A Whisker in the Dark Read online

  A Whisker in the Dark

  Leighann Dobbs

  Books by Leighann Dobbs

  The Oyster Cove Guesthouse (Cat Cozy Mystery Series)

  A Twist in the Tail

  A Whisker in the Dark

  Mystic Notch (Cat Cozy Mystery Series)

  Ghostly Paws

  A Spirited Tail

  A Mew to a Kill

  Paws and Effect

  Probable Paws

  A Whisker of a Doubt

  Blackmoore Sisters (Cozy Mystery Series)

  Dead Wrong

  Dead & Buried

  Dead Tide

  Buried Secrets

  Deadly Intentions

  A Grave Mistake

  Spell Found

  Fatal Fortune

  Hidden Secrets

  Lexy Baker (Cozy Mystery Series)

  Lexy Baker Cozy Mystery Series Boxed Set Vol 1 (Books 1–4)

  Or buy the books separately:

  Killer Cupcakes

  Dying for Danish

  Murder, Money and Marzipan

  3 Bodies and a Biscotti

  Brownies, Bodies and Bad Guys

  Bake, Battle and Roll

  Wedded Blintz

  Scones, Skulls & Scams

  Ice Cream Murder

  Mummified Meringues

  Brutal Brulee (Novella)

  No Scone Unturned

  Cream Puff Killer

  Never Say Pie

  Kate Diamond Mystery Adventures

  Hidden Agemda (Book 1)

  Ancient Hiss Story (Book 2)

  Heist Society (Book 3)

  Silver Hollow (Paranormal Cozy Mystery Series)

  A Spell of Trouble (Book 1)

  Spell Disaster (Book 2)

  Nothing to Croak About (Book 3)

  Cry Wolf (Book 4)

  Shear Magic (Book 5)

  Mooseamuck Island (Cozy Mystery Series)

  A Zen for Murder

  A Crabby Killer

  A Treacherous Treasure

  Hazel Martin (Historical Mystery Series)

  Murder at Lowry House (Book 1)

  Murder by Misunderstanding (Book 2)

  Lady Katherine Regency Mysteries

  An Invitation to Murder (Book 1)

  The Baffling Burglaries of Bath (Book 2)

  Murder at the Ice Ball (Book 3)

  A Murderous Affair (Book 4)

  Sam Mason Mysteries (Writing as L. A. Dobbs)

  Telling Lies (Book 1)

  Keeping Secrets (Book 2)

  Exposing Truths (Book 3)

  Betraying Trust (Book 4)

  Killing Dreams (Book 5)

  Available in Audio

  A Twist in the Tail (Available in the UK and the US)

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Hear More from Leighann

  Books by Leighann Dobbs

  A Letter From Leighann

  Recipes

  One

  I’m fairly certain that having a guest die before breakfast is a once-in-a-lifetime event. Even so, I was feeling a bit nervous as the guests at my newly acquired Oyster Cove Guesthouse dug in. Never mind that the memory of how a previous breakfast had been spoiled in a most alarming manner was still fresh in my mind, the reason I was nervous about this breakfast was that I was trying out a new pumpkin-bread recipe on my guests and, seeing as my culinary skills were meager at best, I was worried they might not like it.

  My worries were not unfounded. Though the guests had filled their plates, the brown loaf sat on the antique mahogany serving table, alone and uncut, shoved to the side like an overweight schoolboy on the playground. It was probably because of the dark edges. Admittedly, I’d left it in the oven a bit too long. Who knew that baking had to be that precise? But it was important I get this right. Millie Sullivan, my mother’s best friend and the guesthouse’s previous owner, had stressed the fact that having a winning loaf cake to serve at the town’s 250-year celebration would be vital to the future of the guesthouse. And, since all my retirement savings were tied up in the purchase of the place, I very much wanted it to have a good future.

  I eyed the room with satisfaction. It was the lavish dining room of the grand old mansion that was now a bed and breakfast, boasting a twelve-foot ceiling, ornate green-and-gold wallpaper and a gigantic green oriental rug. Ten-foot-tall palladium windows with a coveted view of the sparkling Atlantic Ocean ringed the far wall. They were open, causing the sheers lining the inside of the gold-and-green silk drapes to flutter from a cooling, salty sea breeze.

  On the buffet, eggs steamed in a warming tray, toast glistened with melted butter, bacon practically sizzled on its platter and pancakes dripped with maple syrup. But, more importantly, all the guests were accounted for, so there would be no chance of discovering that one of them had met their maker in a most unsavory manner inside my establishment. It wasn’t so much the welfare of the guests themselves I was worried about, more that I didn’t want to get a reputation for being a place where people only checked out in a body bag.

  It was a positive sign that the two resident cats, Nero and Marlowe, weren’t wailing like they’d done a few weeks ago to announce said dead body. In fact, it was relatively quiet, the only sounds the faint cry of gulls drifting in through the window and the far-off sounds of hammering from my carpenter, Ed O’Hara, as he worked to renovate one of the dilapidated sections of the mansion.

  I had nothing to worry about other than that no one seemed to want my pumpkin bread. Unless it was the concern that a brawl might break out amongst the guests. I should have known it could be troublesome to rent all the rooms to one peculiar family—especially one that was in business together. Making cheese sculptures. Yes, you heard me. The Biddefords had a cheese-sculpture business. You’d wonder how that would sustain a whole family, but apparently cheese sculptures were quite popular for parties. I mean, who didn’t want a swan carved from a block of Swiss or a rendition of Michelangelo’s David chiseled from Muenster on their dining table?

  I hadn’t known they were peculiar when they checked in. I thought it was kind of cute that the descendants of the shipping magnate who had built the mansion wanted to stay in it for the town’s 250-year celebration. Jedediah Biddeford had been an important figure in town back then, and even though ownership of the mansion had passed out of the Biddeford family a couple hundred years ago, I guess they still felt a kinship with it.

  How was I supposed to know that every member of the family seemed to have a grudge against the next? From what I could gather—not that I was eavesdropping or anything but sometimes one overhears things by accident—their animosity was a combination of sibling rivalry and jockeying for position in the company. It was all nice-nice on the surface, but I could feel the tensions boiling underneath.

  The family had requested that I push the individual tables for four that dotted the antique room together to form one long table. Seemed like a good idea to me since there were no guests other than Biddefords. So there they sat, plates loaded with the sumptuous breakfast for which the guesthouse was known. All h
omemade, of course, except the pancakes. I confess I made those from a mix.

  Doris Biddeford, the matriarch, sat at the head, a look of disapproval on her face as she surveyed her children. She had to be eighty if she was a day. The “children” were in their fifties and I couldn’t really say I blamed Doris for scowling. Her kids left a bit to be desired.

  Doris’s critical gaze zoned in on one of her daughters, Paula. Paula was in her mid-fifties but had the look of someone who’d had more than their share of late nights. Not surprising though—I could tell Paula liked to imbibe. In fact, as I watched, she retrieved a little nip bottle out of her purse and dumped the entire contents into her coffee.

  Seated across from Paula was her brother Earl, who, along with his wife Arlene, were precisely the opposite of Paula. Fastidiously groomed, they both wore expensive clothes, and Arlene’s hair was perfectly coiffed, her fingers glittered with bejeweled rings. Their expressions echoed the mother’s disapproval.

  “Honestly, Paula, can’t you get through one day without the help of Mr. Jack Daniel?” Earl asked.

  “Shows how much you know, that wasn’t Jack Daniel’s, it was Baileys Irish Cream. I would never mix Jack with coffee.” Paula hiccupped and practically fell off her chair.

  Doris rolled her eyes and shook her head. “Earl’s right, you need to straighten up. No wonder the business is going down the crapper.”

  Earl turned to his mother. “Mom, it is not going down the crapper.” He glanced back at me as if he was thinking they shouldn’t be airing their dirty laundry in front of the innkeeper. It would have been prudent to quietly fade into the hallway so as not to witness the family argument that appeared to be brewing, but I was nosey. Besides, I liked to know who was arguing with whom under my roof, just to keep an eye out for any trouble.

  “Might as well be, with all you shady characters running it,” added Bob, the other son, who I’d determined was the black sheep of the family. Unlike Earl, who dressed to the nines in designer clothing and Italian leather footwear, Bob was wearing a navy-blue hoodie, jeans and sneakers with the laces undone. He was probably in his late forties and had salt-and-pepper hair that swooped over his forehead in a comb-over. I don’t know if he was just a sloppy dresser or trying to look younger, but his clothing choices did nothing for him. It was no surprise, given the way he dressed, that Bob didn’t appear to have a significant other.

  Carla, the other sister, gave Bob a raised brow. “Like you should talk. You’re the one who has a suspicious past.”

  I could tell Carla was the most normal one of the bunch. But that wasn’t saying much. She was also the most annoying, insisting on using her navy-blue Yale coffee mug for breakfast, as if she had to show off her pedigree. I mean, she was in her mid-forties and college was a long time ago. I figured she probably handled the legal aspects of the business. Her husband, Henry, sat quietly beside her as always. I got the impression that Henry only spoke when Carla gave him the okay.

  “I do not. That’s Paula,” Bob said.

  Paula took offense. “I don’t have a suspicious passht. My passht is wide open. You should be looking at Arlene when talking about a suspicious passht.” She eyed her sister-in-law. I didn’t like the way Arlene was clutching her knife as she glared back at Paula.

  “Children!” Doris tapped her spoon on her glass. “Quiet! Can’t we all just get along for one week?”

  Silence ensued while they all got busy with their food. Arlene primly rearranged the napkin in her lap while still managing to shoot daggers at Paula. Even Ed’s hammering had stopped, which was kind of weird. Maybe he was taking a break. I should see if he wanted some breakfast.

  Carla broke the silence. “Did you take the last pancake?” She jerked her head toward Bob’s plate.

  Bob shoved a maple-syrup-soaked piece of pancake into his mouth and gestured toward the buffet and its empty silver pancake platter. “No one’s name was on it. Maybe you should fill your plate once instead of taking little bits and going up four times.”

  Carla folded her arms across her chest. “I was going up for seconds. You always take the last pancake. It’s not fair.” She turned to her mother. “Right?”

  Doris rolled her eyes again.

  Merow!

  “What was that?” Bob made a show of looking around the room, probably hoping to change the subject. “Is that one of those adorable cats you have here?”

  Adorable? I supposed they were sort of cute when they weren’t pushing things off the counter or ripping the toilet paper off the roll… or finding dead bodies.

  “Yes.” I glanced at the door to the hallway. The meow sounded far away, like it had come from the closed off west wing where Ed’s hammering had been. It also sounded eerily like the meows they’d made a few weeks ago when they were trying to alert us that a guest was dead in that very same wing. I glanced around the table. Nope, all guests accounted for, thankfully.

  “Don’t try to change the subject.” Carla stabbed her fork into a piece of pancake on Bob’s plate.

  “Hey!” Bob took his knife and tried to knock the pancake off Carla’s fork.

  You’d think they were ten years old and not grown adults with children of their own. Thankfully they hadn’t brought any of them. I could only imagine what those kids were like.

  Meoooo! This one was louder and more insistent.

  Doris frowned and craned her neck to look out into the hallway from where the meows were emitting.

  “I hate when he takes the last pancake,” Paula slurred and listed in her chair.

  “Taking the last pancake is nothing compared to some of the things I’ve seen you people do,” Bob said.

  Merow! Even louder.

  I strained to hear. Was that Ed hammering again? It sounded like he was using the sledgehammer on something, but at least that indicated he was alive. Of course, it was silly of me to assume that every time the cats yowled like that there would be a dead body. But still…

  Earl leaned forward, getting into Bob’s face. He was blissfully oblivious to the potential hidden meaning of the caterwauling. “What are you talking about?”

  Bob shoved another piece of pancake in. “I think you know.”

  Meroogh!

  “What is with those cats?” Doris asked, ignoring the ridiculous pancake argument.

  “I’m not sure. They might be hungry.” Yeah, that was probably it. Even though it sounded like they were in the west wing, they were probably near their food bowls in the kitchen. Sound tended to get distorted and carry from strange places in this old house. I started in that direction when….

  Crash!

  That came from the west wing.

  Mewooo!

  Mewargh!

  “Josie!” Ed’s voice, loud but shaky, echoed through the house. “You’d better come see this.”

  Two

  “You stay here and enjoy your breakfast. I’m sure it’s nothing. Ed tends to get overly excited,” I reassured my guests, who were all staring at me.

  I dashed off toward the west wing. Judging by the thunder of footsteps behind me, they didn’t stay put as I’d suggested. Darn it! The last thing I needed was some sort of disaster to make them want to check out of the guesthouse early with an unpaid bill. My mind reeled. What could it be? Was it the mold? I’d been told one of the walls was rotting and likely had mold inside. That might put guests off, even though I was fixing it. Maybe it was something else. Ed could have been hurt. Or the cats. Though judging by their meows no damage had been done to their vocal cords.

  I really didn’t want the Biddefords to follow me, but they seemed determined. And besides, I would just have to go back in the dining room and explain whatever it was that Ed was yelling about to them anyway. I forged ahead full speed with the whole family on my heels. As I reached the door I glanced over my shoulder. Doris was right behind me. Who knew the old girl could run so fast?

  Of course, the door to the west wing was locked, just as I’d been instructed by our new buil
ding inspector to do, so I had to detour into the kitchen and grab the key out of the drawer. When I came back, I had to clear the Biddefords away from the door to open it. Doris had been bent down peeking through the keyhole.

  I unlocked the door, and it swung open. My gaze went immediately to the stairway on the right. That’s where the body had been just a few weeks ago. Today, though, there was only some dust. I breathed a sigh of relief.

  Merooo! Nero ran over to me and then trotted back to the doorway that led to the room where Ed was. He stopped and looked over his shoulder as if waiting for me to follow. All sounds of hammering and sawing had stopped.

  “Ed, are you okay?” I yelled. Ed was elderly, maybe he’d had a heart attack or something.

  “I’m fine but I don’t think this guy is…”

  This guy? I steeled myself as I entered the other room.

  The room Ed was working in had been a ballroom at one time. It wasn’t gigantic but it wasn’t tiny either. It was in quite a state of disrepair; water-stained ceiling, wallpaper coming off in strips. Remnants of the original black-and-white marble-tile flooring were chipped and cracked, and most of the windows were boarded up. I was planning on turning it into a game room. Ed had been replacing the old plaster walls first since we already knew there was water damage.

  He was standing in front of the worst damaged section of the wall. He’d made good progress and a large section of the old horsehair plaster had been removed to reveal the inside of the wall. The demolition had created a dusty pile of rubble, and I could see the slats inside the wall. Too bad I could also see something else. A skeleton.