A Twist In The Tail

The rustle of paper brought me out of my reverie. Barbara had whipped out her notebook and was flipping through it, probably trying to find the exact section of the building code that a dead body violated so she could write me up.

‘He’s dead. We better call the police,’ I said.

Barbara looked up from her notebook, her hawk-like gaze focusing on the stairway. ‘It’s no wonder. Look at how the stairway collapsed.’ Her eyes narrowed, she craned her neck forward, pulling her phone from her pocket. ‘Looks like dry rot to me. This place is uninhabitable.’

I glanced at the stairs as Barbara dialed the police. She had a point. Jagged edges of splintered wood stuck up where the treads had broken through. The entire banister lay on the floor, though half of it had fallen away before I even bought the place. The stairs hadn’t been in good condition before this. Now, they were a disaster. But that was why I had this section of the house blocked off. Only a fool would try to navigate those stairs, which brought up two questions… how had Charles gotten in here? And why?

I didn’t know what Jedediah Biddeford had been thinking when he built this place. It could have easily housed four families. Maybe he’d planned to raise several generations here. The place was enormous, with several staircases and two kitchens. Over the years, parts of it had fallen into disrepair.

Millie had told me her family had closed off the West wing a generation ago and she’d had a hard time keeping up with the rest of it. That’s why she’d sold it at such a discount. Well, that and the fact that she wanted more time to go gallivanting around town causing trouble with my 78-year-old mother. Keeping an eye on her was the second reason I’d been compelled to move back to my home town of Oyster Cove, the first being getting away from my ex.

At least the cats had quieted down. They were now sniffing around the room as if they were furry CSIs looking for clues. Nero was paying quite a bit of attention to the globe-shaped newel post that had rolled over in to the corner. Marlowe was sitting beside him and watching.

‘Well, I’ll be a monkey’s hiney. Is that Prescott?’ Ava Grantham appeared in the doorway, her eyes riveted on the body. Darn it! I was hoping to keep this from the guests, lest they flee the guesthouse demanding a refund.

‘Just a little accident,’ I trilled. ‘Go on back to the dining room. I’ll put out more muffins.’

But it was too late. The Weatherbys emerged beside Ava.

Iona gasped as she fumbled with her binoculars. ‘My word! What happened?’

Ron slid his arm around her and held her tight. ‘Don’t look, dear.’

I summoned my nothings-wrong-go-on-your-way voice. ‘Just an accident folks. Nothing to see here, really.’

‘Not a surprise either,’ Barbara said, pointing out the broken stairs. ‘Safety hazard. You people should be careful here.’

Great. That was just what I needed, Barbara telling people that the guesthouse wasn’t safe.

‘Someone should call the police,’ Ron Weatherby said, then in a lower voice. ‘Though in a small town like this, I wonder how effective they’ll be at investigating the condition of those stairs.’

‘I’ll do it,’ Barbara said a bit too gleefully as she whipped out her phone.

‘What’s going on I… Eek!’ Tina had come to join the crowd. Her eyes were even bigger than usual. Her hand flew up to her mouth as she stared at Charles. The high-pitched squeak she’d emitted had the cats riveting their heads in her direction, their whiskers twitching. ‘Is that a dead body?’

Ron Weatherby transferred his attentions to Tina. He put a fatherly arm around her and patted her shoulder. ‘Now, now young lady this is nothing for you to see. Let the missus and I take you into the dining room and get you some tea.’

‘Great idea,’ I said. ‘We’ll only be a minute here and then everyone can forget all about this.’

Finally, the area cleared out. I closed my eyes, willing the police to hurry before anyone else happened by. No such luck.

‘What’s going on? I was up fixing the sink in the sand dollar room and I—’ Mike Sullivan skidded to a stop in front of the door, his eyes widening as they flicked from the body to my face. ‘Sunshine, what happened?’

The last person I wanted to deal with right now was Mike Sullivan. Mike and I went way back. I mean, way back. He’d been my brother Tommy’s best friend growing up. I’d known him practically since I was in diapers, and the nickname ‘Sunshine’ wasn’t a term of endearment. It had come about because I wasn’t exactly a morning person as a teenager. Mike and Tommy had teased me about my morning grumpiness by calling me Sunshine.

Not for the first time, I wished he would hurry up with the work Millie had paid him to do. I didn’t like the dimple-inducing smirk on his face when he called me Sunshine, or the way it made his whiskey-brown eyes twinkle with mischief.

‘One of the guests had an accident,’ I said.

Mike came to my side. ‘Are you okay?’