A Purrfect Alibi

What were the odds of that? Slim, I’d say. I was still hoping for a quick resolution and things to go back to pre-murder normal.

“I say the buckle is the key.” Millie walked down the sidewalk at a snail’s pace as we talked.

“Yeah, but no one was looking for a buckle,” Mom said.

Millie stopped in front of the candy store and turned to face Mom and me. “Not that we’ve found so far.” Millie’s face took on a look of determination. “We’ll just have to keep looking. Meanwhile, I think we’d better take a closer look at our suspects and figure out who had the strongest motive to kill Madame Zenda.”

Twelve

“What do you think Josie is doing in the antique store?” Marlowe asked as they turned down a side alley that led to the docks and their ultimate destination of the bait wharf, where they would meet with the rest of the Oyster Cove cats. By now the cats would have heard about the murder and be working on the case. Nero figured Harry would bring Louie Two Paws, the Siamese cat that hung out at the police station. They were hoping to get a scoop on what the police knew about the investigation so far.

Nero glanced back over his shoulder. Catching Josie’s eye, he gave her a slight nod. “Must be about the buckle.”

“Looks like Josie’s catching on to this investigating thing. Maybe she won’t need our help after all,” Marlowe said.

Nero glanced at Marlowe, thinking she couldn’t possibly be serious, before the two cats let out a string of meows that indicated how hilarious the notion was. “Imagine that, the humans not needing our help!”

The cats turned down Ocean Avenue and then took another alley to the bait wharf. It was mid-morning, so most of the fishermen were out in their boats and the wharf was quiet, except for the slapping of waves against the side of the wooden docks and the cawing of gulls. Nero was trying to avoid the gulls. He glanced up to make sure one wasn’t swooping down on him as the delicious smell of rotting fish drew the two cats closer to their favorite secluded spot behind the large tuna scale that hung from a tall post.

The rest of the cats were already there. Juliette, the gray cat with a white diamond on her forehead, sat atop a stack of lobster traps, her fluffy gray tail dangling over the edge. Below her, Poe with his bright green eyes was finishing off the tail of a fish—haddock it looked like to Nero. Boots sat on another lobster trap, watching them approach with his usual superior manner. Truth be told, Boots and Nero had a bit of a rivalry going on, as they were both black with white markings. Nero, however, had the white tuxedo on his chest and Boots only had white on his paws. Nero figured that Boots felt inferior because of this and that’s why he acted so obnoxious.

Stubbs, the ginger cat, wiggled his stub of a tail and nodded at Nero and Marlowe. Beside him, Harry, the fluffy Maine Coon, picked a burr off his tail. Fluffy tails were nice for show, but they did tend to collect all kinds of burrs and twigs and could easily become painfully matted.

Louie Two Paws, a sleek seal-point Siamese, lounged in a patch of sun. His paws were splayed out in front of him and the extra toes made it look like he was wearing furry mittens. The velvety brown points of his ears matched the mask on his face, which highlighted his extraordinary sapphire blue eyes.

“Hey, Louie, how’s it going?” Nero asked as he plopped down beside Stubbs.

“Going pretty good.” Louie licked one of his paws. He was always doing that to call attention to their uniqueness. Apparently this impressed the female felines. “I was just telling the others that I got into the evidence room and sniffed the evidence. The murder weapon didn’t have any unique identifying scents on it, but that buckle was interesting.”

“How so?” Nero asked.

“That thing is old as the hills.”

“So it’s not a replica that someone picked up to make it seem like it was Jed’s?” Marlowe asked.

Louie shook his head. “Nope. That thing has to be about three hundred years old. It smells like antique molasses and old regrets. No fingerprints on the murder weapon. The note, of course, was not blood. Drippy red ink.”

“Of course,” Nero said. He’d thought he’d smelled as much on the body, but couldn’t be sure with the actual blood smell from the wound.

“And what information do you have?” Poe preened his long curly whiskers fastidiously as he addressed Nero. “Have you set your superior intellect into figuring out if the killer is one of the guests at the guesthouse?”

“Yeah, seems like one of those kooky guests would be the perp.” Harry liked to use old detective slang. His human was an older gentleman and liked to read Dashiell Hammett and Raymond Chandler aloud to the cat. Apparently he’d picked up the lingo.

“Well, they sure are kooky.” Nero couldn’t argue with the other cat’s assessment.

“And they did seem to be in competition to see who could talk to Jed’s ghost. However, we have an inside scoop about that.” Marlowe puffed up proudly.

Juliette raised a brow. “Do tell.”