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

by Davis, Krista

  “But we’re among friends.”

  Ben remained calm, but I heard the exasperation in his tone. “Everyone includes friends, too. How hard is that to understand?”

  Kim tucked her chin in, like a scolded child. An appropriate response, I thought. Ben didn’t need to be so harsh with her. Unless . . . unless she was involved in some way.

  She couldn’t have been the driver. She’d been with us when the call came from Rose. How would I react if I knew my father’s car had been used to kill someone? I’d probably turn green, too.

  That reminded me of Ben’s car and the mess inside it. I had to get it cleaned—pronto! And I had to talk to Oma, or perhaps to Zelda or Shelley. Maybe they knew more about the phone call regarding Dolce the night Sven was killed.

  Shelley delivered my breakfast and a cute tiny version for the dog—one egg surrounded by a few home fries, sprinkled with bits of bacon. A teensy wedge of toast stood at an angle as a garnish.

  The dog ate like she was starved, but I left my meal for a moment, made an excuse, and followed Shelley to the kitchen.

  Her wavy hair, the color of light brown sugar, was pulled back into a loose bun again. Small tendrils around her face had worked their way loose. Her skin was like porcelain. Whispering, I asked if she was working the night Sven was killed.

  “I worked that day, but I left in the afternoon. Is something up?”

  “I’m just trying to get some things straight in my head, that’s all. I thought you might know more about the phone call regarding Dolce.”

  “Chloe would know. She was working that night. Would you like me to call her?”

  “Chloe? Sven’s girlfriend?”

  “I don’t know that it had gone that far, but they were working toward it. She’s a friend of mine. I’m sure she wouldn’t mind.”

  “That would be great. Thanks, Shelley.”

  She placed a comforting hand on my arm. “We’re all rooting for you, by the way. Would you like me to spill a pot of coffee on her?”

  It took me a second to realize she meant Kim. I giggled. “Thanks for the offer, but I have a feeling she has much bigger troubles. It’s nice to know you’ve got my back, though.”

  Ben accosted me as soon as I returned to the table. “This isn’t your grandmother’s dog?”

  I swear she lifted her lip at him, showing him tiny front teeth. “She’s mine. She still needs a name, though.”

  “Trouble,” muttered Ben.

  Kim laughed, but I dug into my breakfast. Now that she was back, I had every intention of keeping her. The subject was not open to discussion or negotiation.

  Happily, the conversation moved to the subject of Kim’s father, Mortie. Oma knew him fairly well and gave the impression of liking him.

  “So, Kim, what do you do that you’re able to take time off to come up here?” I asked in between bites of salted, slightly spicy potatoes, crispy on the outside but soft and warm inside.

  She held her coffee mug in both hands and rested her elbows on the table. “I work for myself. I’m a day trader.”

  “Apparently, a pretty good one,” said Ben. “She’s given Mortie some great tips.”

  She waved him off, like she was embarrassed, but she moistened her lip with her tongue and tossed her hair back.

  Shelley brought me a fresh pot of hot water, leaned over, and whispered, “Chloe will meet you at Café Shot at eleven.”

  I could hardly wait. For some reason that I didn’t understand, I felt the need to be rid of Ben and Kim for that event. It didn’t make sense to me that I should feel that way. I chalked it up to instinct.

  After breakfast, I rushed Kim and Ben out to the front porch, where Gingersnap made a beeline for them. Kim rubbed her head and told her what a pretty girl she was.

  Ben grabbed my hand. “Holl, we need to talk.”

  People never had anything good or happy to say when they broke it to you like that. He would undoubtedly pressure me to give away the adorable dog. No way.

  “Maybe later. Excuse me.” I hurried to the reception desk to call Dave.

  “So this is your scamp!” Zelda rubbed the dog behind her ears while I left a message for Dave. “What about naming her Scamp? She’s certainly been up to tricks.”

  Her ears perked up.

  “Or Scampi? She’s a little shrimp,” said Zelda.

  I hung up the phone and tried it out. “Scampi? Is that your name?”

  “Scampi!” called Oma, bending and holding her hand out to her.

  But the scamp didn’t budge. She just stood there, wagging her tail. Not that I blamed her. I’d been called a shrimp plenty of times and had never particularly liked it.

  Zelda circled her hand under her chin again. “She’s thrilled to be home.”

  You didn’t have to be a psychic to figure that out. Zelda struck me as a lovely person, but I found it hard to believe that people paid her for that kind of insight.

  “She says her name is Bad Dog.”

  Oma turned away quickly to hide a smile.

  “I’m not naming a dog Bad Dog!” Talk about a self-fulfilling prophecy. “What else did you say a minute ago?” I asked. “She liked something.”

  “Hmm. I said she’d been up to tricks.”

  And just like that, she ran to Zelda.

  “Trixie. That’s her name.” I knelt and called out, “Trixie, come!”

  Clearly thrilled by the attention, she dashed to me, her tail wagging so hard that I didn’t need Zelda to interpret her thoughts.

  I reached down to pat her. “No more Bad Dog. You’re Trixie now.” She cocked her head to the side and held up her right paw. I shook it. We had a deal.

  Oma laughed and retreated to her office.

  I whispered to Zelda. “Keep an eye on Oma for me? I have an appointment.”

  “Eleven at Café Shot.”

  “How could you possibly have known that?”

  She shrugged and said, “I’m psychic.”

  I narrowed an eye and gave her a skeptical look.

  She bounced up on her toes and then down again. “Okay. Chloe called me. She wanted to know about you.”

  Of course. The people who worked at the inn were hardwired into each other’s lives. “What did you tell her?”

  “That you are exactly like your grandmother.”

  People had said worse things about me. “Can I take Trixie into Café Shot?”

  “Honey, there isn’t anywhere in Wagtail that you can’t take Trixie. That’s what we’re all about.”

  I waved and left through the reception door to avoid walking by Kim and Ben on the front porch. They’d see me strolling up the shopping area if they were paying attention. There wasn’t much I could do about that.

  A lovely, wide brick walkway lined on both sides by manicured shrubs led us to The Blue Boar. We dodged around the front of the restaurant and walked as fast as I could go. There wasn’t much doubt in my mind that Trixie would have dashed ahead if she weren’t on a leash. How would she ever get enough exercise if I couldn’t take her off the leash? This baby needed to run. Dog school was definitely in order.

  I passed cafés and restaurants with outdoor tables. Why hadn’t I asked Zelda for the exact location of Café Shot?

  A woman browsed at books on rolling shelves outside of Tall Tails Bookstore.

  I asked if she knew the location of Café Shot.

  She pointed across the walking zone. “Outsiders never get it. It’s cute, but not obvious.”

  Across the way, tables clustered before an arched double door with large windows on both sides. Over the top of the entrance were the words Café Chat. Sleek, stylized cats curved to create the capital Cs. I stared at it for a minute, thinking the woman had misunderstood me. And then it dawned on me. Chat was pronounced something like “shot” and meant “cat” in French—a bilingual double entendre.

  I thanked the woman and hastened over. As I approached, I scanned people at the tables for a young woman sitting alone and spotted
her right away. Chloe had curly strawberry blonde hair that bushed out around her shoulders. Pale and so thin she seemed fragile, she fidgeted, twisting a ring on her middle finger and glancing about nervously. When I introduced myself, I realized that carefully applied makeup had hidden dark circles under her eyes, but nothing could conceal the red rims, no doubt from crying.

  A handsome waiter scurried over to our table. He could hardly take his eyes off her. We ordered café au laits and croissants. I was going to have to embark on a major diet when I went home. Much to my surprise, Trixie sat quietly next to my chair, taking everything in.

  “I’m so sorry for your loss.”

  She nodded and dabbed at her eyes with a crumpled tissue. “Am I fired? Please don’t fire me. I love working at the Sugar Maple Inn.”

  Twenty-one

  Fired? Chloe’s question threw me for a loop. I reached out to her and placed my hand over hers. “Good grief. Of course you’re not fired.” No sooner had the words left my mouth than I realized I didn’t have the power to promise anything of the sort. But I wondered why she thought that. I sat back and hoped she might say more about it.

  The cute waiter arrived with our café au laits and croissants. He set a small bowl of water on the concrete floor for Trixie. I assumed the croissant-shaped biscuit on a plate near mine was meant for Trixie, too.

  I placed it near her water. At the inn, I had noticed hand wipes in a rectangular container on each table, just like sugar packets. I tore one open and wiped my hands.

  Chloe drank half her coffee before I touched mine. “I haven’t eaten much since it happened. I don’t even have the energy to make a cup of coffee.”

  She wasn’t going where I wanted. I should have waited, but I asked, “Why would you be fired?”

  “I love Mrs. Miller like my own grandmother. I don’t want to offend you, but you’ve probably noticed that she’s pretty precise about things. She’s more punctual than anyone I’ve ever known. I thought if she found out that I left the inn during my shift, well, that would be the end of my job. Is she mad?”

  I debated what to say. I shouldn’t have said she wouldn’t be fired. I had no power over that decision. “Honestly, she hasn’t said a thing to me. Where did you go?”

  She slumped in her seat and closed her eyes briefly. “To break off my relationship with Philip.” She said it in a dull, lifeless voice.

  “Philip? The guy who owns the bed-and-breakfasts?”

  “Same one.”

  “Isn’t he a lot older than you?” If I had to guess, I’d put Chloe in her mid-twenties. Philip must be closer to my age, late thirties or maybe forty.

  “Fifteen years older. It was a mistake.”

  “The relationship or the breakup?”

  “The relationship. He’s a controlling sort of guy. You know the type? Everything has to be just so. He even irons his jeans. He’s very ambitious. Being so precise and planning everything has made him pretty successful. One of these days, I’m sure he’ll be like your grandmother and own the fanciest place in town. He has the drive to do it. I think he liked me because I was younger, and he thought he could manipulate me and shape me into what he wanted me to be. It wasn’t healthy, but I didn’t realize it until I met Sven. He was incredibly intuitive.”

  “So you broke off your relationship with Philip to start a relationship with Sven?”

  “It had already started.” She pushed her hair back, out of her face, and turned guilty eyes up at me. “Sven and I had a full-blown romance. We hid it from everyone because of Philip. I’ve never been with anyone as gentle and caring as Sven. People talk about romance all the time, but I thought they were exaggerating—that love wasn’t really like that, except in books and movies. But it is . . . and now I’ve gone and killed the only man I’ll ever love!”

  Fortunately, she didn’t sob out loud. She cupped a hand over her mouth and bowed her head. Her slender fingers trembled.

  I gave her a moment, saddened by her deep grief yet alarmed by what she’d said. “What do you mean you killed him?”

  She blinked back tears. “If I hadn’t told Philip about Sven, he would still be alive.”

  I lowered my voice and bent toward her. “You know for a fact that Philip murdered Sven?”

  She glanced around. “You can’t tell anyone. Promise? He’ll kill me, too, if he finds out I blabbed.”

  “Have you told Dave Quinlan about this?”

  She nodded vigorously. “Immediately. As soon as I heard about Sven’s death.”

  Yet Philip hadn’t been arrested. “Tell me exactly what happened.” I tore off a piece of croissant and chewed on it.

  “I was working the evening shift, and Sven was scheduled to work midnight. He came by the inn early to cover for me while I met with Philip.”

  “How did that go?”

  “I . . . I tried to keep Sven’s name out of it, but Philip wore me down. He was ugly. He called me a tramp and said he never should have wasted his time on someone uneducated, which isn’t true, and . . . and insignificant. And then he said that I should know beauty really is only skin deep. It doesn’t last long and neither would my relationship with Sven.”

  That sounded like it could be incriminating to me. “And you told Dave all of this?”

  “I think so. I was in such a state when it happened, you know?”

  “And then you returned to the inn?”

  “Right. I was helping Mr. Luciano with directions when the phone rang. Sven answered it for me. He said someone had called to let Mrs. Miller know that Dolce was running loose, and Ellie Pierce needed help finding her.”

  I interrupted. “Who? Who called?”

  Her head turned to the left. I had the feeling she was replaying events in her mind.

  “I don’t know,” she wailed. “Sven went to look for Mrs. Miller. She was up in Aerie—where you’re staying. Anyway, when they came downstairs, they left for Mrs. Pierce’s house to help find Dolce.”

  Her voice quavered at the end. More tears were on the way.

  I sat back, nibbling at the end of my croissant. Trixie fixed me with liquid eyes. Who could resist? I pulled a tiny piece off and fed it to her. After all, she was being surprisingly well behaved.

  The phone call could have been a coincidence, but it didn’t seem like it to me. The killer must have made that call expecting his victim to come to Dolce’s rescue. Ellie had insisted that she hadn’t left the gate open. What were the odds that someone would be parked in that very spot at that very moment and tear along the short road with no lights? I gulped cold water from the glass on the table. If I was right, then the target could have been either Sven or Oma.

  “Did you tell Philip that Sven was filling in for you at the inn?”

  Chloe’s eyes opened wide. Both of her hands rested on the table. Her delicate fingers rotated up and down in a busy wave. “No! I’m sure of it.”

  It was the answer I didn’t want to hear. It meant Sven had been in the wrong place at the wrong time. The caller had meant to lure someone else. And I feared that person was Oma. It would be a lot easier to hit an old lady crossing the street than to hit a young, athletic ski instructor. Then again, if the phone call was a setup, the killer had taken a big chance. Oma could have sent someone else to look for Dolce. I suspected everyone in town knew Oma would rush to the rescue of her show dog, though.

  Chloe grasped the situation immediately. “It wasn’t Philip! He couldn’t have known Sven would be there.” She took a huge bite out of her croissant. And another, and another like a ravenous vulture. Her mouth full, she said, “Aren’t there phone records? Can’t they trace the call to find out who made it?”

  “I think so.” Dave had probably already set that request in motion.

  Her cheeks stuffed with food like a chipmunk, she stopped her hungry chewing. “Mrs. Miller.” She swallowed hard. “He intended to kill Mrs. Miller!”

  Chloe had verbalized my fear. She was a sharp cookie to have realized what it meant. I spoke
softly. “Let’s keep this between us for now, okay? I’d like to talk to Dave about those phone records.”

  She nodded vigorously, her mouth full of croissant again.

  Mindful of the fact that she might blab to other inn employees, I asked casually, “Is there anyone who is angry with my grandmother?”

  She dabbed her mouth daintily with a napkin. “Most people admire her.” She gasped. “That Mr. Luciano gives me the creeps, though. He’s too Godfather, if you know what I mean.”

  “Are you aware that someone attacked him outside of the inn?”

  “The Mafia has arrived in Wagtail! That’s what he wants with Mrs. Miller. I bet he’s shaking her down!”

  Chloe had watched too many movies. “Let me know if you think of anything else that could be important.” I paid the check. “When will you be coming back to work?”

  “Tomorrow, after the memorial service. I can help you keep an eye on Mrs. Miller then. Are you sure I shouldn’t spread the word among the other employees?”

  “What if it was one of them?”

  Her eyes widened. “I see what you mean. Mum’s the word.”

  Poor kid. I felt terrible for her. Though if the longing glances from our waiter were any indication, Chloe wouldn’t be alone for long.

  Trixie and I took a roundabout route back to the inn, taking care to walk by Ellie Pierce’s house. I caught a lucky break. Ellie sat on a bale of hay in her yard, listlessly staring at the grass. She wore gardening gloves and held clippers in her hand.

  Trixie yelped and pulled at the leash.

  Dolce stayed close to Ellie, but Jerry’s dog, Chief, perked up and trotted to the fence to see his pal, Trixie. They sniffed each other through the pickets, their tails wagging.

  “Good morning, Mrs. Pierce.” I called out to her softly.

  “Holly!” The glimmer of a smile crossed her lips. “It’s so nice to see you around town. I bet Liesel loves having you here.”

  “I wish it were under better circumstances. How are you holding up?”

  She stood and crossed to the fence. “Chief’s having a tough time adjusting to life without a doggy door. And I . . . I still can’t believe Jerry’s gone. I think of all the times I was blazing mad with him, and I wish I could have those precious minutes back. But life doesn’t give you a do-over. Once they’re gone, you can’t go back and spend more time with them or be kind or patient. I . . .” She plucked at a rough fence picket. “I think the worst will be Saturday nights when he always came to dinner. It wasn’t much, nothing exciting really, but I’ll miss that.” She gazed at me and waggled her forefinger in my direction. “Enjoy the company of your grandmother while you can!”