Millie shoved the quiche into the oven. “I’m just going to cook this for a while to let it set and you can heat it up tomorrow morning. Now, let’s talk about the town celebration. Are you all set with the rest of the display items and the loaf cakes?”
“Sure.” I was a bit reluctant to stop the murder discussion since I really wanted to figure out who the killer was, but I supposed that talking about something else would give our collective subconscious time to work on all the clues and suspects. “I’ll dig up that book on the guesthouse history from my room tonight. I made a trial batch of apple-pecan loaf.” I gestured toward the loaf I’d left cooling.
“I saw that. Was wondering when you were going to let me try it.” Millie cut into the loaf and I held my breath as she took a bite and swirled it around in her mouth like she was taste testing fine wine.
“It’s okay. A little tart.” Millie picked up the recipe card and looked over the recipe. “Oh yes, I remember this one. You might want to add a pinch more sugar. Plenty of people like it sweet. And you have the little mini loaf pans and bows?”
“Yep.” I can’t tell you how relieved I was the loaf had passed Millie’s taste test. Sure, she’d complained about it being tart, but the fact that that was all she’d had to say was a high compliment. Millie had given me these cute miniature tinfoil loaf pans, pink plastic wrap and red bows. She’d said the presentation would draw people to my table. I was afraid I needed as much help as I could to get people in my line and out of Stella’s, so I was willing to try anything, even if it meant pouring batter into dozens of tiny pans.
“Okay.” Millie brought her hands together and looked at my mother. “What do you say we leave Josie to it? The bingo game at the senior center starts in thirty minutes and it’s a double pot tonight. Don’t want to miss it.”
“You guys take off, I can handle this.” I gestured toward the oven.
“Great.” Millie pointed. “Let that cook for twenty more minutes, then let it cool and put it in the fridge. Heat it up tomorrow morning for about fifteen or twenty minutes. Easy peasy.”
The cats trotted out to say their goodbyes and Millie and Mom went out the back door. As I was watching them go, Millie turned and said, “Don’t worry, Josie, everything will work out perfectly. You’ll see.”
“That’s right,” Mom agreed. “But you might want to burn some sage, just in case those rumors about Jedediah’s ghost really are true.”
No sooner had Mom and Millie left, than the front door opened and I heard the Biddefords come in. At least they wouldn’t be digging up the yard tonight. The police had taken their shovels, but I also doubted they would be so cold-hearted to want to dig when that’s how their brother had been killed. I lurked in the hallway, hidden by the staircase—not to eavesdrop, but to give them some privacy. Okay, maybe I wanted to eavesdrop a little. They were my prime suspects and one of them might say something incriminating.
“I think a nice simple service with no wake is fine,” Carla said. “We don’t really need to rub elbows with any of Bob’s unsavory acquaintances, so there’s no need for a wake.”
“If the police ever release the body,” Earl said.
“Maybe someone could do a cheese sculpture of a dove to put on top of the casket?” Doris asked.
The kids mumbled their agreement.
“White cheddar would work well for that,” Paula said.
“Boy that Marinara Mariner sure has spicy sauce. I’ll be up all night.” Earl burped.
“Maybe you shouldn’t have eaten so much,” Carla said. I could hear her sniffing. “Did Josie bake something? Maybe we should make sure the kitchen isn’t on fire.”
The siblings laughed and I resisted the urge to march right out there and give them a piece of my mind. I’d burned a few loaf cakes since the Biddefords had been here, but I didn’t burn everything I put in the oven.
“I’m going to bed to see if I can get some sleep,” Arlene said. “It’s kind of freaky knowing there is a murderer running around. I knew this town was weird. Luckily, we’ll only be here a few more days. I don’t even care about the town celebration or how Earl’s ancestors practically founded Oyster Cove anymore.”
“You can say that again,” Carla agreed. “And honestly, I don’t know if I want to sleep in this creepy old house with Jedediah Biddeford’s ghost rambling around. I don’t want to be his next victim.”
“You don’t really think there is a ghost here, do you?” Arlene scoffed.
“That’s what they’re saying in town.”
Great. People were starting to believe this murdering ghost nonsense. Now even the current guests were afraid to stay. I heard the stairs creaking as they all went up to bed.
“You know, it would make sense that it would be Jed’s ghost,” Earl said. “I mean, who else would want to kill Bob?”
“You mean other than one of ush?” Paula slurred.
“Yeah,” Earl said. “Maybe Bob really did find something and Jed made good on his curse to harm whoever messed with his treasure.”
“Stop it!” Arlene admonished. “I won’t sleep a wink. There’s no such thing as ghosts.”
“Well I, for one, hope there really is,” Doris said. “And I hope Jed is rambling around in here. In fact, I hope he pays me a visit tonight.”
“Why is that?” Henry asked.
“Because then maybe I can persuade him to tell me where he hid the darn treasure!”
Eighteen
The cats had been sitting silently at my feet the whole time I listened to the Biddefords’ conversation. They blinked up at me as if in agreement that the whole family was crazy. But was one of them a killer?
Nero rubbed his face on my ankle and then looked up at me adoringly. I could see why people got so attached to the furry creatures. I was really starting to like them, they could be very friendly and attentive. They were especially attentive when I headed toward the fridge and got out some cheese and an apple for a snack.
“You guys want a snack too? Okay maybe a little cheese.” I broke off two pieces and added it to my plate. At their protesting meows I articulated, “You can have these up in our room after I get this quiche out of the oven.”
Our room. Who knew I’d be thinking of the cats as part of my family in that way?
Meow! they chorused.
Sounded like they’d understood. But when I started toward the back stairs, after securing the quiche in the fridge, the cats meowed loudly… prancing off in the direction of the butler’s pantry. Did they not understand we were going to our room? Or maybe I was the one who didn’t understand. I decided to follow them and find out.
As I started toward them Nero’s tail twitched and he trotted off even further, casting glances over his shoulder as if to make sure I was following. I’d determined he was the smarter of the two after watching them interact. Marlowe seemed younger, more impetuous. Marlowe had trotted ahead not even looking back, her tail waving in the air like a flag to follow.
The other side of the pantry opened into the hallway. At first, I thought they’d go toward the west wing. That seemed to be where everything happened. Bodies, skeletons, who knew what would be next? To my relief, they veered off to the right continuing down the hall to the conservatory.
Oh no. Was something wrong in there now? Had Ed started work and uncovered something dastardly or, even worse, been injured? I’d given Ed the day off but it would be just like him to come in and work anyway. The room was off the beaten path and no one would be walking past it to look in and see if someone was hurt in there.
We came to the French doors that opened into the room and my fears were put to rest when I saw it was empty except for the plants Millie had given me. Maybe the cats were trying to remind me to water them.
“Nice try, guys. Everything looks fine in here.” I scanned the room. Even in its dilapidated state, it was clearly once lovely. Large Palladian windows—most of which were temporarily boarded up—ran the length of the room and French doors o
pened to the overgrown garden. The moon shone in from the one window not boarded, creating a swatch of silver light on the floor. Wait… what was that shadow on the floor, over by the giant ficus tree?
The cats trotted over. Uh oh… was this why they’d come here? Dread washed over me. The cats always seemed to insist on summoning humans when something terrible had happened.
The electricity had been shut off to this room, so I ventured in to get a closer look. I bent down slowly… phew! It was only dirt.
“Hey, did you guys do this?” I asked.
The cats looked up at me, the moonlight reflected in their eyes, making them glow bright. I inspected the ficus. Yep, looked like someone had rummaged in the dirt. I was pretty sure the cats liked to dig, I’d seen them digging outside.
“It’s not nice to dig in the house. That’s for outside.”
They gave off some confused meows. Nero batted at the dirt.
“Don’t spread it around or you won’t get any treats.” I tapped the plate with the cheese.
Mew!
Marlowe had something in the corner. I hoped it wasn’t a mouse. She crouched down and swatted. It rolled out toward me. Thankfully too small to be a mouse. I bent down to pick it up. A shiny nail? Had Ed been working in here? He’d said he hadn’t started here yet.
I stood and looked around. I didn’t see any tools or any evidence that work had been done. The nail could have come from anywhere though, the cats were known for batting things around and then leaving them in other rooms. They particularly liked the plastic water bottle caps. They must have batted the nail in here all the way from the ballroom.
They were looking up at me as if expecting praise. I held the nail out to them. “I don’t think it’s a good idea to be batting nails all over the house. A guest could step on one and become injured.”
The cats looked at each other, shook their heads and trotted off. I looked back at the dirt as I left. Too bad I couldn’t train them to pick it up. I’d have to have Flora do it. Maybe it wasn’t a good idea to have plants in the house with the cats? And they must not be as smart as I’d been giving them credit for if they led me to their mess.
I followed them to the owner’s quarters, a cozy suite with a window overlooking the ocean. It was in a rounded turret and had a cute sitting area in the round part. The neutral shades of mocha and heather were soothing. I loved retreating here at the end of the day.
Millie had left quite a few of the antiques that decorated the room, but it also had some modern touches like a comfy micro-suede sectional. I settled onto the couch and the cats jumped up beside me, looking expectantly from me to the cheese.
“I did promise you some, didn’t I?” I took the two small pieces and broke them up some more, then held one out to Nero, who sniffed it for what seemed like an hour before gently taking it.
“And you?” I held one out to Marlowe. She glanced at Nero who was still busy daintily eating, then sniffed twice and grabbed it.
I nibbled my piece and thought about the day. I was a bit disturbed by the conversation I’d overheard in the hallway. I certainly hoped people weren’t going to start spreading rumors about a murderous ghost. All the more reason to find the killer pronto.
But the murder investigation wasn’t the only thing I had on my plate. I had to juggle that along with my responsibilities for the town celebration. I had the ingredients for the loaf cake I planned to make all ready to go and I’d do another test run tomorrow morning. The pamphlets were already on the table. I just needed that book about the Oyster Cove Guesthouse history. Millie said that should be up here, so I put my snack down and went over to the antique oak bookcase in the turret part of the room.
Meow!
Nero hopped on top of the bookshelf and peered down at me.
“Where’s the book, buddy?” I waited for him to indicate the general location but all he did was stare at me.
“Okay…” I ran my fingers along the leather-bound spines of the books. Poetry. Uncle Tom’s Cabin. An Audubon Anthology. My fingers stopped at a large book. “Oyster Cove Town History. This must be it.”
Merooo… Marlowe stared at me from the back of the couch.
“Right, I thought so.” I took the book and flopped down on the couch. Nero trotted over. Both he and Marlowe seemed overly interested in the book, sniffing at it and putting their paws on it.
“You want to see what’s inside? I do too.” I opened the book, inhaling the vanilla scent of age-old paper. Inside were pictures of the guesthouse back in Jed’s day. It had been a large house but not nearly as large as it was now. Jed stood in front alongside a woman in a black dress with a voluminous skirt.
I pointed the woman out. “I guess this is Mrs. Jed.”
Nero smacked his paw on the page right above the description. Yep, Helena Biddeford. It was his wife.
“Maybe she’s the one who put him in the wall. What do you guys think?”
Meroo.
Marlowe pushed the edge of the book and it flipped to the next page.
“Going too slow for you?”
I flipped through, marveling at the old photos of the guesthouse and the town. Things had changed a lot over the centuries. There was a picture of a realistic drawing of Jedediah Biddeford with his family and household staff. He had his hand on a cane, the ring found on the skeleton clearly evident on his finger.
“I wonder which one of these children is Doris’s ancestor?” Doris hadn’t mentioned the name of the ancestor at the top of the Biddeford tree, but I looked at the inscription under the image anyway.
A familiar name caught my eye. Thomas Remington. Was that Myron’s ancestor?
I pulled the book closer to my face. He kind of looked like Myron. But this guy wasn’t a wealthy banker, he was a servant.
“Looks like Myron’s ancestor was Jedediah Biddeford’s butler,” I said out loud to the cats, who both were staring at me. “Funny how things work out, huh? He’s always boasting how his family was one of the first in Oyster Cove, but he makes it sound like they were part of the upper class.”
Meroo. Nero’s paw shot out and he riffled the pages, losing my place in the book.
“Yeah, I agree Myron sure is uppity considering where he came from.” I flipped back to the page just to double-check.
Meyawl! Marlowe whacked the cover of the book and I caught the pages before it snapped shut.
“Hey, I can’t read if—” Wait. Was their behavior an indication that I was on to something? They did have an uncanny way of knowing what was going on and it had seemed like they had helped me out during the last investigation, though I didn’t want to admit it at the time. Now that I’d spent more time with them, I was more inclined to consider that they might be smarter than everyone thought.
I broke off two more small pieces of cheese as a reward. I didn’t want to give them too much lest it upset their delicate systems. “I think you guys are trying to tell me something, aren’t you? Is this why Myron lied about being here last night? Does he have something to do with this?”
Meroo.
Merow.
The cats looked at me funny as if they didn’t understand what the reward was about, but they weren’t about to pass up cheese because they gobbled it down before head-butting my hand and practically shutting the book in their zeal to be petted.
Shutting the book wasn’t a bad idea. I didn’t need to read further. I was pretty sure I was onto something. Myron’s ancestor was the butler to Jedediah, and butlers always knew all their masters’ secrets. What if one of those secrets was the location of the treasure? And what if that location got passed down through the generations?
But if it had, wouldn’t someone have dug it up by now? Why would Myron wait so long and why was he over by the gazebo, which would be the least likely place for Jedediah to have buried it? Not to mention that Bob had been killed at the pond, which was very far from the gazebo. What if it was Myron who found the treasure and Bob who caught him and tried to take it? And did
that mean there really was treasure after all?
Some of this didn’t add up, but one thing was fishy. Myron had lied about being here and if that didn’t indicate guilt about something, I didn’t know what did!
I might have to do some digging, but I knew one thing for sure—I was finally starting to understand what the cats were trying to tell me!
Nineteen
“Josie still does not quite understand what we are trying to tell her,” Marlowe said from her perch near the pantry the next morning as they watched Josie heat up the quiche in the oven.
“But at least she is open to the fact that we are trying to tell her something. She needs more work, but this is a start,” said Nero.
“Start schmart, she needs to listen to us now or she’s going to end up in trouble just like she did with the last murder.” Marlowe eyed the countertop where the dishes were drying. “We may need to do something drastic.”
Nero sighed. “I know. Unfortunately, she is going down the wrong path. She totally misinterpreted our hints about that history book. There are much more interesting suspects to pursue than Myron Remington.”
“True. Though it is interesting that his family was connected with the Biddefords. I thought I smelled something familiar on him too,” Marlowe said.
Nero glanced at the tortie as she strutted over to the countertop. Had Marlowe really developed such a keen sense of smell or was she just saying that to make herself seem smart? It was true Myron had smelled familiar, but it wasn’t because some ancestor had once worked in the house. No, Nero suspected there was an entirely different reason and he needed to clue Josie in on it.
“What are you kitties up to?” Josie stood hands on hips watching them. “Do you need a treat for all your good work last night?”
Nero gave her his most adorable head tilt.
A Whisker in the Dark Page 13