by Krista Davis
Stella walked right past her to join her old friends.
“We brought the missing Yorkie home to the Hoovers next door. I’m sorry she was so barky.”
“You found her? That’s wonderful! I don’t mind being awakened for a happy occasion like that. I shouldn’t have been asleep anyway. I was up late going through Diane’s things. I found her will. She appointed me to find a person for Stella. And she named a couple of breeders who might be interested in taking some of the other dogs. So if you have any ideas about who might like Stella, please let me know. It might not be easy to find someone. Diane was very specific. Stella is to be an only dog. She must live indoors. No kennels. No crates. This isn’t going to be easy!”
Stella returned to the doorway and politely looked up at Donna, who patted her. “Hi, Stella. We’ll find you a good home. I promise.”
And then Stella walked across the lawn and jumped into the golf cart. I wished Zelda were there to tell us what Stella was thinking.
“She knows Diane is gone,” said Donna.
I had a feeling she was right. I said good-bye and walked across the driveways and grass to the Hoovers’ house. A golf cart with a trailer behind it was parked in their driveway.
Stan had emerged from the front door in shorts and an old T-shirt. He rubbed his eyes as though he’d just rolled out of bed.
“About time you got up,” muttered Augie.
“Dolly!” Stan ignored his father and reached for the dog.
Glenda seemed reluctant to hand Dolly over to him.
Augie clapped me on my back. “We’re so grateful to you.”
I waved my hands in protest. “Stella gets all the credit. I’m just glad that Dolly is home and healthy.”
When I returned to my golf cart, Dave was sitting in it, talking on his phone. Or, more correctly, listening to someone talk on the phone. Lack of sleep showed on Dave’s face. He had taken the time to shave, but his eyelids hung heavy. No wonder he’d been testy with me.
He ended the conversation and hung up. “Mind giving me a ride to the inn? I need to talk with your grandmother.”
“I’d be happy to give you a lift.” I started the golf cart and steered toward the inn. “Any chance you can grab a nap?”
He nodded. “Looks like it. I still need to find the dognapper, though. That’s a funny word, isn’t it? It sounds like someone who’s napping like a dog.”
At least he still had a sense of humor. When we arrived at the inn, he beckoned to me to join him in the office.
Oma looked up from her work.
“Zelda,” called Dave. “You come in here, too.”
I settled on the sofa, surrounded by dogs. Trixie must have been feeling neglected, because she jumped up into my lap.
“Our Dr. Engelknecht has been busy,” said Dave. “The presence of fentanyl in Wagtail was of particular concern to him, because it takes such a tiny amount to kill someone. Other localities have had multiple deaths in a short period of time, and he wanted to prevent that. Apparently, it’s showing up elsewhere mixed with other illicit drugs, so people don’t realize they’re taking it. They think they’re taking heroin or cocaine, but it’s mixed with fentanyl, and they die from an overdose.”
Dave paused and appeared to collect his thoughts. “The fentanyl in Diane’s system was compared with that in Howard’s body, and they appear to have come from the same batch. That leaves us with a couple of possibilities. Obviously, Howard and Diane could have bought it from the same dealer and ingested it.”
“But Diane was not a drug user,” protested Oma.
“Exactly. I’m going to tell you this just the way the chief told me. There was no sign of forced entry into Diane’s house or Howard’s rental house. The chief’s theory is that Howard visited Diane. She knew him and voluntarily invited him in. They reminisced or argued, maybe even partied together. She took the fentanyl on purpose to try it, or he surreptitiously added the fentanyl to her food. When she died, he panicked. He cleaned up the kitchen to hide evidence, loaded her onto a golf cart, drove her up the mountain, and dumped her body.”
“Where did he get the golf cart?” asked Oma.
“One came with the house he’s renting. The following day, Howard came here and made a scene about being the next to be murdered.”
Zelda and I nodded our heads. We wouldn’t soon forget that!
“He drank very heavily during the evening. Several people have confirmed this to me, including a bartender who was pouring him drinks. He went back to his rental house, partook of the fentanyl, and died. There were items among his belongings that have the slightest bit of fentanyl dust on them. It appears he brought it with him, hidden in his luggage as baby powder. But no appreciable amount seems to remain.”
We sat silently, taking it all in.
“Hey, Zelda, I was up all night. I could really use a cup of coffee.”
“Sure thing, Dave.” She rose and left the room.
Dave closed the door.
Oma’s eyebrows rose. “Do you believe this is what happened?”
Dave winced. “No. But it’s what the chief believes, and it’s the official story. I wanted Zelda to hear, because she’ll spread it around. If there’s any fentanyl still being sold, maybe that will scare people and stop them from buying drugs in Wagtail.”
“So you think someone might still be selling this stuff here?” I asked.
“It’s possible. But here’s an interesting twist. Your guest, Jim McGowen, had a packet of the same batch of fentanyl in the tan bag he carries. And we know for a fact that he visited Diane and Howard shortly before they died.”
Even though I knew Dave had information on Jim, I was shocked. I hadn’t expected anything like this. I was fond of Jim, and it made me sad to think he could be the murderer.
Oma gasped. “Then he must be the dealer.”
“Not necessarily,” said Dave. “He claims he doesn’t use drugs. He was willing to be tested, and everything has come back negative. On top of that, his fingerprints were not on the little bag containing the drug.”
“Either he wore gloves, or someone else stuck it in there?” I guessed.
“Those are definitely possibilities. Unfortunately, he has been surrounded by people constantly. Anyone could have slid it into his bag. He also confessed a rather interesting story about Howard. See if he’ll tell you. I’ve been in contact with the police in Los Angeles to follow up.”
“Did it involve someone named Lucy?” I asked.
“You knew about it and didn’t tell me?”
“No. Marlee said he was asking Howard about a Lucy.”
Oma blinked and leaned forward toward Dave. “You have sent Zelda out of the room so she will not blab this, ja?”
“Ja.”
“And what you are saying is that the case is closed. Officially, it is over. But you think there is still a killer among us.”
Twenty-nine
“That’s exactly right, Liesel. The chief is a smart guy. His theory isn’t implausible. We know that Howard visited Diane. We know that Howard had the drugs. We know that there was no physical violence. But it doesn’t sit right with me.”
“Me, either,” I said. “I can believe that Howard was callous enough to drug Diane. But he’d been in Wagtail less than twelve hours at that point. I guess I can imagine him partying with an old friend, and I can understand the panic. If he was partaking of the drug, maybe he wasn’t able to help her or call for help.”
“All possible,” Dave agreed.
“I didn’t know Howard well, but I sure have heard a lot about him. And what I don’t think he would have done is drag Diane out to a golf cart, drive her up the mountain, and dump her body. If he sobered up and found that she was dead, he might have cleaned up in a panic. He might have wiped his fingerprints, but I think he would have left her in her house. He stri
kes me as a hands-off kind of guy. He pays people to do things for him. He doesn’t do things himself.”
Oma tapped her fingers on her desk. “Two accidental deaths from the same drug. If Howard was the one who brought fentanyl to Wagtail, why would Howard place it in Jim’s bag? Did he harbor some kind of anger toward Jim?” asked Oma. “Something is not right with this story.”
“What about Mr. Finkelstein’s golf cart?” I asked. “If Howard took an overdose accidentally or intentionally, then who stole Mr. Finkelstein’s golf cart?”
“One of many questions that remain unanswered.” Dave took a deep breath. “It’s possible that it wasn’t related to Howard’s death at all.”
“Has it been found yet?” I asked.
“It was abandoned down by the lake. The theory is that some kids were probably joyriding. But back to Liesel’s point, if Jim’s story about Lucy is true, Howard might have wanted to get rid of him. Ladies, I would appreciate it if you kept a lid on this. Obviously, I can’t go around openly investigating a closed case. And I certainly don’t want to upset my boss or get in trouble because of this.”
“But you’re going to investigate anyway?” I asked.
“I did not say that.” He cast a glance at me. “The case is closed.”
Zelda opened the door and brought coffee for all of us, along with a tray full of savory sandwiches and sweet pastries.
“Wow. I didn’t expect this.” Dave guzzled the coffee. “Thanks, Zelda.”
“This leaves us then with the matter of the dognapper.” Oma picked up a chicken salad sandwich.
“I’m still working on that. In fact, I’m in the process of something that might help us develop leads.”
Thirty
Zelda stopped nibbling on an egg salad sandwich. “What is it?”
Dave grinned. “Can’t say just yet.” He promptly chowed down on a sandwich.
I had a few ideas of my own that I wanted to follow up on. I’d had an enormous breakfast, so when I finished my coffee, I excused myself.
As soon as I stood up, Trixie jumped to her feet and watched me expectantly. Stella, however, seemed content to stay with Oma and Gingersnap. Trixie accompanied me on my rounds through the inn.
I discovered Finch on the window seat in the tiny inn library. “Are you hiding out?”
“No. I’m waiting for Camille and Pippin.” He winced. “Do you think Jim murdered Howard?”
I sat down on the window seat. “What do you think?”
“He’s a nice guy. I can see hanging out with him when we go home.” Finch’s eyes narrowed. “Has he told you that he thinks someone is following him?”
“That’s news to me. How can he tell? When Pippin is with him there’s always a crowd around him.”
Finch rubbed his beard. “I’ve been watching him at bars when we go out at night. He was always hounding Howard.”
“What do you mean?”
“Howard would change seats to get away from Jim, and Jim would move so he was in Howard’s line of sight. It was a little creepy.”
“But you still want to be friends with him.”
“He only acted that way around Howard. The rest of the time he’s a lot of fun. You . . . you don’t think he’d kill one of us?”
I smiled at him. “I’m not certain that he murdered anyone.”
I left Finch to his thoughts in the library and hustled out the front door before anyone else could waylay me.
My first stop wasn’t official inn business. I popped into Pierce Real Estate. They carried the largest selection of rental homes in and around Wagtail. I thought it likely that they managed the house where Dolly and Tavish had been kept. Some residents had rental homes that they handled themselves, but many of the owners resided elsewhere and used Pierce to take care of their properties.
Nancy Friedman’s corgi greeted us at the door. “Hi, Clover.” I would have patted him, but he was far more interested in Trixie.
Nancy, a tall blonde, laughed at our dogs. “Have you noticed that the dogs who live in Wagtail have their own little social group? I’m not sure they care about us at all!”
I didn’t plan to fudge or skirt the law, even though I suspected that Nancy couldn’t answer everything I wanted to ask. I got right to the point. “Can you tell me who owns the cabin where Dolly and Tavish were found?”
“Wasn’t that the strangest thing?” Nancy’s eyes opened wide. “I’m so glad they’re home. I’ve been watching Clover very carefully. And yes, I can tell you. It’s public record anyway. It’s owned by George and Frieda Popolov. They live somewhere in New Jersey, and as far as I can tell from our records, they haven’t been here since last fall. Owners have to tell us when they’re coming so we won’t rent out the cabins during that time. Their cabin has been rented several times since then but not recently. It’s a cute place. I always recommend it when people are looking for a lot of privacy.”
I tried to sound casual. “Glenda was telling me about the problems you have with people who don’t return the keys to the rental properties. We go through the same thing at the inn.”
“We’ve been trying to figure out a better way to handle the issue of the keys. We can’t go through the cost of replacing the locks each time guests leave. We’re considering instituting a fine equal to the cost of replacing the lock. Maybe that will get their attention!” She lowered her voice to a whisper even though no one else seemed to be there. “Dave was over here first thing this morning asking the same questions. He wanted to know who had rented the cabin and whether the keys were all accounted for. Fortunately, they are. I can’t imagine how the dognappers got into the house.”
I probably shouldn’t tell her that I had no trouble using a credit card to enter the house Howard rented. If the locks on the cabin were anything like those locks, even I could get in. “How about the house Howard rented?” I asked. “Did you get the keys back from the police?”
“Not yet. You won’t believe this, but a few people have called about renting it! That grosses me out. It’s owned by LaRue. Do you know him? The weird guy who lives in the woods? He decided he’s not going to rent it for a while. He’s repulsed by the idea that people want it because Howard Hirschtritt died there.”
“Ugh. That’s sort of sick. Good for LaRue. Instead of making money off Howard’s death, he’s doing the right thing.” I switched her back to the subject of the keys. “So I guess it was other homes that Glenda was making keys for?”
“Probably. She’s been checking a lot of the rentals to be sure nothing happened over the winter that we don’t know about. Now that we’re headed into the summer season, we need to be prepared. Everyone gets a set of two keys. Can I tell you how often someone calls in the middle of the night because they’ve misplaced both of them and they can’t get into the house? My husband complains every time it’s my turn to answer the calls at night. Invariably, I have to get up and schlep over here for an extra key to let them in.”
“What about the keys to the golf carts?” I asked.
“Those are on the same ring as the house keys.” She pointed to a pegboard located behind a counter. “Like those.”
I didn’t get any helpful information from her. But I knew one thing. Either the dognapper was a local who knew about the cabin, or someone from out of town had scoped out Wagtail thoroughly. “Did Dave ask you for a list of the people who rented the private cabin in the last few years?”
Nancy grinned. “Holly, you’re beginning to think just like him! I gave him that list this morning.”
It was a long shot. But people who had stayed there would have known how isolated it was.
And so would Stan Hoover.
I thanked Nancy and left the building with Trixie. I stood outside, watching people for a minute. Stan came across as a likable fellow, but he clearly had a darker side. His mom had access to tons of rental cabins. C
ould he have swiped keys from her? Maybe he went to the office with her sometimes and helped himself to keys. I couldn’t get around him stealing Dolly, though. Was he angry with his parents? Did he mean to hurt them by taking their little Yorkie? Or was that to throw people off? Did he plan to sell Tavish and miraculously rescue Dolly?
It seemed absurd. I was getting way too far off track.
But as I stood there watching people, I wondered where the gray-eyed man was staying. Was he still in town? The fact that he wanted Trixie didn’t mean he was the dognapper, but I had such a bad feeling about him.
I stepped back inside. “Nancy, there’s a guy named Wade Holt who claims Trixie is his dog. Is he renting a house from you guys?”
Nancy gasped. “What are you going to do?”
“I’ve been avoiding him. I haven’t seen him recently. I’m hoping he gave up and left town.”
Computer keys clicked as she typed. “Wade Holt. Nope, he’s not on our roster.”
“Thanks.”
Dave had said that everyone leaves something behind at a murder scene. As far as I knew, they hadn’t found anything incriminating. Trixie and I strolled over to Diane’s house. I knocked on the front door.
Donna opened it surrounded by boxers. “Holly! I didn’t expect to see you again so soon.”
“Would you mind if I looked around a little bit? I’m trying to figure out what happened here the night of Diane’s death.”
“I’m so glad to hear you say that. Come on in.” She closed the door behind Trixie, who romped with the boxers. “The chief of police called this morning to inform me that Howard was responsible for Diane’s death and probably killed himself, too. It’s been a very long time since she was pregnant with his child, so I have some trouble imagining that their feelings about everything that happened would still be so raw that anything as drastic as murder would be necessary. Besides that, one tiny thing keeps coming back to me. It’s probably meaningless, but it doesn’t quite make sense.” She led me into Diane’s family room.