When I returned to the kitchen Millie and Mom were getting ready to leave.
“We gotta run, Josie. It’s bingo night tonight. I think you can handle the clean-up.” Mom gestured to the countertop now littered with food scraps, dirty bowls and utensils. “The frittata is in the oven, don’t forget to cover it when you reheat it tomorrow otherwise it will be too dry.”
“Yep, no problem.” I wondered if I could get Flora to do the dishes. Probably not. I’d heard her vacuuming upstairs earlier and I was sure she’d claim to be exhausted.
I set to work cleaning up, periodically checking the dish in the oven. I’d had a little bit of a problem with burning baked goods a few weeks ago and was extra cautious with cooking time as a result.
The clean-up gave me time to think. If these incidents were not due to a ghost—and I was sure they weren’t because there was no such thing as ghosts—then someone had killed Madame Zenda. Would that person stop at one person? Was Madame Zenda killed because the person believed she could talk to Jed and wanted to stop her? Or was there some other reason that the murderer wanted her dead?
Maybe Madame Zenda knew something about one of them that the other person wanted to keep secret. Esther knew her real name, did someone else have a relationship with Madame Zenda that I didn’t know about? I made a mental note to dig around on the Internet and see if I could find such a connection.
I knew one thing, the murder wasn’t random. The note and the buckle proved that the killer had a specific reason to want her dead. Hopefully the killer would have no reason to strike again. Still, I was glad I had a double lock on my owner’s quarters.
I was bent down peering into the oven for the umpteenth time when I heard the back door open. I whirled around, heart pounding. Apparently this murder business had me more nervous than I thought.
“Whoa, Sunshine. Didn’t mean to startle you.” Mike sauntered in, the lazy smile on his handsome face holding a hint of amusement at the way I’d jumped. My heart started beating even faster, but not because I thought he was the killer.
“You startled me.” Nothing like stating the obvious.
His face immediately took on a look of concern. “Are you worried because of the murder? Do you not feel safe here? I could come and stay here if you want—”
I raised my palms in front of me and cut him off. “No. I’m not worried. I just wasn’t expecting anyone to sneak up on me.” I pulled the frittata out of the oven and set it on the counter.
“I wasn’t sneaking up.” His eyes narrowed. “Wait a minute… are you not worried because someone else is staying here?”
Now it was my turn to narrow my eyes. “What do you mean? There’s a lot of people staying here. It’s a guesthouse.”
“Not them. I saw Myron leaving when I came in. He’s been here a lot lately.”
I made a face. Did Mike think I had something going on with Myron? Was he jealous? For some reason that amused me. I waved my hand dismissively as if Myron’s presence was of no consequence. Which it was. “Oh yeah. He left his notepad and pen here and came to pick it up.”
“Ummm… hmmm… I bet he did.” Mike said it with the same hint of sarcasm in his voice that Ed had done when I brought Myron into the ballroom to retrieve his items.
“Did you want something?” I asked as Mike sauntered over to the counter and started picking at one of the leftover lemon muffins. I slapped his wrist. “Those are for guests.”
“Mmmm… this is good. Your cooking has really improved.”
I took a minute to bask in his compliment. “Thanks.”
“I have some new information on the case.”
I composed my face into a blank look and stared at him. I didn’t fool him though because he said, “Forget playing dumb, Sunshine. I know that you, your mom and Aunt Millie are investigating.”
I simply raised my brows. Mike had been an investigator in the navy and had gotten all bossy and protective when we’d tried to investigate the last two murders. Maybe he was getting used to the idea that when someone was killed on my property I looked into it. Good. Any help we could get would be welcome and Mike knew how to investigate, plus his office was in the town hall and he could have access to insider information.
“So, what did you find out?” I asked after trying to wait him out.
“Turns out that buckle really was old,” Mike said.
I frowned. “You mean like as old as Jed?” I glanced over at the stairs to the attic, remembering how the cats had been trying to lure me up there.
“Yep. Of course, it’s probably not his, they have old buckles in antique stores and you can buy them on the Internet from eBay.”
Of course! Why hadn’t I thought of that? But if the killer got the buckle from eBay, then they would have had to purchase it way before the murder, as they would have had to have it shipped. Which meant that the murder might not have been because Madame Zenda said she was going to talk to Jed. It would have been planned before that.
Esther bubbled up to the top of my mental suspect list, but I cautioned myself not to jump the gun. Just because Esther had a prior connection to Madame Zenda didn’t mean that she had a reason to kill her. Nor did it mean that the others didn’t have prior connections. Hadn’t Victor mentioned something about how her readings were never accurate? That seemed to indicate he was familiar with her work. And what about Gail? She’d been very quiet about her past and when I’d asked her once, she’d brushed me off. Besides, if Esther had murdered Madame Zenda because of some prior connection, wouldn’t she have tried to hide the fact that she knew her?
“So the murder could have been planned for some time. If someone had researched Jed and his treasure and planned it out, maybe they had time to find a similar buckle.”
Something outside the window caught my eye. Nero and Marlowe were slinking along the side of one of the old barns. Stalking mice? Or something else? Up ahead of them, I saw a flutter of purple fabric. Anita Pendragon? No. It was Esther Hill. She was dodging from shrubbery to shrubbery. What was she up to?
“Josie?” Mike’s question tugged my attention from the window.
“Huh?”
“I just said I think you should try to be careful here.”
“Of course. I’m always careful.”
Mike popped the last of the muffin into his mouth and brushed his hands together. “Okay, then. I guess I’ll go see Ed.”
“Ed?”
“Yeah, I came to inspect the ballroom. He’s ready to start the electrics and I need to make sure the framing is right.” His left brow quirked up. “Why did you think I was here?”
“Oh, I knew that was why, of course.” With all the excitement, I’d forgotten about the planned inspection. I didn’t want to explore the fact that I hadn’t thought it odd that Mike had come, that it almost felt normal for him to just walk into the kitchen. With his connection to Millie and the guesthouse, it was natural he’d feel right at home.
He left and I returned my attention to the window. I couldn’t see Esther or the cats anymore, but I couldn’t help but wonder just what the three of them were up to out there.
Sixteen
Nero stared down into the empty hole in the ground. “Guess someone did take the treasure just like you thought.”
Jed swirled beside him, his ghostly form tinged red with anger.
“Do you think it was one of the psychics?” Marlowe moved closer and sniffed, then shook her head. “No, can’t be. The treasure scent in here is old, but the disappointment scent is new.”
Nero agreed. As he had suspected all along, the treasure was long gone. They’d seen Esther dig the hole, so they knew she hadn’t taken anything out, but even before that the ground had been packed down, the grass grown solid over the top. No one had dug here in many decades.
“Are you sure you told her the right location?” Nero glanced up at Jed cautiously. Jed had claimed that he’d successfully communicated with Esther through her crystal ball. He must have been telling the
truth because Esther had come here and dug.
Jed scowled down at him. “Of course I know the right place. Sure, it took me a while to figure it out because the layout of the property has changed, but once I found the old outhouse, I paced it off and this is the spot. The big oak tree is gone, but you can see where it stood.” Jed pointed to a round sunken depression in the ground. “This here is thirty paces northeast.”
Nero and Marlowe nodded. Though the treasure was long gone, it could have been worse. Someone could have bought this old property and put up a strip mall and the hiding spot would be located under a parking lot. At least now they knew for sure that the treasure was gone.
Jed plopped down on the ground. Nero felt sorry for the ghost, he looked deflated. “Darn. I was hoping that pretty little Esther would dig the big treasure up.”
“So you really did talk to Esther?” Nero said.
Jed nodded. “But she’s the only one. I didn’t talk to that loudmouth Victor. I wouldn’t give him the time of day.”
“Huh, then I wonder why he said you were talking to him,” Marlowe said.
“Clearly it was for the television producer,” Nero said. “That newspaper reporter has been hanging around outside and you know she’s going to report back to him. Like Juliette said, Victor is setting himself up to be the star of the TV show.” Nero was sure of it.
“Which makes me wonder how badly he wants that,” Marlowe said.
Nero nodded. “Bad enough to kill.”
“Exactly.” Marlowe started pushing the dirt back into the hole with her paws and Nero joined her. They didn’t want anyone to know that someone had been digging. Especially not that nosey Myron Remington who they’d seen traipsing all over the property. Nero didn’t trust him one bit.
“Never mind that, we need to find out who killed me,” Jed said. “I’m getting tired of hanging around here and something tells me I’m tied to this property until I figure that out.”
“How do you expect us to figure out who killed you?” Marlowe said. “That was three hundred years ago.”
“I don’t know, but clearly someone killed me and took the treasure and given that some of my stuff is missing from the attic, I feel like the answer must be up there.”
“I think that points to someone in your family.” Nero thought about Jed’s earlier accusation that his wife hadn’t been happy with him. Had she killed him? How could they prove that?
Nero didn’t mind putting some effort into that investigation, but his first priority was figuring out who had killed Madame Zenda. Could the two murders be related? Impossible, one had happened three hundred years ago… unless Jed’s wife was really steamed at him and had waited three hundred years to get an even bigger revenge.
Nero closed his eyes and focused. He sniffed the air and waited for that twinge of the whiskers that told him something other-worldly was present. Nothing extra came through, just the vibrations from Jed.
“What on earth are you doing?” Marlowe asked. “We need to get Josie up into the attic so she can help us with the case. We can only do so much as cats. I know she was about to follow us up before Myron interrupted her.”
The shadows were getting longer and Nero glanced to the west where the sun was just dipping below the horizon.
“Good thinking. But not tonight. It’s almost dark and the attic is no place to be without the light of day to illuminate things.” Nero didn’t think Josie would like all those creepy shadows and dark corners. “I think our time is better spent searching the guests’ rooms before they come back from dinner. First thing tomorrow, we will get Josie to the attic.”
My favorite time of day was suppertime, mostly because I didn’t have to serve it. The guests usually went out to eat and the giant mansion was quiet. Today was no exception and I was doubly glad because it gave me a chance to investigate the guests’ prior connections to Madame Zenda.
For once, the cats weren’t getting in the way. Usually they lay on my keyboard or stuck their tails in my face when I tried to use the computer, but tonight they were nowhere to be found. I wasn’t sure what they were up to, but I could hear soft noises on the floors above as I sat in the back parlor, feet up on the coffee table and my laptop on my lap.
Up in the attic, perhaps? I remembered how they’d seemed to want me to follow them up there earlier in the day, and I had a vague notion that I should check the place out, but it was getting dark and I didn’t know what the lighting situation was up there, so now wasn’t a great time. Besides, something told me that I had to wait for the cats. If they had something to show me then they needed to lead the way.
Information on the guests was surprisingly easy to obtain, simply by googling. I guess when you are in a profession that depends on clients you have all your info out there. It wasn’t much different for the Oyster Cove Guesthouse; I needed an Internet presence so people could find me. Apparently psychics needed that too.
As I’d already known, Madame Zenda and Esther had worked together a few times. Not that that should make me suspicious because Esther wasn’t trying to hide the fact. She’d mentioned it right off. Except it hadn’t been right off. It had only been after the murder. Initially the two of them had acted as if they barely knew each other and had exhibited the same undercurrent of animosity that I’d felt between all of the guests. Had Esther realized that the police would find the connection and made sure to mention it right away so as not to appear as if she was hiding something?
From what I could find on the Internet, they’d been crossing paths for over twenty years. Appearing on telethons together, local television shows and even a circus stint. I didn’t find any bad press about either one of them.
Victor, on the other hand, had a more checkered past. I found the article from the Dayton Ohio Examiner about the scam that had been referred to earlier. Apparently, he’d been a personal psychic to a rich widow, Mary Chambers. He’d told her he was communicating with her dead husband. The widow’s family had claimed he was a fraud and made a lot of commotion in the papers. There was talk of a lawsuit since Mary had paid him thousands. Mary passed away of natural causes and a lawsuit was never filed and nothing had ever happened to him, except a bunch of bad press.
According to the article, Victor had met the widow on a Dreams Divinity seven-day cruise. I’d never heard of them but apparently there were cruises that featured psychics. They gave group readings and passengers could hire them for private readings as well. Sounded like a perfect place to find a mark that would willingly spend money thinking you were letting them talk to their dead loved one.
A quick glance at some press for that particular cruise told me that Madame Zenda, Esther Hill and Victor Merino were listed among the featured mediums. Not Gail though. Interesting. Was it possible that Madame Zenda knew something about Victor’s scam with the woman and Victor didn’t want her to tell anyone? But why spill the beans now, when it was all in the past? A picture of some of the mediums and passengers on the cruise showed Victor smiling like the cat that ate the canary, his mustache even larger than it was now. Was he smiling because his plan to scam rich widows was well under way?
I googled Gail Weathers but couldn’t find a thing. Odd… then again, Victor had eluded to her being an unknown. Maybe she was just starting out? She certainly did drink a lot of tea, so maybe she needed the practice.
Thud.
I jumped as a Murano glass paperweight rolled across the green-and-gold oriental rug. Must have toppled off of the side table. Instinctively I looked for the cats, but they weren’t here. A cold chill crept up my spine, then I laughed. All this ghost talk was getting to me. Clearly the paperweight had just rolled off. Flora must have put it on its rounded side instead of on the flat bottom when she’d dusted.
I shut the laptop and headed to the kitchen to check that everything was in order for breakfast. I whipped up some waffle batter and put it in the fridge. I wanted to get the breakfast set up quickly the next morning so I could be ready to test out my s
uspicions that the cats really were trying to show me something in the attic.
“There’s nothing in here but tea.” Marlowe backed out from under the bed and sneezed. Nero glanced around the room. The other cat wasn’t kidding; the place was loaded with tea tins. White, black, green, herbal. You name it and Gail had it in her room. It made him wonder why Gail was often seen in the kitchen pantry taking Josie’s Earl Grey. Maybe she was just cheap.
“Well, that about does it. We’ve scoured all of the guests’ rooms and haven’t found one thing.” Nero was disappointed. It wasn’t as if he’d expected to find a smoking gun or anything, but if the killer was one of the guests wouldn’t they have had paper that matched the note or a big red pen? Though a crafty killer would have thrown those things out…
Marlowe turned up her nose. “Other than that noxious cologne in Victor’s room.”
“That did smell horrid, but his velour lounging suits are soft to the touch.” The velour was so soft, it must have been very high quality—clearly Victor Merino was a human that liked the finer things. Everything in his room had been top-notch, from the offending cologne to the expensive luggage to the clothing.
“So, what now?” Marlowe sat and looked at Nero with her head tilted to the side quizzically.
Nero glanced out the window. The moon had risen and cast a soft glow over the landscape. The guests weren’t back yet, but he’d heard Josie knocking something over in the back parlor earlier and she was now rattling around in the kitchen. The guests would return any minute and it would only be a few hours before Josie went to bed, which meant they had a little time to go down to the bait wharf and meet with the other cats to find out if any of them had discovered anything.
A Purrfect Alibi: A pawsitively gripping cozy mystery (The Oyster Cove Guesthouse Book 3) Page 10