A Whisker In The Dark

“It might have something to do with that confession I overheard. It was a woman. And she mentioned something about betraying someone close to her,” Juliette said.

“Not necessarily a family member, though,” Boots pointed out. “One must use their superior feline brain cells to interpret the meaning of the clues.”

Stubbs made a face. “Clues schmues. This guy was hit over the head with a shovel. They were digging for treasure. My bet is that he found something and someone wanted it. A fight ensued and the killer clonked him over the head and took the treasure for their own.”

“Well it wasn’t this shovel.” Boots gestured toward a shovel that lay next to the body. “There is no blood on the end.”

“If the killer did steal the treasure, then someone is a little bit richer today. Maybe we should see who is spending more money,” Poe said.

“Or hiding it in their rooms.” Nero made a mental note to do a thorough inspection later.

The wail of a siren split the air and the cats shrunk back into the tall grass at the edge of the clearing. Now they could hear the pounding of footsteps and the shouts as the humans came running from the house.

“The humans are coming. Are you all sure you’ve checked the scene for clues? Once the humans come even the most subtle of clues will be obfuscated with weird smells and bumbling footsteps.”

“I have what I need.” Boots preened his whiskers.

“I’m good,” Stubbs said.

“Ditto.” Harry picked another burr out of his long fur.

“Me too,” Juliette said.

“Good because the humans are going to need our help, especially Josie,” Nero said. “We know about the confession and the argument about the secret book Marlowe and I overheard, but Josie doesn’t have that advantage.”

“Yeah,” Marlowe added as the humans rushed out of the path practically falling all over each other. “And we better make it fast, before our dear Josie is accused of murder. Again.”

Eleven

The pond was on the west edge of the property, too far to be visible from the house. Mike led us down a brambly path to the small muddy body of water. I supposed it had once been a lovely pond. Now, the rotted remnants of a wooden bench with a bush growing through it marred its appearance. The body, laying face down at the water’s edge with the shovel beside it, was a bit of a detractor as well. Even though he was face down, I was certain that it was Bob Biddeford.

Nestled into the overgrowth on the other side of the pond were Nero and Marlowe. They weren’t alone. Several other cats were crouched near them. A lovely fluffy Maine Coon that looked like it needed brushing, the gray cat with white on its forehead that I recognized as Father Timothy’s, an orange-striped one with a stubby tail, another gray cat, this one with shorter fur, and a black cat with white paws that had a know-it-all look on its face.

To my relief, Marlowe and Nero looked fine. Their alarming cries must have been to alert us to the body. This was the second time they’d done that. I guess I’d have to pay more attention to their meows in the future.

Doris’s hands flew up to her face. “No! Is that Bobby?”

Paula went over to look at the body, her heel getting stuck in the mud and causing her to stumble a bit. She crouched down, peering at the body but staying a distance away. She sucked in a breath then turned a sad face to her mother. “I’m afraid so.”

I glanced over at Mike. I figured he wouldn’t let anyone get too close. Rule No. 1 at a crime scene was don’t mess with it.

Before Mike could say anything, though, Earl rushed over and grabbed onto Bob’s ankle, trying to pull him out of the water even though we all knew it was too late.

Mike lunged for Earl and pulled him back. “Don’t touch him. This is a crime scene. We need to leave it just like this for the police.”

As if on cue, the sound of sirens split the air.

“Crime scene? Maybe he just fell in,” Carla said. She’d gone over to console Doris and she, Doris and Paula stood in a circle, their arms around each other. Arlene stood off to the side appearing to be disinterested. Henry stood back, his arms over his chest, watching the family.

“Maybe it was the ghost,” Doris said.

Earl jerked his head in her direction. “Ghost? You don’t really think…” He swiveled his head back to look at Bob, his expression pensive as if he were considering the possibility that Jed’s ghost had killed his brother. It was doubtful. I didn’t know of any ghosts that could bash someone’s head in, which is what had clearly happened to Bob.

“What do you suppose he was doing over here?” Carla asked.

“Looking for treasure like the rest of us, of course,” Doris said.

Mike frowned down at the body. “Yeah and I wonder if he found it and that’s how he ended up in the pond.”

“Maybe he just tripped and fell in by accident?” Henry said hopefully.