“There’s something I don’t understand,” I said. “When I arrived, I had no trouble driving straight to the inn but it sounds as though no cars are allowed.”
Holmes nodded. “There are two roads that run parallel to the pedestrian zone, six blocks over on each side. The speed limit is twenty-five miles per hour. Most vehicles, like tour buses, stop at the parking lot outside of town. The person who hit Sven must have turned down this road in the dark, parked, and waited.”
“Then it really couldn’t have been an accident. No wonder Dave thought it was intentional.”
We stood there for a moment in silence. “Well,” I said brightly, “I can’t wait to see this beauty—Dolce.”
Holmes clapped me on the shoulder, and the four of us crossed the street.
“Why aren’t there barriers so cars can’t drive down these side streets?” I asked.
Rose sighed. “Residents have an exemption to park in their garages, but there’s almost no traffic anymore. Besides, no one anticipated anything like this. We thought we could save the cost because they wouldn’t be necessary. Most visitors park at the far end and take a Wagtail taxi into town.”
Holmes opened the gate and held it for us. The front door of the white bungalow hung open. Inside, people milled about, murmuring respectfully. Holmes opened the screen door without ringing the bell. Chief and a Great Dane greeted us. He had a fawn coat, golden in color, with a dark muzzle. Triangular ears hung down on the sides of his enormous head.
Gingersnap kissed him, while Oma and Rose made a big fuss over all the dogs.
A tall man, whose reddish-blond hair billowed in waves so high above his head that he seemed even larger, nodded at us and said, “Holmes.”
Holmes introduced us. “Brewster owns Hair of the Dog, the local watering hole.”
I shook his fleshy hand. Freckles dotted ruddy skin on his face and hands. Prominent cheekbones bore a rosy glow that reminded me vaguely of Santa Claus. Flushed and round, they perched over a nicely trimmed mustache and beard that were morphing from strawberry blond to white. His rectangular wire-rimmed glasses only served to enhance the Santa image.
“I’m surprised you could take time off during Yappy Hour,” said Holmes.
“Can’t stay long, but I felt I had to come over and, you know, pay my respects. It’s awful.” Brewster licked his upper lip. “Just awful.”
“Do they have any leads yet?” asked Holmes.
Brewster snorted. “There’s not a person in Wagtail who didn’t have a beef with Jerry.”
“You did, too?” I hoped I didn’t sound too nosy.
He grimaced. “Hair of the Dog has been a bone of contention since it opened. You might say it was a thorn in Jerry’s paw. Half the residents call him daily to complain about noisy drunks walking home.”
“The other half, the people who frequent the place,” said Holmes, “don’t want it to move outside of town because there would be car accidents. They love being able to walk home at night.”
“I guess that’s the kind of thing that happens in every community. There’s no good solution.” I spied Oma waving at me. “Excuse me. I believe I’m being summoned.”
Brewster nodded. “You two come on by for a drink when you ditch the old ladies.”
I suspected they wouldn’t appreciate being called old ladies, but maybe it wasn’t as bad as some things he might have called them. Rose and Oma spoke with a woman whom I would have recognized anywhere as Jerry’s mother. They shared the same body structure, the same eyes, though I thought hers were kinder, and while her face was a softer, more feminine version, he had been the spitting image of his mother.
Ellie clasped her hands to her cheeks. “My goodness, Holly! I remember your mother pushing you in a stroller. You favor your father, though. A Miller through and through.”
She hugged me, and I said, “I’m so very sorry about Jerry.”
She closed her eyes and turned her head away. “If only I hadn’t been so awful to him today. I . . . I told him that I had not lost my mind and that if he persisted in that nonsense then he needn’t bother coming over anymore. And now he won’t!”
Oma turned Ellie toward her, and Ellie wept into Oma’s shoulder.
How perfectly awful. Losing her son was bad enough, but now she had to live with the knowledge that she hadn’t been loving and warm during their last conversation. No one could ever possibly anticipate that. If we tried, there would never be any angry words. And from the sound of it, he had been obnoxious about her carelessness leaving the gate open. That was little consolation to her now that he was gone.
I backed away to give her some privacy. She needed the comfort of her friends, Oma and Rose.
Across the room, a woman scrutinized me. She had an angular body and a face with sharp eyes that didn’t observe me kindly. She made her way over. Golden bangles jangled on her wrists. She wore giant pearl earrings that stood out against hair set so tightly that it didn’t move. She was about the age of my mother, so I guessed that the brassy orange hair wasn’t her original color.
“If it isn’t Holly Miller.” She didn’t extend her arms for a hug or a hand to shake. “I’d heard you were in town.”
Her voice jogged memories. I had a vague notion of running away from her and not being as fast as Josh and Holmes.
I forced a smile and said, “How nice to see you.” Why didn’t I have a better memory for names and people? It was too embarrassing. Hoping she might mention her own name, I said nothing more. The ball was in her court.
She tsked at me. “I spent the better part of the afternoon removing your fliers.” She lifted her chin as though she thought she was superior. “We don’t litter in Wagtail.”
“That wasn’t littering. Some idiot woman at Putting On the Dog removed my dog’s collar and pinched her behind. Who does something like that? Now she’s lost. I need those fliers to let people know to be on the lookout for her.”
“Well, I never! You’re as rude and horrible as your grandmother. I see your mother didn’t bother teaching you any social graces.”
She turned abruptly and stalked away, holding her head so high that it tilted backward.
Holmes ambled toward me. “What did you do to upset Peaches?”
Now there was a name I recognized. “That’s Peaches Clodfelter?” She had certainly changed in appearance, though she had always possessed that haughty demeanor. “Wow. She’s aged!”
“Technically, I guess she’s Peaches Clodfelter Wiggins now.”
“She married Old Man Wiggins?”
“That she did. Her fourth husband. Makes a person wonder what kind of magic she wields over men.”
“How do you know all this stuff? I don’t remember most of these people.”
“I went to school here. Plus, I come back more often because my whole family lives in Wagtail.” He paused for a moment, his eyes on the floor. “I’ve spent quite some time here over the last couple of years because my dad was sick. I flew back and forth from Wagtail to Chicago for a while, then finally took a leave of absence and stuck around here until things settled down. He’s fine now, though.” Holmes’s face brightened, and he smirked. “You need to catch up so you won’t keep offending people when you talk about Prissy.”
It came to me in a flash. My face burned, and I slapped a hand over my mouth. “The tall woman who pinched my dog—that was Prissy Clodfelter!”
He bobbed his head. “And she’s dating Dave.”
I wanted to shrink into a little ball, roll across the floor, and fall into a hole. I had been ugly about her to Dave and to her mother.
“It’s not surprising that you didn’t recognize Prissy. Who’d have thought a kid would change so much? But she’s just like her mother—thinks she’s Wagtail royalty.”
“Now that they’re officially Wigginses, it’s no wonder that they think that. They could buy and sell just about everyone in this town.”
“They complain a lot about being kept on a tight budget,
but he set them up in that store, and it couldn’t have been cheap.”
“But Prissy answered my 911 call.”
“Dave got her that job at the headquarters over on Snowball. She only works there on weekends.”
Rose edged up to us. “We’re shooing everyone out for a bit. Ellie needs some rest.”
Oma and Rose managed to empty the house in minutes.
Holmes and I stepped outside with Gingersnap and waited for them. Across the street, a sturdy fellow raked grass clippings.
Holmes waved at him. “Remember Tiny Goodwin?”
He might have been Tiny once, but he’d caught up. “He played football, right?”
“Star of the team. He was a celebrated guy around here in those days.”
We crossed the street. “I guess you heard about Jerry,” said Holmes.
Tiny gripped his rake with both hands. “Aw, man, it’s terrible. I’ll go ’round and pay my respects to his mom tomorrow.”
His eyes squeezed to slits. “Holly Miller? I heard you were in town.”
“Hi, Tiny. Just visiting my grandmother. I hear you’ve got a tree house that’s upsetting Aunt Birdie.”
He snorted. “I built it for my kids. My wife has custody so I don’t see ’em much. I knew they’d get a kick out of it.”
“The fancy one with blue doors and the balcony with cutout pickets that look like cat silhouettes?” asked Holmes.
“That’s the one. I think it came out right pretty. But you know Birdie. She says it’s too close to her property because we’re not s’posed to build anything within fifteen feet of the neighbor’s lot. The base of the tree is seventeen feet from her line, but up high, she says the tree house encroaches in the fifteen-foot zone. Now, you tell me–how’d she get up there to measure it in the air? It’s not on her property no matter what she says.”
He glanced at the house behind him. “I better get busy before Miss Foyle catches me taking a breather. You two stop in at Hair of the Dog while you’re here, and we’ll catch up.” He pointed at Holmes. “You owe me a basketball rematch. I’ll get you this time.”
Oma and Rose joined us, and after a polite exchange of greetings, we finally walked to The Blue Boar.
Oma walked up the stairs slowly, with Holmes’s help. I hung back with Gingersnap so she wouldn’t trip Oma. My phone played the jingling notes that always made me think of a fairy waving her wand so that magical sparkles appear. A text! It had to be about my dog.
Sixteen
Oma turned with alarming speed. “Get rid of that thing,” she hissed.
Rose pointed at a sign mounted near the top of the stairs. Cell Free Zone.
From their horrified expressions, I gathered that didn’t mean it was a free Wi-Fi zone. The Blue Boar appeared to be an upscale restaurant. I didn’t blame them for banning cell phones. It would be nice to dine without ringtones pealing, people talking on their phones, or texting. It was sort of old-fashioned, but it appealed to me.
“I’ll just check to be sure it’s not about my dog.” Calling to Gingersnap, I hurried away with her so I wouldn’t offend anyone.
I swept the phone open. The little message bubble contained the cryptic words, marE me?
It took a second for me to sound it out and realize it meant marry me? I looked up at the restaurant seeking out Holmes. They had already been seated on the deck. He laughed at something Oma said.
Ohhh, that was a very bad sign. I’d looked for Holmes before I gave Ben a single thought. I checked the message again. Of course it was from Ben.
Had he lost his mind? Who would say yes to a proposal like that? We weren’t übercool kids. This was . . . well, positively offensive. He didn’t have to get down on one knee, but it would be nice if he had given it a little bit of consideration. He’d shown more enthusiasm about picking a movie to watch.
It wasn’t as though I had never considered marrying Ben. He was a solid, steady man. Great job, great prospects. We would have a good life together.
Rose’s silly questions from the morning floated back to me. Did he make me laugh? Did he make my toes tingle? Honestly! What was wrong with me? Real life wasn’t like those fairy tales. Fireworks didn’t shoot off. Real people didn’t quiver when their one and only soul mates drew near.
But even if I was being completely sensible—a texted proposal? With a humph loud enough to worry Gingersnap, I turned off my phone and marched up the stairs to join Oma, Rose, and Holmes for dinner.
A dashing gentleman with a broad smile and a heavy dose of salt in his hair held out his arms to Oma and kissed her on both cheeks. “Liesel, I have only just heard about your terrible accident. You should have called me. Should I bring a footrest for you?” He snapped his fingers in the air, and like magic, a footrest appeared.
“I’m fine, Thomas.” She pronounced his name Tow-mas, with emphasis on the first syllable.
He clasped her hand in both of his. “I make you a special dinner tonight.”
Oma introduced me.
I also received the hug and double cheek kisses. “I imagine Liesel looking just like you when she was young. I am so happy you have returned to Wagtail—”
Unless I was mistaken, either Rose or Oma kicked him under the table at that point.
He clapped his hands together. “Special dessert to celebrate? You like chocolate? Of course you do. Everyone does.”
He scooted off, and a waiter descended upon us for drink orders. I stayed with plain old iced tea, not the kind with alcohol. After the long drive last night and my early morning, liquor would surely put me to sleep. Besides, that little kick had served as notice that something was definitely afoot. Tomorrow I would have to confront Oma. She had brought me here for a reason. It was time she told me what.
“I believe Thomas might be sweet on you, Oma.” I watched her carefully. Her cheeks had flushed, she’d taken care with her appearance, and except for the twisted ankle, she didn’t appear to be in any pain. Whatever was going on, I hoped it wasn’t her health.
“Don’t be silly.”
But the twinkle in Rose’s eye and the slight nod of her head told me otherwise.
The waiter arrived and set a small white plate before each of us. Thomas had a flare for presentation. Two scallops gently seared until they bore light caramel-colored tops had been drizzled with a golden sauce and accented with a tiny basil leaf. The robust scent of garlic wafted up to me.
“Thomas is so thoughtful,” said Oma. “He knows this is my favorite appetizer.”
For a moment, we ate in silence, savoring the rich flavors. I thought I detected a hint of lemon.
“Poor Ellie,” said Rose. “I can’t imagine losing a child.” Her hand slid over to rest on top of Holmes’s hand. “Or a grandchild. It would be unbearable.”
“Our Dave has a big problem on his hands. There wasn’t anyone in town who didn’t run up against Jerry sometime,” said Oma.
“Why didn’t you kick him out of office and elect someone else?” I asked.
The waiter removed our empty scallop dishes and replaced them with a salad. Apples and walnuts rested on a bed of red cabbage. I dug in right away. The vinaigrette had been sweetened with honey.
Oma sipped her wine. “It’s complicated. Wagtail would never have been such a success if it weren’t for Jerry. He worked hard at obtaining the grants that enabled us to spruce up the town and improve the pedestrian zone. You have to be tough when everyone in town wants something that will be solely to his or her own benefit.”
“He might be responsible for our economic success but the man was a menace. He treated us all with pompous disdain, like we were servants.” Rose broke a piece off a crusty artisanal roll and slathered it with creamy butter.
“Oma, did you have a conflict with Jerry?” I asked.
Rose nearly choked on her bread. “Do you know anyone more outspoken than Liesel? She stood up for everyone in the community.”
“Come now, Rose. Jerry and I agreed on many things, too. It won’t
be easy to find a replacement for him. You have to have a thick skin to be in that sort of position.”
Thomas reappeared with a waiter in tow who set plates before us.
“This is rosemary and Parmesan-encrusted lamb with my special harvest mushrooms in wine sauce, and mashed potatoes.” He patted Oma’s upper arm. “Enjoy, my friends.”
The waiter set a small dish in front of Gingersnap, who didn’t wait for the rest of us to start eating. It appeared that she had also been served lamb and mashed potatoes, but instead of mushrooms in wine, she scarfed cubed sweet potatoes.
“Do I detect an accent when Thomas speaks?” I asked.
“He grew up in Austria and moved to the States as a young man,” said Oma. “But he returned to Switzerland for culinary training.”
Rose murmured with delight. “Mmm. Fantastic, as always.” She whispered, “I think the accent is a bit of an affectation, but he’s an incredible chef. He could work at any five-star restaurant. We’re lucky to have him here in Wagtail.”
“Holly, did you get news about your dog?” asked Holmes.
“No, I wish I had. It was a marriage proposal.”
Oma choked.
Rose dropped her fork.
Holmes raised his eyebrows. “In a text?”
I nodded in the affirmative. “Oma, are you okay?”
She waved a hand in the air and drank water, hacking. “From the Ben?”
She could not have asked with more distaste. I hated it when she called him the Ben, like he was an object.
“Why, why . . . Holmes! Don’t you ever propose that way!” Rose shook her finger at him.
“Don’t think that’s likely, Grandma. I’m already engaged.” Holmes suppressed an amused smile. “Is Ben a techie type?”
“Not techie enough for me to think it was cute or clever. He didn’t even spell it out.”
Oma fixed me in her gaze. “Have you been talking about marriage?”
“Not really. I suppose there’s been an undercurrent of thought there. Sometimes we mention things in the future, and the assumption is that we’ll be together.”
After a moment of rather painful silence, everyone began to eat again, except for Gingersnap, who had finished her dinner and decided that I was the most likely to part with some of my lamb. She focused those big brown eyes on me, and I didn’t need pet psychic Zelda to interpret what Gingersnap was thinking.
Murder, She Barked: A Paws & Claws Mystery (A Paws and Claws Mystery) Page 10