A Purrfect Alibi

Madame Zenda tapped the card with a sausage-like finger. She had to be in her late seventies, and was thin as a rail, with a face like a bloodhound and large, meaty hands. “A restless mind or a sudden surprise.”

“See, I told you that you should ask Mike to the Marinara Mariner for dinner on Wednesday.” Millie poked me in the shoulder. “They have a chicken-parm special that is out of this world. That might calm your restless mind.”

“Wait.” My mother, who was standing over my other shoulder, piped up. “Maybe the sudden surprise is that Mike is going to ask her out. I think Josie should hold off. You know, play hard to get. Men always want what they can’t have.”

“Don’t I know it.” Millie’s voice carried an air of authority.

I sighed but remained silent.

Mike was Millie’s nephew and also the town building inspector. I’d known him since I was a kid when he’d been my brother’s best friend. I guess you could say we sort of had a history. Nothing too sordid, so don’t get your hopes up. That had been a long time ago, though, and much water had passed under that bridge. Mom and Millie had been trying to push us together ever since I’d moved back to town, but I wasn’t in the market. One of the reasons I’d moved back to my hometown of Oyster Cove was that I’d recently gone through an unpleasant divorce. I had no intention of repeating that mistake any time soon.

Across from me, Madame Zenda was making a big show of selecting the next card, her gold bracelets jangling as she waved her hairy arms over the deck she held in her hand. She was wearing some sort of flowing caftan with vibrant reds, purples, and oranges that matched the cards she laid out. Her curly gray hair bobbed around her head like unruly springs. She flipped the card.

Millie gasped.

I looked down at the card; a skeleton in armor riding a horse.

Madame Zenda stared at the card, her bushy gray eyebrows mashing together like two elderly caterpillars jostling for the best spot on a leaf. Her hazel eyes clouded over. “Is that a skeleton?” Mom asked.

Millie leaned closer to the table. “That can’t be good.”

“It’s the death card,” Madame Zenda said softly, then hastened to add, “but it doesn’t always mean death.”

“Well if it does, you’re too late,” Millie said. “There’s already been a death here a few weeks ago.”

“And a few weeks before that, too,” my mother added.

“You’ve had several deaths here recently?” The question came from another of my guests, Victor Merino. He had been sitting cross-legged in the mahogany-trimmed upholstered chair in the corner, his eyes closed, hands on his knees, palms up. He was wearing a royal-blue velvet sweatsuit and had a shaggy, oversized mustache. I wished he wouldn’t sit like that on the chair, it was a delicate antique. He claimed he talked to dead people and apparently our talk of dead bodies had roused him from his meditation. I can’t say I was sorry about that, his constant ohm-ing was starting to drive me up the wall.

“Oh, nothing to do with the accommodations here at the guesthouse,” Millie added quickly. “You are in no danger. Those folks had it coming to them. Err… I mean, someone had a grudge against them.”

“Yeah, and don’t think it was Josie’s cooking either,” Mom said. “She’s getting a lot better.”

Meow! Nero, a black-and-white tuxedo cat that had come with my purchase of the guesthouse, hopped up onto the windowsill and fixed my mother with a slit-eyed gaze. I nodded at him approvingly. At least someone was sticking up for my cooking. I mean, that little incident when I practically burned down the guesthouse with my overcooked banana loaf was just one teeny mistake. I’d been whipping up some fine breakfasts lately, even if I did say so myself. Sunlight spilled in from the window highlighting Nero’s glossy, jet-black fur. His intelligent golden eyes met mine and then he glanced out the window. Following his gaze, I caught a flash of something pink. What was that?

I leaned over to look outside. “Did you see that?”

“What?” My mother glanced out as Marlowe, the other guesthouse cat, hopped up to join Nero. She settled in next to Nero, her black-and-orange tortie-patterned fur mingling with his jet black. I went to get a better look. The window was cracked open and I could smell the ocean breeze and hear the far-away call of the gulls. The guesthouse sat atop a hill with a sweeping view of Oyster Cove, but not from the front parlor. From here all I could see was the long driveway and part of the overgrown gardens. Wait… was that movement? I could have sworn I saw someone moving around in the thick shrubbery, but who would be lurking outside?

“I don’t see anything,” Mom said.

“Me neither.” Victor had come over to look out. “Let’s get back to these dead people. You say there have been several deaths here over the past few weeks?”

Millie turned to face him. “Yes, but let’s not dwell on that. I mean, it could happen anywhere.”