“You didn’t tell her about the curse?” Doris shot a look at Earl.
Earl shrugged.“It’s just a stupid old wives’ tale.”
Carla gestured toward the skeleton.“Apparently not. I mean heis here.”
Earl scowled.“He is nothere. That’s just a skeleton. It’s not like it’s his ghost or anything.” He turned to his wife. “There’s an old family legend about an ancestor who will come back and haunt anyone who digs up his treasure.”
Carla frowned.“Hey, wait. Does that mean someone dug up treasure?”
Doris’s dark eyes scanned the faces of her children. “Well, did anyone?”
They shook their heads.
“I doubt there is an actual treasure…” Bob said slowly. He looked distracted, as if he was wondering if there really was a treasure and, if so, where it might be.
“We don’t even know that this is Jedediah,” I said. I’d heard about the curse from Millie. Millie’s family had bought the guesthouse from Jedediah’s family back in the day. Apparently old Jedediah Biddeford had issued some curse meant to warn anyone away from the treasure he was planning on bringing back from Europe. He claimed he’d come back and haunt whoever messed with his treasure.
“That’s his ring.” Doris pointed toward the hand. “I saw an old picture of it once. My granddaddy said Jed always wore it. Never took it off.”
“But Jedediah never came back from Europe. So that can’t possibly be him in there.” At least that’s what I’d been told.
Doris looked at me like I had five heads.“Don’t you know? He always said he’d return. And this is the form he’s taken. And if he’s back you know what that means?” She looked around at her kids like a lady who was sure she had the winning lottery ticket. “The treasure came back too.”
“I’ll drink to that!” Paula had dug out another nip. She raised the Jack Daniel’s in the air then threw her head back and chugged it down.
Ed scowled at Doris.“Lady. This isn’t a ghost. This is a skeleton. He hasn’t come back.” Ed poked at the femur bone with a long old-fashioned oak folding ruler. “This guy’s been in here for a couple hundred years.”
“What the—”
I turned to see the guesthouse maid, Flora, in the doorway. Flora had sort of come with the place. Millie had assured me she did a great job. At what, I had no idea because for most of the tasks I gave her, she simply claimed she didn’t “do” that sort of work. I did see her dusting sometimes, but mostly she could be found watching the new TV in the parlor. She must have been on a commercial break and come to check out the ruckus.
Flora was a tiny thing with a shock of white hair and round glasses that made her eyes look gigantic. I had no idea how old Flora was but if I had to guess I’d say she was about as old as the guesthouse itself. Probably knew Jedediah Biddeford personally.
She narrowed her gaze at the skeleton.“What’s that?”
“Jedediah Biddeford,” Doris said.
Flora’s brows shot up. “You mean the guy who buried the treasure? He really did come back from Europe?”
Great. Even Flora believed in the curse. That’s all I needed, a bunch of treasure hunters digging up the place.
Doris nodded.“Yep.”
“I doubt it’s him,” Ed reiterated.
“Did he really bury treasure?” Henry seemed interested in something for the first time since he’d arrived.
“Doubt it.” Earl didn’t sound convinced.
“Stranger things have happened.” Paula leaned against the wall, probably to keep from falling down.
“It’s nonsense,” Ed said, waving his hand dismissively. “Old rumors probably got all misconstrued over the years. I’d be more concerned about how the guy got here. Someone stuffed him in and closed up the wall. That’s no curse. That’s murder.”
The room fell silent as we all let Ed’s words sink in.
Flora broke the silence.“I don’t know who he is, if he buried treasure or who put him in there, but I do know that I’m not cleaning this mess up. I don’t do skeletons.” She gave me a pointed look and then turned and shuffled off toward the hallway.
Ed had a point. Whoever the skeleton was, he didn’t get into that wall on his own. And while I didn’t believe in curses and I was darn sure there was no treasure buried at the guesthouse, I did know one thing. This discovery was a police matter.
I dug my phone out of my pocket and dialed the sheriff.
[Êàðòèíêà: img_2]
Nero sat off to the side, preening his sleek black fur as he watched the humans inspect the skeleton. Of course, he and Marlowe had known the skeleton was in the wall for quite some time now, but Josie hadn’t heeded the many warnings they’d given her.
“If only she’d listened to us two weeks ago when we were trying to alert her by scratching on the wallpaper. Then she wouldn’t have made the guests aware of this gruesome discovery.” Marlowe’s mottled black-and-ginger tail swished on the floor, clearing away a swath of dust.
“Indeed. Her communication skills are not progressing as quickly as they should.”
Nero glanced at Josie. They’d inherited the tall redhead when Millie had put them in charge of the guesthouse. Oh sure, it was all disguised as a sale of the property and Millie had told Josie she couldn’t have cats at the senior housing where she was moving and that their continued presence at the guesthouse was a condition of the sale.
But Nero knew the truth. Millie was getting on in years and wanted to enjoy life free from the responsibility of running a business. She still loved her precious Oyster Cove Guesthouse and had left the most trustworthy being on the planet in charge—Nero. Of course, Marlowe thought that she was also in charge, but Nero knew the responsibility lay mostly with him. Marlowe was, after all, Nero’s prot?g? and therefore a subordinate. Lord knew Marlowe had a lot to learn, not the least of which was how to investigate a murder properly. At the rate the younger cat was progressing, Nero feared it might be two lifetimes before she came up to speed.
Still, it didn’t hurt to let Marlowe think she was more important than she was and on equal footing in guesthouse responsibilities. Sometimes one had to let others think things were one way, even when you knew the real truth. Like the fact that Josie thought she was in control of the guesthouse simply because Millie had sold her the property, for example. Silly humans.
Though much superior, Nero had to admit cats couldn’t do everything that humans could, so naturally they needed Josie as a frontwoman to run things. Nero also had no desire to concern himself with the more mundane tasks of cooking, laundry, accounting and the like. That’s what humans were for.
Unfortunately, Josie had proven to be a slow learner. She didn’t listen to them like Millie did. And that’s why she had misunderstood their previous communication about what was inside the wall, thinking it was merely mold or dry rot. Oh well, she would learn eventually. He hoped.
Marlowe grimaced as the old lady, Doris Biddeford, picked up the skeleton’s hand and let it fall back. “That’s tampering with a crime scene.”
Nero smiled. As the older and wiser cat, he’d been training Marlowe in the ways of a cat detective. Because that’s what they were, not merely stewards of the Oyster Cove Guesthouse, but also detectives of the feline variety who helped humans solve their cases. The humans had no inkling of their help, of course. It was quite a trick to point them toward clues and reveal suspects, all the while making them think it was their idea.
“It is of little matter. There will not be much to investigate here,” Nero said.
Marlowe jerked her gaze toward the skeleton, her face scrunched in disappointment.“What do you mean? There’s a body inside the wall. That guy didn’t get there on his own, just like Ed said.”
“That much is true, but this death doesn’t warrant a feline investigation. It doesn’t take a forensic anthropologist to see the skeleton has been in there for centuries.” Nero jerked his head toward the skeleton. “I mean look at it, it’s all dried out and smells of old hatred and long-buried criminal intent.”