Late that night…
I sat upright in bed, the pillows propped up against the headboard, and an Agatha Christie paperback clasped in one hand. I’d read the first line of the fifth chapter about twenty times already, and I still hadn’t absorbed it. Which was very unlike me. I adored Christie’s books.
It was the darn case. How was I meant to sit around and read when I couldn’t figure out what was going on at the inn?
Cocoa Puff lay curled at my feet. Sunlight was pressed against my side. Whenever I moved, both cats would start purring or would stretch out, open an eye, and check I was all right.
The short answer? No, I wasn’t all right. I was stuck.
Mentally staid.
If I examined the images and employed critical thinking, I came to the conclusion that none of the wedding party could’ve committed the crime.
But at the same time, that felt false.
The groom had been missing directly after Julia’s shooting. And if the murder had been premeditated, which it certainly seemed to be, then practice might’ve helped the murderer dash from the front to the back to fire the gun.
And then there was the accomplice who had attacked me.
“Who wasn’t in the pictures?” I muttered.
The groom’s mother and father, Mrs. and Mr. Knowles had been suspiciously absent from the images. As had been this new suspect, Brad, who may or may not have been at the hall. Maybe, if I could find out his alibi…
Yet, Sasha had been arrested for what I had to assume was attempted murder. Which would then rule her out as the person who’d shot Julia, wouldn’t it?
I groaned and shut my paperback.
A scratching at my bedroom door drew my attention, and I frowned.
“Did you hear that?”
Cocoa Puff cracked an eyelid but didn’t comment. Sunlight stretched and covered his face with his paws.
The scratching came again. Not rhythmic but uneven.
I got out of bed and walked to the door.
More scratching.
Nerves bubbled in the pit of my belly. This was dumb. I had a gun in the secret compartment in my bedside table, for Pete’s sake. If I was in any real danger, I could get it out.
I shook my head. “Who’s there?” I called.
No answer.
And then…
More scratching.
Wait a second. I recognize that noise.
It was the same type of scratching that Cocoa and Sunlight would do when they wanted to get in or out of my room at night.
I opened the bedroom door and froze.
The phantom cat sat in the center of the corridor, right in front of my door. Except, of course, it wasn’t a phantom cat, not really. It was a gorgeous white American Curl. The kitty rose onto all fours and meowed at me, pleasantly.
“Hello,” I whispered. “What are you doing here?”
If only cats could talk.
Another meow.
The kitty was wearing a collar with a jingly name tag. It came closer, drawing both Cocoa and Sunlight’s attention. They didn’t hiss, but sat up on my bed, peering toward the newcomer.
“It’s all right, guys,” I said. “I’ve got this.”
I bent and took hold of the kitty’s collar, gently. The tag read “Snowy”.
“Snowu,” I said, softly.
The cat purred and rubbed the side of her gorgeous white face against my hand.
“Nice to meet you, Snowy. Where did you come from?” The back of the tag didn’t bear the owner’s name or address. That was odd. Well, we could take her to the local vet and check if she was chipped tomorrow or—
Snowy meowed at me and hurried down the corridor. She paused at the landing, looking back at me, impatiently.
This was the second time I’d seen strange behavior from a cat over the past couple of weeks. First, it had been Sunlight trying to tell me about the note from Julia.
Could it be that Snowy was trying to do something similar?
Surely not.
But Snowy waited for me, unblinking, at the end of the hall.
“All right,” I said. “I’ll bite. What do you want to show me?”
I started after her. Snowy led me down to the ground floor of the Gossip Inn then darted into the dining room.
“Wait up,” I called. “It’s dark for me, you know.” I clicked on the lights, casting the glossy tables and crystal vases into sharp relief.
Snowy had stopped beside the table in front of the dining room windows—which usually provided a view of the inn’s grounds but now had the thick cream curtains drawn.
“What’s up?” I stopped beside the table. “Wait a second, this is where Violet found cat hair. Is this your hang out spot? Did you ask me to come here because—”
Snowy wormed under the table and past the curtains. Scratching ensued.
“What are you doing back there?”
I scooched around the chairs as well and joined the kitty. Snowy scratched frantically at the edge of one of the Persian rugs.
“What is it?” I bent and pulled the edge of the rug back.
A small, leatherbound black book sat underneath it. I frowned and picked it up, opening it to the first page.
Property of Julia Childless.
I sucked in a breath. Julia’s journal! The one Ethan had told us had gone missing. It was here. But why? Who had put it here?
“Good job, Snowy,” I whispered, bending to stroke the gorgeous white kitty. She purred, getting right up close to my face, and wafting over the scent of a rather strong cologne.
What is that… sandalwood?
My eyes widened. I knew that smell.