A Purrfect Alibi

Mom and Millie insisted it was because Myron had a crush on me. Either way, I had to play nice with him because I’d already invested the very last penny I had in pre-ordering all the lumber and supplies so I could get a bulk discount. I needed to stay on Myron’s good side—that loan was critical to my success.

I glanced up at Mom and Millie who had smirks on their faces. I narrowed my eyes at them to discourage any chatter about a romance between Myron and myself and headed to the front door. As I left the room, I looked back toward Madame Zenda. She was seated at the table, looking over the cards she’d laid out earlier. A breeze gusted in from the window, sending the cards scattering and my thoughts drifting to the death card. I didn’t particularly care for Victor, but I had to admit that I hoped he was right in thinking Madame Zenda’s reading was off. Because if the death card didn’t represent the deaths that had already happened, then what did it represent?

Two

The front door to the guesthouse was unlocked during the day. It was mostly so guests could come and go, but I figured if a wayward tourist wandered in and booked a room, all the better. Myron had let himself in and was already standing in the foyer when I got there. He was wearing a designer suit and silk tie as usual. His face brightened when he saw me and I squelched the urge to make a face. I wouldn’t go as far as to go out on a date with him or anything, but remaining friendly seemed the best course for the continued flow of finances.

“How nice to see you, Myron. What brings you here today?” I asked.

Myron adjusted the cuffs of his jacket. “I was just coming to check on my little project. Need to keep the investments of the bank in mind, you know.”

“Of course.” I started down the hallway toward the west wing where the current renovations were taking place. Myron followed. I could hear his shoes squeak to a stop at the doorway to the parlor and I turned to see him peering in, a frown on his face.

I backtracked to see what had him frowning. I suppose the scene was a little odd. Mom and Millie were clustered around Esther who was waving over the crystal ball again. Victor had gone back to meditating, this time in the middle of the room. Madame Zenda was practicing some kind of fancy shuffling maneuver, her bracelets clanging and sleeves flowing. Gail had laid down on the sofa and appeared to be napping. Nero and Marlowe trotted over and started sniffing Myron’s shoes.

“What is going on here? What kind of guests are you entertaining?” Myron asked.

“They’re psychics,” Flora said. She was standing next to the grand staircase dusting the shade of a Tiffany stained-glass lamp that sat on a small table.

“Psychics?” Myron pursed his lips as if to indicate he took a dim view of psychics. “Is there some kind of convention?”

“Nope. They’re trying to talk to Jedediah Biddeford. Gonna dig up the treasure.” Flora kept her focus on the shade even though she was talking to Myron.

“You don’t say.” Myron glanced at me. “You don’t really believe that, do you?”

I didn’t, but I didn’t want to say that in front of the guests who were now all looking at us. “You never know.”

“I thought it was determined that there was no treasure,” Myron said.

“Correction.” Victor had been roused from his meditation and was now standing in the doorway. “No treasure was ever found. I aim to find it as well as uncover who really killed Jedediah Biddeford.”

Myron looked skeptical. “The police couldn’t even figure that one out, but good luck to you.”

“You’ll see.”

Victor sounded as if he was getting ready for an argument, so I gave Myron’s arm a little tug. I hope he didn’t get the wrong idea.

“I think you’ll be happy with the progress on the renovations.” I gestured for Myron to precede me down the hall. Thankfully he took the hint and started walking. “I hope so.” He whipped out a small notepad and a lovely bone-colored pen with carvings all around it. Was he going to write me up if my renovations weren’t up to snuff?

I led Myron down the hallway to the west wing. That’s where I was doing most of the renovations. It had once been a sumptuous ballroom, but since the days of balls were long over I was turning it into a game room.

Ed O’Hara, the elderly carpenter I’d hired to do the renovations, was skim-coating the joints on the sheet rock covering the wall inside of which we’d discovered Jedediah Biddeford’s skeleton.

“Great, I see there’s no evidence of what happened here before.” Myron crouched down, his face inches from the wall and then put the paper and pen down on the floor so he could run his fingers along the joint. “That’s good, no sense in scaring future guests off by making it obvious that there was a skeleton in the wall.”