A Twist In The Tail

Twenty-One

Despite the confidence I’d had about catching the killer when I’d talked to Mike outside the post office, I was jittery as a chihuahua in winter. I was half afraid he’d stick around the guesthouse, as I knew he suspected I was up to something. But he must have believed my story about going away. He finished up work and bid me farewell at four, asking about my flight. I told him I was taking a train just in case he had designs on checking up on me at the airport. I had a twinge of guilt as I watched him drive off. He’d acted a little cool all afternoon and I hoped I hadn’t been too harsh with him outside the post office.

At 6:30, Ron and Iona got the ball rolling by ushering everyone to the Marinara Mariner. Their plan was to get seated with all the others, then Ron would excuse himself to the bathroom and double back. He wanted to be here to make the arrest.

We figured the killer would come in the front door and head straight down the hall to the West wing. They wouldn’t try the window for fear it would be locked, and why bother when they knew the front door would be unlocked and no one home? I turned off the lights and Ron and I crouched in the pitch-black doorway to the butler’s pantry and waited.

At around 7:15, we heard a noise. Only problem was, it wasn’t at the front door.

‘That sounds like the kitchen,’ I whispered to Ron.

‘Why would someone come in the kitchen?’ Ron whispered back.

‘I have no idea.’ Mom and Millie knew about the plan so they wouldn’t be coming in that door. Flora had already left for the day and she never came back to the guesthouse after work. Could it be Mike? I knew he’d seen through my act at the post office but surely he wouldn’t ruin our plan.

Ron stood and the floor creaked.

‘Shhh…’

We froze, but the creak must not have bothered the intruder because the next thing we heard was the squeak of the hinges on the kitchen door opening. Good thing I hadn’t oiled them.

Ron tapped my arm and pointed to the kitchen, communicating that we should sneak over there quietly. It wasn’t as if I couldn’t have figured that one out on my own. One end of the butler’s pantry opened into the kitchen and we tip-toed through.

The kitchen was dark, but I could make out a form bending over the counter. By the size, shape and cloying smell of floral-scented perfume wafting over, I could tell it was Stella.

It had been her all along! But why was she standing at the kitchen counter? It looked like she was going through the recipes. Had she hidden something in the recipe box or cookbook? The rest of the note they’d found in Charles’ room? Or maybe she wanted to swipe a recipe before heading into the West wing to look for the fake evidence I’d found. Either way she wasn’t going to complete her mission.

I flicked on the light switch and jumped into the room. ‘Aha!’

‘We caught you red-handed!’ Ron chimed in.

Stella whirled around, squinting into the light. Her hands flew out, palms up in front of her. She dropped the paper she was holding and it floated down to the floor.

‘What is that?’ I pointed to the paper. ‘Part of the note Charles left?’

‘A confession maybe,’ Ron said. Did he have to add something every time I spoke?

‘Hardly.’ Stella put her hands down and glared at us.

‘Fine.’ Ron whipped out his badge, the gold shield glinting in the light as he thrust it out toward her. ‘I’ll be calling the police then and they’ll get a confession from you.’

‘For what?’ Stella crossed her arms over her chest. ‘I hardly think the police will care that I came to borrow a recipe.’

I glanced at the floor. Yep. Looked like a recipe.

‘Not for that,’ Ron said. ‘For poisoning gulls and killing Charles Prescott.’

‘What? I never killed anyone! Or poisoned anyone for that matter. Except that time Mr. Dudley got sick from my cream puffs but that was unintentional.’

‘Of course you did. He found out you were poisoning the gulls and threatened to blackmail you, so you had to kill him,’ I said.

Mew.

That sounded like Nero out in the parlor. Not sure what he was meowing about but apparently he hadn’t figured out that all the action was going on here in the kitchen.

Stella made a face. ‘I’m not poisoning the gulls. Who told you that?’

‘No one told me. It’s as plain as day that they are affecting your business.’ I gestured in the direction of her inn.

Meow.

Was that Marlowe? It sounded like she was near the front stairway.

‘They are not. I admit it’s hard to keep up with cleaning the gull poop off the deck, but tourists love to go and feed the gulls. In fact, I have special ‘gull food’ canisters now that I sell them specifically for feeding the birds.’ Stella shrugged at our disbelieving looks. ‘It’s just stale bread but hey, if life gives you lemons you make lemonade.’

I glanced at Ron. He was stroking his chin and studying Stella. ‘Then why did you break in here tonight if not to get the evidence before it was given to the police?’

Stella sighed and pointed at the scrap of paper on the floor. ‘Okay, I admit it. I wasn’t borrowing a recipe. I was returning one.’

‘Returning?’ I bent down to pick the paper up.

‘Yes, it’s Millie’s sour cream coffee cake recipe. It’s really delicious, so I stole it to make for the cooking contest. I wanted to sneak in and return it sooner but after you came over and started asking all the questions about why I was hanging around the Guesthouse, I didn’t dare. So when I heard you wouldn’t be here and the place would be unlocked, I figured it was a perfect time to return it.’

I stared at the paper in my hand. Handwritten on a blue lined index card and smudged with an old butter stain was Millie’s distinctive handwriting in a faded blue pen. It was the missing Sour Cream Coffee Cake recipe. Had Stella really broken in just to return it or was this some clever trick to use as an excuse to be here because she really was breaking in to get the trumped-up evidence?

‘But it has to be you,’ I said.

Meroo!

That one came from the hallway, probably the cats were just figuring out we had the killer cornered in the kitchen. But now, looking at the recipe I had to wonder if we’d made a mistake.

‘Why does it have to be me? I'm not the only one who could poison the gulls. Why don’t you ask Barbara Littlefield? She's the one who was conspiring with Charles up on the cliff.’

Now I knew she was lying. ‘But Barbara said she never met Charles and she—’

A gruff voice in the doorway cut off my words. ‘That's right. I said what I had to say to stop you from nosing around.’

We turned in the direction of the voice to see Barbara Littlefield standing in the doorway with a gun pointed directly at us.