Pawsibly Guilty Read online

  “You!” she called out, nearly making me shriek with fright. “What are you doing in here?”

  Chapter Three

  Marguerite practically quivered with indignation, and it was probably that reaction of hers that prevented me from fainting in horror. A half-second later, I spotted a long orange tail sail across the back of the wing chair like a winner’s flag, and then Hank popped out.

  The cat was never down here. Even though he’d once belonged to Mr. Thornberry, he knew Miss Janice despised him. Through the years, the housekeepers had sheltered and fed him, and he’d developed his own way to travel through the residence, always staying out of sight through hidden passages in the walls.

  So, what was he doing down here, now?

  As I watched, Hank examined the little metal object I thought was a lighter. Then he sniffed Andy’s hand.

  “Hank!” I hissed, dismayed. The sight made my head spin, and I grabbed on to Marguerite for balance. The cat backed away, his mouth open in a feline expression of distaste.

  “Shoo!” Marguerite stomped her foot sternly. She flapped a hand. “Go on, you old furry mousetrap!”

  Instead of leaving, Hank peered around the edge of the sofa to the far corner of the room. His pupils blossomed like Black-eyed Susans as he stared. Slowly, the hair raised on his back.

  I swear, I didn’t even want to look. When he hissed, the skin along my back shivered. Living in an old manor led to many creepy ideas… too many. And the other housekeepers loved to fan the flames of those tales. But, seeing Hank’s reaction now, I wouldn’t be surprised to find Andy himself standing there, arms crossed over his transparent frame.

  “Good heavens, cat, what’s all this ruckus?” Marguerite sounded tough but her fingers clenching her chest betrayed her. As she squinted to see in the gloom, she gasped.

  When I heard that sound escape her, I almost fainted. I swear I did.

  A shadow lurched out from the far corner. I squealed and reached for Marguerite like she was my lifeline. The monster emerged from the murkiness with two claws held in the air. I knew it! Andy’s ghost!

  Before I could run from the room, it slowly morphed into a man dressed in a rather dull blue suit.

  This fellow had been hiding by the wing chair, and he definitely wasn’t happy to have been discovered. I recognized him as one of the businessmen. But, during the busyness of food service, I hadn’t realized he’d been missing from the kitchen.

  The man brushed off his creased pant legs as his eyebrows lowered into a mortified expression. After a horrible second where none of us moved, he cleared his throat. “I’m sorry to have scared you.”

  “What are you doing in here?” Marguerite attacked, her head bobbing like the queen chicken of the coop, her hands firmly on her hips. I felt she was about to take him down.

  He seemed to sense that as well because he humbly began, “Unfortunately, I left my phone in here. I know it’s bad timing, but I absolutely had to find it before the police came. Again, this is horribly awkward, but I’m expecting a business call.” He held the phone out, shame-faced. “See. It’s right here.”

  “Well, I suggest you leave this room right this instant, young man.” Marguerite huffed, only slightly mollified by his explanation.

  Ducking his chin in subservient fashion, he walked toward the door. Unfortunately, because of his position in the room, he had to step over the body to reach it.

  I covered my mouth and turned my head, praying I wouldn’t lose the contents of my stomach.

  “Please don’t tell anyone,” the man begged from the door, his eyes huge and beseeching. “I swear I didn’t touch anything,” he promised.

  “Out.” Marguerite pointed, completely unmoved by his begging.

  “Sorry, again,” he murmured. He quickly headed down the hall, where I could see him turn toward the direction of the kitchen.

  Marguerite and I stood in silence for a moment.

  “Who was he?” I asked, now feeling slightly angry the man had been in here. Needing a phone or not, some things should be sacred. You shouldn’t have people straddling over your dead body in search for their lost items.

  “I’m not sure of his name. We’ll find out.” Marguerite stalked over to the buffet near the door and swooped the brandy bottle under one thick arm. Staring down at the body, she shook her head sympathetically. “Poor boy. So much life yet to live. I can hardly believe it. Mr. Thornberry would turn over in his grave if he saw this.”

  “Was Andy his friend?”

  “I’d say so. Many times, I’d find this young man with Mr. Thornberry in his study late at night. Honestly, Andy must have been close enough to let himself in the manor because neither Butler nor I ever saw him come to the door.”

  Juggling the bottle, she flowed out of the room with me jogging to keep up behind her.

  Our return to the kitchen was met with several curious gazes, but Marguerite held up the bottle as an explanation. The young man was already seated at the table and engaged in a deep conversation with the politician. Cook passed him a sandwich while Lucy poured him some coffee.

  He’d only just taken a bite when Butler came in. The man’s usual dour expression was even more solemn if possible. “Miss Janice. The police are here.”

  “Oh. I see.” Carefully, Miss Janice took one last sip of her tea as if to needing a moment to ground herself. Then, like a boat at full sail, she glided through the kitchen and into the foyer.

  I now understood the old adage “waiting on pins-and-needles.” The delay was horrid. We housekeepers seemed to take turns staring at one another, while, interestingly enough, the dinner guests kept their eyes down in an opposite reaction. But one thing everyone had in common—it seemed we were all holding our breath as we tried to listen.

  A short while later, Miss Janice escorted two police officers into the kitchen. From the foyer, sounds of the door opening and closing could be heard. The door slammed each time, and I imagined the pained expression on Butler’s face. That door, with its lion head knocker, was his baby.

  Miss Janice sidled over to the table, with the officers following behind her like petals in a river current. I peeked into the foyer to see what was happening.

  An officer spotted me and waved me over. “You, there. Where’s the body?”

  I swallowed hard. How did this become my responsibility?

  “He’s right this way,” I said. Well, more like whispered. I hated how intimidated I felt and so straightened my spine in a show of bravado as I led him down the long hallway to the cigar room.

  Other officers followed us and quickly filled the room as I stood outside. The grandfather clock chimed the hour. I glanced at my watch. It was then that I noticed it was over twenty minutes slow.

  I glanced into the cigar room just as one of the officers took poor Andy’s pulse. The officer shook his head and spoke into his shoulder mic, confirming what we all feared. “D.O.A.”

  I quickly turned away. My stomach just couldn’t handle any more. I’d hardly taken two steps when his next words caused me to freeze. “Looks like a crime scene. Bring the kit.”

  Crime scene? Mrs. Fitzwater had been right. I walked back to the kitchen, hoping Marguerite had learned something useful while I was gone.

  The crowd had increased a great deal by the time I returned. Additional police officers had entered, and each one had sequestered a different dinner guest to interview. The politician was the only one alone and shuffled uncomfortably before checking his phone in a big show of nonchalance.

  Cook stood nearest to the young man I’d caught in the cigar room. He appeared calm as his interview took place. I hurried over to her side and grabbed a towel in a pretense to be busy. Of course, I was only there to eavesdrop.

  The officer had out a paper pad. “Your name is…?” he prompted the young man.

  “Uh, Austin Danver.” He swallowed hard.

  “And how did you know Andy Fitzwater?” asked the officer, his voice friendly and relaxed like he
was giving an order at a coffee shop.

  “We went to college together. He’s a good guy.”

  “In your own words, can you tell me what happened tonight?”

  “Well, we were having dinner. At ten o’clock, we moved into the cigar room. Andy seemed kind of off all night. Massaging his neck. Once I saw him rubbing his chest. Like right here.” Austin pointed to his heart. “Seemed kind of out of breath, too. Then he lit that cigar, took a couple of puffs, and just keeled over.” He shook his head. “Poor guy.”

  The cop didn’t show the slightest reaction to the story. “Do you know of any enemies he might have?”

  “Enemies?” Austin’s voice rang with shock, and his eyes exaggerated the emotion. “You’re kidding me?”

  “Just trying to get all the facts, sir. Enemies?”

  “Uh.” Austin ran his hand through his hair, obviously surprised by the question. “Yeah, I guess. I mean, he was a good-looking man. A playboy, really. He had his share of spurned women and probably a few cuckold boyfriends and husbands along the way. I think that’s pretty normal for a guy of his financial and social stature. Don’t you think?”

  The officer ignored his question. “Anyone you know of personally?” His words were like a dart hitting the bullseye.

  Austin swallowed hard, his jaw clenching. “Yeah. There was one person. A woman named Madeline. She lives over in Springfield. I guess her husband wasn’t too happy when he found the two of them in bed together.”

  The officer scribbled on the pad. The noise seemed to last forever.

  Austin watched for a moment before he added, “That’s pretty much all I know of personally. But I’m sure you can ask anyone and rack up a list. It’s a list we all have.”

  “You mean enemies? Do you have many?”

  Austin grinned. The expression made him look cocky and unattractive. “I suppose so. I try to be more careful than that, though. Don’t get caught—that’s my motto.”

  Austin’s phone rang, reminding me of how he’d said he was expecting an important phone call. He pulled it from his pocket and glanced at it, and then grimaced. “I’m sorry. I’d really like to take this. Was there anything else I can help you with?”

  The officer excused him with a nod. Austin thanked him and swept his tie over his shoulder. As he strode from the room, he answered with a simple “Yeah?”

  I tried to eavesdrop on the next interviewee—the Reverend Bay and a cop—but they stood too far away. All of the Reverend Bay’s answers and questions blended in with the other voices around them. One thing I did pick out were names. Lots of women’s names.

  By now, the coroner arrived, and after another gong from the grandfather clock, the body was removed. Miss Janice hugged Mrs. Fitzwater as the two women stood in vigil, watching poor Andy being loaded away. Then the interviews were concluded, and we were dismissed from the kitchen as the detective team moved to rake over the cigar room for clues.

  Like a popped champagne bottle, the dinner guests rushed to leave the house. Miss Janice sank in exhaustion into one of the living room chairs. All of us housekeepers and kitchen help surrounded her, waiting to hear the news.

  There was not much to say. Eventually, the last officer left, and the air sounded weird after the door shut for the final time. It seemed we were all taking in our first deep breath.

  Miss Janice rubbed her temples as stress pushed past her expensive creams and procedures to lay in heavy folds around her mouth and eyes. “So, the police found nothing in the room but a broken cigar cutter. It’s late. Past midnight. Let’s all go to bed, and we’ll start a fresh day tomorrow.”

  With her very firm directive, we trudged upstairs. I was learning in this house, answers were not always given when expected.

  As I entered my room I kicked off my shoes. My second shoe hadn’t hit the floor when I was hit by a typhoon of sneezes. One, two, three….

  This was not good, not good at all. Please, on top of everything else, don’t let me have an allergy attack. I grabbed my bottle of allergy meds and shook it. Hearing nothing, I tossed it on the dresser and collapsed on the bed with the sleepy thought of maybe getting the chauffeur to drive me to town tomorrow to get some more.

  It was only after I’d pulled my nightgown over my head that I realized Hank was missing from his usual spot on my bed. Irrational maybe, but I immediately thought of the open front door. He wasn’t an outdoor cat, and the thought he might have escaped really worried me.

  I hurried downstairs. On my way through the hall, I noticed the library door was cracked open. From the center of the door, the snarling lion stared out. His fangs seemed especially dark tonight as if stained with blood. That room was never entered. Ever. I’d made the mistake once when I first started here and had nearly been fired by Miss Janice.

  I hesitated for one second and pushed the door open more. “Hank?” I called. The cold black was in direct contrast to the fading summer warmth of the rest of the house. It felt like staring into the recesses of a crypt. Something was very wrong with this place.

  Quickly, I shut the door and wiped my hands, somehow feeling contaminated. My heel caught on the edge of the worn carpet, and I tripped backward. Catching my balance, I turned and ran to the foyer.

  Stop being silly. I chided myself. Find Hank.

  I unlocked the massive front door and walked out onto the veranda. Instantly, because of the night hour, the action felt taboo. There were no stars to delineate the horizon from the sky. Instead, a cool fog wafted over the lawn like mist over a pond.

  “Hank?” I called, my voice squeaking.

  The fog seemed to eat the sound. I called louder this time and listened.

  The only thing that answered was a mouse screaming as it was caught by an owl.

  I slammed the door and ran back upstairs.

  Chapter Four

  Sneezing was the new snoring for me that night. I woke myself up at least three times having a sneeze attack. The next morning, I caught a ride with the florist who’d arrived with the weekly flowers for the manor. She’d overheard me telling Cook I needed to visit the health food store and offered to run me in.

  She was the nicest lady, who claimed she suffered from allergies herself. She chattered on about flowers, and her boyfriend, and did I know the manor’s gate had stuck for her this morning? I could hardly pay attention. The ride was slightly torturous, caused mostly by the thick scent of roses permeating the air. I could practically see the pollen, or at least feel it, stuffing into my sinus cavities and tickling my throat. I managed to stifle two sneezes, but they cut loose as soon as she drove away.

  Sniffling, I steadied myself, hoping they were gone for a while. You sneeze three times in a row, and people look at you funny. And there was no way to explain it was just an allergy.

  After a moment, when I felt like my nose had settled down. I continued into the store in search of my allergy pills.

  An odd scent floated inside the business’s interior, a mixture of iodine and some kind of strange tea. I meandered down the aisles and slowly read labels.

  The bell above the front door rang as another customer entered.

  “Yoohoo!” she called, waving her hand in my direction.

  I glanced around to see who she was talking to. I didn’t see anyone. I turned back and pointed at myself. “Me?”

  The girl nodded. She walked over, making her cute jean jacket and haircut look fresh. “This must seem strange, but we saw you come in.”

  “We?” I raised an eyebrow, wondering if I needed to be worried.

  The girl ignored my question. “We need your help.”

  “Do I know you?” I set down the bottle I’d been holding.

  “We heard how you solved the murder at the Thornberry’s. All of you ladies.”

  This was getting more bizarre. “All… of us?”

  “Yes, you and the other housekeepers at the estate. We were impressed with your detective skills and want to know if you can help us?”

  W
ho was she, and what was she talking about? “Who’s us?”

  “Myself. I’m Dotty, Mrs. Fitzwater’s personal assistant. You know Andy was murdered, right?”

  My mouth dropped. “They know this for sure?”

  She nodded, her forehead wrinkles buckling in sadness. “Metroxade. It’s used as pest control but can cause a heart attack if ingested.”

  “Oh, my gosh. That’s horrible. In his drink?”

  “They aren’t sure how it was administered.” She swallowed and pulled the collar of her shirt. “Administered sounds so clinical for such a horrible event.”

  I nodded. “How can I help?”

  “Mrs. Fitzwater believes someone at the house did it. She would like you to find out who. There is a reward.”

  My ears perked up. “Oh, really?”

  “Fifty thousand dollars for information leading to the arrest for Andy’s murder.”

  I lurched backward, bumping into the shelf behind me. “Are you serious?”

  “Who’s serious is Mrs. Fitzwater. She wants the guy caught. Andy wasn’t the greatest person, but he was her blood, and she wants to get him justice. What do you think? Can you help?”

  “Well, I need to talk to everyone.” I have to admit, the money was dazzling. “Would Mrs. Fitzwater be willing to talk with us? We might have some questions.”

  “I’m sure she would. Let me go check.”

  The surprises kept coming. Apparently, Mrs. Fitzwater was waiting for my answer out in the car. Dotty ran outside while I hurried to the counter to pay for my allergy pills and a bottled water. Through the display window, I saw a town car idling outside. Dotty leaned against the passenger side and talked animately. A second later she turned back. Seeing me through the glass, she waved enthusiastically.

  There was nothing for it. I popped a pill in my mouth and took a swig of the water. Swallowing, I walked outside.

  the chauffeur leaped out as I approached. Smiling respectfully, he hurried to open the rear door.

  I peeked my head in, and Mrs. Fitzwater smiled. A pink hat perched on top of her head, her hair sprouting out underneath in a messy fuzz. Yet she still carried herself with the elegance from her movie film days.