A Whisker In The Dark

“Honestly, Paula, can’t you get through one day without the help of Mr. Jack Daniel?” Earl asked.

“Shows how much you know, that wasn’t Jack Daniel’s, it was Baileys Irish Cream. I would never mix Jack with coffee.” Paula hiccupped and practically fell off her chair.

Doris rolled her eyes and shook her head. “Earl’s right, you need to straighten up. No wonder the business is going down the crapper.”

Earl turned to his mother. “Mom, it is not going down the crapper.” He glanced back at me as if he was thinking they shouldn’t be airing their dirty laundry in front of the innkeeper. It would have been prudent to quietly fade into the hallway so as not to witness the family argument that appeared to be brewing, but I was nosey. Besides, I liked to know who was arguing with whom under my roof, just to keep an eye out for any trouble.

“Might as well be, with all you shady characters running it,” added Bob, the other son, who I’d determined was the black sheep of the family. Unlike Earl, who dressed to the nines in designer clothing and Italian leather footwear, Bob was wearing a navy-blue hoodie, jeans and sneakers with the laces undone. He was probably in his late forties and had salt-and-pepper hair that swooped over his forehead in a comb-over. I don’t know if he was just a sloppy dresser or trying to look younger, but his clothing choices did nothing for him. It was no surprise, given the way he dressed, that Bob didn’t appear to have a significant other.

Carla, the other sister, gave Bob a raised brow. “Like you should talk. You’re the one who has a suspicious past.”

I could tell Carla was the most normal one of the bunch. But that wasn’t saying much. She was also the most annoying, insisting on using her navy-blue Yale coffee mug for breakfast, as if she had to show off her pedigree. I mean, she was in her mid-forties and college was a long time ago. I figured she probably handled the legal aspects of the business. Her husband, Henry, sat quietly beside her as always. I got the impression that Henry only spoke when Carla gave him the okay.

“I do not. That’s Paula,” Bob said.

Paula took offense. “I don’t have a suspicious passht. My passht is wide open. You should be looking at Arlene when talking about a suspicious passht.” She eyed her sister-in-law. I didn’t like the way Arlene was clutching her knife as she glared back at Paula.

“Children!” Doris tapped her spoon on her glass. “Quiet! Can’t we all just get along for one week?”

Silence ensued while they all got busy with their food. Arlene primly rearranged the napkin in her lap while still managing to shoot daggers at Paula. Even Ed’s hammering had stopped, which was kind of weird. Maybe he was taking a break. I should see if he wanted some breakfast.

Carla broke the silence. “Did you take the last pancake?” She jerked her head toward Bob’s plate.

Bob shoved a maple-syrup-soaked piece of pancake into his mouth and gestured toward the buffet and its empty silver pancake platter. “No one’s name was on it. Maybe you should fill your plate once instead of taking little bits and going up four times.”

Carla folded her arms across her chest. “I was going up for seconds. You always take the last pancake. It’s not fair.” She turned to her mother. “Right?”

Doris rolled her eyes again.

Merow!

“What was that?” Bob made a show of looking around the room, probably hoping to change the subject. “Is that one of those adorable cats you have here?”

Adorable? I supposed they were sort of cute when they weren’t pushing things off the counter or ripping the toilet paper off the roll… or finding dead bodies.

“Yes.” I glanced at the door to the hallway. The meow sounded far away, like it had come from the closed off west wing where Ed’s hammering had been. It also sounded eerily like the meows they’d made a few weeks ago when they were trying to alert us that a guest was dead in that very same wing. I glanced around the table. Nope, all guests accounted for, thankfully.

“Don’t try to change the subject.” Carla stabbed her fork into a piece of pancake on Bob’s plate.

“Hey!” Bob took his knife and tried to knock the pancake off Carla’s fork.

You’d think they were ten years old and not grown adults with children of their own. Thankfully they hadn’t brought any of them. I could only imagine what those kids were like.

Meoooo! This one was louder and more insistent.

Doris frowned and craned her neck to look out into the hallway from where the meows were emitting.

“I hate when he takes the last pancake,” Paula slurred and listed in her chair.

“Taking the last pancake is nothing compared to some of the things I’ve seen you people do,” Bob said.

Merow! Even louder.

I strained to hear. Was that Ed hammering again? It sounded like he was using the sledgehammer on something, but at least that indicated he was alive. Of course, it was silly of me to assume that every time the cats yowled like that there would be a dead body. But still…