like they had been in the attic. I knew it was dusty in there. Not that I was worried about it being a ghost or anything, more like a nosey guest. Or Anita Pendragon. How the cats had gotten in there, I had no idea. Maybe there was a secret passage or something. Come to think of it, one of those old servants’ rooms had a door with a crack in it that led straight to the attic, the cats could probably fit through that.
Millie bent down to pet them, but they had another agenda.
Meow. Nero glanced at me, then trotted over to the narrow servants’ stairs that led to the attic.
Meroop. Marlowe was right behind him, her tail fluffed up as she trotted ahead of Nero, then looked back as if to see if we were following.
Nero kept giving me the eye. I thought back to the previous murders. Each time someone had been murdered the cats had seemed to be suggesting things to me. I could have sworn they’d helped me out of a few scrapes, maybe even saved my life. I was starting to believe that what Millie had said about cats being smarter than humans was true. Maybe I should take their advice under consideration. And right now, it looked as if they wanted me to follow them upstairs.
I was just starting toward the stairs when Myron’s voice bellowed from the foyer. “Josie! I’m here for my notebook.”
Millie’s face scrunched up. “Is that Myron Remington?”
“Yeah, he mentioned he had left his notebook and pen here.” I reluctantly turned away from the stairs, ignoring the protesting meows and exasperated looks from the cats.
“Can’t he get a new notebook?” Mom asked. “Such a cheapskate.”
“Well he does like the finer things. Did you see his notebook has a leather cover and that pen looks very old and expensive.” Millie focused on beating the eggs and I left the two of them in the kitchen and headed to the foyer to meet Myron.
“I see a murder hasn’t scared these people off yet,” Myron said when he saw me coming down the hall. Unfortunately, he said it loud enough for the people in the parlor to hear him.
Victor called out from his spot next to the fireplace where he was sitting in a chair swinging some sort of talisman in the air. “Scare us off? No way. Now more than ever I know that I’ll be able to communicate with Jed and solve the mystery not only of his death and where the treasure is buried, but also who killed Madame Zenda or Betty Sue or whatever her name was.”
“What do you mean?” Gail asked. “I thought Jed killed Madame Zenda.”
Victor waved his hand in the air. “I doubt it, but if he did I suppose he will confess to me.”
Esther had been sitting over by the table with her crystal ball in front of her. The cats must’ve followed me into the hallway because they were now both sitting in her lap. She was petting and cooing to them.
She eyed her crystal ball and softly said, “Don’t think that you’re the only one who can talk to Jed. You might be surprised at who else has psychic abilities.”
Victor jerked his head in her direction. “I’m not worried about you wannabes. I know I’m the only real psychic and so does everyone else.”
He glanced out the window and I followed his gaze and saw a swirl of pink. Anita Pendragon? I’d have thought the murder would have scared her off. Especially if she was the killer. But apparently the chance of getting a story scoop that could be made into a movie was too enticing.
I also noticed the window was open again, even though Flora and I had been making sure we kept them closed. Did Anita have a cohort inside that left it open so that she could overhear our conversations? For all I knew she was taping everything we said.
“So no one is leaving then?” Myron asked.
They all shook their heads.
Myron glanced at me and I smiled. This was good. Now that Myron knew that the guests weren’t scared off, maybe he’d curtail any thoughts about canceling the loan. I didn’t need to mention the cancellation I’d already gotten. That was probably a fluke.
“The only thing that would get us to leave is if the real ghost was here trying to kill off another one of us.” Gail frowned down into her mug, apparently reading something she didn’t like in the tea leaves.
Thunk!
Another candlestick fell off the mantle and we all looked at it suspiciously. Even the cats seemed distrustful of the fallen object.
Gail picked it up and put it back. “Weird.”
I could practically see thoughts of hauntings whirling in Myron’s head. Luckily there had been no other signs of a ghost—like eerie moans or lights flickering. At least I had that on my side.
Victor stared at the candlestick. “Say, is anything in here an item that belonged to Jed? I can speak to the departed more easily if I am holding one of their objects, you know. Preferably something he favored.”
I looked around the room. Most of the belongings had come with the sale. I glanced at Millie.
“Not anything in here. These things belonged to my family,” she said.
Victor looked disappointed. Myron was staring at him with a mixture of dread and suspicion.
“So, Myron. You’re probably in a hurry, I know how busy you are. I’ll walk with you to the west wing to get your notebook and pen. You can see how nicely Ed is progressing with the work.” I quickly ushered him down the hall. The less time Myron spent in the guesthouse the better as you never knew when the next weird thing was going to happen.
Myron’s notepad and pen were right where he’d left them in the ballroom. Ed didn’t appear to be keen on seeing Myron again, muttering something about Myron leaving them on purpose so he could have an excuse to come back and see me. I hoped he wasn’t going to start leaving things around just so he could stop by. He’d been here enough in the past week already.
I tried to ignore Ed’s mutterings as I shoved the pen and notepad into Myron’s hand and then rushed him out the front door before anyone could say anything that might make him even more nervous about the financial situation at the guesthouse. I wanted him to leave on a high note thinking things weren’t so bad. If the current guests weren’t considering defecting from the guesthouse and staying at the Smugglers Cove Inn down the road, then it wouldn’t harm future guests and therefore my loan.
A Purrfect Alibi: A pawsitively gripping cozy mystery (The Oyster Cove Guesthouse Book 3) Page 9