A Purrfect Alibi

Millie had left lots of things in the guesthouse. Furniture, doilies, plates, glasses and books, including a history of Oyster Cove that featured historical photos, etchings and drawings of the guesthouse. It hadn’t always been a guesthouse; initially it had been built by Jedediah Biddeford as a family estate, then over the years it had been expanded and eventually turned into an inn. I remembered one of the earlier etchings featured Jed and his family sitting in front of the house all dressed up. Apparently, Millie wanted to scrutinize it and see if we could match the buckle.

“It’s in the kitchen.”

Mom and Millie followed me into the kitchen where I plucked the book out of the bookshelf and handed it to Millie. Nero and Marlowe must have had their fill of breakfast treats because they trotted in and begged Millie for attention, which she had no trouble providing. After petting the cats for several minutes, she flipped through the book, stopping on the page with the drawing of Jed’s family. Jed sat in a chair, a small child on his knee and older children beside him. A dour-looking woman in a voluminous black dress, who I assumed was his wife, stood behind him. Off to the side several servants were lined up.

Millie whipped out her cell phone and zoomed in on Jed’s shoe. “Look at this! The artist must have been very good, it looks so realistic. Almost like a photo. And look at his shoes! Does this look like the buckle we found on the body?”

I peered over her shoulder. My memory of the buckle on the body was fuzzy, but it looked similar. “Hard to tell, that drawing might not be exactly accurate. Looks like it could be, but I’m sure the buckle on Madame Zenda wasn’t an actual buckle from Jed.”

“Yeah but why would someone go to the trouble of getting a buckle that looked like that?” Mom asked.

Millie snapped a photo. “Probably because they just wanted it to look like it could be Jed’s. Maybe I can persuade Seth Chamberlain to tell me if the buckle is a replica or not.”

Mom and I remained silent. Millie had a way of “persuading” Seth to tell her things about the investigation that he wouldn’t normally tell a civilian. Neither one of us wanted to know exactly what she did to get that information.

“So far the only thing I’ve been able to get out of him is that the note wasn’t real blood and the murder weapon was wiped clean.” Millie shoved the cell phone into her large purse. “Come on, girls. All we need to do is show the picture of that buckle to Felicity and find out who bought a similar buckle and we can solve this case.”

Eleven

Felicity’s Fabrics was crammed with bolts of cloth—cotton, linen, taffeta, silk—in a rainbow of colors and patterns. Felicity, a woman in her sixties who had owned the store ever since I was a kid, sat at the register, her glasses perched on her nose and a colorful beaded eyeglass holder looped behind her neck.

“Millie! So good to see you again.” She leaned across the counter. “Are you here for more sheer fabric for another nightgown?”

Mom and I glanced at Millie, who at least had the modesty to blush.

“No. I’m here with a question.” She whipped out her phone and showed Felicity the picture of the buckle. “Do you have any buckles that look like this?”

Felicity pushed the glasses up her nose and scrunched up her face as she picked up the phone and held it at arm’s length from her face. “This looks like an antique.”

“Yes, but you have antique replicas here,” Millie said.

“Not like this.” Felicity handed the phone back to her.

“Are you sure? Has anyone been in asking about replicas of old buckles?” Millie persisted.

“Nope. Sorry.”

“And you’re absolutely sure?”

Felicity gestured to the side of the store where little cards hung in dozens of rows. “Look for yourself. These are all the buckles I have. You will find nothing that resembles the buckle on your phone.”

Millie bustled off toward the buckles and Mom and I followed. I shot a “thank you” over my shoulder at Felicity. A few minutes of studying the buckles proved that Felicity was correct. Nothing even close to the buckle that had been on Madame Zenda’s body was on display.

“Well, how do you like that, I thought we’d have this case solved by noon and could celebrate at the Marinara Mariner for lunch.” Millie’s shoulders slumped, the wind taken out of her sails.

Mom snapped her fingers. “Wait a minute. All is not lost. What about the antique store? I bet they have a lot of old buckles.”

Felicity nodded. “Sure they do. Lots of old stuff over there. And Agnes is doing some restoration and repurposing work, maybe she restored your buckle.”

We hustled toward the door, Millie stopping to admire a see-through pink polka-dot sheer fabric on display. I didn’t even want to try to imagine what she would make out of it. Some things were just better not to think about.