Murder, She Barked: A Paws & Claws Mystery (A Paws and Claws Mystery)

by Davis, Krista

  I hoped Oma hadn’t updated the wonderful old kitchen that she maintained for her personal use. I had spent countless hours in its warmth and hated to imagine it gone. But before I reached it, my grandmother called to me from a table overlooking the lake in the dining area on the other side of the grand staircase. She had removed the narrow old windows in favor of a breathtaking window wall where guests could enjoy the panorama of the lake and the mountains. A few brave guests sat outside at tables on the stone terrace.

  The relief I felt at seeing Oma reminded me how much I loved her. I didn’t like the looks of her elevated leg, though.

  I rushed over to her and planted a kiss on her cheek.

  Officer Dave sat at the table with her. Heavy bags sagged under his eyes. He probably hadn’t gotten any sleep at all. He clutched a mug of coffee in his hands.

  A crisp white square topper covered a rose tablecloth. Dave’s breakfast—a waffle covered with blackberries—made my mouth water. The delicious scent of sage wafted from sausages on a side dish. A basket of croissants and hearty breakfast breads looked so incredible that I wanted to select one, slather butter on it, and sink my teeth into it.

  A vase of sunflowers graced each of the dozen round tables. I reveled in my surroundings. Oma seemed fine, the sun glittered on the lake below, and it felt great to be back at the inn.

  Oma grasped my hand and didn’t let go until she noticed the dog. “Ja, who is this? Casey mentioned that you brought a dog.”

  Oma hated that she still had a German accent after fifty years in America, but it sounded charming to most people, including me.

  “She doesn’t have a name yet. I found her yesterday when I drove up here.”

  Dave murmured, “Morning,” before digging into his breakfast.

  The dog placed her front paws against the seat of Oma’s chair and wagged her tail with delight. Oma reached down to pet her. There was a little spark between them. Maybe Oma would keep the dog after all.

  “When I was a child, this kind of dog often performed in the circus.” Oma reached for a little glass canister on the table and pulled out a tiny cookie in the shape of a bone. She held it over the dog’s head and asked, “Do you know any tricks?”

  The dog’s ears perked up, and she pranced on her hind legs briefly, her nose uplifted for the treat. Oma chuckled and fed her the bone.

  “What happened to your leg?” If it hadn’t been for the elevated foot, Oma would have looked perfectly normal. She wore her silvery hair in a short, sassy cut. For a woman just over seventy, her skin showed remarkably few wrinkles. She’d never been fond of makeup and didn’t really need it. She wore a white turtleneck, brown trousers, and a hand-knitted red vest embroidered with tiny white hearts. I assumed she had knitted the vest herself.

  “You didn’t tell her?” asked Oma of Dave.

  “There was a fire, Liesel.”

  “Yesterday evening,” said Oma, “someone murdered Sven, one of my employees.”

  Eight

  “Murdered? Are you sure?” In my astonishment, I spoke much louder than I’d have liked. A couple of guests who were eating breakfast looked in our direction.

  “He was a ski instructor at Snowball Mountain in the winter but worked as night auditor for me in the summer months.” Oma heaved a sad sigh and dabbed a tissue at her eyes.

  An attractive waitress arrived at our table, unintentionally interrupting the conversation. A few streaks of blond in her wavy, light brown tresses suggested she might have been blond as a child. She had pulled her hair back into a loose bun but had skipped makeup altogether. Not that she needed any, with those startling blue eyes. I guessed she was in her thirties, close to my age. There was a calmness about her. I couldn’t tell whether she was simply a serene person or exhausted. She wore a white Sugar Maple Inn golf shirt with a khaki skirt. “You must be Holly. Your grandmother never stops stalking about you.”

  “I’m so sorry! That must be boring.” I sent a little glare of disapproval to Oma. “A pot of hot tea, please.” I paused, finding it hard to shift my thoughts to food. Should I stay on my diet or dive into a waffle? The mere thought of blackberry syrup almost had me drooling. How could I pass it up? I sighed. “Two soft-boiled eggs, please. No sausage or bacon.” I would have to resist the breads and pastries.

  “That’s all?” asked Oma. “You should eat something you wouldn’t make for yourself. A little indulgence while you’re here. Wouldn’t you rather have the blackberry French toast? And perhaps a small Liver It Up breakfast for the little one?”

  I’d have been thoroughly upset if my mother changed my order, especially when I was younger. But grandmothers fell into an entirely different category. I smiled and accepted it. Oma merely wanted to spoil me a bit. Besides, she was right. I could return to eating my two bare eggs when I was home again. “And sausages, please?” No point in doing it halfway.

  After the waitress left, I said in a hushed voice, “Casey said something about a car accident.”

  “A hit-and-run,” said Oma. “Right in front of me. I was crossing the street just a few feet behind Sven when a big car flew at us and hit him. Right before my eyes. We didn’t hear a thing. Suddenly it was upon us.”

  “The fog was terribly thick,” I said. “Was it raining? Maybe the driver didn’t see him.”

  “Liesel, she needs to know the truth.” Dave wiped his mouth with a napkin. “The car had no lights on. Wagtail has become a golf cart community. There’s limited access for cars. That car had no business being there whatsoever. And Liesel is lucky she got off with a twisted ankle. The car hit them both, but only sideswiped Liesel. She could just as easily have suffered Sven’s fate.”

  My fingers felt cold against my cheeks. “Did you see the driver, Oma?”

  “I wasn’t looking, though I doubt I would have seen much in the dark. It all happened very fast.” She gestured with her hands as she spoke. “One minute, all I heard was the peaceful pitter-patter of rain. The next thing I knew—” she snapped her fingers “—a car came at us, and suddenly I was laying on the road, and Sven was dead. It was horrible. He was such a lovely young man with everything to live for.” She reached out and curled her fingers around my hand for a moment.

  The waitress delivered steaming tea in a tall rounded porcelain mug with a touch of gold on the delicate handle. I stirred in sugar and a splash of milk. “Driving with the lights off is certainly suspicious, especially last night because I could barely see anything with my lights on. But why do you think it was murder? How would anyone know that Sven would happen along? Did he run there regularly or something?”

  “The phone call.” said Oma. “Someone called the inn about Ellie needing help because Dolce was running loose. Sven was hanging out at the inn,” she smiled wistfully, “because he has—had—a crush on Chloe, who works for me. He went over to help Ellie find Dolce.”

  “Dolce is a dog?” I asked.

  “An amazingly beautiful show dog. Ellie and I own him together. Our Scandanavian stud!” A breath escaped Oma’s lips. “Thank goodness he was found.”

  “Then it was someone who knew Sven well.” I sipped my tea.

  Dave frowned at me. “Why would you say that?”

  “The caller knew Sven would be at the inn and that news of a loose dog would bring him running to the rescue.”

  A stubby man wearing a preppy argyle V-neck vest over a light blue, button-down shirt marched in with a basset hound, who stuck to his side, doing his level best to match the man’s stride. The basset hound extended his nose toward my Jack Russell. When the man sat down with us, the basset edged toward my dog and polite sniffing ensued.

  I put the man somewhere in his fifties, although his grim expression aged him. He exuded restless energy that made me wary.

  Ignoring my presence, he lifted his hand, one finger raised. “Shelley, I’ll have coffee, one of these waffles and an order of bacon.” He leaned toward Dave, but turned his head to me and demanded, “Who are you?”

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nbsp; Oma projected an oasis of calm in his presence. “Holly, Jerry Pierce is the mayor of Wagtail. Jerry, this is my granddaughter, Holly.”

  “Uh-huh.” Jerry’s mouth puckered in annoyance.

  Oma found a treat in her pocket and split it in half. She fed one part to my dog, and the other to Jerry’s. “And this handsome basset hound is Chief.”

  The waitress delivered our breakfasts. My gorgeous round waffle was dusted with powdered sugar and topped with a mound of fresh blackberries and a dollop of whipped cream. She left a carafe of maple syrup and another of blackberry syrup next to my plate. It would have been a wonderful decadent breakfast, had Sven’s death not cast a pall over us.

  The waitress placed a little dish in a short stand on the floor for my dog. I peered over. Chopped liver mixed with rice rested on a bed of green beans. The dog snarfed her breakfast like it was the best food she had ever eaten. It probably was.

  “Holly, wouldn’t you and your little dog rather eat outside on the terrace so I can have a word with Dave and Liesel?” asked Jerry.

  This time Oma bristled. Someone who didn’t know her might have missed it, but I knew what it meant when her jaw tightened like that. “It’s fine, Jerry. There is nothing you can’t say in front of Holly.”

  He didn’t bother hiding his irritation. “Very well.” Lowering his voice, he aimed his ire at Dave. “What the devil is going on? People are saying that Sven was murdered. Do you know what that will do to tourist business in this town? It will shut us down, that’s what. People will be afraid to come to Wagtail!”

  My eyes met Oma’s. He seemed a bombastic type. Surely he was exaggerating.

  “It’s bad enough that I have to field phone calls every single morning about the noise from Hair of the Dog when it closes at midnight. I swear I have to dodge Birdie when I see her coming. If it’s not the noise from the bar, then it’s that ridiculous tree house Tiny built. If she mentions it again, I will scream. Do you know she dragged me out there to measure the distance from her lot in the air? In the air! I’ve given Tiny notice about it but he won’t move it. I half think he’s refusing just to irritate Birdie. Not that I’d blame him.”

  I cringed. I would have to pay my grouchy Aunt Birdie a visit while I was in town or I would never hear the end of it.

  “That woman complains endlessly. And last night, some idiot reported trees down on power lines clear up near Hazel Mae and Del’s place. I went up there but couldn’t find nary a downed tree and the electricity was working just fine,” Jerry continued. “I will not have Wagtail turn into a lawless mire like Snowball Mountain, with a burglary every weekend.” He paused for a moment. “Any word on the trouble over there yet? I heard they set up a sting that bombed. Think it’s an inside job?”

  Dave looked up at the ceiling briefly. I got the impression Jerry wasn’t supposed to leak that information.

  Dave kept his cool though. “No leads that I know of.”

  Jerry pulled a white athletic sock out of his pocket and, after a swift glance around, poured out the contents. Two gold coins rested in his hand. “I fear their problems have come to Wagtail. I found these this morning.”

  Dave grimaced. “And now they have your fingerprints all over them.” He produced a plastic zip top bag and held it open so they could fall into it. “I’ll check the reports to see if they match anything that has gone missing.”

  “What’s going on at Snowball?” I asked.

  “Big trouble,” said Oma. “Someone is stealing jewelry and small gold valuables. Entering hotel rooms and houses when no one is home. They will have a very poor ski season if they don’t find the culprits and put a stop to it.”

  “Gold coins? Who brings gold coins to go skiing?”

  “They’re popular investments,” said Dave. “Some of the people with vacation homes around here think it’s safer to stash them here than back in the city. It all started shortly after Sven won a gold coin in a poker game with some well-heeled guys over on Snowball Mountain last winter. Sven was so excited. It was the talk of Wagtail and Snowball.”

  “I’m not exactly in that investment category, but if I had gold coins, I believe I’d keep them in a safe.”

  Dave grinned. “You’d think so. The thieves bust into safes. But some people take pride in sewing them into mattresses and hiding them in fishing tackle boxes. One woman stashed her jewelry in a fake soup can and stuck it in her pantry.”

  Jerry sat back, his arms folded over his chest. “Are you quite through? I knew you would gab.”

  I was taken aback by his attitude. Excuse us for breathing.

  “Where did you find these?” Dave asked as he examined the coins.

  “Next to my front door, under a bush, like someone tossed them on my stoop and they slid off.”

  I glanced at Dave. Was that some kind of warning to the mayor? Or a payoff to keep him quiet? It hadn’t worked if that was the case. It seemed to me that Sven’s death could have been connected to the gold coin he won but I didn’t dare say anything in front of Jerry.

  Dave didn’t appear to be perturbed about it. “Holly’s the one who called in the explosion from the car last night.”

  Oh, very nice. Switch the subject by bringing up my name.

  The mayor glared at me as though he thought I had caused his problems. I followed Oma’s lead and didn’t let him suck me into his vortex of aggravation. I wondered if Oma knew what had happened to Mr. Luciano yet, but I decided this might not be the best time to bring it up. Besides, the blackberry syrup on my waffle tasted like summertime. I was far too engrossed in my delicious breakfast to be concerned about what Jerry thought of me. I did notice that he ate a little bit like the Jack Russell, fast—as if he hadn’t seen food in a while.

  “I expected to receive a phone call last night about someone else who didn’t make it home, but it never happened. Whose car is it?” He might not have been happy about my presence, but genuine concern etched wrinkles into Jerry’s face.

  Dave swallowed the last of his sausages. “I don’t know.”

  “Well, what model of car was it?”

  “Some kind of SUV. It’s nothing but a burned out hulk.”

  “If you don’t mind my asking, why aren’t you down there right now figuring out who was in it?” Jerry fed Chief a piece of bacon.

  I thought Dave might pop. “Good grief, Jerry. I was out there all night. Went home for a shower and a change of clothes because I was drenched and reeked of smoke. Then I thought I’d better check on Liesel. I’m headed back there as soon as I finish my breakfast. Since you’re so worried about it, why don’t you come along and see for yourself?”

  He’d curiously omitted mentioning the attack on Mr. Luciano. I caught Dave’s trick, though. That wasn’t an invitation, it was a taunt. Apparently it went right over Jerry’s head.

  Jerry huffed. “Now there’s a good idea. Maybe I can recognize it or read the license plates so we’ll know who died in that car. I swear I have to do everything myself in this town. I’ll change clothes and meet you . . . No. I have a meeting . . . Then I have a luncheon.”

  Was that a smirk Dave was hiding behind his coffee mug? “Take it easy, Jerry. No one was in the car.”

  Jerry scowled, looking disappointed. “You mean some idiot just threw a perfectly good car over the mountain?”

  “Pretty much.”

  Jerry shot a disbelieving look at Dave. “You sure about that? I do not want to have egg on my face when it turns out somebody is missing and died in that car.”

  Dave kept his cool. “I’m positive.”

  Unlike his crabby owner, easy-going Chief had made friends with the Jack Russell. They lay together peacefully, as though they’d been pals for a long time.

  I minded my own business, but it didn’t prevent Jerry from sputtering at me. “And I’d appreciate it if you wouldn’t tell folks that you saw a ghost out on the road last night. People around here are ghost crazy. They’ll latch onto that in a heartbeat.”

 
Ghost? Where did he get that idea? “I never—”

  He went on without listening to me. “As if I don’t have enough problems with my own mother. How does she seem to you, Liesel?”

  “Fine. Why? Are you worried?” asked Oma.

  Jerry shook his head. “I wonder if she’s thinking straight anymore. For pity’s sake, she left the gate open last night, and Dolce got out. I hope this isn’t the first sign of memory lapses.”

  “Anyone can make a mistake. Don’t be so hard on Ellie.” Oma tsked at him.

  Jerry wiped his mouth as he rose from the table. “I have to get going.” He pointed his forefinger, jabbing the air repeatedly. “Dave, keep me informed. I want to know everything immediately. I hate to be the last one to hear about something. And you—” he pointed the pudgy forefinger at me “—stay out of trouble.”

  He left in the same breathless rush with which he had entered, his basset hound struggling to keep pace.

  A look passed between Oma and Dave. They laughed, like it was a private joke.

  “Did I miss something?” I asked.

  “It’s just Jerry,” said Dave. “He’s such a wuss. Did you see how fast he backpedaled on having to climb down the mountain?”

  “It’s not nice of us to make fun of Jerry,” said Oma. “But he’s full of hot air. Always talking big. In actuality, he is a very good mayor.”

  “I never said anything about a ghost. What’s he talking about?”

  Dave seemed a little bit embarrassed. “I don’t know how these things get started. I heard it from two people this morning. I guess something got back to the mayor.”

  “You never believed in ghosts.” Oma smiled at me. “Even as a little girl. The summer someone told you about the ghost of Obadiah Bagley, you brushed it off like it was nothing. Your cousin Josh wouldn’t sleep alone for three weeks.”