Not a Creature Was Purring

by Krista Davis

  In spite of their dislike of Vivienne, they looked at one another with worry in their eyes.

  All except for Blake, who chortled when he said, “Not after she had that old-lady fight. That was hysterical!”

  Dave’s gaze zeroed in on Blake.

  Twenty-six

  I cringed. I knew what was coming, but that didn’t prevent me from hoping Vivi had had a fight with someone else that I didn’t know about.

  “This was the incident with Birdie Dupuy?” asked Dave.

  “Sure. No fists involved.” Blake smirked. “I didn’t know Vivi had it in her. She took a glass of the bourbon punch, which was surprisingly good, and threw it in the face of some other old lady. It was hilarious!” Blake slapped the arm of the chair in which he sat.

  His mother didn’t find it funny at all. “Blake! Have you no respect?”

  “Oh, Mom!” Blake cried. “It was the single best moment of this entire trip.”

  That was odd. I thought Blake ran out of the party after the dogs barked at his attire. He must have returned.

  Tim puffed up his chest. “She had the nerve to come here for brunch today. Birdie somebody. Apparently she was having an affair with Dale.”

  Dave didn’t move, but his gaze slid from Tim over to me.

  Doris spoke up. “When everyone left the party to go to the church, Vivienne finished her drink and left, too.”

  I ran upstairs as fast as I could go to retrieve a jacket. If Dave wasn’t going to the Wagtail Springs Hotel, I was! I grabbed one for me and one for Trixie, who was excited that I was on the run.

  When I made it back down to the lobby, Dave was standing beside the front door like he was waiting for me.

  In a very quiet voice he asked, “Would you mind if I took Trixie for a walk?”

  I stared at him for a minute. He had never asked that before. And then it dawned on me. If something had happened to Vivienne on her way back from the party, she could be dead and lying out in the snow. Trixie might pick up her scent. A chill ran through me.

  “Let’s not make a big deal out of this, okay? I don’t want everyone outside distracting her,” he said.

  I nodded. Pulling on my jacket, I very calmly stepped out with him. “Can you hold up a minute while I dress Trixie?”

  He paused and watched. I pulled a red sweater with a white zigzag pattern that she had received for Christmas from Oma over her head and inserted each of her front paws through armholes. We set off, letting Trixie lead the way.

  “I never had a dog who wore clothes.”

  “She’s small and mostly white. In these low temperatures, she starts to shiver.”

  We turned off the green and walked into the west side of Wagtail.

  “So how does this work?” asked Dave. “Do you put her on a leash?”

  “No. Usually, we’re just walking along, and she takes off. Then I have to follow the sound of her barks.”

  Trixie stayed relatively close to us, but she stopped to sniff gateposts and bushes.

  “I doubt that she will lead us to Birdie’s,” I said.

  “You’re right about that.”

  “But you have to try anyway?”

  “We’re not going to Birdie’s. We’re going to the Richardsons’. If Vivienne walked home by herself, she might have fallen. I’m hoping Trixie might pick up her scent.”

  I hated that thought. She would have been out in the cold all night. Even Vivienne didn’t deserve that. We walked in silence, watching Trixie. She followed her nose and ignored the people coming out of restaurants and walking off their lunches.

  She ran up to the Richardsons’ front door as though she knew where we were going.

  Notes of “White Christmas” filtered out to us. Holmes’s dad opened the door. “Dave! Did you find that woman?” He reached out and gave me a hug.

  Trixie ran inside before he could pet her.

  “Gosh, I’m sorry to interrupt. Looks like you’re having another party,” said Dave.

  “Come on in and join the fun. Some of Holmes’s friends dropped by. We didn’t plan on this, but they keep showing up.”

  Friends? It appeared to me that every single woman in Wagtail between the ages of twenty-five and forty had come to visit. News of his broken engagement must have traveled fast.

  “I’d like to speak with you and your wife if I might.” Dave gestured toward the kitchen.

  I followed them, but I didn’t miss the scowl Sugar McLaughlin sent my way.

  Dave closed the kitchen door. “I’m very sorry to disturb you—”

  The door opened and Holmes peeked in. “Is this a private conference or may I attend?”

  Dave motioned him in. The combination kitchen and family room was blissfully peaceful. Holmes perched on the edge of a chair, and I slid Trixie’s sweater off her so she wouldn’t overheat.

  “I’m looking for Vivienne Thackleberry. Apparently she attended your party last night?”

  Holmes’s mom nodded. “I hope she’s okay.”

  “Oh boy. Here we go again.” Holmes’s father massaged his forehead. “Son, I don’t care how much that Norma Jeanne girl cries, do not get involved. She showed everyone her true character last night. You stay away from her.”

  Holmes just smiled.

  In a very low voice, Dave asked, “Any of you notice if Vivienne hooked up with some guy?”

  Holmes’s mother twisted her hands in her lap. “The last I remember is her sitting with Doris and knocking back several glasses of the bourbon punch.”

  “So she might have been intoxicated when she left?” asked Dave.

  Holmes’s father said, “For sure. That punch is strong.”

  “There are a million ways to walk from their house to the inn,” I said, thinking of a search.

  “Honey,” said Holmes’s mom, “most of Wagtail turned out for the carols and the ringing of the bells last night. Don’t you think someone would have noticed her on the way home if she had fallen . . . or something?”

  It was a good point. But then, where was she?

  “You all went to the church?” Dave gazed around at us. “Any of you remember seeing her there?”

  No one did.

  “I assume you saw the altercation between Vivienne and Birdie?”

  Holmes’s father snorted. “Altercation might be a bit strong. It was more like a little catfight. Holmes and Holly separated them.”

  I didn’t care for the glance that Dave shot my way.

  “What happened afterward?” he asked.

  Holmes spoke first. “Vivienne’s glass was empty after she threw the punch on Birdie. She went straight to the punch bowl for another drink.”

  They all looked to me. Dave’s face didn’t show any reaction. But I feared I knew what he was thinking, because I would be drawing the same conclusion. What if Aunt Birdie had returned to confront Vivienne? What was I thinking? Birdie was opinionated and obstinate, but she wasn’t violent. Besides, it had been Vivienne who’d thrown punch on Aunt Birdie, not the other way around.

  “Thanks for your help,” Dave said, pulling on his coat.

  I took his cue and did the same.

  “Won’t you stay and have a cup of eggnog?” Holmes’s mom smiled at him. “I made it myself.”

  “I’m sure it’s delicious. Maybe some other time.”

  “Are you mounting a search?” Holmes asked. “I’d be happy to help.”

  “Thanks. I have a couple of leads to follow up before I get everyone out there looking for her. But it’s beginning to look like that might be what we’ll have to do.”

  “He wanted to let Trixie sniff around,” I said.

  “Mercy!” cried Holmes’s mom. “Trixie, I hope you haven’t found her anywhere in our house.”

  Trixie, never one to miss an opportunity for a treat, ran
to her, danced in a circle, and let out one yelp.

  “I think she just gave you the all clear,” I joked.

  She was rewarded with a treat and lots of petting. I dressed her in her sweater again.

  We walked through the living room, where an inordinate number of women still gathered. Several of them clearly had eyes for Dave. I was beginning to think we might never get out of there when Holmes swung a jacket on and escorted us out the door.

  “I’m coming along if that’s okay. You might need a hand.”

  “And what am I?” I asked.

  “Trixie’s assistant.” Holmes winked at me. I knew he was being silly but couldn’t help wondering if part of him wanted to escape the madness at his parents’ house. “Where are we going?”

  “The Wagtail Springs Hotel,” said Dave.

  Holmes’s eyes widened. “That’s right! What mischief could Vivi have been up to in the middle of the night?”

  We kept to the sidewalks, where most of the ice and snow had melted thanks to dog-safe ice melt. Trixie ambled in a zigzag, sniffing tree trunks and mailbox posts.

  Dave watched Trixie scamper along. “This isn’t very productive.”

  “Maybe Vivienne isn’t dead,” observed Holmes.

  “Thank heaven! Everyone would be so relieved,” I said. We walked up to the Wagtail Springs Hotel, which anchored the north end of the green. After years of neglect, it had been nicely restored. When Dave opened the door, Trixie trotted inside as though she were a regular there.

  “Hi, Ricky.” Dave sauntered up to the front desk. He pulled out his cell phone and showed Ricky a picture of Tiffany and Vivienne.

  “Where’d you get that?” I asked.

  Dave grinned. “Tiffany is into documenting everything with photographs on her cell phone. She e-mailed it to me while I was talking with her at the inn.” He focused on Ricky. “I hear the older woman in the picture has been visiting the hotel.”

  Ricky peered at the photo. “She looks vaguely like my grandmother.”

  “You sure about that?” Dave prodded him.

  I tugged at Dave’s jacket sleeve. “Wrong shift.”

  “Huh?”

  “We saw her after midnight. Ricky probably works three to eleven?”

  “Yeah, right. I just came on duty today. I might have seen her sometime, but a lot of people come in for a drink or to have dinner. I don’t pay much attention.” Ricky appeared relieved. “Yeah, you’d have to talk to Percy. He works nights.”

  “Did you work yesterday until eleven at night?” There was a slight edge in Dave’s tone.

  “Yeah. And Percy took over at eleven.”

  “But you did not see this woman enter the hotel before eleven?” Dave sounded very official.

  Ricky licked his lips and glanced to the left. “I did not see her.”

  I exchanged a look with Holmes. There was something fishy about his denials. Had someone paid him off? I was wondering how Dave might coax it out of him when Trixie ran to the front door and started her odd bark. The one that sent shivers down my spine. She scratched at the door desperately, frantic to get out.

  Twenty-seven

  When I opened the door, Trixie leaped over the porch steps and took off flying across the snow.

  “Dave!” I didn’t wait for him. I ran after her.

  Her nose to the ground, she sped to the green. I raced behind her. Even though I had a head start, Holmes and Dave passed me.

  Intent on a scent, Trixie circled back when suddenly, I heard the sound of a crash and cries of distress behind me.

  I turned to see people flocking to two small figures sprawled on the ground. Lights of some kind flashed near them.

  Dave and Holmes rushed by me, going in the other direction.

  I started to follow them but turned to look for Trixie. “Trixie! Trixie, come!”

  The two largest Christkindl booths had not yet been dismantled like the others. A large sign in front of them advertised the Christmas Night celebration, when they would be open for refreshments.

  Trixie ignored the commotion. She lowered her nose to one of the Christkindl booths and methodically sniffed the base.

  I figured she would come looking for me in a minute, and I ran to help Dave and Holmes.

  People clustered around two young boys, one of whom I recognized as Rupert’s son. The boys cried, and far too many adults asked what had happened. From the grotesque angle of Rupert’s son’s leg, I assumed it was broken.

  “Have you called Rupert?” I asked Dave.

  “911 is on the way. Is this his kid?”

  I tried to dial Rupert’s number, but we were in the middle of an annoying dead zone. I walked back toward the Christkindl hut until I was able to call Rupert to tell him he needed to come quick.

  I returned to the boys, who were getting plenty of attention from reassuring adults. “What happened?” I asked Holmes.

  “They were racing each other on hover boards. One kid was in the lead, but his hover board hit a shoe and went flying. Rupert’s kid was right behind him, crashed into the other hover board, and he flew off, too.”

  Breathing heavily, Rupert jogged toward his son, who cried even louder when he saw his dad.

  The siren of an ambulance blared in the distance. They would be in capable hands soon.

  Unfortunately, as the siren drew closer, Trixie began the desperate bark that I had come to dread.

  “She found something.” Fear welled up inside me.

  Holmes turned to look at her. “She’s just barking because of the siren.”

  There was no question in my mind. I knew that bark all too well. She faced the Christkindl hut and barked at it.

  Ignoring Holmes, I dashed toward her. She danced away from me. I followed her all the way around the chalet-style Christkindl hut. She still yowled at it. A door on the west side of it had a latch with a padlock on it. The wood around the latch was splintered. I pushed gently on the door, which swung open easily.

  Vivienne lay on the floor.

  Twenty-eight

  I knelt beside her. “Vivi? Vivienne?”

  She was cold as ice. Her face and lips were unnaturally pale. Nevertheless, I reached for her neck to check for a pulse. It was cold and stiff.

  Vivi’s eyes were closed. She looked peaceful, not tense and angry as she usually appeared. But where was her coat? Why wasn’t she wearing it? And she only wore one shoe. A wine suede strappy open-toed shoe appropriate for a party, but not for walking around in winter weather.

  I felt terrible. She had been unfriendly and horrible to everyone, including her own family, but no one deserved this kind of end. Had she somehow stumbled into the hut and passed out from drinking?

  I heard someone behind me and looked over my shoulder.

  “Is she alive?” asked Holmes.

  “I don’t think so.”

  He turned and shouted to Dave.

  “No sign of blood,” Holmes observed.

  “Maybe she was stabbed in the back like her husband,” I said.

  “You’d think there would be blood on the floor then.” Holmes backed up and examined the splintered door frame.

  Dave jogged over to us. He stepped inside and knelt by Vivienne’s body. I watched his shoulders sag as he realized she was dead. He stood up. “Trixie found her?”

  I nodded.

  “Did you do this?” Holmes pointed at the latch holes on the door.

  “I don’t think so. The wood was already splintered. I guess I could have, but if I did, those screws weren’t in there tight. I barely pushed the door and it gave way.”

  Dave motioned to us while he called it in on his radio. When he was through speaking to the dispatcher, he said, “Let’s try to keep this clean. It could be a crime scene.”

  We stood outside of the Christkindl ch
alet, where a crowd was beginning to gather to see what was going on.

  “We didn’t see any evidence of bleeding,” said Holmes.

  “She’s only wearing one shoe,” I added. “Have you got the shoe that tripped up the kids on their hover boards?”

  Dave held up a wine red strappy suede shoe. “You think she was running from someone? It’s kind of odd to lose a shoe and keep going.”

  “Especially in this weather.” Dave examined the shoe. “Definitely not made for sprinting.”

  “Would she have had the strength to bust open the door on the Christkindl chalet?” Holmes asked.

  “Hard to tell. People can do surprising things when adrenaline kicks in.” Dave glanced at me. “Or Holly might have done it.”

  “I really don’t think I did,” I protested.

  “It’s pine,” said Holmes, “which is a soft wood. It even dents easily.”

  I’d forgotten that Holmes was into woodworking.

  “Her family said she had a heart problem. Maybe the door was open and she died of a heart attack caused by fear of something. Or someone,” I suggested.

  “Could have been the same person who hid Dale’s body in the Grinch.”

  When Holmes said that, Dave’s eyes met mine.

  “Do not go blaming this on Aunt Birdie.”

  “Seems like someone told me just a few hours ago that if Birdie was going to murder someone, it would have been Vivienne.” Dave watched my reaction.

  In spite of the cold, I could feel the heat rise in my face, and knew I was turning red. “Instead of Dale.” I said it as calmly as I could, even though I wanted to scream it. I struggled to sound reasonable. “And anyway, we don’t know that she didn’t die of natural causes yet.”

  Holmes nodded. “She got in there somehow. Think she was there all night?”

  Dave shrugged. “Hard to tell. I don’t know if she’s stiff from rigor mortis or from the temperature. But I’d guess she’s been here a good number of hours at any rate.”

  We waited with him for the ambulance. When they placed her in a bag, Holmes remarked, “Still no sign of blood.”