A Purrfect Alibi

“I’m not quiet, I just don’t associate much with beings on this earthly plane. I prefer to spend my time on spiritual endeavors. I’m perfectly happy to wait for Jedediah to contact me as I’m sure he intends to do,” Victor said, avoiding the question.

Gail took a sip of tea, then looked down in the mug. Was she looking for something in the tea leaves? “But he was already going to talk to Madame Zenda. Why talk to the rest of us too?”

“Pffft… I doubt Biddeford’s ghost was going to contact Madame Zenda, as she has no psychic talent. She was probably making that up for the benefit of the reporter. If such an article got picked up for syndication it could have helped her flagging career.” Victor fluffed his napkin onto his lap with an exaggerated flourish. “You ask me, we should all be wary. There’s a killer on the loose.”

“I wouldn’t be too sure that Madame Zenda didn’t have any psychic talent. She did predict a death… too bad it was her own,” Esther said, echoing Mom’s words from last night.

Just then, the phone in the foyer shrilled. Darn it! I wouldn’t be able to eavesdrop anymore.

I rushed to the foyer and plucked the wireless phone off its cradle. “Oyster Cove Guesthouse!” I chirped in my most pleasant tone. No need to sound somber as if a murder had just happened the day before, that wouldn’t encourage potential guests to reserve rooms.

“Hi, this is Dolores Johnson.”

I hesitated, the name was familiar.

The person on the other end continued, “I had a reservation for next week.”

“Of course! Good to hear from you Mrs. Johnson. How can I help you?”

“Well, I hate to say it, but I have to cancel.”

My spirits fell. “Cancel. But why?”

“Ummm… you see… we’ve decided to go somewhere else on vacation. I read on your website that you can cancel up to seventy-two hours in advance and get a refund, is that correct?”

“That’s correct. So you’re sure you want a refund? I can’t guarantee the room will still be available if you change your mind again.” The guesthouse wasn’t fully booked, but you never knew when new reservations would come so it wasn’t a total lie.

“Oh, I’m sure. Thank you.”

I hung up the phone and stood there. Taking a vacation somewhere else? It was more likely word of the murdering ghost had gotten out. Maybe Myron was actually more perceptive than he let on. If news was spreading and people were afraid to come here, then I had to put a stop to it, and I knew of only one way—catch the real killer and then the newspapers would move on to more interesting stories.

I heard footsteps on the stairs and turned around to see Flora coming down. She had the big pink feather duster in her hand and was running it over the banister as she descended. She glanced down at me, the magnification of her large glasses exaggerated at that angle. “Something wrong?”

I sighed. “I just got a cancellation. I’m afraid all this ghost and murder business might be scaring people off.”

“Darn, that’s too bad.” Flora swished the duster in the air and a shower of dust rained out of it. “I don’t like that one bit. Of course, fewer guests mean less work for me but more guests mean job security and that’s more important. Guess I was right in shooing that reporter off then.”

“You mean Anita Pendragon? The one who has been hanging around outside?”

Flora descended so that we were at eye level, which meant that she was standing about four steps up. “Yeah, I caught her around the kitchen door looking like she was trying to get in.”

“When was this?”

“Couple of nights ago. Though I shouldn’t be surprised with all the goings-on around here. Tarot readings. Crystal balls. You ask me, all these people here are a bunch of weirdos. You should get a better clientele.” She fluffed the air with her duster one more time, then shuffled off toward the front parlor muttering under her breath, “No wonder murders happen here so often.”

I stood in the hallway a few minutes longer, thinking about what Flora had just told me about Anita. Why would she be trying to get in the back door and did that have anything to do with Madame Zenda’s murder?

I didn’t have a lot of time to think about it because just then I saw Millie’s decades-old Dodge Dart drive in. Mom and Millie jumped out and hurried to the front door, stopping short when they saw me standing in the hallway.

“Oh good, you’re ready,” Millie said. “We’re going down to Felicity’s Fabrics. They have the largest selection of buckles in town.”

I was momentarily confused. “Buckles?”

“Yeah, you know, like they found on the body.” Mom lowered her voice. “If we figure out who bought the buckle, we figure out who the killer is.”

“Speaking of which,” Millie said. “Do you still have that book with the historical etchings and photos of the guesthouse in it? I think there might be one we can use to validate whether or not that buckle really is Jed’s.”