by Krista Davis
I followed her to the kitchen, where Rae Rae sat at a small table surrounded by boxers. “Well, hello!”
“Hi, Holly. Should I leave?”
“Please don’t,” said Donna. “I’m so glad for your company. I’ve almost stopped crying.” Her eyes were rimmed in red. Tears welled in them again. Donna sniffled and wiped them away with her fingers. “Holly, the police told me you stayed with Diane until help came. Thank you so much. That was so kind of you. I shudder to think of her all alone there during the night.”
“But she wasn’t alone. Stella was with Diane when I found her. I imagine Stella was with her all night long.”
Tears came to her eyes again. “Stella was devoted to my sister. How does a dog recover from that kind of loss? How does a person cope with it?” She clutched the sides of her face. “Diane’s death is overwhelming. I can’t believe that she’s gone. I keep expecting her to come running into the house all breathless and happy. It’s unimaginable that she’s gone.”
Rae Rae rose. “Do you have any coffee in those bags?”
“I do.”
Rae Rae and Donna high-fived like they were old friends.
“We were just saying we could use a cup of coffee,” said Donna. “Oh! And wine, too. You thought of everything.”
Rae Rae was already spooning coffee grounds into a filter.
“I was almost afraid to stay here,” said Donna. “They say just a little bit of that fentanyl can kill you. But the thing is, I knew my sister very well. She never was a drug user. Someone had to be pretty crafty to get her to take that stuff.”
“Did she say anything to you about problems she might have been having with someone?” I asked.
“I knew about the fellow with the puppy mill that she put out of business. When Dave Quinlan of the police department called to tell me about her death, that was the first thing I thought of. But the cops followed up on that guy right away. He happened to be in police custody out in Kansas, so that eliminated him.” Donna looked through cabinets for mugs, found some, and placed them on the table.
“Was she seeing anyone?” asked Rae Rae, pouring coffee into three mugs.
Donna placed milk, sugar, spoons, and napkins on the table.
“Not romantically. The two of us had such bad luck with men. Our sisters found great husbands! Diane and I joked that we would have to grow old together because we didn’t have anyone else.” Donna’s face screwed up, and she choked back tears. “I’m sorry. I can’t seem to stop crying.”
She wiped her face with a tissue and looked Rae Rae in the eyes. “Diane always said she lost her best friend over a man who wasn’t worth fighting for. I know it’s not much consolation, but after her experience with Howard, she was very critical of those who had affairs with married people. She had her fair share of married admirers, for sure. But she put them in their place. She asked me once, ‘Why do men think I’m so stupid that I would believe their wives don’t understand them?’”
Rae Rae laughed. “Oh my. I’ve been on the receiving end of that line from men, too.” She let out a little sigh. “Having you here is almost like talking with Diane. She was so right. We should have both kicked Howard out of our lives and kept our friendship. Funny how things look so different years later.”
Donna took a deep breath. “They’re not giving me her body yet. I figure I’ll take her home and bury her in the cemetery where the rest of our family is. I need to scrounge around for her will. Knowing Diane, I’m sure she made provisions of some sort for her dogs.” She gazed at the gang that sprawled comfortably on the floor. “I hope I can be of help in figuring out who murdered her, but mostly I came to take care of the dogs. They were her babies.”
“I guess Rae Rae mentioned that Stella has been staying with us.”
“I love Stella! She’s such a sweetie,” blurted Rae Rae. “Let me know what you find out about Diane’s dogs. I went over to the shelter yesterday. They had such lovely pooches, but if one of Diane’s dogs needs a home, I’d really like to adopt him or her.”
“That’s wonderful!” I looked at Donna. “Don’t you think Diane would feel good about Rae Rae taking one of her babies?”
Donna nodded. “I just have to make sure she didn’t want them going to someone else. Ugh. It will be so hard to look through her things.”
“Maybe I can give you a hand,” offered Rae Rae. “I’ll be in town all week.”
“Should I bring Stella home?” I asked.
Donna sagged a little. “Is she being a problem?”
“No. She’s wonderful.”
“Would you mind terribly keeping her a little longer? I’m sort of overwhelmed with dogs right now. I wish Dawn and Debbie were here to help me.”
“Your parents gave you all names that begin with D?” I asked.
“There were four of us, Diane, Debbie, Dawn, and me, Donna. Our mom thought it was cute to have all our names begin with the same letter. She even named the cat Darin. We had fun growing up. Oh, we argued and teased mercilessly, but we all loved one another so much. And now one of us is gone. We’re like a puzzle with a piece missing from the center.”
Rae Rae reached out and placed her hand over Donna’s. “Why don’t we go out to dinner tonight? Holly, would you like to join us?”
“Maybe tomorrow night?” asked Donna. “I have a lot to do around here and so much to figure out. I’m tired from the drive, too.”
I took that as a major hint to depart. “If you need anything while you’re here, just give me a call.” I scribbled my number on a pad by Diane’s phone.
“And I had better catch up to my gang,” said Rae Rae. “But we are definitely on for dinner tomorrow night.”
The two of us walked out to our golf carts. “Do you think I’ll get one of the boxers?” asked Rae Rae.
“I honestly don’t know what kind of arrangements breeders make for their dogs in the event of their deaths. I’ve heard that sometimes the breeding community rallies around them and helps place the dogs, but I don’t really know.”
“Cross your fingers for me!” Rae Rae stepped into her golf cart.
I walked on toward mine and thought about Diane on the way home. She had seemed to live a quiet life. She was always friendly and participated in town events. And I never heard anyone complain about her or even gossip about her for that matter. Mr. Huckle was always on top of town gossip. He denied it, of course, but there wasn’t much he didn’t know about the goings-on in Wagtail. I would have to remember to ask him.
It wasn’t very late yet, but I was a little worn-out. I parked the golf cart and headed for the main lobby. Oma was probably there with the dogs keeping an eye on everything.
A group of people gathered there, including the Pippin entourage. It alarmed me when they turned to look at me and fell silent. I glanced around. “Where’s Trixie?”
Eighteen
I couldn’t breathe. “Trixie? Trixie!”
“We’ve been trying to reach you.” Jim sounded panicked.
I glanced at my phone. The sound had been turned off by accident.
“Liebling, I’m so sorry,” said Oma. “I never expected her to run out.”
“I’m sure she’s around here somewhere,” said Camille in a soothing voice.
My heart thundered. It was as if I couldn’t hear anything. Voices and faces swirled around me. What happened to Trixie? Could she have gone up to our apartment? Why, oh why, had I left her?
Food, she loved food. I hurried to the private kitchen. There was no sign of her. The dining area was empty. I checked the terrace overlooking the now-darkening lake. Still no sign of Trixie.
My heart heavy, I stood in the middle of the lobby and screamed, “Trixie!”
They watched me with pity, which I hated.
Jim grabbed my arm. “Will you stop moving for a second? I’m trying to tell you that Pipp
in went with her.”
“What?”
“Trixie shot out the front door. She nearly tripped me in her hurry, and Pippin whipped around and followed her.”
I ran to the front porch. “Trixie? Trixie!”
“Holly! Listen to me. I chased them until they wriggled under a fence. I tried going around it, but I had lost sight of them.” Jim sounded as worried as I felt.
She hadn’t been stolen. I tried to tell myself that was a good thing. It was a good thing! “The GPS collar,” I blurted.
I ran inside and down the hallway with Jim right behind me. I pulled out an iPad, connected to our GPS system, and entered the number of Trixie’s collar. “She’s on Elm Street.”
I grabbed a golf cart key and ran out the door. Jim kept pace.
Pushing the cart to travel as fast as it could, I drove north past the church and cut to the right. One more turn and we would be on the east side of Wagtail. Trixie and I had driven in this neighborhood last night. It had been so quiet and calm.
Jim watched the GPS screen. “The collar stopped moving.”
“Good! We can catch up to them.”
I glanced at the screen. We were almost there. We needed to turn right on Elm and figure out exactly where they were. Only then did it dawn on me. Someone was dead. Trixie wouldn’t have run out of the inn like that otherwise.
“Pippin!” called Jim. “Pippin, come!”
I thought I heard a bark. “That must be Trixie.”
I slowed down as we approached the spot where the collar was supposed to be. We stopped in front of the house that Howard had rented.
Jim shouted, “Pippin!”
I yelled, “Trixie!”
Jim gazed at the iPad. “Could they be inside the house?”
Darkness was falling rapidly, and I wished I had brought a flashlight. I remembered that my phone had one and flicked it on. It wasn’t great, but it was better than nothing.
The house was completely dark. I knocked on the door anyway. “Howard?” I called. Less politely, I banged on the door and tried to turn the doorknob. It was locked.
“They must be inside.” Jim grimaced. “Do you think he’s dead?”
A shiver ran through me, and I looked at Jim. “If he’s dead, how did they get inside?”
“Maybe a back door is open.”
I phoned Dave while we dashed around the side of the house. Fortunately, the call went through. “Something’s wrong at Howard’s rental on Elm Street,” I blurted. “Hurry!”
Jim tried opening the back door. “It’s locked.”
“Maybe they’re not inside after all. Could we be reading the map wrong?” I peered at it. “If we’re in the right place, we should hear Trixie barking.” I wished I had brought an extra GPS collar with me to verify that we were in the correct spot.
Jim was looking around the base of the house.
“What are you doing?” I called.
“Maybe they got in through a basement window.”
I tried looking through the windows in the back of the house. When I shone my light inside, I saw a sofa and a TV, but no dogs and no Howard. Frustrated, I tried the kitchen door myself. It was a fairly simple doorknob without a dead bolt.
“Jim! Did you bring your wallet?”
“Yes.” He pulled it out of a back pocket. “How’s that going to help?”
“I’d like to borrow a credit card, please. One that you don’t use much.”
He handed it to me. “I’m not following you.”
I carefully slid the credit card into the crack between the door and the frame. Positioning it at an angle above the point where I thought the latch would hit the strike plate, I eased it downward while pulling it toward me. The door opened.
Jim raised his eyebrows. “You do realize that this is breaking and entering, or trespassing at the very least?”
“Do you want me to close the door and wait for Dave to call the rental company and have them bring a key?”
“No!” He almost shouted the word.
“Okay, then.” I swung the door open wide and flashed the beam on my phone around the walls in search of a light switch. “Trixie!”
Jim was so close behind me that I could feel his breath on my hair. “Pippin!”
The house was silent. Dead quiet.
I found the switch and flipped it. The rear of the house came to life. We slowly walked into a combination kitchen and family room. An empty pizza box lay open on the counter.
“I think they would be making a fuss if they were in the house,” said Jim.
I handed his credit card back to him. “Thanks. I hope I didn’t mangle it.”
“No problem. I can always order another one.”
Jim took the lead and ventured into another room. He flicked on a light. “Gah!”
I rushed in.
Jim turned and stopped me. “You don’t want to see this.”
That was the wrong thing to say if he really wanted to prevent me from seeing it. I pushed my way past him.
Howard lay on the sofa at an awkward angle. His body looked like it had keeled over, but his legs dangled toward the floor. I was pretty sure he wasn’t breathing.
Nineteen
I screamed. I couldn’t help it. The scream was an involuntary reaction. Howard’s face was pale, and his lips were blue. I crept closer. There was a bluish tint around his perfectly manicured fingernails.
Thanks to Trixie’s nose, I had seen more than my fair share of corpses, but I hadn’t seen anyone with blue lips. His eyes were closed. If his body hadn’t been somewhat contorted, I might have thought he was sleeping.
“He looks like he’d been sitting up and suddenly fell over,” Jim whispered.
An empty old-fashioned glass was tipped over on the floor. A scrap of paper lay on his thigh.
I watched his chest for any sign of breathing.
“Should we should try chest compressions?” Jim touched Howard’s legs. “Ugh. He’s already stiff. We’re way too late to help him.”
A shudder ran through me. “Do you think someone killed him?”
“I don’t see any blood or wounds.”
“Holly?” It was Dave’s voice.
“In here.” I was enormously relieved that Dave had arrived. I had seen some awful deaths, but there was something different about this one.
Dave walked in and stopped short at the sight of Howard. For a long moment, he said nothing. “Have you touched anything?”
“I tried to move his legs. And we touched the doorknob,” said Jim.
“And the light switches,” I added.
And then I saw something that struck fear into my heart. “Trixie and Pippin are here somewhere. That’s a dog’s paw print on the hardwood floor.”
Dave ushered us outside and called his police department for backup. “Someone could still be in the house,” he grumbled. “You two took a huge risk going in there.” He stopped fussing at us. “Do you have reason to think anyone else is inside?”
“No,” said Jim. “All we wanted was to find Trixie and Pippin.”
Dave drew his gun. “Stay out here. That means you too, Holly.”
It was fine with me. My major concern was Trixie. But if she was inside the house, why hadn’t she come running to us? I refreshed the page on the iPad and entered the number of Trixie’s collar again.
Jim watched over my shoulder. “I don’t understand. If Trixie isn’t here, why does her collar show up? Do you think she’s at the house next door or something?”
The two of us started calling Trixie and Pippin. We walked out to the front yard and called them. No one barked, no one whined, no one bounded toward us.
I tried to be calm. It wouldn’t help if I acted as irrational and upset as I felt.
I faced Jim. “We know they were here.�
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“That could have been the paw print of another dog.” He sighed. “But since Howard didn’t bring a dog, it was probably Trixie’s or Pippin’s print.”
Fear clutched at me. There were only two logical reasons for the GPS to indicate the collar was here. Both were horrific. Either the collar had been taken off Trixie, or it was still on her, but she was no longer moving.
Dave emerged from the house through the front door. “It’s all clear.”
“Any sign of Trixie or Pippin?” I asked.
“No dogs, no cats, no people except for Howard. And I can’t find a pulse on him.”
“I know you don’t want us in there messing up the crime scene, but do you see a GPS collar lying around?”
“Yeah, there’s one right next to the dog door.”
“Dog door?” That explained a lot. I breathed a little easier. She must have gotten caught and backed out of it.
A police car and an ambulance arrived.
I phoned the inn and Oma answered. “Have Trixie or Pippin returned?” I asked.
“Liebchen, I’m so sorry this happened.”
“Oma, it’s not your fault. I guess they haven’t come back to the inn?”
“Not yet.”
“Thanks, Oma. We’ll keep looking.” I hung up. “Wade Holt. The gray-eyed man,” I said. “He killed Howard, trapped Trixie and Pippin, and took them with him.”
“You don’t know that,” Dave scolded. “We don’t even know if Howard was murdered. He might have died of natural causes.”
“I know this. If you find Trixie and Pippin, you’ll have your killer.”
“Holly, go home and let me do my job.” Dave stepped inside and closed the door.
Without any discussion, Jim and I hopped on our golf cart. I started it and cruised along the street. At the corner closest to the green, I turned. We stopped briefly at each cross street, searching and listening for any indication of activity. It wasn’t until we reached Sycamore Street that we heard an angry voice. I turned and sped to the source.
Old Mr. Finkelstein stood in the middle of the road. He was a small man with a balding head that was surprisingly round. His hands were balled into fists, which he shook in the air.