A Purrfect Alibi

Something flickered across Victor’s face. Guilt over killing Madame Zenda or fear that the same thing would happen to him?

Esther spun on her heel and went to sit in front of her crystal ball. It was on the table next to the window and the sunlight filtering in made the ball glow with an eerie light. She passed her hands over it and closed her eyes. “I don’t think Jed would like having his story sensationalized in a movie and I doubt he has any good clues as to who his killer is. And good luck with that treasure!”

Victor waved a hand at her. “We’ll see tonight. I think I will pick an interesting setting. Like maybe the old family graveyard or that spooky gazebo. It’s important to set the ambiance, you know how movie people are all about that sort of thing.”

Esther glared at him. Gail went back to gazing at her teacup. I turned and left to go to the bank.

I didn’t know whether or not Victor was really going to talk to Jed, but he was right about one thing. Something was going to happen tonight. I hoped there would be a clue to this whole thing at the bank.

Because if Victor was the killer, I had no intention of letting him get a movie deal with his fake communication with Jed. And if he wasn’t the killer… then I was afraid he might be the next victim.

It was late afternoon when I got to the bank. The free cookies at the teller window reminded me that I had to start thinking about tomorrow’s breakfast. Millie would have a fit if I didn’t have something in mind. I grabbed a cookie—chocolate chip—and headed toward the back of the bank where the display was located.

The area wasn’t large, just a case built in to the wall and a roped-off area where an old oak rolltop desk sat. On top of the desk was a brass lamp with a green shade, an inkwell and an old silver pen atop a desk blotter. An antique brass-and-black-enamel sign for the teller window sat off to one side, along with the old-fashioned window complete with iron bars and frosted glass.

The locked case had interesting old coins, many of which weren’t even used for currency today. Myron sold old silver dollars and other old and rare coins at the bank, but the ones in the case were much older.

The wall beside the case had a pictorial display of town history. The etching of Jed that Anita had was there, along with other drawings and old grainy photos of the bank along with the changes to the building over the centuries. On the end was a copy of the old etching of the Oyster Cove Guesthouse highlighting the connection between the Remingtons and the Biddefords and Thomas Remington’s humble beginnings as Jed’s butler. I turned away, depressed. There were no old clothes. Maybe another cookie would perk me up.

But before I could make another trip past the plate of cookies, Myron stepped in my path. Perfect, as if the trip wasn’t a downer before, now I had to deal with him.

“Josie, what brings you here? Your loan payment isn’t due until the thirtieth.” Myron smiled at me, but I could tell it was fake.

“I know. I was just… um… checking my balance.” I certainly didn’t want him to know about my suspicions. He was already acting strangely enough as it was, no need to remind him of the unsavory happenings at the guesthouse.

Myron’s brows tugged together. “Don’t you do that online?”

“Sometimes. Hey, speaking of wondering why someone is at a certain place, why were you at the guesthouse earlier today?”

Myron looked taken aback. “What are you talking about? I didn’t see you at the guesthouse earlier.”

“You were out on the grounds. Near the barn and overgrown gardens.”

Myron glanced around the lobby, probably making sure no one overheard the awkward conversation. He was all about keeping up appearances, which was probably the reason why he was so bothered by the ghost business at the guesthouse. And the murders… though I suppose anyone would be bothered by that.

“Not sure what you’re talking about,” Myron said.

I looked down to see cat hair on the cuffs of his pants. There were little black ones mixed with brown and white. Nero and Marlowe? Usually Myron was very fastidious about his appearance, so if the cats had rubbed against him when he’d been there earlier, surely he would have cleaned the hairs off by now. The cats couldn’t possibly be in the bank, could they?

“Speaking of the grounds.” Myron lowered his voice. “I spoke with Mike Sullivan about the gazebo and you’ll have to watch out that people don’t go out to that ramshackle thing before it’s fixed properly. Wouldn’t want a lawsuit. That would be grounds to terminate the loan. I may have to inspect that thing myself when Mike takes a look at it later.”