“It wasn’t a ghost that I saw on the road,” I insisted. What nonsense! “It was a man wearing a hood.” Eager to change the subject, I said, “I noticed that you didn’t mention Mr. Luciano.”
Oma kept her head bowed, but I could see that tension in her jaw again.
Dave, on the other hand, looked directly at her. I sensed they were in disagreement.
“We’re keeping that under our caps at the moment. Well, as long as we can in such a small town.” Dave rested his elbows on the table and intertwined his fingers so tightly he cut off his own circulation. His hands faded white and his fingers turned crimson. He spoke in a hushed voice. “Given Sven’s untimely death and the attack on Mr. Luciano last night, it’s not—” he glanced at Oma “—unreasonable to believe that the two incidents are somehow related to the Sugar Maple Inn.”
Oma shook her head vigorously. “No, no, no. I refuse to believe this. There is nothing,” she hissed, “nothing that could have provoked such vicious behavior.”
Dave’s mouth twisted with skepticism. He locked his eyes on mine as though he was trying to send me an unspoken message.
Maybe Oma’s troubles ran deeper than just her twisted ankle. What if the events were connected to the Sugar Maple Inn? I understood Dave’s logic, much as I didn’t want to think that the inn was involved in any way. An employee and a guest had been targets, though. Oma would have to come to grips with that.
I moved on, hoping to break the tension between them. “What did the doctor say about your leg?” I looked around for crutches but didn’t see any. “Are you allowed to walk on it?”
Dave snorted. “Doctor? There are a couple of bone experts over at Snowball Mountain’s ski area, but would she go to the doctor? Of course not.”
“I’ll be fine. I don’t need a doctor to tell me I twisted my ankle.”
At least Oma wasn’t dying from some horrible illness. Or was she? Rose had spoken with such urgency. “You’re not sick, then?”
Oma avoided my eyes and sipped her tea. When she set the cup down, she patted my hand. “I’m sorry if I worried you.”
It didn’t escape my notice that she deftly skipped over any mention of the state of her health. Maybe she didn’t want to talk about it in front of Dave. She certainly looked hale and hearty.
A couple with two chocolate labs strolled in and sat down at a table. Their dogs cast a couple of inquisitive sniffs in the Jack Russell’s direction, but she ignored them. Surprisingly calm, she watched Oma and me, as though she did this every day.
“Is that the latest fashion in the city?” asked Oma.
It never took long for passive-aggressive mothering to come out in my family. I laughed out loud. “I was sopping wet by the time I got here last night. When Rose called, she led me to believe it was a dire emergency, so I didn’t bother going home for clothes.” Hah. I’d been trained by the best. I’d just shifted the guilt to Oma’s corner.
“You’d better buy a few things. I can loan you jackets and sweaters, but you’ll need trousers. My waistline is a bit larger than yours. I’m sure you’ll want something more modern, anyway. There are a few cute boutiques in town. How long can you stay?”
Oof. I had to tell her sometime. “I, um, left my job. There’s no big rush to get back if you don’t mind me borrowing your computer. I can follow up on job applications from here.” How long would it take for a twisted ankle to be better? A week, maybe? I still had to get to the bottom of Oma’s health problems, if there were any. She might need me more than she was letting on. And if she insisted on closing her eyes to the things that were happening in Wagtail, it might fall to me to make sure the inn wasn’t in the middle of it all.
“Ohhh! This is wonderful.” Oma held her arms wide for a hug. I stood up and embraced her.
“I’m so glad to have you around for a while. Your Ben—he won’t mind?”
I sat down again and thanked Shelley for refreshing my tea. “I doubt it.” I had his car, though. That might upset him. He would have to use my car for the time being. “Did my eyes deceive me this morning or has the pedestrian zone been spruced up?” I finished the last bite of waffle, nicely coated with sweet blackberry syrup.
“It is charming, no? Wagtail obtained a few grants and made major changes to attract tourists. We didn’t want to bring industry here. This way we can preserve the natural state of Wagtail Mountain so everyone can continue to enjoy it. It was a perfect solution. We already had the pedestrian area. They call the grassy part in the center the green now.”
“Making Wagtail into a pet vacation destination was the boost we needed. The town is flourishing. Way beyond anything we anticipated. Wagtail is going through a development spurt.” Dave raised his open palm and gestured around him.
“The whole town? Not just the inn? Why didn’t you tell me?” I asked.
“I told you I had a surprise.” Oma appeared pleased with herself. “Can you believe I was able to keep it a secret? Of course, in the beginning, we didn’t know if it would work out. But dogs and cats are part of the family today. So much so that we’ve had a remarkable influx of residents. Land prices have soared. We’re having a little building boom. It’s all about lifestyle and living where pets are appreciated.”
“I wondered how you managed to get around the health code. Is it legal to have dogs in the eating area?”
Dave coughed. “Technically, the law doesn’t prohibit dogs or cats. There are rules and regulations, but they’re about food preparation areas. You’ll find that every eating establishment—”
Oma interrupted him, “And there are quite a few!”
“—has made special arrangements to provide for companion animals within the bounds of state law. In addition, we have passed an exception here in Wagtail which we’re trying to get through the state legislature so we’ll have more leeway.”
“Looks like a beautiful day after all that rain. If only Sven . . .” Oma’s voice trailed.
“Uh, Holly, where did you drive from yesterday?” asked Dave.
“A vineyard near Charlottesville.”
“Sounds nice.”
“It was.”
“Were you there with anybody?”
I looked at Oma, who shrugged.
“My boyfriend.”
“Anybody else?”
“Is this an inquisition? What are you getting at, Dave?”
He sucked in air. “I just feel like I ought to verify your whereabouts and the time you left there.”
I stared at him, momentarily speechless. “You can’t be serious! You think I was involved in Sven’s death? I didn’t even know him.”
Nine
“I’m not accusing you of anything. Still, it would be helpful if I knew you were elsewhere at the time it happened.”
It was my turn to look down at my plate—mostly so he wouldn’t see me trying not to smile. I’d bet anything this was his first murder investigation. “Got a pen?”
He handed me one, as well as his little spiral notebook. I jotted down Ben’s name and phone numbers.
“Thank you, Holly. I’d better get down the mountain to that car. Thanks for the breakfast, Liesel.”
“Anytime.” Oma lowered her leg and tried to put some weight on her foot.
I jumped to my feet, scaring the dog, and assisted Oma in standing.
“Such a nuisance. You’re a dear to come and help an old woman.”
“You’re not that old.” Since I was the result of a high school tryst between my parents, they were younger than the parents of my friends, some of whom had parents who were seventy-two, like Oma.
“This ankle is reminding me that I’m not as young as I usually feel.”
Together we hobbled to the front door of the inn, the little dog staying just ahead of us.
“Now go buy something pretty. I’ll be fine.”
I watched as she shuffled away. She turned around. “And don’t forget to buy your cute dog a proper collar with a name tag.”
I ca
ught my reflection in a mirror. Oma was right. I looked terrible. The stores probably wouldn’t be open yet, but I could have a walk around town. Prepared to give my credit card a little exercise, I stepped out onto the stone porch that fronted Wagtail’s pedestrian zone. Stone pillars supported the porch roof and a wrought iron railing ran between them.
The crisp, cool air of fall invigorated me. A man in a beret sat in one of the rocking chairs far to my left. He cupped a steaming mug in both of his hands, the picture of contentment. His bulldog peered through the railing at the goings-on in town.
“Holly!”
My grandmother’s best friend, Rose, trotted up the front steps and threw her arms around me. “Oh my goodness. It’s been far too long. Let me look at you.” She stepped back. Rose’s warm hazel eyes took me in. Wrinkles of wisdom had moved in around them, and laugh lines etched her face under cheeks as round as lady apples. She still wore her hair short and yellow blonde, but gray streaks had lightened it a bit. I suspected she still drew admirers, even in her seventies. She wore a long-sleeved red boatneck T-shirt and navy trousers. Had I ever seen her when she wasn’t smiling?
“Is this how they’re dressing these days? You’re a mess, child!”
I laughed. “Did Oma tell you to say that? I was drenched yesterday and need to buy something to wear.”
She hugged me again. “I’m so glad you’re here.” Holding my hands, she tugged me over to a set of rocking chairs and sat down.
She faced me, reaching down to stroke the Jack Russell. “I hear you have a serious boyfriend. Tell me about your sweetheart. Is he handsome?” Her shoulders lifted in excitement.
“He’s nice looking.” Ben was cute in a bookish way. Medium height, he had never been much of an athlete, but that didn’t matter to me.
“Nice looking?” Her mouth puckered like she had bitten into a lemon. She recovered quickly and swiped her hand through the air. “Aw, we girls are always more interested in what’s inside a man. Does he make you laugh?”
“He’s fairly serious. Not much of a joker.”
Rose blinked at me. “But he makes your toes tingle, right?”
She was so cute, believing all those silly tales about love. “Rose, he’s a good man. You’ll like him.”
“Good man?” Her chin pulled back, and she drew the words out as though they were repulsive. “What kind of phrase is that to describe your boyfriend? Honey bunch, if you’re not feeling fireworks and tingling toes . . .”
Panic raised its ugly head for a moment. I hadn’t given Ben more than a passing thought since I left him in Kim’s clutches. Could Rose be right? Nonsense! I was being silly. Oma had been my overwhelming concern. Who could think of anything else with all that had happened?
“Rose, is Oma ill? She won’t say.”
Rose’s upper lip pulled inward and her eyes darted to the side. Sucking in a deep breath of air, she said, “I’d better let her tell you that.”
My heart sank. It must be bad. If it weren’t bad news, they’d have told me by now. I melted against the back of the chair, glum, and the dog leaped into my lap.
Rose clutched the arm of my rocking chair. “Now honey, don’t be upset. To be honest, I’m more worried about you than I am about Liesel. You brought your dog with you, but not your boyfriend.”
“She’s not mine.” As soon as I spoke, I knew that wasn’t true. I would be keeping this rascal with the bright eyes, no matter what Ben said about it. I told Rose the sad story about how she came into my possession. “I don’t suppose there’s a car detailer in Wagtail? I hate to take Ben’s car back to him in such a sad state.”
“I’ll ask around.”
“Thanks, Rose.”
She disappeared into the inn, and I strolled down the steps into a little plaza.
I turned to gaze up at the inn. Much smaller than a hotel, but larger than a bed-and-breakfast, the inn fell somewhere in between. Wagtail had been a popular destination in the late 1700s, thanks to the mineral springs. Old documents proved that Thomas Jefferson and his family had visited regularly to partake of the waters. It had been a booming resort for decades.
The inn had been built in the 1800s by a wealthy man whose ailing wife frequented the waters for their curative powers. His son later expanded the huge six-bedroom house to eight bedrooms with an addition. Local stone covered the walls in a variety of colors that we had delighted in as children. They ran from white to deep red, and gold to brown, with plenty of pink and salmon and the occasional black stone. We used to hunt for green and blue rocks, but there weren’t any.
The building featured two main levels with a dormered third floor attic—where I was now staying. The roof had been raised in the center of the attic level to accommodate my suite. The addition of the circular balcony with a wrought iron railing on the suite added a stunning architectural element. A somewhat smaller addition had been built on the left side, presumably the cat wing.
Family lore had it that my grandfather had won the inn in a heated poker game. His family had already owned one-thousand acres of mountain property, but nothing as chic or elegant as the mansion. I’d never quite believed the story about the poker game, but that was the tale I’d always been told.
As I studied the inn, Mr. Luciano bolted out the front door and down the steps. He certainly wasn’t dressed for jogging in those laced-up leather shoes, but he sprinted away from the inn, his expression decidedly more distressed than it was last night.
Ten
He ran along the other side of the walking zone. I didn’t think he saw me. I watched him until he disappeared around a corner.
In the heavenly fall air with the sun beaming down on us, and the mountains crisply defined in the distance, the problems of the previous day evaporated. It was impossible to imagine that Sven’s death had been anything but an accident.
The joy of Wagtail was contagious. Dogs romped with puppyish exuberance. Their people smiled and laughed. With the sole exception of Mr. Luciano, no one hurried anywhere like they did in the city. People relaxed at outdoor tables, enjoying breakfast. The scent of bacon wafted to me, and to my dog, too, if her twitching nose was any indication.
Could it be because everyone had come here on vacation? Were they unwinding and letting the stress go? I strolled along, taking in the fenced dog play areas in the grassy median. The Jack Russell tugged toward them. “You can run and play with them once we get you a collar with a tag.”
An old-fashioned drugstore on the corner of a side street was already open for business. The sign above the door read HEAL! Drugs and Sundry. I held the door ajar and called out, “Hello? Is my dog allowed inside?”
“By all means.” A pharmacist in a white coat beckoned to me. In his mid-thirties, he teased an older woman who flirted with him. Either his tan hid his blush, or he was used to that sort of attention. She had the audacity to reach up and touch his neatly cropped hair, almost the same shade as my own milk chocolate brown tresses.
I wandered through the store, passing an old-fashioned penny candy display. Rows of large glass jars showed off hard candies, toffees, and gumballs as well as assorted dog treats in the shapes of bones, mailmen, and drumsticks, and dried fish treats for cats.
Next to it was a soda fountain. I had vague memories of a shabby old lunch counter in Wagtail, but this modern version was adorable. A polished wood countertop shone under the store lights. No one sat on the chrome stools with seats of bright red Naugahyde yet, but a coffeepot rested on the counter next to paper cups, sugar, cream, and a Help Yourself sign. On the wall, a chalkboard listed ice cream flavors, along with floats, banana splits, and sundaes, and an additional list of frosty treats and drinks just for dogs and cats. I looked down at the dog. “You’d like a doggy ice cream cone, wouldn’t you?”
Fascinated by a scent on the floor, she ignored me until I opened the treat jar with the drumsticks and took one.
She twirled around and pranced on her hind legs. I couldn’t resist that cute tail and those h
opeful eyes. “We have to pay for this before you can eat it. Okay?”
As though she feared I might eat it myself, she kept her nose aimed at the cookie in my hand as we wandered on and found the makeup section. I didn’t need too much. I’d had a brush in my purse. Shampoo and conditioner had been provided in my bathroom at the inn. Mostly I needed eyeliner, mascara, and blush.
When I brought my purchases to the checkout counter, the pharmacist said, “Welcome to Wagtail. Are you on vacation?”
Painfully aware of my messy outfit, I explained that I was visiting my grandmother.
“Liesel! She’s crazy for our pecan praline ice cream. Not that I can blame her—I can barely control myself around pecan praline turtles made with a little bourbon and covered with chocolate. My idea of heaven!”
“Are you from Wagtail?” I asked.
“No. My parents came up here on vacation and fell in love with the place. Dad had this crazy idea to open an old-timey pharmacy, and Mom had always wanted to breed ocicats, so instead of planning for retirement, they moved to Wagtail to do what they love.” He placed my purchases in a bag. Like Ben, he was medium height, but he seemed happier, more relaxed than Ben. He smiled as he spoke, drawing me in with his warmth. “I didn’t have any intention of moving here, but when I came to visit last Christmas, I didn’t want to leave. And here I am! There’s something addictive about Wagtail.”
The man behind me seemed a little pressured. After I paid, I paused to feed the dog her treat.
The pharmacist greeted the man like an old friend. “I’ve got your son’s asthma inhaler right here, Del.”
Del dumped a jar of loose change on the counter. “I don’t know that I’ve got quite enough.”
“Close enough for me.” The pharmacist didn’t bother to count the money. He handed him the bag with a smile. “Give Hazel Mae my best.”
I left the store, impressed by the pharmacist’s generosity.
Across the way, a woman rolled a rack of dog coats out of a store called Putting On the Dog. I headed for the store, hoping she carried more mundane items like collars and leashes. As we approached it, my dog came to a complete halt. She refused to walk one more step.
Murder, She Barked: A Paws & Claws Mystery (A Paws and Claws Mystery) Page 6