‘Huh, looks like there’s a book missing,’ Mom said.
‘Maybe he just didn’t have enough books to fill up the shelf?’ I suggested.
Millie straightened.‘No, I don’t think so.’
Just then Flora sauntered past the room.
‘Hey, Flora!’ Millie yelled.
Flora stopped, backed up a few steps and narrowed her owlish eyes at us.‘Oh no. I don’t clean crime scene rooms. Anything with police tape I don’t go in.’
‘We don’t want you to clean,’ Millie pulled her into the room and dragged her over to the bookcase. ‘Do you remember if this shelf was full?’
Flora shuffled over to the book case and vertebra cracked as she bent to examine the piece of furniture. She stopped with her face only inches from the shelf. She ran her finger along the layer of dust on the edge.‘Yep, must’ve been something there.’
‘You remember that it was full?’ I asked.
‘Nah, my memory isn’t that great. But look at the dust on the edge. If that spot had been empty, there’d be dust in there too and that spot is clean as a whistle.’
Five
Nero breathed deep, savoring the delectable aroma of rotting fish. The bait wharf was one of his favorite places in Oyster Cove. It wasn’t just because the fishermen would sometimes throw them succulent scraps, either. The wharf had a certain ambiance that couldn’t be found anywhere else. From the sounds of the waves lapping on the dock, to the briny scent of sea and the warmth of the sun warming his back.
It was heaven on earth… well, except for the seagulls. They were partial to the bait dock too and, as far as Nero was concerned, created an incessant nuisance with their constant swooping and cawing. A cat had to be careful lest he get knocked into the water. No cat liked that, except for Harry, who loved the occasional saltwater bath.
A shadow darkened Nero’s path from above, and the loud gull cry made him cringe. He crouched, ready to dart under something, but the gull flew past. Looking up into the sky, Nero felt a tinge of sadness. There were fewer gulls than last week and even though he wished they would go swoop somewhere else, he still didn’t like the way their numbers were mysteriously dwindling. He didn’t want them to die off, just to tend to their business elsewhere. Still, he was glad there were no dead gulls at the wharf, last week they’d seen a gull body floating in the water and it was a most unpleasant sight.
Milling about in their usual spot, behind a stack of lobster pots, were five cats. The largest one, a solid gray cat named Poe, was sitting atop an old lobster pot, watching a fishing boat make its way out of the harbor and into the Atlantic.
On the ground next to the pot, Stubbs, an orange striped cat named such because his tail was a short stub, sniffed around the lobster pot for any old scraps of bait. The rumor about him was his tail had been chopped off with a cleaver when he’d been caught stealing an oxtail right from the butcher’s shop, but Stubbs would neither confirm nor deny this.
Boots, a black cat with white paws and somewhat of a snobby attitude sat in the sun grooming his whiskers, as he often did. His whiskers were elegantly long and thick, and they were his pride and joy. Nero had to admit they were lovely, but they were just whiskers after all. The way Boots carried on about them you’d think they were made of gold.
Harry, the large fluffy Maine Coon, was flopped down in the sun snoozing while Juliette, a fluffy gray cat with a white diamond on her forehead, groomed her tail in a quite unladylike manner.
The cats stopped their activities as Nero and Marlowe approached.
‘Heard someone got iced up at the guesthouse,’ Stubbs said. He was prone to using hard-boiled detective slang and Nero often thought that Stubbs’ owner must read too many Dashiell Hammett novels aloud. Then again, perhaps that was why the cat was such a good detective.
‘Unfortunately, it’s true.’ Marlowe trotted over to the lobster pot and peeked inside.
‘Was it murder?’ Boots gave his long whisker an extra tug to emphasize the last word.
Nero’s gut clenched. He was embarrassed that a murder had happened under his very nose. ‘Yes, it was.’
‘Did you see it happen?’ Harry stretched, humping his back up with his front legs out in front of him before trotting over to sit in the circle the cats had formed.
Nero and Marlowe exchanged a guilty glance.‘Neither of us was present at the time.’
‘So you don’t know who the culprit is?’ Poe asked.
Nero shook his head.
‘How was it done? Poison? Gunshot? Stabbed?’ Harry asked.
‘Bludgeoned with a newel post,’ Nero answered.
‘Nasty,’ Juliette shuddered.
‘Who was the vic?’ Stubbs asked.
‘One of the guests at the inn. Charles Prescott,’ Marlowe said.
‘And you didn’t notice anyone unusual? Who’s been hanging around there?’ Poe asked.
‘Well, there is Mike, Millie’s nephew,’ Marlowe said.
‘Oh, not Mike,’ Juliette said. ‘He’s much too handsome. And besides, we all know Millie is one of the good ones and therefore Mike must be too.’
Poe frowned.‘Yes, but what about the new one, Josie? Of course, we all love Rose and Millie, but Josie is an unknown. She’s from away.’
‘She’s not from away.’ Nero felt obligated to defend the new guesthouse keeper even if he wasn’t exactly sure that he liked her himself. ‘She was raised here and moved away to raise her own litter. Now she’s back where she belongs.’
Boots raised a brow.‘So you two like and trust this new human?’
‘Sort of,’ Marlowe ignored the warning look from Nero. ‘She did mention sheowned us… she’s not quite pet-broken yet.’
Harry laughed.‘Ownedyou? She’s new to serving cats then?’
Nero nodded.‘She sort of came with the house when Millie entrusted it to us. We still have much training to do.’
‘Have you tried the severed mouse head routine?’ Harry asked.
‘Not yet. We’re still breaking her in.’
‘What about the pet and scratch routine?’ Sonny referred to the typical routine of acting like you wanted the person to pet you and then scratching them when they did.
‘I’ve done that a few times,’ Marlowe said. ‘It seemed to put her in her place, but then she didn’t want to pet me anymore.’
‘How about refusing to eat? So that she has to bribe you with tasty morsels?’ Stubbs asked. ‘That one always sets the tone as to who is master.’
‘We might try that next.’ Truth was, Nero enjoyed eating too much to try that one. ‘Let’s keep on task here though. We must focus on finding the killer. If we don’t, we may not be training Josie at all, or even have a guesthouse to live in.’
The cats nodded somberly.
‘So you want us to do the usual? Keep our eyes open and scour the town for clues?’ Harry asked.
This wasn’t the first crime the cats had solved. Of course, the humans didn’t realize the cats’ involvement. Nero often thought it would be so much easier if humans would just be more aware. The human’s lack of cat-communication skills made the cats job that much harder because they had to practically hit the humans over the head with clues to make them think it was their idea.
‘Yes, but first I need to know if any of you saw anything out of the ordinary last night,’ Nero said.
The cats watched a sailboat glide past, cutting through the water silently as it made its way under the footbridge at the head of the cove and out past the jetty.
Finally, Juliette spoke.‘It wasn’t last night, but I saw a man up on the cliffs the night before that. It’s quite unusual to see anyone up there, as the path to the cliffs is steep and treacherous.’ Juliette lived with their feline friend Julie at the rectory of St. Michael’s church, which was below the cliffs. She often catnapped in the belfry, which afforded a birds-eye view of the cliffs. That was when the two cats weren’t wreaking havoc in the rectory by spooling toilet paper off the rolls.