A Whisker In The Dark

Millie waved her hands dismissively. “Annabel probably thinks if she says it enough times Flora will think it’s her idea. She’s doing a big renovation on her travel agency and I bet she needs the money. I wouldn’t be surprised if she’s saying that about everyone—you know, planting the idea sort of like a subliminal message.”

“Maybe. I just hope Seth will leave Flora alone now. He has many more interesting suspects to consider,” I said.

“Not the least of which is Jedediah’s ghost.” Mom stared at the cats, who were now staring at the bookcase as if mesmerized by something the rest of us couldn’t see. “Maybe Nero and Marlowe know more about that than we do.”

Mew!

They turned to look at us as if they knew we were talking about them, then continued playing with the plastic ring, Nero swatting at it and sending it skidding into the butler’s pantry.

“Oh, go on.” Millie waved her hand in the air. “You don’t believe that, do you?”

“Maybe not, but plenty of people do believe it.” Mom glanced at me. “I just hope it doesn’t hurt the reputation of the guesthouse.”

“All the more reason to figure out who really killed Bob so the rumors can stop.” I would like nothing better than to solve this case quickly and move on. I hadn’t gotten a reservation for the guesthouse in the last couple of days and soon the Biddefords would be leaving. I needed new guests to pay the bills. And I didn’t need something like a lingering murder investigation to scare them off.

Millie shoved the quiche into the oven. “I’m just going to cook this for a while to let it set and you can heat it up tomorrow morning. Now, let’s talk about the town celebration. Are you all set with the rest of the display items and the loaf cakes?”

“Sure.” I was a bit reluctant to stop the murder discussion since I really wanted to figure out who the killer was, but I supposed that talking about something else would give our collective subconscious time to work on all the clues and suspects. “I’ll dig up that book on the guesthouse history from my room tonight. I made a trial batch of apple-pecan loaf.” I gestured toward the loaf I’d left cooling.

“I saw that. Was wondering when you were going to let me try it.” Millie cut into the loaf and I held my breath as she took a bite and swirled it around in her mouth like she was taste testing fine wine.

“It’s okay. A little tart.” Millie picked up the recipe card and looked over the recipe. “Oh yes, I remember this one. You might want to add a pinch more sugar. Plenty of people like it sweet. And you have the little mini loaf pans and bows?”

“Yep.” I can’t tell you how relieved I was the loaf had passed Millie’s taste test. Sure, she’d complained about it being tart, but the fact that that was all she’d had to say was a high compliment. Millie had given me these cute miniature tinfoil loaf pans, pink plastic wrap and red bows. She’d said the presentation would draw people to my table. I was afraid I needed as much help as I could to get people in my line and out of Stella’s, so I was willing to try anything, even if it meant pouring batter into dozens of tiny pans.

“Okay.” Millie brought her hands together and looked at my mother. “What do you say we leave Josie to it? The bingo game at the senior center starts in thirty minutes and it’s a double pot tonight. Don’t want to miss it.”

“You guys take off, I can handle this.” I gestured toward the oven.

“Great.” Millie pointed. “Let that cook for twenty more minutes, then let it cool and put it in the fridge. Heat it up tomorrow morning for about fifteen or twenty minutes. Easy peasy.”

The cats trotted out to say their goodbyes and Millie and Mom went out the back door. As I was watching them go, Millie turned and said, “Don’t worry, Josie, everything will work out perfectly. You’ll see.”

“That’s right,” Mom agreed. “But you might want to burn some sage, just in case those rumors about Jedediah’s ghost really are true.”

No sooner had Mom and Millie left, than the front door opened and I heard the Biddefords come in. At least they wouldn’t be digging up the yard tonight. The police had taken their shovels, but I also doubted they would be so cold-hearted to want to dig when that’s how their brother had been killed. I lurked in the hallway, hidden by the staircase—not to eavesdrop, but to give them some privacy. Okay, maybe I wanted to eavesdrop a little. They were my prime suspects and one of them might say something incriminating.

“I think a nice simple service with no wake is fine,” Carla said. “We don’t really need to rub elbows with any of Bob’s unsavory acquaintances, so there’s no need for a wake.”

“If the police ever release the body,” Earl said.

“Maybe someone could do a cheese sculpture of a dove to put on top of the casket?” Doris asked.

The kids mumbled their agreement.

“White cheddar would work well for that,” Paula said.

“Boy that Marinara Mariner sure has spicy sauce. I’ll be up all night.” Earl burped.