A Twist in the Tail: An absolutely purrfect cozy mystery (The Oyster Cove Guesthouse Book 1)

by Leighann Dobbs

  ‘Did you want something?’ Stella came deck’s edge to look down at me. ‘I would think you’d be trying to figure out who killed your guest.’

  ‘I am. Which brings up the question. Why do you keep coming over?’

  She frowned. ‘What are you talking about?’

  ‘Don’t play dumb with me.’ Actually, she didn’t have to play, she was dumb, but I was less likely to get the truth if I let that slip out. ‘Flora said she saw you over at the kitchen door.’

  Her eyes flicked in the direction of the guesthouse. ‘Well I might have gone over a few times to see a certain person.’

  ‘So you’ve been lurking around the guesthouse to see Mike?’

  ‘Mike and I are good friends.’ She leaned over the railing, a knowing look in her face. ‘Very good friends.’

  That figured. I wasn’t surprised in the least. Except… if she really had been coming over to see Mike, why had he lied about it? He would have no reason to say he thought she’d been coming over to see me, unless he didn’t want me to know that he was still carrying on with her. But why would he care if I knew? Someone was lying, that was for sure.

  I crossed my arms over my chest. ‘So you really were coming over to see Mike?’

  ‘So what if I was? It’s none of your business.’

  ‘It’s not. Well, other than the fact that a guest was murdered and you were seen lurking around.’

  ‘I haven’t been lurking!’ She waved the white cleaning cloth at the seagulls who had resumed their circling. ‘I’m very busy, if you must know. I have guests, gulls and other stuff going on. I don’t have time to listen to your false accusations.’

  That’s right, she did have ‘other stuff’ going on. Like that cooking contest that would win her bragging rights and five grand. The contest that she might need an innovative and unusual recipe for. ‘You weren’t interested in getting your hands on a certain cookbook, were you?’

  ‘What? No?’ Stella flapped the towel even though the gulls were gone. ‘Why would I want a cookbook? That’s just silly.’

  Now that she seemed a little rattled, I figured I’d toss out another question. She might be flustered enough to give an incriminating answer. Though honestly, I seriously doubted that Stella could pull off that kind of murder. Someone would have to know how to mess with the stairs to make it look like an accident, not to mention the sneaking in and out, and the planning. ‘Did you know the victim was a food critic? Maybe he ate at your place?’

  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.’

  ‘Perhaps we should take a closer look at Josie. I have an informant down at the Police Station. You know him, Stubbs. It’s Louie Two Paws, the Siamese with the double paws. Anyway, he said that the victim was killed because of a bad review. That doesn’t look good for Josie.’

  Nero huffed. ‘The police found a small scrap of paper in Charles’ room. It’s inconclusive as to what it really says. And besides, the review could have been about anyone, even Stella Dumont. Charles Prescott wasn’t confined to the Oyster Cove Guesthouse, he ate at other establishments. The police are making assumptions based on the one piece of evidence that their inferior investigative skills have unearthed. Whereas we have found a chef’s clog footprint, a clandestine affair and a missing cookbook.’

  Boots nodded. ‘I suppose you are right. We must look at all the clues and let our superior brains determine who the appropriate suspects are.’

  ‘Well, I hate to say it,’ Stubbs said. ‘But Josie is a good prime suspect at least from the police’s point of view. She had motive if the review is about the guesthouse, she had means because she lives right there, and she had opportunity to kill the victim any time during the night and no one would think it was unusual that she was lurking around.’

  ‘No it can’t be Josie,’ Nero felt instantly protective of Josie, though he wasn’t sure why. Surely he wasn’t that attached to her. He’d only known her a few weeks. It was probably displaced loyalty for the Oyster Cove Guesthouse which had been his home for several lives now. Millie had left the guesthouse to him and Marlowe, and they’d messed up by letting a murder happen in the first place. He had to make sure that whomever he accused was actually the right person.

  Poe raised a brow. ‘Oh, so you are bonding with your new human, then.’

  ‘Maybe. Sort of. I mean she still needs a lot of work but it doesn’t make sense that Josie would be the killer. Why would she kill him right in the guesthouse? That’s sure to raise suspicion on herself. Not to mention that it’s bad for business.’

  ‘And she is also looking for the killer. That’s what it sounded like when we were in the living room earlier,’ Marlowe added. ‘And why else would she be at Smugglers Bay? She also suspects Stella.’

  Nero nodded. ‘Yes. Flora told her that Stella has been lurking around.’

  ‘But also, Mike said someone rigged the murder scene so that it would look like it was an accident.’

  ‘You don’t say? A setup? Trying to make Josie the fall guy perhaps?’ Stubbs asked.

  Harry gave him a knowing, skeptical look. ‘Or the sabotage could point even more toward Josie. Who else would have opportunity to be inside the guesthouse messing around with the murder scene without anyone thinking it was odd?’

  ‘Right,’ Poe added. ‘Whatever was done to the scene probably took time and if it was not someone who was supposed to be there, questions would be raised.’

  ‘Not really,’ Nero said. ‘That part of the guesthouse is closed off. No one would be in there.’

  ‘Again, it all comes down to motive,’ Harry said.

  ‘In my experience, the most predominant reason people get iced is one of two things: money or love.’ Stubbs shook his head as if to indicate his disappointment with petty human motives.

  ‘That’s the problem,’ Nero said. ‘We have both. We have the missing cookbook that one of his associates said could be worth a lot of money and we have heard tale that he was having an affair with someone at the guesthouse.’

  Poe frowned. ‘Someone at the guesthouse? Who?’

  ‘The blonde girl, Tina, or so Josie said,’ Nero said.

  The male cats all nodded knowingly.

  Juliette frowned at them disdainfully. ‘That doesn’t make very much sense. If it was someone at the guesthouse then why would they go out the window and leave the footprint?’

  ‘Yeah, that’s a good question. Why?’ Marlowe asked.

  Nero’s gaze drifted to the cove as the cats considered the question. A red and white lobster boat bobbed in the waves. Inside, the lobsterman in his rubber apron was pulling up his pots. Nero watched as he snagged the blue and white polka dotted buoy and put the rope on the wheel that would dredge up the pot. He recognized from the buoy colors—each lobsterman had his own color scheme—that it was Buddy Turner.

  Nero liked Buddy because he was kind to the cats and usually tossed them his bait scraps. He hoped Buddy had a good haul. A few minutes later the wooden slatted lobster pot appeared. Inside, he could see the succulent little creatures, some sitting contentedly, others with claws flailing. Nero felt momentary pang of sympathy for them, being dragged out of their environment and boiled alive, but it soon passed. They did taste good.

  Finally, Juliette said, ‘Maybe the footprint is from someone other than the killer.’

  ‘Why would someone climb out the window?’ Poe said. ‘It does not make much sense.’

  ‘I was merely considering all possibilities,’ Juliette hissed.

  ‘What have you heard on the streets? Has anyone heard or seen anything?’ Nero asked quickly to keep things on track, and also avoid a fight between the two cats.

  Juliette fluffed her tail. ‘Unfortunately no one has come to Father Timothy to confess about the murder.’

  ‘Yeah, that would be too easy,’ Harry said.

  ‘I did, however, notice some unusual activity from some of the Guesthouse guests up on the cliff. The belfry offers amazing views.’ Juliette preened her tail. Nero suspected it was more to draw out the attention of her discovery than for actually grooming purposes.

  ‘Who was it?’ Nero asked.

  ‘That older couple. The one with all the cameras,’ Juliette said.

  ‘The Weatherbys,’ Marlowe said. ‘What were they doing? It’s a steep and treacherous climb up to those cliffs, and they are old.’

  ‘Tell me about it.’ Juliette’s blue
eyes narrowed in concern. ‘I was quite worried that I would witness them plunge to their deaths as they were bandying about on the edge of the cliff with their cameras out. They are actually quite adept for older people.’

  ‘Seems awful risky but I guess you can get some good pictures up there on the cliffs,’ Harry said.

  ‘Yes, it’s a lovely view. Great backdrop for gull pictures,’ Juliette said.

  Nero though about this new wrinkle. Perhaps it meant nothing. The Weatherbys had said they were avid birdwatchers, perhaps they would go to great lengths to get pictures of baby gulls, if there were any up there. With the gull situation going on, Nero wondered if they would be reproducing at all.

  ‘So, the victim was seen up there. And the Weatherbys were seen up there.’ Boots’ whiskers twitched.

  ‘But if it was the Weatherbys, how does the chef’s clog footprint figure in?’ Marlowe glanced at Nero.

  Nero simply tried to look wise. He had no idea how the two could be related. He didn’t recall the older couple wearing clogs. He was sure he would have noticed and equally sure he’d only ever seen them in sneakers. But he supposed they could have a pair in their closet. Perhaps he should investigate. He didn’t answer though. He didn’t want to seem like he had no clue. Part of his job of mentoring Marlowe was to appear as the wise teacher.

  ‘What about the rest of you? Has anyone seen or heard anything?’ Nero asked to avoid answering Marlowe’s question.

  Everyone shook their head except for Stubbs. ‘I might’ve seen something. I put a tail on the skirt. You know, the one you said was having an affair with the victim? In my line of work, you always follow the dame.’