A Whisker In The Dark

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.