A Whisker In The Dark

“If only she’d listened to us two weeks ago when we were trying to alert her by scratching on the wallpaper. Then she wouldn’t have made the guests aware of this gruesome discovery.” Marlowe’s mottled black-and-ginger tail swished on the floor, clearing away a swath of dust.

“Indeed. Her communication skills are not progressing as quickly as they should.”

Nero glanced at Josie. They’d inherited the tall redhead when Millie had put them in charge of the guesthouse. Oh sure, it was all disguised as a sale of the property and Millie had told Josie she couldn’t have cats at the senior housing where she was moving and that their continued presence at the guesthouse was a condition of the sale.

But Nero knew the truth. Millie was getting on in years and wanted to enjoy life free from the responsibility of running a business. She still loved her precious Oyster Cove Guesthouse and had left the most trustworthy being on the planet in charge—Nero. Of course, Marlowe thought that she was also in charge, but Nero knew the responsibility lay mostly with him. Marlowe was, after all, Nero’s protégé and therefore a subordinate. Lord knew Marlowe had a lot to learn, not the least of which was how to investigate a murder properly. At the rate the younger cat was progressing, Nero feared it might be two lifetimes before she came up to speed.

Still, it didn’t hurt to let Marlowe think she was more important than she was and on equal footing in guesthouse responsibilities. Sometimes one had to let others think things were one way, even when you knew the real truth. Like the fact that Josie thought she was in control of the guesthouse simply because Millie had sold her the property, for example. Silly humans.

Though much superior, Nero had to admit cats couldn’t do everything that humans could, so naturally they needed Josie as a frontwoman to run things. Nero also had no desire to concern himself with the more mundane tasks of cooking, laundry, accounting and the like. That’s what humans were for.

Unfortunately, Josie had proven to be a slow learner. She didn’t listen to them like Millie did. And that’s why she had misunderstood their previous communication about what was inside the wall, thinking it was merely mold or dry rot. Oh well, she would learn eventually. He hoped.

Marlowe grimaced as the old lady, Doris Biddeford, picked up the skeleton’s hand and let it fall back. “That’s tampering with a crime scene.”

Nero smiled. As the older and wiser cat, he’d been training Marlowe in the ways of a cat detective. Because that’s what they were, not merely stewards of the Oyster Cove Guesthouse, but also detectives of the feline variety who helped humans solve their cases. The humans had no inkling of their help, of course. It was quite a trick to point them toward clues and reveal suspects, all the while making them think it was their idea.

“It is of little matter. There will not be much to investigate here,” Nero said.

Marlowe jerked her gaze toward the skeleton, her face scrunched in disappointment. “What do you mean? There’s a body inside the wall. That guy didn’t get there on his own, just like Ed said.”

“That much is true, but this death doesn’t warrant a feline investigation. It doesn’t take a forensic anthropologist to see the skeleton has been in there for centuries.” Nero jerked his head toward the skeleton. “I mean look at it, it’s all dried out and smells of old hatred and long-buried criminal intent.”

“I suppose you’re right.”

Nero nodded sagely. He usually was right, at least when it came to matters of murder. “What would there be to investigate? The killer is long dead. No suspects to follow or clues to unearth.”

“Wouldn’t be much fun, I guess.” Marlowe’s disappointment was palpable. Good girl. At least someone here was progressing nicely. Marlowe had made great strides during the last investigation and now wanted to try her hand at another, and that was a good sign. But just not this investigation because there was simply nothing to explore.

Nero loved nothing more than to sink his claws into a juicy murder, but this death was about as interesting as a week-old can of sardines. “Besides, much of the satisfaction is bringing the killer to justice and this killer is long gone already.”

Marlowe yawned and stretched out her front paws. “I just wish there was something for us to investigate.”

Nero didn’t want to get Marlowe’s hopes up, but if his seventh sense was as good as it usually was, there was something going on inside the guesthouse that may need investigation soon. He couldn’t quite put his finger on it, but he’d sensed little undercurrents, sneaky nefarious vibrations. Unfortunately, very soon, Marlowe might get her wish.

“Odd, none of the guests seem disturbed by this discovery.” Nero studied their faces and posture. He could tell they were interested in the skeleton but not in a who-killed-my-ancestor kind of way. He could also tell that they were all trying to conceal their interest from each other.