A Twist In The Tail

‘Don’t worry about me. I can take care of myself.’ I turned to walk toward my car, but he latched onto my elbow, holding it gently but swinging me around to face him. My arm tingled, my heart fluttered, but my brain got annoyed with his insistence.

‘Josie, I think I know who the killer is. I was with Internal Affairs in the Navy and have experience with this sort of thing. Leave it to me.’ His face showed only concern, not ego or pushiness, but I wasn’t going to leave it to him. For one, I doubted he was going to nail his old high school sweetheart and for two it was important for me to prove that I could do this. Plus, I had it all planned out with the Weatherbys and what could possibly go wrong?

I extracted my elbow gently. ‘I think I know who it is too and the wheels are already set in motion. And besides, I’m not stupid and I’m not a kid anymore. I think I can solve this without your help.’

Twenty-One

Despite the confidence I’d had about catching the killer when I’d talked to Mike outside the post office, I was jittery as a chihuahua in winter. I was half afraid he’d stick around the guesthouse, as I knew he suspected I was up to something. But he must have believed my story about going away. He finished up work and bid me farewell at four, asking about my flight. I told him I was taking a train just in case he had designs on checking up on me at the airport. I had a twinge of guilt as I watched him drive off. He’d acted a little cool all afternoon and I hoped I hadn’t been too harsh with him outside the post office.

At 6:30, Ron and Iona got the ball rolling by ushering everyone to the Marinara Mariner. Their plan was to get seated with all the others, then Ron would excuse himself to the bathroom and double back. He wanted to be here to make the arrest.

We figured the killer would come in the front door and head straight down the hall to the West wing. They wouldn’t try the window for fear it would be locked, and why bother when they knew the front door would be unlocked and no one home? I turned off the lights and Ron and I crouched in the pitch-black doorway to the butler’s pantry and waited.

At around 7:15, we heard a noise. Only problem was, it wasn’t at the front door.

‘That sounds like the kitchen,’ I whispered to Ron.

‘Why would someone come in the kitchen?’ Ron whispered back.

‘I have no idea.’ Mom and Millie knew about the plan so they wouldn’t be coming in that door. Flora had already left for the day and she never came back to the guesthouse after work. Could it be Mike? I knew he’d seen through my act at the post office but surely he wouldn’t ruin our plan.

Ron stood and the floor creaked.

‘Shhh…’

We froze, but the creak must not have bothered the intruder because the next thing we heard was the squeak of the hinges on the kitchen door opening. Good thing I hadn’t oiled them.

Ron tapped my arm and pointed to the kitchen, communicating that we should sneak over there quietly. It wasn’t as if I couldn’t have figured that one out on my own. One end of the butler’s pantry opened into the kitchen and we tip-toed through.

The kitchen was dark, but I could make out a form bending over the counter. By the size, shape and cloying smell of floral-scented perfume wafting over, I could tell it was Stella.

It had been her all along! But why was she standing at the kitchen counter? It looked like she was going through the recipes. Had she hidden something in the recipe box or cookbook? The rest of the note they’d found in Charles’ room? Or maybe she wanted to swipe a recipe before heading into the West wing to look for the fake evidence I’d found. Either way she wasn’t going to complete her mission.

I flicked on the light switch and jumped into the room. ‘Aha!’

‘We caught you red-handed!’ Ron chimed in.

Stella whirled around, squinting into the light. Her hands flew out, palms up in front of her. She dropped the paper she was holding and it floated down to the floor.

‘What is that?’ I pointed to the paper. ‘Part of the note Charles left?’

‘A confession maybe,’ Ron said. Did he have to add something every time I spoke?

‘Hardly.’ Stella put her hands down and glared at us.

‘Fine.’ Ron whipped out his badge, the gold shield glinting in the light as he thrust it out toward her. ‘I’ll be calling the police then and they’ll get a confession from you.’

‘For what?’ Stella crossed her arms over her chest. ‘I hardly think the police will care that I came to borrow a recipe.’

I glanced at the floor. Yep. Looked like a recipe.

‘Not for that,’ Ron said. ‘For poisoning gulls and killing Charles Prescott.’

‘What? I never killed anyone! Or poisoned anyone for that matter. Except that time Mr. Dudley got sick from my cream puffs but that was unintentional.’

‘Of course you did. He found out you were poisoning the gulls and threatened to blackmail you, so you had to kill him,’ I said.

Mew.