A terrible screeching noise wakes me from my nap. I roll over on the cushion in the big bay window at Cleary’s B&B and find myself staring right into the eyes of Victor, an ancient yellow calico who once belonged to the original owner of the inn. I, myself, am a vibrant, sleek black cat in my prime in contrast to pale, slow Victor. But Victor, however old, is not the source of the noise.
The screech repeats. The sound comes from outside.
The landline in the B&B starts ringing.
Someone pounds on the front door.
Collie Cleary, who runs this B&B after inheriting the inn, the ancient cat, and a peacock from her Uncle Dempsey, sprints into the room toward the door. She is a bright sprite of a tiny woman with jet black hair, bright blue eyes, and dimples. Almost too cute, and certainly too young to be running a B&B, if you ask me. Victor yawns and closes his eyes as the screeching, the ringing phone, and the pounding at the door continue. Complete bedlam.
This is supposed to be my vacation. A quiet B&B on Anna Maria, a sleepy island on the west coast of Florida, with the Gulf of Mexico only steps from the door. That’s what the brochure said. Yet, how am I to rest with all this caterwauling?
Collie yanks open the door. A man in a preacher’s white collar and black jacket stands there. His handsome face is sticky with sweat. “I’m Pastor Michael, with a reservation.”
“Colleen Cleary, but everybody calls me Collie.”
Before either can say more, a woman runs up behind the minister and shoves him out of the way.
“Make that bird stop screeching,” the woman yells, screeching herself and obviously not schooled in irony. “If you don’t, I will shoot him. I swear.”
Collie is as cool and calm as her ancient yellow cat. “Mrs. Belview, Freebird only screams during mating season. Your beagle Rufus howls 24/7, 365 days a year. And I have never, ever threatened him.”
Though it is lost somewhat in the other hullabaloo, I do hear the unabated deep-throated bark of a dog.
A siren sounds closer and closer.
I wonder if Tammy Lynn, my biped, can get a refund. See, Tammy dropped me off here with Collie while Tammy and her gentleman luv take a cruise. The B&B is supposed to be quiet. I am supposed to sleep and recover from my recent adventures and kidnapping in Tallahassee.
And I am to eat splendidly, none of that dog’s dinner stuff from a can. Tammy requested that Collie feed me gourmet fresh fish from nearby Cortez Fishing Village. I have yet to see fresh fish. Instead, Collie insists on feeding me these vegetarian fake fish patties.
The siren travels into the driveway and shuts off. A police officer soon stands at the door with the yelling woman and the preacher. “Report of domestic disturbance,” the officer says in a friendly tone and struggles not to grin. He’s a ginger with a quaint look about him in his sharp uniform and tidy hair.
“Did you call the law again?” Collie glares at the other woman.
“I did indeed.” The screeching woman swings around, scowling at the officer. “This…this woman…and her damn peacock. And that treehouse. It encroaches upon my air space and it looks right down into my yard. No privacy at all.”
The woman strikes me right off as a bit of a nutter. She’s probably 80 something, though obviously spry, and dressed in a long orange tie-died dress like it’s still 1969.
“I see your lawyer’s been coaching you,” Collie says. “Air space, indeed.”
I stretch and rise from my cushion and amble closer to the front door. I sniff at the legs of the preacher and the nutter, who smells like patchouli. Before I can sniff the police officer, another man—this one dressed in a loud Hawaiian shirt with gigantic red hibiscus flowers—races up. He has a thin mustache, longish hair, and is wearing sunglasses as big as the flowers on his shirt. He smells of marijuana and coconut oil. Bright splotches of paint are splashed on his pants, with a streak of yellow across one sunburned cheek.
“Aunt Evie, come on, let’s go home. Don’t bother these people again.”
“Don’t you be bossing me.” Evie stomps a few steps away from the young man.
“Excuse me, please,” Pastor Michael says. “May I come in and get a glass of ice water. It’s quite warm for March, isn’t it?”
Collie glances at Evie, sighs, and opens the door wide. “Y’all come on in. Let’s sort this out.”
The nutter snaps at her nephew. “Wipe your feet, you hear?”
“Yes, ma’am.” He wipes his feet and takes her elbow as if to support her.
The police officer eases up to the woman and takes her other arm. She smiles up at him, a coy lass kind of grin almost like she’s flirting.
Once inside, Collie waves them all into the library. She turns to the sweating preacher. “Please, take off your coat. Oh, the cats are friendly. I’ll bring you some ice water.”
Victor hops down from the window seat, rubs against Pastor Michael’s dark pants, leaving a streak of yellow hair, and heads toward the back of the house.
Michael takes off his coat, and begins to peruse the hundreds of books lining the walls. “Quite a fine library you have here. I collect old bibles and religious books myself.”
Collie glances around at the sudden crowd in her library. “Perhaps some iced tea with peach or mango. Everyone nods or smiles. “Well, if you will excuse me, I’ll get refreshments.”
As Collie leaves the room, the police officer introduces himself as Ted O’Dare. He and the minister chat about books while Evie and Davey sit on the couch as if they are welcomed guests.
Collie hurries back into the room with a loaded serving tray. “Iced tea with mango. And cookies.” She cuts her eyes at Evie, sighs again, and sets the tray on a broad coffee table.
The cookies remind me yet again she hasn’t served up my promised grilled grouper.
Michael explains he’s in town interviewing with a church for a permanent position. Evie and Davey gobble cookies like they didn’t have any breakfast. Officer Ted O’Dare leans against a bookcase and smiles. “No domestic disturbance here.”
It might be a strange tea party, but as soon as everyone has their iced tea with mango and cookies, the place becomes peaceful, which I suspect is what Collie had in mind to begin with. I stretch and sniff a cookie.
Collie Cleary was wrestling with the vacuum cleaner when the front doorbell rang. Turning off the vacuum, she hurried to answer, expecting a new guest. Instead, Detective Robert Patel, as tall, dark, and handsome as ever, stood there. She smiled, but he didn’t. Instead, he thrust out some papers.
“Consider yourself served,” he said, his tone of voice sharp.
“Robert, how are you?” Collie didn’t reach for the papers he held out.
“Take the papers.” Robert pushed the documents at her again. “Evie Belview is suing you. Over the peacock and the treehouse.”
Collie sighed. That would be the third lawsuit in less than a year. She wished the woman would find another hobby.
She took the papers and looked Robert directly in his dark eyes. “Robert, please, come in. Have some tea and a cinnamon bun. I cooked the buns fresh this morning.”
Ignoring the invitation, Robert glared at her. “She’s got a real strong case against you.”
“So you read the complaint?” Collie didn’t hide her annoyance. First, as a detective on the police force, he didn’t need to be serving papers so his visit smacked of harassment. Second, he wasn’t supposed to read the legal documents. Third, he needed to get over being angry at her.
“She wants you to tear down the treehouse and get rid of the peacock.”
“Yes, we’ve been over this before.” A flash of anger hit Collie. Yesterday, that woman sat right there in the library eating organic cookies and drinking tea just as nice as could be while they discussed things, and now this. “I really ought to do something about that old bat.” As soon as she said it, Collie realized her mistake. Robert nodded as if satisfied and left.
Collie snatched up the vacuum cleaner again and turned it back on. Over its roar, she ruminated, frustrated at Robert for still holding a grudge, put out at Evie for being stubborn, and most of all, angry at herself.
Muttering under her breath, she said, “Dang it all, I really messed up. But I was just a kid myself.”
Victor, splayed out on the window cushion, meowed as if to tell her he was listening.
As Collie vacuumed cat hair off the couch, she couldn’t help but remember Ted, Robert, and herself back in school. The three of them were a pack, inseparable, the Three Musketeers, buddies since third grade when Collie and her family moved near her uncle. Ted and Robert, best friends, had lived on the same block as Uncle Dempsey, and she bonded at once with the boys.
Collie paused the vigorous probing of the sofa cushions for stray cat hair and stared out the window. She had always felt something different, something special for Ted. Then hormones hit in high school. When he didn’t ask her out and Robert did, she ended up going steady with Robert. Her initial plan had been to make Ted jealous so he would whisk her away from Robert. Only Ted became aloof, finally withdrawing from both her and Robert.
She sighed and stroked Victor’s back, still lost in thought. She had come to care for Robert, but he was more serious than she was, and after they went to the prom together, he asked her to marry him. They were only seventeen, and it scared her, so she told him she was in love with Ted. She could still remember Robert’s hurt expression and that horrible day after when Robert and Ted tumbled around Dempsey’s yard in a furious fistfight—their friendship ruined. After that, Collie ran off to Atlanta, went to cooking school, and stayed away from all of them—until Uncle Dempsey died and left her the B&B.
So long ago, and yet those missed signals and ruptured relationships still troubled them all. She wondered if they could ever get past her foolishness as a teenager.
Two days later, as Ted O’Dare dipped his brush into a bucket of bright green paint, he hoped Collie would come join the volunteers so he could see her. The annual St. Paddy’s Day open house and party would be upon them all in less than a week.
In the past, when Uncle Dempsey ran the St. Paddy’s Day gathering, Ted always helped with the decorations, and he planned to continue doing so. Not only as a way to be near Collie, but he genuinely wanted to help her make a success of the B&B and the celebration. Plus, he wanted to honor the legacy of Uncle Dempsey.
“Here’s to you, Uncle Dempsey,” Ted said as he finished his shamrock and glanced over at Davey Belview, the straggly nephew of the next-door-neighbor from hell. Davey was painting an elaborate and very nicely done leprechaun on a piece of plywood. Ted stood, stretched and ambled over to Davey. He’d showed up out of nowhere a couple of weeks ago telling everyone he was here to take care of his aunt. Ted figured it was more the other way around.
“Nice bit of work.” Ted nodded at the leprechaun, which looked ready to leap from the plywood. The man was a good artist, no doubt about it.
“Thank you.” Davey squinted at the painting and then back at Ted. “Everybody here today keeps talking about Dempsey and this being the first St. Patrick’s Day without him. I’m sorry I didn’t get to meet him.”
“Yep, he was a grand man. Maybe a bit of a rogue and a rascal.” Ted smiled. Uncle Dempsey had definitely been a scamp, using the B&B sometimes to launder money from his various nefarious schemes. But he never hurt anyone and was devotedly nonviolent. Uncle Dempsey had helped raise Ted and his one-time best friend Robert—taught them to fish, handle a boat, change a tire, throw a knife, fire a gun, and roll their own—not that Ted smoked. But if he ever took it up, he could roll his own.
“Tell me more about him.” Davey wiped his hand across his cheek and smeared green paint on his face. “Kind of a local legend, way I’m hearing it.”
“Yes, he’s that.” Ted knelt by the young man. “What would you like to know?”
As they chatted, with Ted reminiscing about Dempsey and other St. Paddy’s Days gatherings, a black cat rubbed against him. “Well, you’re sure a beauty,” Ted said, stopping to pet the elegant animal. Collie had rented out the downstairs efficiency to the cat, and Trouble was his name. Ted grinned at the thought of a cat with his own room at the B&B.
“Well, thanks for the talk,” Davey said. “I better be getting back next door. Aunt Evie’ll have a hissy if she finds me over here.”
Ted watched Davey ease through the other volunteers working on the decorations. Friendly guy, he thought. Maybe he’ll mellow out his crazy aunt.
Though Ted was off duty, he was still a cop and couldn’t help but cut his eyes around, checking out the other folks who were helping. The islanders he knew. But the new guests were unknowns. Briefly he studied a couple of Jamaican men with dreadlocks. Both spoke with accents that sounded like music, and one of them had a pierced nose and wore a T-shirt that said everybody was Irish on St. Patrick’s Day. They were painting somewhat crooked white lilies on a small green sign to be placed out front. They introduced themselves as Fred and Freddie. When Ted asked them why islanders came to vacation on another island, one of them laughed while the other winked.
Moseying away from the Jamaicans, Ted couldn’t help but notice a thin, young woman with an athletic build and a nearly transparent pale pink top over white pants. She was hanging green drapes of paper shamrocks and silk flowers about the library as she neared a long, plush couch. Once she looped the garlands over a picture above the couch, she started digging around in the cushions like she was searching for something. After fluffing the cushions back, she ducked down, looking under the couch. Ted strolled over toward her to help just as she jumped up and grinned at him with perfect, bright white teeth.
“May I help you?” Ted eased closer to the woman, trying to keep his eyes on her face and off her nearly transparent blouse.
“Lost earring.” She pulled back her thick blond hair to expose an ear without an earring.
Trouble pranced over and started sniffing around the woman. After he gave the woman a careful once-over, he crawled under the couch. When he came out with a clump of dust and yellow cat hair on his nose, he settled on the arm of the couch and looked around the room. Like he was doing surveillance. His stare came back to the pretty lady.
“Are you a guest here?” Ted asked the woman.
“Oh, yes,” she said. “I’m Jennifer.”
“Ted, friend of the family and volunteer painter.” He offered his hand to her, and they shook.
“It’s such a large library.” She smiled at Ted, tilting her chin toward the books. “I understand the owner was quite the reader.”
“Yes, Dempsey Cleary loved his books.” Ted grinned thinking Dempsey also loved his Irish whiskey.
“Who was his favorite author?” Jennifer traced her fingers through her hair and fluffed as she glanced around the room.
“I think John McDonald. Flash of Green, and Condominium.” Actually those were some of Ted’s favorites, but he and Dempsey had discussed them in detail.
“Well, it’s been fun decorating and chatting, but I need to run.” Jennifer sprinted away as if Ted had offended her in some way. She left the garland of green decorations behind, only halfway hung.
As she fled, the black cat followed her.
That Jennifer lass has all the menfolk in a bit of a tizzy, what with her toff good looks, but what they don’t know is that she’s a snoop. Yesterday, she was all over the boathouse while she was sneaking a cig. I feared she might accidentally torch the place but when I meowed my warnings, she ignored me. Today, she’s looking under the pillows and the couch. That is dodgy, is it not?
Something funny is brewing here. I can sense it. But what, I can’t tell. Not yet anyway. The more immediate concern is that I’ve yet to get any real fish. That Collie person is a vegetarian, and apparently intends to feed me on fish cakes made from soy and pea protein. I will definitely have to educate her. A cat is not a vegetarian. It’s a crime against nature. And Victor is no help—he eats cooked carrots, for heaven’s sake. What kind of cat is he anyway?
As if Victor read my mind, he drifts up to me, his old eyes cloudy but alert. He is carrying something in his mouth. He drops it at my feet, and nudges it toward me.
Where did you get this? I purr out my question.
Victor explains that earlier he found Michael and Jennifer on the couch in the library, chatting and noshing. He tried nesting into Michael’s lap, thinking the preacher would be a soft touch for a purring cat, but the man shoved Victor off his lap, then refused to share his cheese and crackers with him. Or his beer. Victor likes his beer, something Dempsey had indulged him, though just a wee bit now and then, Victor tells me.
Get back on track, I prompt Victor, who sometimes tends to wander off point into the past.
Victor says he jumped back on the couch intending to steal some cheese, but he saw the torn edge of the news clipping sticking out the pocket of the man’s pants. He pulled the clipping out and ran off with it. Neither the preacher nor Jennifer had noticed, Victor said, a bit of brag in his voice.
Proud of Victor, I purr my appreciation for his sleight of hand. I also wonder if perhaps that’s what Jennifer had been looking for in the couch.
I pick the clipping up and carry it to a coffee table in the bright light and lay it down. Victor eases up beside me as I start to read it. Yes, I know I’m a cat, but I’m a cat with extraordinary talents, inherited from my father, Familiar, but also honed by years of careful study and experience. I am the Sherlock Holmes of cats. I can read.
I explain this to Victor, though he has already sensed my skills or he would not have brought the article to my attention.
The clipping is a newspaper story about a valuable collection of historic jewelry, which was stolen a few years ago from a traveling exhibit at the Ringling Museum of Fine Arts, a world-famous museum not far from the island. Collie has brochures all over her B&B for Ringling. Most of the jewelry was recovered, which saved an international incident with Russia. However, one necklace was never found. The thief, a New Yorker named Bartholomew, was arrested but denied keeping the necklace.
The news clipping indicates there is renewed interest in the never recovered piece—a ruby-encrusted necklace—as the statute of limitations has run on the theft. The article quotes a representative of Lloyd’s of London, the insurance company that had to pay out on the Russians’ claim, that he has never given up on finding the necklace. Further, a jail-house interview with Bartholomew convinced the Lloyd’s of London investigators to suspect a second thief, who had waited for the statute to run so it would be safer for him to fence the necklace.
I explain this to Victor.
He listens, purrs, and pats the clipping with his white paw. Then he tells me in his old-cat husky voice that Dempsey might have been involved. Bartholomew, the man ultimately arrested for the theft, had been a guest at the B&B, and Dempsey had been working as a groundskeeper at the museum at the time. Dempsey was questioned repeatedly, Victor recalls.
Maybe Dempsey did get the one necklace from the collection. And maybe he did intend to sell it once the statute of limitations ran so he couldn’t be arrested if he were caught. Of course, Victor says, Dempsey didn’t expect to get run over by a phosphate-hauling truck on a foggy back road to Tampa. And, no telling where he hid the necklace.
Indeed.
Well, Victor had been Dempsey’s cat, and Freebird had been Dempsey’s peacock, and one or both them must know something that would shed some light on where he hid the necklace.
That is, if he actually did end up with possession of the necklace.
Now, with a mystery to solve, I could almost forgive Collie for serving me pea protein instead of grouper.
Almost, that is.
Before I confront Collie about this matter of real fish, I decide to venture around the B&B and see what might strike me as a logical place to hide stolen jewelry. I invite Victor, and once outside, we look for Freebird on the off chance he’d seen Dempsey burying anything a few years back.
We don’t see Freebird, but we do see Fred and Freddie, the two Jamaican men, digging a small hole in the yard with the B&B’s shovel. A moment later, they plant an eye-catching sign promoting the St. Patrick’s Day festival, with crooked white lilies and a bottle of Guiness Stout. They shake hands, congratulating each other on their handyman and artistic endeavors, pet Victor and me, and amble back toward the porch.
We search for Freebird again. As we round the corner near the treehouse looking for him, I glance up as a bright burst of light flashes. A second, then a third flash of light makes me curious. I race toward the treehouse to climb up and see what is going on, but just then Freebird lets out an unusually loud scream and begins to cluck in an unhappy way. Victor and I rush to find him, leaving the mysterious flashing lights for later.
In short order, Victor and I find Freebird engaged in a voracious howling contest with Evie’s beagle, Rufus. A lackadaisical sort of fence is between them, though Freebird is perfectly capable of flying over it. Davey is frantically trying to drag Rufus back into the house.
I urge Freebird to come away with us and leave the odious dog behind. The peacock surrenders the field to Rufus and Davey, and we all march back to his spacious coop by the garden shed. There we sit companionably as I ask him about Dempsey and the necklace. Freebird tucks his head as if for sleep and declines to answer.
Victor decides if sleep is good enough for Freebird, it’s good enough for him, and he curls up beside Freebird and naps. I figure when in Rome, and stretch out on a soft mat in the shade of the coop. After all, Tammy sent me here to rest.
Subsequently, we wake, and judging from the sun, it is now a couple of hours later. I stretch and decide to confront Collie about that grouper. With Victor and Freebird at my side, we amble back toward the main house.
However, I sense something is wrong. Some scent in the air—the iron smell of blood perhaps. It’s coming from the treehouse and so I scramble up the tree, where to my horror, I find Evie Belview prostrate, yet conscious and bleeding profusely from a head wound. I scurry down as fast as I can and, along with Victor and Freebird, race for help.
Collie cut the tempeh into small strips, intending to fry it in canola oil with some soy sauce and smoke flavor. “It’ll taste just like bacon. You just wait and see.”
“You can’t serve tempeh at a St. Patrick’s Day festival.” Ted practically stamped his feet. He had just a second before come into the kitchen.
“Why not?” Collie glared at him.
“It’s not Irish.”
Before she could retort, Trouble ran into the kitchen with Victor right behind him, both hurrying through the cat door in the kitchen.
“Wow,” Ted said, “I didn’t know Victor could still run.”
Victor arched his back and hissed at Ted as if to say, Of course I can still run. Freebird pecked at the glass window in the door. Trouble set up a racket, meowing with an intensity that Victor matched with his yowling.
“Something is wrong,” Ted said.
“Oh, it takes a cop to know that,” Collie snapped, still put out about his criticisms of the tempeh.
Trouble rubbed against her, then Ted, before he rushed to the door, pushing at the cat door but not heading out. He turned back to Collie and yowled almost as loud as Victor.
“He wants us to follow him.” Collie turned the heat on the stove off and wiped her hands on her apron.
“What, so he’s Lassie now? And Timmy fell in a well.”
Collie ignored Ted and followed Trouble outside. Victor padded along with them. Freebird flapped his wings and shadowed them.
Ted rushed up beside her. He fingered his cell phone. “I’m off duty and don’t have my gun. But I can call backup.”
“So Trouble is like Lassie. You get that now, right?” With that, Collie hurried after Trouble as he headed toward the treehouse.
Ted scrambled up the ladder to the treehouse with Collie tight on his tail. Trouble leapt through the limbs of the tree and got there before them all. Victor, apparently worn out by his run, stayed at the base of the tree with Freebird. Ted didn’t know what to expect, but while crossing the yard he’d come to respect that the cats and peacock were urging them to hurry and that something was wrong.
As soon as he reached the top and stepped in the treehouse, he gasped. Evie Belview sprawled out on the floor, twitching, her eyes narrow slits. At first he thought she’d had a stroke or heart attack but then he saw the blood on the back of her head. He punched in 911 on his cell phone. “Urgent. Injured person, elderly.” He gave the address, then identified himself and requested a detective as it appeared the victim had been assaulted.
“Who you…calling elderly?” Evie’s voice was weak.
Collie kneeled and gently stroked the woman’s forehead. “Help is on the way.”
“Who did this to you?” Ted asked.
“Hit from…behind…with shovel. Didn’t see…hitter.” Evie struggled to talk. “But those black men…with … dreadlocks…saw them…with shovel in… yard.” Evie grimaced.
“Quiet. Rest, now,” Ted said, thinking they were making things worse by interrogating the old woman.
Collie untied her apron and wrapped it into a pillow shape. “Let’s get you comfortable.”
“You…aren’t supposed… to move me.” Evie paused, breathing hard and wincing as Collie put the apron under her bleeding head.
“Really, don’t talk,” Ted said.
“Look after…Davey.” Evie twitched and passed out cold.
Ted took Evie’s pulse. “Slow, but steady.”
“Thank goodness it’s steady,” Collie said. “But, Ted, the Jamaicans? They wouldn’t do this. Why they’re just as sweet and funny as anyone I’ve ever met, helping me decorate and hanging out in the library reading and playing chess.”
The sound of a siren got closer. Davey came running up to the treehouse. “What’s up? What’s wrong?” He shouted, the smell of marijuana thick off his body and hair.
Trouble meowed, pawed Evie on the shoulder as if giving a blessing, and bounded out of the treehouse and down toward Davey.
We sit in uncomfortable chairs in an ugly room in the Anna Maria Police Department. The air smells of burnt coffee and human body odor, not a pleasant combination.
The detective, a man named Robert Patel, strikes me as a real tosser. He breaks the silence and pokes his finger at Collie. “Why’d you hit that old woman with your shovel,” he demands. I take a swipe at the protruding finger and hiss. Such rudeness on that detective’s part, and poor Collie is already upset.
“Keep that damn cat under control or I will.” The detective draws back though, even as he threatens me.
Try it, you knobhead, I hiss at him.
Ted, who is perched on the edge of another hard chair, shakes his head. “Oh come on, Robert. You know Collie. She didn’t do anything to hurt Mrs. Belview.”
“And you know that how?” The detective practically snarls. “You’ve already admitted you were not on the scene at the time of the assault, but arrived after the incident.”
What the detective meant, of course, is that Ted cannot offer Collie an alibi. But he can certainly defend her.
“She’s a vegetarian. She won’t even eat fish. Somebody that tenderhearted”—here Ted pauses and smiles sweetly at Collie—“would never hurt another living soul.”
“Right. That’s why she threatened to get rid of the old woman.”
Collie shakes her head. “Oh, Robert, please. You know I didn’t mean I was going to hurt her.”
For a moment, the detective’s expression softens. He studies Collie and his anger slowly abates.
Ted reaches out and takes Collie’s hand. “You couldn’t hurt a flea, let alone an old woman.”
Collie places her other hand on top of Ted’s and leans into him.
Robert bristles as he watches Ted and Collie touch. He straightens up and glares, his anger returning. “We found your shovel in the garden shed with the old lady’s hair and blood on it.”
“And you know it is Miss Cleary’s shovel how?” A tall, white-haired man asks as he stands in the doorway. “Do you have lab work back already identifying the blood and hair? Or, are you simply clairvoyant?”
The stranger with his elegant white hair steps into the interrogation room. “I think everybody needs to shut up now,” he says with a deep voice that at once demands attention—and obedience.
In the immediate quiet, the man turns toward the detective. “Donald Hadsock, attorney at law, here to represent my client, Miss Colleen Cleary.” He touches Collie on the shoulder, notices me in her lap, and pets my head. We share an appraising stare, each taking the measure of the other. He’s wearing baggy cargo shorts, loafers without socks, and a T-shirt imprinted with ‘If you don’t live here, don’t’. A bit casual for legal matters, if you ask me, but then this is the island.
“She doesn’t need a lawyer unless she’s guilty.” Robert steps closer again, entering Collie’s personal space. I hiss and swipe out at him again.
“This is Trouble,” Collie says to Donald, and pulls me closer to her chest.
“Aptly named no doubt,” Donald says, and winks at me.
I wink back. Suddenly I have all the confidence in the world in this man.
“Did you read Miss Cleary her rights?” Donald asks.
“Yes,” Robert says.
“No,” Collie and Ted say in unison. I meow to second them.
“Is she under arrest?”
“No,” Ted and the detective answer a half beat apart.
“Well, then, I believe we will be leaving now,” Donald says as he points his chin toward the exit as if to direct her.
Collie rises from the chair, still clutching me to her chest.
“One more thing,” Robert snaps out as if hoping for the last word. “Ted, you are off this case.”
“Why?” Ted steps up to the detective, this time invading his personal space. “It’s my beat, and I was first officer on the scene.”
“You’re not a detective,” the man says.
Neither are you, I think, but wisely keep my own counsel on that.
“But—” Ted starts to say.
“And everybody on the island knows you’re in love with our lead suspect in this case.” Robert studies Collie, his own eyes strangely sorrowful.
Collie’s cheeks turn an adorable peach color as she turns to stare at Ted with her wide blue eyes.
She didn’t know that?
Humans can be so daft.
Collie offered coffee to Donald and Ted, but each man assured her they were fine, and asked her to sit and relax. It had been a difficult afternoon, and she felt a strange combination of wild energy and desperate fatigue.
As soon as they had returned to the B&B, Ted had gone in search of the Jamaicans, Fred and Freddie. They were nowhere to be found and their rental car was gone from its spot in the covered parking lot. Having failed at locating Fred and Freddie, Ted slumped on the couch next to Collie. “Maybe I should talk to Robert and tell him about Fred and—”
“Don’t you dare,” Collie said. “After how hateful Robert was to me you can just imagine what he’d do to Fred and Freddie. You just wait until you find them. I trust you to question them. Besides, I’m a great judge of character, and neither of those men would hurt an old lady.”
“I would agree that not discussing anything with Detective Patel would be a good idea,” Donald said.
“We really have to find Fred and Freddie and—” Collie started to say, then faltered. The Jamaicans weren’t the only guests she hadn’t seen for a while. And she had so much work to do. Baking and cleaning, plus the St. Patrick’s Day gathering was just days away. Oh, and poor Mrs. Belview. At least the ER doctor gave her a fair chance at a full recovery, though the woman had yet to open her eyes or speak.
Someone knocked on the library door, and Donald rose from his wing-backed chair to answer. A moment later, Michael, dressed in pressed khakis with a white polo shirt and looking very GQ, stepped into the room.
“May I be of any assistance?” he asked. “Perhaps prayers?”
Collie rose. “Michael, let me introduce you to Donald Hadsock, attorney at law.”
Michael cut his eyes toward the lawyer, taking in his casual attire in a quick glance.
“And Donald,” Collie said, “this is Michael Pedersen, who has joined us as a guest after interviewing at a local church for a position as their clergyman.”
The men shook hands, each carefully studying the other.
“Donald is my attorney.” Collie tilted her head toward Donald. “When my uncle was killed by a rock hopper—”
“A what?” Michael looked puzzled.
“Slang for a phosphate truck. Sorry.” She paused, inhaled deeply. Talking about Uncle Dempsey’s death still hurt. “Anyway, Donald here managed to get us a very nice settlement in my wrongful death suit, which paid off the mortgage on the B&B.”
“I see,” Michael said, once more eyeing Donald’s T-shirt and shorts.
“Please, sit.” Collie waved at the one available chair and Michael sat.
Donald folded his hands in his lap and closed his eyes as if in deep thought—or going to sleep.
“Well, the police detective certainly corralled me with questions. But I understand that he also interrogated you with regards to the unfortunate incident involving your neighbor.” Michael ran his hands down the crease in his pants and settled into the chair.
“They think since Mrs. Belview and I had…words…and because I…apparently threatened her, and because the shovel that was used to assault her was found in my boathouse…well, anyway, I’m their lead suspect.”
“But that’s nonsense,” Michael said. “You and I were together all morning, right up until your gentleman friend here—” he gestured toward Ted “—joined you in the kitchen. I can certainly vouch for the fact you did not assault your neighbor. You were not alone at any time around ten a.m., when that poor woman was hurt.”
Collie jerked her head up and stared at Michael. That was a lie. He was a preacher. Ministers of the Lord were not supposed to lie. Even if the alibi would help her.
And how did he know the precise time Evie had been assaulted?
Ted listened intently as Collie explained to him that Michael had lied about the alibi. They were finally alone—except for Victor and Trouble—and sitting side by side in the library on the plush couch.
“Why would he do that? Lie about being with me.”
“You’re missing the obvious.” Ted rubbed Trouble’s head as the cat pushed up against him on the couch. “If you agree with him, then you have given him an alibi also.”
Trouble poked him and meowed. Ted ignored the cat, focused as he was on Collie. They had yet to discuss what Robert said about Ted’s being in love with her. While true, somehow Ted didn’t think a love declaration tossed out as an accusation was the best way for Collie to first hear it.
“Well, whatever his reasons, he’s a preacher, and he isn’t supposed to lie.” Collie shook her head hard, making her dark wavy hair fan out. Ted wanted to gather her in his arms and kiss her. It was time to put high school behind them. Even if Collie had loved Robert back then, she didn’t love him now. Yet, Ted couldn’t help but remember fighting and punching with Robert over Collie in Dempsey’s yard—and how she left them both. Now Ted wasn’t sure how to win Collie’s affections or mend the fence with Robert, if he even wanted to do so.
Trouble butted Ted’s thigh with his head and meowed loudly, disrupting Ted’s ruminations. As if Trouble’s headbutting wasn’t enough, Victor jumped up beside Ted and nudged him, yowling.
“What now?” Ted petted the ancient cat’s yellow head. He knew how much Collie loved the old rascal.
Trouble meowed with a strangely definitive sound as if he were saying, Well, look here, and hopped down, running off. A moment or two later, he appeared and dropped a newspaper clipping in Ted’s lap.
Ted read it, all about an interview with an insurance investigator on the trail of a missing Russian antique necklace. He remembered the original theft a few years back, and how Dempsey had been questioned. But a man who was staying at the B&B had been arrested and Dempsey cleared of any involvement.
Ted hadn’t seen anything about a new investigation in the local papers, and looked at the back of the clipping to see if he could tell what paper it came from. Finding no hint, he turned to Trouble. “Where’d you get this?”
Trouble hopped down and ran off again. A moment later he appeared with Michael’s white clerical collar, no doubt something he’d pilfered from the man’s room.
“You got this newspaper clipping from the preacher?” Collie asked, crowding closer toward Ted. Victor let out an affirmative yowl.
“What church did he tell you he interviewed at?” Ted asked Collie.
“He didn’t say which church exactly, but he told me he was Lutheran.”
“I’m going to call every Lutheran church in the county.” Ted pulled out his smart phone and started looking up churches and numbers.
Less than half an hour later, he and Collie, along with Trouble and Victor—both of whom stayed close and listened intently—knew that Michael had not interviewed with any Lutheran Church in the area.
“That’s twice he lied,” Collie said.
“I need to dig further into Michael. I’ll start with a Google search. You’d be amazed what you can find out on the internet these days. Still, I might have to go to Robert with all of this.”
“Not yet, please,” Collie said. “Let’s keep Robert out if we can.”
Ted nodded, already thinking of the ways he could investigate Michael.
Collie finished putting away the breakfast dishes, ashamed that for the first time since she’d taken over the B&B she had served grocery store bakery goods instead of her own homemade breads and cinnamon buns. At least she’d scrambled the eggs and made the French-press coffee.
Already weary, she still had to change all the sheets and clean the guests’ bathrooms, and then work some more on preparing the treats for the St. Paddy’s Day gathering. She hadn’t gotten any sleep to amount to anything last night, and she doubted Ted had done any better. After insisting he needed to stay at the B&B to protect her, he’d snuggled up in her big lounge chair in her room.
During the night, they’d finally begun to discuss what Robert had said at the police station about Ted being in love with her. Slowly, and painfully, each laid out their memories. Ted admitted he had loved her back in high school, but had been too shy to ask her out. He told her he had gone to Robert for advice, only to have Robert rebuff him with a tale about Collie confessing to Robert that she loved him—Robert, not Ted. Naturally, when she started dating Robert, Ted believed she loved Robert.
“And Robert told me that you were in love with that Nicole girl, and didn’t like me at all that way.” Collie shook her head as she thought of all the wasted time and emotions.
As they struggled with the revelation that Robert had lied to them both to keep them apart, Collie cried out, “Why didn’t you ask me? I just went out with Robert to make you jealous. I mean, at first.”
“You must have cared for him?”
“Of course I cared for Robert. He was my closest friend—next to you, of course. But I didn’t love him, not like…not like he loved me. Or like I love you.”
There, she’d said it. Something she should have said years ago.
Ted sleepily replied he loved her too.
But he stayed in the chair.
Despite their long overdue honesty, they’d resolved nothing, with Collie in one place and Ted in another.
Now here it was morning again, and things between them were still unsettled.
Ted poked his head in the kitchen. “What can I do to help? I’m not due at work until the afternoon shift.”
“You were going to finish digging online into Michael’s life and try to find Fred and Freddie.” Collie tried to smile. “That ought to be enough for the morning.”
“Absolutely.” Ted poured a cup of coffee, surprised neither Jennifer nor Michael were up yet. “You’d be amazed how many Michael Pedersen’s there are online, even a minister by that name. But none of the photos seem to match our guy. So, I want to dig deeper before I question him.” Ted looked down at his feet, sheepishly. “I asked Trouble to see if he could lift the man’s wallet so we can look at his ID. That way, we don’t tip him off that we’re on to him as a fraud.”
“Good thinking.” Collie beamed at Ted as he lifted his head to look at her. “I mean, I know he’s a cat, but Tammy Lynn did warn me he had unusual talents.”
“Well, let me get to work.”
“Before you hit the computer, one thing, quickly,” Collie said, as she wiped down the counter. “Could you please go to the boathouse, and be careful, it’s a rat’s nest of stuff, and find that giant coffee urn that Uncle Dempsey used for gatherings. I want to clean it so we can use it on St. Patrick’s Day.”
“Glad to.” Ted lingered a moment, hovering near her, as if he wanted to kiss her. But then he ducked out the kitchen door and hurried off.
A moment later the kitchen door opened again, and she looked up in surprise to see Davey standing there with Ted. Davey had a gun pointed at Ted.
“What the—” Collie blurted out just as Trouble skidded around the door frame and into the kitchen.
“Quiet. Or…I’ll shoot. I will.” Davey’s hand shook as he pointed the gun first at Collie and then at Ted. “We’re going to the boathouse so nobody’ll see us, and you’re going to tell me where that damn necklace is.”
“But I don’t know.” Collie put her hands on her hips and glowered at Davey. “If I had any idea, I’d have told the police.”
Ted looked woefully at Collie. “I was digging under the lifeboat, trying to find the coffee urn. But Davey surprised me while I was half under the boat.”
“Yeah, I was gonna snoop around myself, but he beat me to it.” Davey shoved the point of the gun into Ted’s side. “Now I won’t have to dig through all that crap. You can tell me where that necklace is.”
“I told you, I don’t know.” Collie fingered the pastry knife and wondered how serious Davey was about the gun.
“Move. Now. And put that little knife down.”
Well, that answered that. Collie put the pastry knife down and followed orders.
The three of them slunk across the yard toward the boathouse, with no one talking. Trouble followed discreetly, lurking in the grass and then running a few feet ahead before hiding again. Out of the corner of her eye, Collie saw Victor weaving through the ferns and keeping up. It wasn’t the cavalry exactly, but it made her feel better.
They marched in single file, Collie first, then Ted, with Davey and the gun close behind. Ted tensed, every instinct in him said to turn and jump Davey. Even if Davey shot him, which seemed likely, Collie might escape. But as they neared the boathouse, Davey stopped pushing the gun in Ted’s back and slowed, seemingly puzzled as to what he should do next. Alert, Ted waited for his chance to attack.
“It’s a mess in there,” Collie said. “There’re rats inside.”
“Rats?” Davey sounded even more unsure than before.
Ted figured his chances to attack Davey might be better in the jumble of things in the darkened boathouse. Collie wasn’t kidding. The place was a hoarder’s dream of stuff piled on stuff.
“Go on.” Davey waved the gun. But he took a step back as if afraid a band of rabid rats would leap out at him any minute.
Collie pulled the boathouse door open and stepped forward, blocking Davey’s view of the inside as she hesitated in the doorway. “Well, hello, Fred and Freddie,” she said, her voice oddly upbeat.
Ted didn’t think Fred and Freddie were inside, but he applauded Collie’s attempt at confusing or distracting Davey, who appeared to fall for her trick.
“What?” Davey practically squeaked. “They’re here?” He pushed past Ted and into the boathouse. As he did, Trouble pounced on him, clinching his teeth deeply in Davey’s gun arm. Victor hissed and attacked Davey’s ankles. Out of nowhere, Freebird flapped up, pecking vigorously at Davey’s face.
Ted jumped inside and snatched up a garden hoe from against the wall and pummeled Davey with it. Davey yelped and dropped the gun, and Collie grabbed it.
Davey whimpered and cowered, wrapping his arms around his head, half in and half out of the boathouse, finally collapsing on the ground.
“Serves you right.” Collie stepped over him to hand the gun to Ted.
Ted gripped the gun as he reached for his cell phone.
“Not so fast,” Jennifer’s voice cooed from out of nowhere.
Michael stepped around the corner of the boathouse where he’d been hidden. He pointed a gun at Ted, but cut his eyes over at Davey before glaring at Jennifer. “I knew that idiot would never be able to find that necklace. Why I ever let you talk me into using him—”
“You didn’t have any better ideas,” Jennifer snapped back at Michael. She glanced at Davey. “Get up and help me tie these two up in the boathouse. There’s bound to be rope in all that mess.”
“Oh, no you don’t.” Ted pointed his gun at Michael. “What we have here is a stand-off,” he said in his best John Wayne imitation.
Jennifer whipped out a gun and pointed it at Collie. “Two to one.”
“It ain’t loaded,” Davey said from where he huddled on the ground. “The gun. It ain’t loaded.”
“You’re lying.” Ted hoped Davey was.
“Why don’t you try the gun and see?” Jennifer snickered.
“I ain’t no killer,” Davey said, tearfully. “Sorry. But it really ain’t loaded.”
Well, this is a fine pickle. We rescue Ted and Collie only to have them captured again. I eye Victor, who eyes me back with a ‘now what?’ look on his face. Freebird has, perhaps wisely, slipped out of view. Victor and I are flattened under an old lifeboat in the houseboat, out of reach of Michael and Jennifer and hopefully out of their awareness.
In short order, as we watch, temporarily helpless to stop it, Davey ties up Ted and Michael ties up Collie as Jennifer holds both guns. This might have been a good chance to jump her as we did Davey, except the look in her eyes tells me she is the most dangerous of the three miscreants. I decide caution is the better move and ease around quietly under the lifeboat looking for some kind of weapon. A harpoon would be nice, but probably unlikely. Though as Collie mentioned, there seems to be two warehouses full of junk in the boathouse.
“All we want is the necklace,” Jennifer says. “Tell us, and we’ll take it and leave you here. Someone will find and free you. It’s really quite simple.”
“Except,” Collie says, “we don’t know where it is.”
“Your uncle must have told you. He left you this inn and all his worldly belongings, so surely he trusted you with the hiding place.” Michael sounds as if he hopes to persuade Collie into admitting she knows where the jewelry is. “And the man who planned the heist told us that Dempsey had the necklace.”
“And told you that Dempsey’d put a map of the hiding place in his favorite book,” Davey says, his voice little more than a whisper. “Collie, man, I’m so sorry. They recruited me to help them because I could live with Evie next door and spy for them. They said they’d pay me if I found out anything about where Dempsey might’ve hid the necklace.”
“Fat lot of good that did,” Jennifer says, pointing the gun at Davey for a second before aiming it back at Collie. “Now spill it, princess. Where’s the necklace?”
“Honestly. My uncle never mentioned that necklace. You don’t even know if he really took it. He was never arrested, and there’s no reason to believe he was ever part of the heist at Ringling.” Collie’s voice has a note of defiance which I’m guessing hides her fear.
I slink out from under the lifeboat toward what looks like an inflatable raft leaning against the wall near Jennifer and Michael.
“That necklace is somewhere in this boathouse or near it.” Jennifer glances around. “I can just feel it.”
“Yeah, that’s what you said about the garden shed too.” Michael sneers at his partner. “And look how much trouble digging around there caused.”
“All right then, let’s torture her,” Jennifer says, a frightening note of glee in her voice. “I bet she’ll sing if we put out a cigarette on her pretty little face.” She hands one of the guns to Michael and pulls a pack of Winston’s from her pocket and lights one up.
We don’t have much time. Jennifer takes a big drag. Ted twists and struggles with his ropes, which are already coming loose. Davey must have deliberately tied them poorly. Collie closes her eyes as her lips move and I suspect she is praying.
I tense, ready to attack. No way I’ll allow anyone to do that to Collie, even if one of them shoots me.
“No,” Davey yells. With more speed than I’d have thought him capable of, he grabs the same hoe Ted used on him a moment earlier and swings at Jennifer. She fires, but the shot goes wild as she tries to duck Davey’s attack.
It’s now or never, I realize, and pull the inflation tab on the lifeboat with my teeth. The raft hisses and springs to life, hopefully enough to distract or even knock over one of the miscreants threatening Collie. Victor, who has not been idle, suddenly fits his paws into a flare gun he’s found in the lifeboat and manages to fire it. As the flare rips through the side of the boathouse, I figure surely someone in the neighborhood will call 911.
But we can’t wait for help.
Davey rebounds from being shot at and gets a second swing at Jennifer. The never-hit-girls rule doesn’t apply under the circumstances.
I’m ready to spring, teeth bared at Michael, when I see movement from the corner of my eye. With a quick glance, I spot Freebird in the doorway. He is not alone. Evie’s blasted hound is with Freebird. For once, he isn’t barking. He’s growling.
Freebird emits the most horrifying scream ever, while the dog and I attack different parts of Michael’s body. Victor hurries to Collie, gnawing on the ropes around her wrists, even as Davey dodges the rapidly inflating lifeboat which soon pins Jennifer against the wall. Ted escapes his ropes, grabs up a paddle and lands a solid thunk on Michael’s head.
In a moment, it’s all over.
Michael and Jennifer, bloodied and cowed, huddle on the ground as Freebird, Victor, Rufus, and I nip, bite, hiss, and growl while Davey shakily holds two guns pointed at them. Ted finishes untying Collie.
“I’m so sorry,” Davey says, sounding sincere. “It’s just…they threatened to kill Aunt Evie if I didn’t find the necklace. I didn’t know what else to do. I couldn’t let them kill her.” He sniffles. “She’s all the family I got left.”
“It’s okay. We’ll work something out,” Ted says.
Just as I start to relax, Fred and Freddie burst into the boathouse, guns in their hands.
Not again! I hiss.
Rufus barks, Freebird clucks, and Victor yowls.
But Fred and Freddie laugh and lower their guns when they see the pitiful huddle of Michael and Jennifer.
“Lloyd’s of London investigators,” one of them says without a trace of the Jamaican accent, and whips out an official ID nobody looks at. Glaring down at Michael and Jennifer, he adds, “We’ve been following you two for a while now. Gotcha.”
Freebird clucks and disappears out of the boathouse.
Ted calls for back-up, while Fred and Freddie tie up Michael and Jennifer with the same frayed ropes they used on Collie and Ted. Fred and Freddie explain they had temporarily left yesterday to re-visit Bartholomew in prison and extract the truth. Turns out the convict finally admitted he had lied to Jennifer and Michael so that they would supply him with cigarettes. Further, he said Dempsey had nothing to do with the theft of the necklace, and Bartholomew has no idea where the necklace ended up. For all he knew, he might have dropped it in his haste to escape the museum the night of the burglary.
As everyone limps back to the B&B kitchen, where Collie quickly opens a bottle of Bushmill’s Irish Whiskey to no one’s objection, Freebird runs jauntily around the corner. Something bright and shiny dangles from his mouth.
The ruby necklace.
The St. Patrick’s Day gathering is a rousing success. A subdued Evie is even able to come in a wheelchair, with Davey in rapt attention to her. Now that Evie says Collie saved her life, they appear to be friendly. Detective Patel even showed up, ate some cookies, and spoke almost nicely before he left. No one mentioned to him or to Fred and Freddie about Davey’s inept role in the hoopla and shenanigans. After all, Davey hadn’t loaded the pistol and he helped Collie and Ted escape. Michael isn’t any kind of minister but rather is an international dealer in high-end stolen jewels and art works. He confessed to hitting Evie over the head with a shovel after he saw she was in the treehouse photographing her yard—and that she’d accidentally photographed him and Jennifer digging around the garden shed, looking for the necklace. Fearful Evie would realize what was going on, he’d only meant to hit her hard enough that he could get the camera and not to kill her. Still, Ted figures attempted murder will be among the charges against him. Those flares of light I’d seen had been her camera’s flash going off. Michael had seen them too, leading to a lesson: If you’re spying with a camera, don’t use the flash.
No one at the party complained that the noshes were vegetarian, not even me—because Collie has given Victor and me plates full of fresh grouper from Cortez Fishing Village as a reward. We appreciate that this is hard for her, tenderhearted vegetarian lass that she is.
After I finish my second plate, I pad my way quietly into the library where Fred and Freddie are among the last to leave. The dreadlocks and the Jamaican accents are all gone, a disguise they admit they use a lot in their investigative work. They hug Collie and trade manly handshakes with Ted, then fade into the late night.
Once they are alone—except for me and Victor—Ted kneels in front of Collie and takes one of her hands in his. “We haven’t had a real date yet, but…”
“Yes,” Collie says.
A moment later, Ted produces a ring. As Collie tumbles to the floor into Ted’s arms, hugging, kissing and giggling, I purr. Victor purrs beside me.
Outside, I hear the soft clucking of Freebird, who admitted to Victor and me that he stole the necklace from a bag of jewels the thief had hidden in the boathouse. He didn’t mean to cause such a ruckus. He just thought it was pretty.
Dempsey had never been involved with the heist after all. That’s what Freebird and Bartholomew both say. Victor remains skeptical about this, I note, but it doesn’t really matter anymore. The Russians will get their heirloom necklace returned, Lloyd’s of London will get reimbursed for their previous pay out, and the case will be officially closed.
Ted and Collie make it off the floor and safely back to the couch, still giggling together. I nestle beside a glowing Collie and Victor curls up by a blushing Ted.
But then, Ted shifts upright on the couch. “What was Dempsey’s favorite book?”
Collie grins. “Moby Dick, of course.”
Ted gets up from the couch, hunts a moment among the many books, then finds Moby Dick. He pulls down the volume and flips through it. A folded piece of paper falls out.
Collie, Victor, and I quickly gather around Ted to see what the paper holds.
A treasure map of the B&B and the surrounding area.
With not one, but three x’s, including one right under the ladder to the treehouse.