A Purrfect Alibi

“Lots of men are tall, dark and handsome,” I said. Though Mike really was tall, dark and handsome. Still, it was the cliché crystal-ball reading and I wasn’t putting much weight into it.

Thunk!

We all jerked our attention in the direction of the mantle where a small candlestick had fallen on the floor.

“Where did that come from?” Gail asked.

“That looks like Great-grandma Sullivan’s brass beehive candlestick.” Millie bustled over and picked up the stick, then placed it back on the mantle. “It must’ve been right on the edge. Maybe Flora moved it too close when she was dusting.”

I was skeptical about that because I wasn’t sure Flora actually dusted the mantle. Flora had been the maid at the Oyster Cove Guesthouse since Millie was a child. No one really knew how old Flora was, but one thing I did know was that she was the world’s worst maid. Almost every chore I asked her to do was met with an excuse as to why she couldn’t, or wouldn’t, do it. But Millie had been pretty insistent that I keep Flora on. She’d explained that the elderly maid didn’t have much in social-security income. She depended on the wages here and she’d been very loyal to Millie’s family. No one else had applied for the job, so I’d kept her. Anyway, I shouldn’t complain—she had come through for us during the apprehension of the latest killer, so I guess I should give her a pass on the dusting and, I had to admit, I was getting sort of attached to her.

“I didn’t put anything close to the edge.” As if summoned by her name, Flora appeared in the doorway. She was a tiny thing, about four feet tall, with wisps of cotton-white hair sticking up and gigantic round glasses that gave her eyes an owlish appearance. Apparently, her hearing wasn’t as bad as her eyesight. Her eyes fell on the crystal ball and grew even bigger, if that was at all possible. “Oh, you giving readings?” Flora sidled over to the table.

Esther smiled and gestured to the chair I was currently occupying. “Won’t you sit down?”

Apparently, my reading was over, so I stood up. Say what you will about me, but I can take a hint. Esther produced a card seemingly out of nowhere and pressed it into my palm. “In case you want to recommend me to a friend.”

Flora dropped the feather duster she had in her hand on the table and sat in the chair. Esther went into her hand-waving and crystal-ball-peering act.

“Aha!” She looked up sharply at Flora.

Flora frowned. “What?”

“I see someone special in your future.”

Flora straightened and smiled. “Someone tall, dark and handsome?”

Esther shook her head. “No. Small, pink and wrinkly.”

Flora made a disgusted face and waved her hand. “Oh, that’s Harold Ditmeyer. I already dated him last month.”

Esther looked at her funny. “I wasn’t talking about a man. I was talking about a baby. You’re going to have another great-grandchild.”

Flora looked disappointed. “Oh darn. I already have dozens of those. I was hoping to get a good reading like Josie got.”

Esther nodded. “Sorry. I can only convey what the ball shows me.”

“Sure.” Victor had been leaning against the mantle. Probably so he could look down his nose at all of us, which he was doing now to Esther. “Like that crystal ball shows you anything.”

Esther glared at him, her normally kind eyes turning hard. I thought she was going to really lay into him, but she simply took a deep breath and said in an even voice, “Victor, you’re not the only one who has gifts.”

“Yeah,” Madame Zenda said. “You have no respect for anyone.”

“That’s right.” Gail stood, still cradling the mug. “Why, I have a good mind to—”

“Oh look, someone’s here!” Millie pointed out the window. Even though I knew she was doing it as a distraction to keep the guests from descending into another argument, I rushed to the window remembering the flash of pink I thought I’d seen earlier.

It wasn’t a person she had seen though. It was a car. My spirits sank when I saw whose car it was. Myron Remington.

“Is that the tall, dark and handsome man I saw in the crystal ball?” Esther asked.

“I should say not,” I replied. Myron was neither tall, dark, nor handsome. He was short, stout and annoying. Ever since he’d offered to give me a low-interest loan for some badly needed repairs he’d been acting as if the guesthouse was his pet project and stopping by periodically to check on his little investment. I guess he had a fondness for the place. Myron’s family went back as far as the Biddefords and his ancestors had even worked for Jed. That’s why he wanted to make sure I had the funds to restore the guesthouse to its previous glory. He claimed he was proud of his family’s modest roots in the community and wanted to show that he took pride in that by loaning the money to restore one of the oldest properties in town.