Not a Creature Was Purring

by Krista Davis

  Her eyes narrowed. “That’s what I would like to know.”

  I went back to work clearing the dishes and moving the leftovers to the magic refrigerator. There was plenty of Fluffy Cake left, and I had my eye on it. When the commercial dishwashers were running, I brought a selection of cookies to the Thackleberrys in the Dogwood Room. The red raspberry jam on the Linzer stars stole the show on the platter. Chocolate-laced Florentines would be popular, I thought. Traditional iced sugar cookies were in the shapes of dog and cat items like doghouses, bones, and mice. Gingersnaps and vanilla-chocolate pinwheels rounded out the platter.

  Shelley rolled in a cart with coffee, tea, and hot chocolate carafes so they could help themselves.

  Not surprisingly, the Thackleberrys were somber. I noted a few little gag gifts, but there were no smiles. No one laughed or giggled. Norma Jeanne wore a pearl and diamond necklace that she had not worn at brunch. I was about to comment on how beautiful it was when it dawned on me that it had probably been meant for her wedding.

  Muffy tore at the wrapping paper on a tall and slender package. When Trixie, Gingersnap, and Maggie came to investigate, Muffy growled and showed them her teeth, establishing her claim on that gift very clearly.

  “Muffy!” scolded Doris. “We do not behave that way.” To us she said, “Muffy is an only dog and thinks everything belongs to her. She has never had to share toys or anything. They tell me it’s quite common for Pomeranians to be possessive. But you’d think she would have more sense than to challenge a bigger dog like Gingersnap or Maggie.”

  All breeds could be possessive, I thought. But I didn’t recall Muffy acting that way about her food. Maybe there was a scent on the gift that attracted her for some reason.

  Moving carefully, Tiffany edged over to the gift. “Looks like it’s for you, anyway. Maybe Muffy could sense that.”

  Tiffany carried the gift to Doris, which sent Muffy into a barking fit.

  “Muffy,” Doris said quietly, “calm down. We’re about to see what’s inside.”

  Muffy couldn’t wait. She ripped the paper, grabbed the tag, and scampered off with it, growling when she passed the other dogs.

  Doris slid out the contents. “A new walking stick. This is wonderful. It looks like it’s made of oak.” She set the bottom on the floor and stood up. “My, it’s so long and there’s no handle to lean on.”

  Shelley said, “It’s a hiking stick.”

  “Oh?” Doris admired it. “I had no idea there was a difference. But I must say I rather like it. I don’t feel like an old fuddy with this. Do I look athletic? Who is this from? I love it!”

  No one answered.

  As the moment dragged out, we all realized who must have given Doris the hiking stick she liked so much. A pall fell over the room again.

  Doris sat down as though her legs had given way. She held on to the walking stick like she might never let go. “That’s why Muffy was protecting it. She smelled Dale on the wrapping paper.”

  Shelley and I left the family to their grief and returned to the dining area.

  “Was that the saddest thing you ever saw?” Shelley dabbed at her eyes. “I don’t know how they can function. I think I would go to bed and hide under the covers.”

  We joined Oma, Mr. Huckle, and Zelda in the private kitchen, where a fire crackled and Christmas lights twinkled on the mantel and in the window. The change in atmosphere was striking. They were jolly and laughing about something.

  “Our numbers have diminished,” I observed. “Where is everyone?”

  “Rose, Holmes, and his parents went home.” Oma looked at me when she said, “Now that the engagement is off, it’s a little bit awkward for them to be here with Norma Jeanne’s family.”

  “What about dinner tonight?” I asked.

  Shelley snorted. “Zelda, Mr. Huckle, and I will serve as a buffer zone again. The one I feel sorry for is Austin. Apparently he called all over this morning, trying to get a flight out, but everything is booked, and the airports are closed because of the snow, so even if he finds a flight, it will probably be canceled. Poor guy was considering going to the airport and sleeping in a chair there until something opened up.”

  “He brought it on himself.” Mr. Huckle clucked disapprovingly. “One doesn’t engage in a tryst with a bride-to-be, much less with the cousin of one’s girlfriend.”

  “But now he’s stuck here with them and persona non grata to both sides of the family.” Zelda tried to hide a grin. “We’ll take him into our little buffer group tonight. Or maybe we’ll seat him next to Norma Jeanne!”

  It was wrong of us to chortle about it, but we did.

  “What happened to Dave and Aunt Birdie?” I asked. “I thought they would be here with us when we opened gifts.”

  A look flashed between Mr. Huckle and Oma.

  “Officer Dave received a most mysterious call,” said Mr. Huckle.

  “He was very polite and thanked me.” Oma stroked Gingersnap. “He apologized for his abrupt departure, claiming duty called. And then Aunt Birdie left in a huff as usual.”

  Oh no. I would surely hear about some kind of imaginary transgression.

  For the next hour, we tried to keep our laughter and fun quieter than normal as we tore open beautifully wrapped packages, giggled over gag gifts, and admired cashmere sweaters.

  Trixie carried around a stuffed slice of cake as if she wanted to show it to each of us, but no one was allowed to touch it.

  Twinkletoes hid under discarded wrapping papers and pretend-swatted Trixie and Gingersnap when they investigated the twitching papers.

  With hugs and kisses and shouts of Merry Christmas, our friends scattered. Many of them were off to noontime celebrations with family. I caught a breath of fresh air on the porch as they departed. The blue skies and the sun had vanished, and the air held that special stillness that came before snow.

  My cell phone rang, and I glanced at it. Aunt Birdie. I should have expected her call. I was tempted to let it roll over to voice mail, but guilt got the better of me. “Hi, Aunt Birdie,” I said cheerfully.

  “They’ve come to get me!”

  Twenty-five

  I’d never heard Aunt Birdie screech quite like that before. “What? Aunt Birdie, what are you talking about?”

  “Help! They’re swarming through my house!” The line went dead.

  I told Oma what had happened, bundled up Trixie, pulled on my own coat, and left. I didn’t expect so many people to be walking around in Wagtail on Christmas Day. A few of the cafés were open, and some people had brought their dogs to the fenced playgrounds on the green. The smaller Christkindl booths had been removed. Only two of the largest ones still stood to serve food and beverages during evening festivities. Even on Christmas Day, there was plenty going on in Wagtail.

  But most of the action was at Aunt Birdie’s house. She stood on her porch, shivering and screaming at police officers as they paraded in and out.

  “Aunt Birdie!” I ran up the steps, took off my puffy coat, and flung it around her shoulders. “What’s going on?”

  “They think I killed Dale!” She reached out to grab the sleeve of a policeman. “That’s my computer. You can’t take that. You have no right to it.”

  “Listen, lady,” he said, “you’re not going to need this where you’re going.”

  I gasped.

  “Did you hear that? Did you?” Aunt Birdie’s hands trembled.

  “Is Dave here?”

  “Yes, that miserable rat is here. I’m sure this is all his fault.”

  I walked into her house. Police were combing through drawers and closets. I watched one of them bag her kitchen knives.

  “Dave!” I yelled. “Where are you?”

  I heard his very calm voice. “In the pantry.”

  I was not as calm. I barged into the pantry, which was more of a cl
oset and barely big enough for both of us. “What do you think you’re doing?”

  Dave spoke matter-of-factly. “After brunch, I received the results from Dale’s autopsy.”

  “On Christmas?”

  “Not everyone is off, you know. It was probably issued yesterday afternoon, but I received it today. Dale was stabbed six times with a narrow knife of some kind. We think the blade is about ten inches long and an inch wide. We’re searching for it.”

  “But . . . but why look here?”

  “Holly, who do you think most likely sliced the Grinch?”

  I knew what he was after. He expected me to say I thought it was Aunt Birdie. It could have been, but in that instant nothing in the entire world would have moved me to admit that possibility. “It was never solved. You abandoned the whole thing after Rupert asked you to.”

  “Deftly avoided, Ms. Miller. I believe we both know the real answer to that question.”

  “We do not! Do you have any witnesses? Anything tying Aunt Birdie to the stabbing of the Grinch?”

  “I’m sorry, Holly. One of the neighbors saw Dale go into her house the night he was murdered.”

  “Are you kidding me? That doesn’t mean anything. Someone saw you walk into the inn this morning. That wouldn’t mean you were responsible for something that happened at The Blue Boar.”

  “You didn’t notice the Grinch, did you?”

  “What? Stop talking in riddles.”

  “On your way over here you obviously didn’t notice that the Grinch was gone. I deflated it and took another look at the wounds, as it were.”

  “And you’re so brilliant that you can tell Aunt Birdie made those slits?”

  “No. I’m not.”

  “Aha!”

  “But there are pros in Snowball who were able to confirm that the same size knife that made those holes also probably stabbed Dale. We have a search warrant.”

  “Didn’t anyone in Snowball celebrate the holiday this morning?”

  “Don’t be sassy. These are people who work hard twenty-four hours a day to keep us safe.”

  “From Aunt Birdie? You have to be kidding me.”

  Dave faced me, his eyebrows tilted with annoyance. “I appreciate your desire to defend your aunt, but being related to you does not mean she’s incapable of killing her lover. I have to look at facts, Holly. In all likelihood, she is the one who stabbed the Grinch. It’s a fact that she had an affair with Dale. It’s a fact that the knife that stabbed the Grinch was the same size as the one that stabbed Dale. It’s a fact that she is the last person who was seen with Dale. And it’s a fact that she had a motive.”

  “What was her motive?”

  “Jealousy. The oldest motive of all. She was the other woman.”

  “Look, Dave, I know Aunt Birdie is a crank, but if she were going to kill someone, it wouldn’t have been Dale, of whom she was very fond. She would have murdered Vivienne to get rid of her. This makes no sense.”

  “Murder never makes sense. Something drives people over the brink, and they lose their ability to be rational.”

  Dave’s radio crackled. He stared at me while he listened. “Stay right here,” he said, then made a quick call. When he was through with the very brief conversation, he asked, “Did you know that Vivienne is missing?”

  “I wouldn’t have called it missing. Her family thought she didn’t come to brunch because she and Dale weren’t giving big gifts this year. I checked her room. It appeared that she probably didn’t sleep in her bed last night.”

  “Anyone else missing?”

  “Not that I know of.” I frowned at him. “She could be shacked up with some guy, you know. I saw her coming out of the Wagtail Springs Hotel in the middle of the night.”

  “What were you doing out at that hour?”

  “Being an elf.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me she was gone?”

  “Her own family wasn’t worried. Maybe it was her habit to go off by herself.” I shrugged. “Or maybe they knew about her nighttime excursions and didn’t want to admit to them. They didn’t seem concerned, and they know her much better than I do.”

  “They’re such a caring family,” he said sarcastically. “Well, she’s officially missing now. You better hope Birdie didn’t have anything to do with that.”

  “You should take yourself off this case. You’re so biased! There’s not a reason in the world to think Aunt Birdie had anything to do with Vivienne’s bizarre behavior.”

  Dave remained placid. “The whole town is talking about the confrontation between them at the party last night. It’s not every day that ladies throw booze at each other.”

  “That’s not fair. Vivienne was the aggressor and Birdie was the victim!”

  “Revenge, Holly.”

  Ugh. He was stuck on Birdie as a murderess. “So you’ll be wrapping up here?” I was hopeful that the news about Vivienne would distract him.

  Dave placed a hand on my shoulder. “I’m sorry, Holly. I truly am. But thanks for the tip about Vivienne and the Wagtail Springs Hotel.”

  I walked out to the porch where Aunt Birdie still waited to be allowed inside her home. “I have valuable antiques! I’ll sue them if they’ve removed or damaged anything. I will!”

  “Maybe you should come back to the inn and relax for a while. A cup of coffee to warm you up and maybe a piece of Fluffy Cake?”

  I had never seen her so angry. “Have you lost your mind? My home has been invaded. They will have to carry me away, because I’m not budging from this property. This is no time for a tea party.”

  A couple of officers walked out, followed by Dave. He stopped in front of us and, looking straight at Aunt Birdie, said, “I’m sorry about this, Miss Dupuy. I will be in touch.”

  “I’ll see you in jail for malfeasance and conduct unbecoming an officer,” she shouted as he left.

  “I think that’s for military,” I whispered to her.

  “I don’t care. Where’s Ben? I need a lawyer.”

  I doubted she would find one working on Christmas Day. While I wasn’t interested in Ben romantically, he had been helpful when Wagtailites needed legal advice. “Ben is with his parents in New Jersey.”

  “Aargh,” she snarled. Holding her head high, she strode into her house and slammed the door. I heard the bolt clank when she locked it.

  She was still wearing my coat. I shivered and knocked on her door. “Aunt Birdie? May I have my coat back?”

  Apparently not. I didn’t wait long before taking off for the inn as fast as I could walk. I couldn’t blame Aunt Birdie for being outraged. It must feel like a terrible violation to have strangers rummage through your things. I would hate it.

  Trixie and I wound through the neighborhood as fast as I could go. But it wasn’t fast enough to avoid Dave.

  He ran up beside me and threw his official police jacket over my shoulders. “They’re calling for more snow. You’re going to freeze.”

  “Thanks,” I grumbled, angry that he had the nerve to be nice to me. Nevertheless, I jammed my arms through the sleeves and zipped it closed. “I think I’m already frozen. Aunt Birdie locked her door, and I have a feeling she’s not planning to leave the premises for a very long time.”

  Dave exhaled so hard that a puff of condensation formed in the air. “If someone had come to me and asked for a list of Wagtail residents most likely to commit a felony, Aunt Birdie would not have been on the list. She wouldn’t have even made the top hundred. But so far, everything is pointing right at her. I can’t ignore that.”

  “That’s the trouble with living alone or sleeping alone. I’ve been through it and it’s really not fair. If you’re home alone you have no alibi, no one who can confirm where you were. Did that nosy person who watched Dale enter Aunt Birdie’s house hang around to see what time he exited?”

  “
Obviously not. In that case, he would be the last person to see Dale alive, and I would have found it very odd and suspicious that he was spying on Birdie or Dale.”

  “Would Rupert have made your top hundred list?” I asked tentatively.

  Dave shot me a look. “I’m not going to start maligning the citizens of Wagtail. Some people can be ornery, but that doesn’t make them likely to murder.”

  “Aunt Birdie, for instance,” I said.

  “She has no idea how lucky she is to have you on her side.”

  We walked up the stairs of the inn and entered the lobby.

  Most of Vivienne’s family clustered in the Dogwood Room.

  Tim jumped to his feet when he saw us. “Did you find her?”

  It was wishful thinking of course, because she wasn’t with us. Still, I thought it nice that he was concerned about his mother, especially in light of the fact that most of the other family members made no effort to hide their contempt for her.

  “Not yet.” Dave warmed his hands by the fire. “Who saw her last?”

  Mouthing thank you, I raised his coat to get his attention and draped it across the back of a chair.

  The Kedrowski family was exchanging glances.

  Tim raised his palms. “Don’t look at me. I left the party early last night.”

  Tiffany’s eyes narrowed with anxiety. “I remember seeing her at the party, right before we all walked over to the church. She was sitting next to Great-Grandma Doris. Maybe she stayed over with Holmes’s parents?”

  “Yes, that sounds just like something she would do,” Linda said dryly.

  While they speculated, I bustled over to the phone to call Holmes’s parents and ask if Vivienne had spent the night. It was a long shot, but Vivienne was peculiar at best.

  Holmes’s mom was completely taken aback by my question. “No, honey. No one stayed with us last night.” Speaking to someone else, she relayed my question.

  “Especially not her,” grumbled Holmes’s dad in the background.

  “Is there anything we can do?” she asked. “Do you need help searching?”

  I promised to keep her apprised. When I returned to the Dogwood Room, Dave was saying, “So no one saw her back here at the inn after the party?”