A Purrfect Alibi

Nero usually didn’t spend much time in the attic unless he was hunting for mice. The small dormer windows didn’t let in enough sun for his liking and the smorgasbord of smells from the generations of people who had cast away their belongings was distracting.

The space was packed with broken old furniture, old clothing and various household items. Had no one who lived in this house ever thrown anything away? And the dust! It lay thick like a carpet on the floor, especially in the back area where the oldest items were. Nero had to tread carefully so as not to stir up too much of it. He didn’t want to get dirt on his pristine, white tuxedo chest.

“Seems like you’re getting kind of famous around town,” Marlowe said as she detoured over to sniff a pile of books. On their way back to the guesthouse, the cats had heard the townspeople gossiping about Jed’s ghost and the recent murder. Some were even talking about the treasure again, but no one seemed eager to look for it, thinking that Jed’s ghost was out to kill anyone who did.

“Someone is even talking about making a movie,” Nero added. Jed’s swirling form jerked in dismay. “I don’t think I want to be famous. I’m getting a bit tired of this old place now. I think I want to move on to whatever one moves on to.”

“Well then, why are you still here?” Marlowe asked.

“Good question. I feel like I’m stuck here for some reason,” Jed said.

“Unresolved issue,” Nero said. “There was only one reason for ghosts to hang around and that was an unresolved issue. In Jed’s case it made perfect sense because he’d been murdered. “Probably you want your killer named. You have no idea who it is?”

Jed shook his head. “None at all. I vaguely remember returning from Europe. I had that treasure, you know. But I didn’t trust too many people, so I buried it before anyone knew I was back in town. I had to keep it all a secret because I knew people were watching me.”

Marlowe’s eyes grew large. “They were? Who?”

Jed glanced around uneasily as if those people were still around watching him. “People in my own household.”

“You don’t say,” Nero said. They’d come to the very end of the attic where the light from the east filtered in through a perfectly formed spider web in the round window at the peak of the eaves. Here, the cast-offs were older and much more worn. Newspapers as brittle as dried leaves were piled in one corner. Wooden chairs hung from hooks on the wall, the wicker caning in the seats and backs broken and hanging down. An old steamer trunk sat in the corner practically disintegrating.

“Oh, it’s true.” Jed stood up straighter. “Course, I knew Helena—that’s my wife—might’ve been up to something while I was gone. She was none too happy about my trip to Europe.”

“Do you think she killed you?” Marlowe’s tail swished, sending particles from a patch of dust on the floor into the air.

Jed pondered that for a few seconds and Nero wondered what kind of woman his wife had been. Had she been mad enough to kill? And what happened to her after Jed’s death? Judging by the way the trunk had been shoved in the corner she might have packed up his things and forgotten about him. But that had nothing to do with the current happenings at the guesthouse… or did it?

“Don’t rightly know.” Jed glanced at the trunk. “I was shut up in that wall until now so I don’t know what became of her. I don’t think she had the skills to plaster a body inside a wall though.”

“She might have had an accomplice,” Marlowe suggested.

“If that’s true, they probably took the treasure,” Nero said. He was certain there was no buried treasure on the property as he would have sniffed it out by now. Treasure had a certain hopeful smell to it.

Jed swirled over to the trunk and sat on top of it. “Course that doesn’t explain why someone took my best pair of shoes.”

Nero thought about the buckle. “You mean the fancy ones with the buckle on them?”

“Yep.”

“And they were in this trunk?” Nero inspected the latches. They were broken so someone could get in easily, the only problem was he didn’t see or smell any recent sign of humans. If someone took Jed’s shoes to plant the buckle on Madame Zenda, then wouldn’t there be some sign? And how would they even know the shoes were in there?

Jed looked down at the trunk. “You can see all my good clothes are in there, but no shoes.”

“Actually, we can’t see.” Marlowe gestured toward the trunk. “It’s closed.”

Jed stood and the three of them pushed on the top of the trunk. It was heavy and Nero was careful to keep his claws in lest he break a nail on the old wood. Beside him Jed grunted and struggled, beads of ectoplasmic sweat dripping from his brow. How had Jed gotten the trunk open all by himself before?

Finally, the hinges creaked and the trunk opened. Jed pointed to the deteriorating contents. “See? No shoes.”