Chapter 6
Bizzy and I finished up our conversation just as an entire slew of new guests bustles through the door of the Country Cottage Inn. And while she gets to tending to the crowd, I get lost and head right back upstairs.
I know for a fact most of the guests have already left for the day. Here’s hoping that includes both Delora the Deplorable and Savvy Rest in Peaches Sparrow.
Upstairs, the hallway is deserted, smelling of lemon polish and that particular old-building scent that suggests ghosts might pay rent. Sunlight filters through the lace curtains at the end of the hall, and somewhere a clock ticks with judgmental precision.
I spot the housekeeping cart abandoned halfway down the hall—the maid must be inside one of the rooms. And there, sitting on top like a gift from the universe, is a universal keycard.
The kind that lets housekeeping into every single room for their daily cleaning rounds.
Before I can talk myself out of it, I casually walk by and pocket the card.
Just borrowing it. I’ll return it. Eventually. Probably.
This is a terrible idea, Chip announces from his position clutched against my chest like a furry anxiety attack.
We’re going to get caught. We’re going to jail.
Do they serve good food in jail? Wait, do they serve food at all?
Oh no, what if they only serve dry kibble? Revolt! Abandon ship! Abandon ship!
Would you calm down? Fish hisses from her spot in my other arm, her green eyes scanning the hallway like a tiny feline surveillance system. We’re conducting an investigation, not robbing a bank. Though the principle is remarkably similar.
“Room 203,” I whisper, stopping at Delora’s door. The brass numbers gleam accusingly.
We’re all going to die, Chip moans. Or worse, we’ll get banned from the treats cabinet. Is this really worth it? What if she has the room booby-trapped? What if there’s a silent alarm? What if—
What if you zip it for five seconds? Fish interrupts. Some of us are trying to commit crimes in peace.
The lock clicks open with a sound that seems to echo through the entire state of Maine. I slip inside, my heart hammering hard enough to power a small carousel.
Delora’s room is exactly what you’d expect from someone who organizes her disapproval alphabetically. Everything is pristine, from the perfectly aligned toiletries to the color-coordinated wardrobe visible through the open closet door. Even her shoes are arranged by heel height.
Quick, check the nightstand, Fish directs, squirming free to land silently on the carpet. That’s where humans hide their secrets. Also, medications and embarrassing romance novels with lots of man chest on the cover.
I ease open the drawer to find... a leather journal. Bingo.
Don’t read it! Chip practically shrieks. That’s private! We could go to privacy jail! Is that a thing? It sounds like a thing!
I flip it open anyway. The entries are written in perfect cursive, which probably judges my penmanship just by existing.
“September 22nd: That insufferable Janglewood woman continues to ruin everything with her pedestrian theme park. Dexter seems smitten. Must investigate her background. Surely there’s something unseemly in her past.”
Oh, she’s investigating YOU, Fish notes with amusement. How delightfully ironic.
“September 23rd: Dilly threatened me again today. Fifteen years of this torture. Sometimes I dream of silencing her permanently. Perhaps with one of those tacky rolling pins from the merchandise booth.” I straighten.
“Hey, those rolling pins aren’t tacky. They’re marble, and gold, and classy!
I should clobber her with one to drive home the point. ”
Okay, that’s concerning what she said about Dilly, Chip whimpers. That’s very, very concerning. But what you said about her was expected from you. Can we leave now? Please? I’ll never ask for extra treats again!
You’ll ask for extra treats within the hour, Fish retorts, but she’s already heading toward the door. We’ve got what we need. Delora’s definitely got motive, and she’s been thinking about those rolling pins.
We slip back into the hallway, and I quickly lock the door behind us. Room 205 is just two doors down.
“One more,” I whisper.
No! Chip’s meow hits a frequency only dogs can hear. We’ve pushed our luck enough! The universe is going to punish us! We’re going to get caught by Bizzy or Sherlock, or worse, that terrifying housekeeper with the crazy eyes!
But I’m already unlocking Savvy’s door.
The scent hits us first—it’s like someone detonated a perfume bomb in a flower shop that was inside another flower shop.
Sweet cheese and crackers, Chip gasps. It smells like a rainbow blew up in here.
Savvy’s room is... well, it’s something. Every surface is covered with cosmetics. The dresser looks like Sephora exploded and had babies with Ulta. There are enough bottles, tubes, and compacts to supply a Broadway musical for a year.
Is that a curling iron or a medieval torture device? Fish asks, eyeing a particularly elaborate styling tool.
Why does she have forty-seven lipsticks? Chip wonders, accidentally knocking over a tower of eyeshadow palettes with his tail. Nobody has that many lips!
I catch the palettes before they hit the ground, my heart stopping for a full second. A quick search through drawers reveals nothing but more beauty products, hair accessories that could double as weapons, and enough face masks to mummify a small army.
Nothing incriminating here, Fish observes. Unless excessive grooming is a crime.
Can we PLEASE leave now? Chip begs. I’m too young and fluffy to have a criminal record!
We’re just stepping back into the hallway when—
“Josie?”
I freeze. Bizzy stands at the end of the hall, holding a stack of fresh towels and wearing an expression that says she knows exactly what I’ve been doing.
WE’RE GOING TO JAIL! Chip wails.
Play it cool, Fish advises. Pretend we’re supposed to be here. I practically own the place.
“Oh, hey Bizzy!” I say brightly, trying to look like someone who definitely wasn’t just committing misdemeanors. “Just... checking to make sure the rooms are up to standard! You know, owner stuff!”
“Uh-huh.” Bizzy’s lips twitch as I hand her the keycard. “Find anything interesting in your... inspection?”
“Delora’s room is suspiciously clean, and Savvy has enough makeup to paint the entire theme park,” I admit.
“That sounds about right,” Bizzy nods. “For future reference, maybe just ask me? I have master keys for a reason. Also, poor Chippy looks as if he’s about to have a nervous breakdown.”
I am having a nervous breakdown! Chip confirms. I can feel my nine lives flashing before my eyes, and I’m not even at my expiration date! I still have at least eight lives to go!
“Sorry,” I mutter. “Investigation instincts got the better of me.”
“Just don’t let it happen again,” Bizzy says, but she’s grinning. “Also, Delora’s due back in twenty minutes, so you might want to relocate your crime scene.”
We scurry away with the speed of people who’ve definitely been up to something, Chip muttering about criminal records and Fish critiquing my key card-swiping technique.
Next time, Fish suggests, maybe we should just ask the suspects directly. It would be less stressful for Captain Anxiety here.
There’s going to be a NEXT TIME? Chip squeaks.
There probably will be, but I don’t have the heart to tell him.