Nero was surprised to see Flora standing in the middle of the hallway with a pink feather duster in her hand. She was dusting off a credenza on which sat various knick-knacks that Nero liked to push to the floor every so often. Her head was bent about two inches from the surface so that she could inspect her own work. Poor Flora—even with her coke-bottle glasses, her eyesight wasn’t the best.
Marlowe and Nero exchanged a glance. They’d never seen her so intent on cleaning. Was Flora turning over a new leaf?
They skulked along the perimeter of the hallway, ears cocked and superior hearing senses on alert to overhear what the humans were saying. Nero was a little worried. He’d already suspected the humans were not enamored with each other and now he was concerned the thought of this treasure might cause them to do something crazy. The last thing the guesthouse needed was another scandal. But if such a thing happened, he wasn’t going to fall down on the job like hedid last time.
“They’re each in their rooms,” Marlowe whispered. Aiming her ears first toward Earl’s room and then toward Bob’s. “It’s boring when they are quiet.”
No sooner were the words out of Marlowe’s mouth than Bob’s door flew open. He stormed over to Earl’s room, knocking loudly before being let in.
Marlowe turned and looked at Nero, the whiskers over her left eye sticking up slightly. They both glanced at Flora, who hadn’t noticed. She moved on to dusting a plinth that held a marble bust outside of Earl’s room.
Yelling drifted from inside the room. The two men were arguing. Nero strained to listen, and Marlowe followed suit. But the arguing had stopped.
Flora continued dusting. She probably couldn’t hear them since Nero was sure she was also hard of hearing.
Nero pressed closer to the door. He could hear hushed tones, but he couldn’t make out the whole conversation, only snatches.
“… secret book!…”
“… reveal to the rest of them…”
Reveal what? Something in the secret book? Something to do with the treasure?
The door flew open.
Flora jumped back, dropping the duster.
The cats scattered.
Bob stormed out, slammed the door shut and continued to his room.
Flora scowled at him, then shrugged, picked up her feather duster and kept dusting.
Nero sat on his haunches and washed behind his ears. Apparently the Biddefords were already in deep competition for the alleged treasure, and judging by the way he’d seen them fight over pancakes, they might not be willing to share.
Five
The kitchen of the Oyster Cove Guesthouse held a lot of fond childhood memories. Mom had brought me here often when I was a kid and Millie always had a fresh baked treat for me. Now it was my turn to carry on those delicious recipes. It was a daunting task since everything I tried to bake either came out dry, burned or tasting like dirt.
The kitchen was a mixture of old antique fixtures, cheery yellow-painted cabinets and newer stainless-steel appliances. The worn, wide, pine flooring creaked in all the right places and the space always had the savory, sweet smell of family-style cooking. At least it had when Millie owned it. Now it mostly smelled like a two-alarm fire.
I’d just returned from picking up some supplies and was riffling through the yellowed, grease-smudged recipes trying to pick out another type of sweet bread since the pumpkin hadn’t worked out so well, when I glanced out the window to see Stella Dumont on the deck of the Smugglers Bay Inn looking toward my place.
Yes, that Stella Dumont. The one Mike had dumped me for in high school. Not that that had anything to do with the urge I had to trip her every time I saw her. Those feelings were more to do with her acting superior about her inn, as if it was more desirable than mine. Sure, hers was closer to the ocean with that deck overlooking the water, but at least I didn’t have seagulls pooping all over my guests’ food.
Her inn was pretty far from my place, separated by a large field that gently sloped downward. My guesthouse was situated atop the hill and had a nice panoramic view of Smugglers Bay and the Atlantic Ocean. Some said it was a much better view than Stella’s inn had and I agreed.
I kind of had to squint to make out who the scrawny figure on the deck was, but I was pretty sure it was her. Why was she looking in this direction? It looked as if she was scoping out the property. Of course, she could be looking for Mike. She’d been known to pop over here a time or two to try to talk to him while he was still working here, finishing up the renovations Millie had hired him to do before she sold the place. Mike didn’t work here anymore, so what was Stella looking for? Had word already gotten around town about Jed’sskeleton and the mythical treasure? I hoped she wasn’t looking for potential treasure-hiding spots. Would more people come and try to dig? I was kind of hoping it would all die down and I wouldn’t have to figure out how to stop people from churning up the grounds. The Biddefords were my immediate problem. They seemed keen to dig up the treasure but I was sure I’d heard at least two of them come home and no one had started digging yet, so maybe they weren’t as keen on putting in the manual labor necessary.
“Seth’s done in the west wing and the body has been removed.” I jumped at the words, then turned to see Mike lounging in the doorway. His gaze shifted to the window. Was he looking out hoping to see Stella?
“I didn’t realize you were still here,” I said.
“Yeah, I wanted to make sure that the Sheriff’s Department didn’t mess with the structural integrity of the wall when they were getting their evidence out,” Mike said.
“Oh, I didn’t realize that was part of the building inspector’s job.” Was it? Or was he giving the guesthouse special treatment? Of course, if he was giving it special treatment it was probably because his aunt was still attached to it, and not because of me.
“Also, Ed wanted me to double-check on his plan for redoing the conservatory, so we don’t run into any code violations later on.”
“Oh.” I guess maybe he was here officially. I turned back to my recipes.
“So anyway, this treasure thing is kind of interesting, huh?” He’d made his way across the room and was now leaning his hip against the countertop, mere inches from where I stood. “You think there really is a treasure out there?”
“I doubt it. If there was, my mom and Millie would’ve probably dug it up by now.”
Mike laughed.“Yeah, they sure are a pair, aren’t they? I heard something about them going downtown for shovels. Probably rushing back already so they can start digging any minute.”
I snorted.“No doubt.” Millie had requested I meet them at the town common later that day to go over how I wanted the Oyster Cove Guesthouse display to be setup for the town celebration. She’d said this was of the utmost importance because the display needed to be perfect so that tourists coming for thecelebration would be enticed to book a future vacation at the guesthouse, but I wouldn’t be surprised if she cancelled so she could dig for treasure.
“Are you going to go out and dig?” He leaned in closer.
I sidled away, clutching at the recipe I’d just pulled out. Cranberry-orange bread. I guess that would do for the celebration. “Nope.” I held the recipe in the air between us. “I need to try out this recipe for the town celebration. It’s really important I have something to offer that represents the Oyster Cove Guesthouse.”
His eyes drifted out the window again in the direction of the Smugglers Bay Inn. My heart twitched. If I kept putting Mike off, I was driving him right toward Stella Dumont. But if he had intentions toward her, I didn’t really want him anyway.