A Whisker in the Dark Page 3

  “Maybe the opening of the wall has released his ghost,” Henry answered, eyes scanning the edges of the room, no doubt looking for Jed’s spirit. Would tourists want to stay in a haunted guesthouse or was that off-putting to most? Hopefully this would all be cleared up before word got out and I had to find out firsthand if having a ghost would be bad for business.

  Mom and Millie had come in behind me, but the Biddefords were too engrossed in their conversation to notice us.

  “If someone did take his treasure, that person is long dead, so good luck to old Jed for getting his revenge.” Earl popped a grape into his mouth.

  “How do you know he even made it to Europe?” Arlene asked.

  “He must have, because I remember seeing family letters he sent from overseas.” Bob poured a cup of coffee and slurped.

  “But what about those rumors that he never came back? Wouldn’t people have noticed that he did?” Carla asked.

  “I know!” Doris fed a scrap of bacon to Marlowe this time. “I bet you he kept it a secret because he had the treasure. He didn’t want anyone to know he was back because he wanted time to bury it.”

  “But then someone came in and bashed him over the head and buried him in the wall!” Bob sounded almost gleeful.

  “Yeah, but the question is, did he bury the treasure first or did the killer get it?” Paula asked.

  Her question was met with silence as they contemplated this.

  “I bet he buried it first. If he hadn’t buried it, then surely the family records would have shown someone spending a lot of money.” Earl turned to Doris. “There weren’t any rumors about a big influx of money back during that time, were there?”

  Doris pressed her lips together. “Well that was a bit before my time, but I don’t remember anything about sudden wealth. If someone found it, they could have doled it out a little bit at a time. The family originally had a lot of money from Jed’s spice import business, but since future generations had to sell off the house, I’m gonna assume there was no treasure chest of riches found.”

  Paula’s eyes lit up. “It could still be buried here.”

  “Yeah, but where?” Bob glanced out the window.

  “Maybe he didn’t bury it, maybe he hid it in the house somewhere?” Henry said.

  Doris scowled at him as if he were dense. “I hope not. Most of the original structure from Jed’s time—aside from that one ballroom wall where he has been found—has been torn down and renovated. I remember my grandfather showing me that the only part that hadn’t been touched from the old house was that wall where Jed’s skeleton was. And there was no treasure in the wall with him, so if it was hidden somewhere else in the house someone would have found it by now.”

  “Mom’s right,” Earl said. “Besides, I think I remember the curse having something to do with haunting anyone who dug up the treasure—he must have intended to bury it. Our best bet is to look on the grounds.”

  “So my question still stands, where on the grounds?” Bob said.

  “I wonder if he left a map?” Arlene asked.

  Earl put his arm around her. “That’s a good question, honey. You’re always thinking. Where would he have left it?”

  “Hopefully not hidden in the house otherwise that’s gone too,” Doris said.

  “Maybe he had it on him?” Paula suggested.

  “In the wall?” Earl glanced toward the hallway. “We should go look.”

  “Can’t,” Doris said. “The police are in there now. Besides, I looked in there pretty good and didn’t see anything but that ring and a bunch of bones. We all got there together so no one would have had time to take the map out without the rest of us seeing them do it.”

  “Can we look in any of the family documents?” Bob asked Doris. “Did Grandpa Biddeford ever mention anything about a map?”

  “He never mentioned anything to me.” Doris waved her hands. “You can look if you want. I’m not gonna waste my time looking for some map.”

  “What if someone did find out and never said anything.” Carla tapped her fork on her empty plate. “There might not even be any treasure.”

  “True, but what if it wasn’t found… then it could still be out there.” Doris gestured toward the window.

  “Don’t any of you care who killed him?” I asked. I’d walked to the buffet and was bravely cutting into the pumpkin bread. One didn’t have to be a master chef to see it was a little dry. I’d have to work on that recipe, but for now copious amounts of butter should make it palatable.

  The conversation stopped and they all looked at me, then at each other. Doris shook her head.

  “Nah! None of us knew him and, besides, the killer is long dead. Whoever did it got what’s coming to him. That’s old news. What’s new news is the treasure, and I’m fixin’ to be the one who digs it up, my business depends on it!” She pushed up from the table and hurried out of the room.

  “Hey, where’s she going?” Arlene asked.

  Earl leapt from his chair and pulled Arlene up with him. “My guess is to scout out likely spots.”

  Bob threw down his napkin and followed them out of the room.

  Carla jumped up. “Come on, Henry. We’re not letting them get a head start!”

  Paula remained seated at the table alone. She looked shell-shocked. After a few beats, she stumbled up from the chair and spun in the direction of the door. “Hey, wait for me!”

  Meow.

  Marlowe and Nero were at my feet looking up at me, probably waiting for a crumb of pumpkin bread to fall. Unlike most cats, these two would eat anything.

  “Yeah sure, now that everyone is gone, you’re looking to me for food? I thought I told you two not to come in here when the guests were eating.”

  Millie scooped Nero up in her arms.

  “See they never listen to me.” I examined the piece of pumpkin bread in my hand. I’d put so much butter on it, it looked like frosting. Surely something with that much butter couldn’t taste bad.

  “Now, dear,” Millie clucked. “Cats have their own rules. You have to listen to them not the other way around.” She picked a dried leaf from Nero’s fur. “Have they been digging in the plants? Naughty. Naughty.”

  Nero purred and rubbed his cheek against Millie’s while casting a see-that’s-how-you-treat-me look in my direction.

  I took a tentative bite. Just as I suspected, it was dry and tasted like sawdust.

  “Josie, I hope you’ve been watering those plants.” Millie put Nero down and picked up Marlowe.

  “I have,” I managed to choke out while trying to swallow the pumpkin bread. Truthfully, I’d forgotten about the gigantic potted trees that Millie had bought at a yard sale last week. She said they’d go perfectly in the conservatory, which they would have if the room was anywhere near being done. Right now it was as dilapidated as the ballroom. I didn’t want to look a gift horse in the mouth so I accepted them and put them in the room near one of the windows that wasn’t boarded up. Hopefully they weren’t as dried up and dead as the skeleton.

  Millie looked at the piece of pumpkin bread in my hand. “Is that what you’re making for the town celebration?” She must have noticed I was trying, unsuccessfully, to choke down that one little bite.

  “It was a recipe I tried. It needs some work,” I admitted.

  “Looks dry. Maybe add some more oil.” Millie was a whiz at baking. She’d generously left her recipes here when I’d bought the guesthouse. Lucky thing for me she also kept popping in to bake too. If it wasn’t for Millie the guests might have starved. Though I was a tad bit insulted she thought I couldn’t handle the cooking, I had to admit she was right.

  “I can help you on that later.” Millie glanced toward the hallway. “Once the police are done. Hopefully Mike will tell us what they said.”

  “Mike?” I picked a crumb off the pumpkin bread and dropped it on my tongue. Even that was dry. “I thought he left. I mean, doesn’t he have building-inspector business to tend to?”

  Mo
m and Millie exchanged a look.

  “So, you are interested!” Millie sounded as if she’d just won the lottery.

  “No,” I said. “I just thought he had left.”

  “He’s in the crime-scene room making sure Seth doesn’t damage anything,” Millie said.

  That figured. I was willing to bet Mike was hanging around for more reasons than to make sure nothing got damaged. He’d been an investigator in the navy and, judging by his actions when we’d found the last body, he still couldn’t resist an investigation. How he’d ended up a handyman turned building inspector was anyone’s guess. He’d told me it was because he liked to work with his hands, though I suspected at the time that that statement had a double meaning.

  Thoughts of the last investigation reminded me of how annoying Mike could be. He’d insinuated that I had no business investigating to clear my own name and practically ordered me to stop looking for the killer. The nerve!

  Good thing I had no interest in getting to the bottom of this skeleton case. He could have it.

  “If you thought he left, you must have been thinking of him,” Mom said in that tone that indicated she knew my mind better than I did. “I don’t blame you. He’s a hottie. And he’s a very nice boy.”

  “Just because you made a bad choice for your last husband doesn’t mean you can’t try again,” Millie added.

  My “bad choice” was the other reason I’d come back to Oyster Cove. No wonder I was no good at cooking. My ex-husband was a semi-famous chef, so naturally he’d done all the cooking when we were married. He’d also done a lot of other things that I won’t bore you with. The divorce was not amicable and the only good thing that came from that marriage was my daughter, Emma. It had all turned out for the best though. I was finding a new freedom, and, by running the guesthouse, learning I was capable and self-sufficient. I didn’t need anyone to take care of me or tell me what to do, especially not Mike Sullivan.

  “What do you make of all this Jedediah Biddeford business?” I changed the subject.

  “Notsh oroamnl oar,” my mom mumbled. While we’d been talking about my love life, she’d grabbed a plate and helped herself to the buffet.

  “Huh?”

  “She said she’s not sure she believes in the curse,” Millie translated.

  “Yeah me either,” I said. “But still there is a skeleton in the wall.”

  “Right. And that means shenanigans,” Millie said.

  Mom washed down her bacon with a swig of juice. “He must have been killed for a reason.”

  “Maybe nothing to do with treasure, though,” I said.

  “Of course, the mere notion of treasure here on the property is ridiculous,” Millie said softly as she cast a wistful glance out the window.

  “If there was one, I’m sure we’d have heard about it by now.” I tossed the rest of my pumpkin bread onto one of the dishes and started clearing the table.

  “Or someone would have dug it up. Right, Rose?” Millie asked my mother.

  “Right.” Mom stuffed the last bit of food in her mouth and headed toward the door. “But just the same, I want to be prepared.”

  “Where are you going?” I stacked more dirty dishes on top of each other.

  “Why, down to Ace Hardware to buy a shovel, of course,” Mom called over her shoulder. “Hurry, Millie. A little digging will be good exercise and you never know what we might find!”

  Four

  Nero stretched out in the puddle of sunshine on the conservatory floor. The guesthouse was blissfully silent; all the guests had gone out to buy shovels and Josie had gone to the store. He rolled this way and that, enjoying the warmth on his fur and smelling the fresh scent of the dirt from the plants. He stretched his claws, noting that there was still a smidge of dirt under the nails from digging in the enormous pot of the ficus tree that sat next to the window. Sure, they could dig all they wanted outside, but there was nothing like digging up a plant in the comfort of your own home. Plus, it would help keep Josie on her toes, and impress upon her that cats didn’t simply obey human orders.

  The conservatory faced east and therefore had a delightful view of Smugglers Bay, with its craggy rock inlet and sun-dappled waves. Too bad most of the conservatory windows were boarded up. The room would have a magnificent view once new ones were installed.

  Nero didn’t mind the windows on the far side of the room being boarded as those blocked the view of the neighboring Smugglers Bay Inn. Not only was that inn somewhat of a rival to the guesthouse, but the owner, Stella Dumont, and Josie were rivals for the affections of Mike Sullivan. Even if Josie herself didn’t realize this yet, Nero was firmly on Josie’s side. The less he had to look at Smugglers Bay Inn and Stella Dumont, the better.

  From his spot, he could just see the edge of the deck where Stella served meals. He watched the gulls swooping in circles above it. There were more there now than there had been last week, and he was glad their numbers were no longer diminishing, even though they insisted on tormenting the cats by dive-bombing them.

  Of course, Nero himself was not afraid of the gulls. Those times he ducked under a hydrangea when a gull swooped were only to demonstrate to the other cats what they could do to protect themselves… even if no cats were around to see.

  “The gulls are in good form today I see,” said Marlowe, her luminescent green eyes following Nero’s gaze.

  “Let’s hope they discourage some of the diners at the Smugglers Bay Inn.” Nero figured anything that drove customers away from the inn was good for the guesthouse.

  “It’s nice and quiet in here now with all the guests gone.” Marlowe trotted to another small patch of sun in the corner and curled into a tight ball, wrapping her tail around her nose.

  “Silly of them to run off after shovels, don’t you think?” Nero asked.

  Marlowe raised her head. “I suppose so. Humans are always looking for some sort of treasure when all they really need to make life worth living is free. What would they do with it anyway? Probably just spend it on silly material things.”

  Nero nodded sagely. “Humans just don’t get it like we do. All we need is a warm meal and a comfortable spot in the sun. Though I do enjoy the gravy cat food and manufactured treats that Josie buys from the store.”

  Nero heard a commotion in the foyer.

  “Looks like the blissful silence is over. Someone is home.” Marlowe sighed.

  Nero’s ears perked up, listening to discover who it was. He couldn’t quite hear what was being said, but he sensed it was the two brothers, Bob and Earl. His whiskers tingled. Something was going on between them and he was sure it was not good. He stood and stretched.

  “I think we should take a trot upstairs and see what these humans are up to.”

  Marlowe slit one eye open, obviously reluctant to leave her sunny spot. “You think they’re up to something? I have noticed a certain amount of strain between the siblings. Not to mention a tinge of animosity and nefarious thoughts.”

  “Indeed. Perhaps this treasure will bind them together.” Nero gestured toward the doorway. Marlowe could be a bit lazy, but skulking around and finding out what the humans were up to was important cat business.

  “Or set them at each other’s throats even more.” Marlowe rose, stretching so hard that her back cracked.

  “Let’s take the back stairs. I hear them up near their rooms.”

  The mansion had several sets of stairs, but the back stairs near the kitchen were Nero’s favorite. The old narrow treads that creaked under human weight were silent when cats ran up them, allowing Nero and Marlowe to sneak around the mansion without being heard. They were covered in layers of white paint so thick that it was almost soft. No human liked to go in the confined space, which made it even more perfect for cats. He and Marlowe trotted up stealthily, spilling out into the jewel-toned oriental runner that ran the length of the second-story hallway where most of the habitable rooms were situated.

  Nero was surprised to see Flora standing in the mi
ddle of the hallway with a pink feather duster in her hand. She was dusting off a credenza on which sat various knick-knacks that Nero liked to push to the floor every so often. Her head was bent about two inches from the surface so that she could inspect her own work. Poor Flora—even with her coke-bottle glasses, her eyesight wasn’t the best.

  Marlowe and Nero exchanged a glance. They’d never seen her so intent on cleaning. Was Flora turning over a new leaf?

  They skulked along the perimeter of the hallway, ears cocked and superior hearing senses on alert to overhear what the humans were saying. Nero was a little worried. He’d already suspected the humans were not enamored with each other and now he was concerned the thought of this treasure might cause them to do something crazy. The last thing the guesthouse needed was another scandal. But if such a thing happened, he wasn’t going to fall down on the job like he did last time.

  “They’re each in their rooms,” Marlowe whispered. Aiming her ears first toward Earl’s room and then toward Bob’s. “It’s boring when they are quiet.”

  No sooner were the words out of Marlowe’s mouth than Bob’s door flew open. He stormed over to Earl’s room, knocking loudly before being let in.

  Marlowe turned and looked at Nero, the whiskers over her left eye sticking up slightly. They both glanced at Flora, who hadn’t noticed. She moved on to dusting a plinth that held a marble bust outside of Earl’s room.

  Yelling drifted from inside the room. The two men were arguing. Nero strained to listen, and Marlowe followed suit. But the arguing had stopped.

  Flora continued dusting. She probably couldn’t hear them since Nero was sure she was also hard of hearing.

  Nero pressed closer to the door. He could hear hushed tones, but he couldn’t make out the whole conversation, only snatches.

  “… secret book!…”

  “… reveal to the rest of them…”

  Reveal what? Something in the secret book? Something to do with the treasure?

  The door flew open.

  Flora jumped back, dropping the duster.