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

by Davis, Krista

  “At least the leather seats cleaned up nicely.”

  I couldn’t help liking Zelda. She might think she was an animal psychic, but she always seemed to look at the brighter side of life. “You’re absolutely right. How much could new carpet cost? It’s not like a whole room. Right?”

  Her eyes big, Zelda lifted her shoulders in a shrug, and the two of us burst into nervous giggles. I picked up Trixie and looked her square in the eyes. “You’d better hope it’s not expensive.”

  She wagged her tail and licked my nose. And didn’t look one bit concerned or remorseful.

  We walked along the sidewalk to The Blue Boar. Suddenly, Zelda ran her fingers through her hair and fluffed it up. “There’s Philip,” she hissed. “Isn’t he just perfect?”

  He stood in front of The Blue Boar, blocking our path and staring toward the inn.

  “Hi.” It was simple, but let him know he was in our way.

  He jerked in surprise and looked around at us. “Holly. Zelda.” Scratching the side of his neck, just under the collar of his button-down shirt, he said, “You might have told me who you were.”

  “Me?” I asked.

  “Yes, you! I had no idea you were a Wagtail Miller.”

  “She’s Mrs. Miller’s granddaughter,” offered Zelda, clearly eager to jump into the conversation.

  “So I hear. She was out slumming with the rest of us last night.”

  Slumming? I didn’t know quite how to respond. What was he getting at? “I’d hardly call Hair of the Dog slumming.”

  “No? Maybe not. I just meant there are only a few big names in town, and your grandmother ranks right up there.”

  “She’s lived here for a long time. People will probably say the same sort of thing about you in a few years,” said Zelda.

  He raised his eyebrows but appeared pleased by the thought.

  “Holly!” Ben waved at me from across the plaza.

  “Who’s that?” asked Philip.

  “Her boyfriend.” Zelda had turned quite chatty.

  Philip shot me an inquisitive look. “Must be serious if he followed you here.”

  I didn’t go into details. What was I going to say? He’s not here because of me?

  Ben panted like a worn-out hunting dog. He grabbed my arm. “I can’t find her anywhere.”

  Under other circumstances, I probably would have pitched in to help him. But honestly, with everything that was going on, Kim’s successful maneuver of ditching Ben didn’t worry me in the least. “Is her car still at the cabin?”

  He nodded.

  “Then she hasn’t left town. I’m sure she’s shopping or having her hair done or something. Want to come with me to buy a collar?”

  Ben smirked. “Like that’s more important than finding Kim?”

  It was to me.

  Zelda tilted her head coyly at Philip even though she addressed Ben. “You could get a latte and sit outside. Maybe you’ll see her walk by.”

  Zelda, Trixie, and I walked away, leaving Ben and Philip together.

  Zelda spoke in a hushed voice. “I have such a crush on that guy. Maybe it’s because my ex was such a slug. Philip is everything he wasn’t—successful and industrious, and, well, neat. I have this fantasy that he picks up after himself and does dishes. He doesn’t lounge around on the sofa watching TV all day. He’s making something of himself. I’ve heard he’s interested in the old Wagtail Springs Inn at the end of town. He wants to expand and be successful. But I don’t think I’m his type. Not everyone can accept that I’m a psychic.”

  “I wouldn’t be so sure about that. Last night it sounded like he’s convinced there are such things as ghosts. Maybe he’s open to the concept of psychics.”

  “You think? I could ask him over to dinner some night. Hey, would you mind giving me a hand for a minute? I’m not far from here.”

  “Sure.”

  We turned and walked almost two blocks. “This is me,” said Zelda.

  If I had walked past the house by myself, I would have guessed Zelda belonged there. Instead of a white picket fence, a rough two-foot high, stacked stone fence meandered along the edge of the front yard. The bottom half of the house had to date back a hundred years or more. Built of stone, it supported a wood-clad second story with a steep roof. Dormer windows jutted out of the roof. The diamond-shaped panes in the glass added to the charm but imparted a slight witchy-gingerbread-house touch. Ivy climbed the walls of the house. Tall pines and overgrown shrubs provided privacy from the neighbors. A lantern hung from a wood post by the front walk, along with a hand-painted sign that stated Animal Psychic, by Appointment along with a telephone number. But a huge box blocked the red front door at the end of the stone walk.

  “Isn’t this awful? I ordered a new chair and got a great deal on it, but it turns out that when they say curbside delivery, that’s as far as they take it. I managed to shove the box this far, but I can’t carry it inside by myself.”

  “No problem. I’ll lift this side, you get the other one. And you,” I said to Trixie, “please don’t get underfoot.”

  With that, Zelda swung the door open wide.

  Twenty-six

  Six cats waited on the other side. Trixie yelped at them, then pulled at the leash, her feet scrambling like a cartoon character.

  The cats scattered, except for a big gray one with yellow eyes, who stared Trixie down.

  “You don’t lock your doors?” I asked.

  Zelda snorted. “This is Wagtail. Nothing horrible ever happens here. Well, not until recently.”

  We lifted the box and carried it inside the house. The front room served as foyer and living room. Ancient hardwood floors moaned as we walked on them.

  Zelda had already made room for the new chair and did a little dance of delight when it was out of the box and in place. She curled up on her big new chair and a half by the fireplace. A longhaired cat with tufts on its ears leaped onto her lap. “All I need now is hot apple cider and a book. Maybe a little snow.”

  “This is quite a house.”

  “I don’t know what’s going to happen now that Jerry is dead. It belongs to him. I’m just renting it.” She raised her eyebrows and frowned, tilting her head to the side. “Jerry gave me a really great deal on the house because I solved a problem for Chief. He had an obsessive digging problem. When I talked to Chief, he told me he wasn’t getting enough exercise. Jerry took him places, but never gave him time to play or just sniff around—which is very important to hounds. Once Jerry made time for Chief to be a dog, he was much better behaved. That, and clicker training. Jerry had tried using a choke collar to train Chief, but he responded better to clicker training.”

  She pointed at Trixie. “She will, too. They’re both food motivated. Anyway, Jerry was so happy that he rented me this house for a steal. I’d love to buy it, but there’s no way after what my ex did to our credit. I love it here, though.” She clutched the cat to her tightly. “I don’t want to leave!”

  “Wouldn’t his mother have inherited his rental properties?”

  “I don’t know. I haven’t asked yet because it’s too soon to broach that with her. It would be insensitive.”

  That was true. It would have been thoughtless of her to ask Ellie right away. “I guess you’ll find out soon.”

  Trixie watched the cat with way too much interest. I tightened my grip on the leash.

  “Zelda, this morning I ran into the weirdest guy in the woods. Tall with glasses—”

  Her eyes went wide. “The Runemaster! You really saw him?”

  “Runemaster?”

  “That’s what we call him. He’s a recluse. Hardly ever comes into town. Just turns up in the woods when people least expect it, like he’s spying on people. He’s very scary.”

  I was glad I hadn’t known that. “He did show up suddenly and then he disappeared, but he wasn’t that scary.”

  She shivered. “No, thanks. He creeps me out.”

  She walked me to the door, thanking me profuse
ly for my help.

  “Anytime.”

  By my calculations, we were one block over from the street where Sven had been mowed down. For no good reason, when I left Zelda’s, I crossed the street, ambled down a block, and wound up in front of Ellie’s house again.

  Trixie sniffed the sidewalk. “I wish you could tell me who opened that gate.”

  She inspected the base of the gate eagerly. Not that it would mean anything. Half the town had gone through the gate to convey their condolences since Jerry died. We strolled toward the shopping area, but an angry voice caught my attention. Trixie pulled at the leash again, her ears perked up.

  Rose stood inside the doorway of her quaint cottage, speaking in an elevated voice. Not yelling, it was tempered, but as angry as I’d ever heard Rose.

  “Lord a’mercy! I’ve a mind to call your mother about this. She would be plumb ashamed of you. Imagine coming over here and insinuating I’ve been running around killing people. Now you get on out of my house and don’t you come back until you’re ready to mind your manners. You used to be such a nice boy!”

  Dave exited, murmuring something I couldn’t hear. Apologies, perhaps?

  I timed my walking speed to accidentally intersect with him at her gate. “Dave!” I lowered my voice. “What was that all about?”

  Rose shook her finger at him. “And don’t you go mixing Holly or Holmes into this mess. Do you understand me, young man?”

  His cheeks and ears blazed plum red. He shook his head and fell in step with me. “How am I supposed to investigate a murder if everyone treats me like a fourteen-year-old Boy Scout? Your grandmother won’t tell me anything, and Rose is offended that I dare ask her questions.”

  “Maybe one of the cops from Snowball should take over the investigation.”

  He gasped. “No! This is the biggest break I’ve ever had.” He clapped a hand to his forehead. “Will you listen to me? That’s not what I meant. Not at all. You must think I’m a terrible person.”

  “I know what you mean. After years of returning lost purses and giving directions, there’s finally a big case in Wagtail.”

  “That’s it exactly. This is my town. These are my people. It’s my jurisdiction, and by George, I’m going to get to the bottom of this. Thanks for understanding, Holly. I didn’t intend to sound happy about the deaths of two terrific people. Did you get anything out of your grandmother?”

  “Nothing helpful. Unless you think . . .” I stopped midsentence. I couldn’t offend Prissy Clodfelter again if he was interested in her.

  He stopped walking. “What? What did she say?”

  “It’s just that stupid old animosity between the Clodfelters and the Millers. But Oma said it’s been going on so long she hardly thinks they’d have waited this long to do something rash.”

  “What’s the deal there? Why don’t the Clodfelters like your family?”

  “I honestly don’t know. Must have happened ages ago. I’m sorry I said something awful about Prissy yesterday. I didn’t know you two were an item.”

  “That’s nice of you to say. I appreciate it, Holly.”

  “Hey, I’ve been wondering—did you track down the source of the phone call to the inn that night? Wouldn’t that lead us straight to the killer?”

  “You’d think so, wouldn’t you?” He clammed up. His mouth pulled into a taut line, and he looked me straight in the eyes, assessing me. “It came from the public phone at Hair of the Dog.”

  Surprised that he’d shared confidential information, I said, “Thanks.”

  “Don’t go thinking I’m telling you anything secret. I’ve been asking questions about who was there around that time. Half the town was watching when that phone was fingerprinted.”

  “Was Jerry there?” I held my breath.

  “You’re not the first person to suggest that Jerry drove the car that hit Sven.”

  “Dave, do you think Oma was the intended victim that night?”

  Dave shuffled his feet, then scratched the side of his face, clearly uncomfortable. “You figured that out, huh?” He sucked in a deep breath of air. “I can’t imagine Jerry killing Liesel. I always thought they managed their opposing views well and that they shared a mutual respect. But maybe something pushed him over the edge. Only Liesel could tell us that, but she takes great pride in keeping her secrets. To answer your question, nobody has mentioned seeing Jerry at Hair of the Dog that day.”

  “So it’s possible that Jerry killed Sven but meant to murder Oma. If that’s the case, he certainly was a cool customer the next day at breakfast.”

  Dave rubbed his ear. “I’m not supposed to be talking to you about this.”

  He needed all the help he could get, but I understood his concern. “Okay. I don’t want to get you in trouble.”

  “You’re the only person in town who’s being nice to me. Everybody else expects me to spill everything I know. If you ask me, there are too many secrets in this town. A lot of people are hiding something.”

  Twenty-seven

  I watched Dave hurry away, winding through the crowds in the shopping area. He was right about Oma having secrets. When I was nine, I’d accidentally caught a guest, Mr. Winestock, exiting the room of another guest, a Mrs. Garland, at six in the morning. They’d engaged in a lingering kiss at her door, and Mr. Winestock had carried his trousers over his arm.

  The thought of his expression when he turned and saw me still made me giggle. Poor man. He’d called Oma immediately, not to apologize but to demand that I keep my little mouth shut around his wife, who would be arriving in a few hours and, naturally, was not Mrs. Garland.

  Oma had sat me down and explained that innkeepers owed a special duty to their guests not to divulge their secrets. That it wasn’t really any of our business if they didn’t sleep in their own beds or eat their vegetables.

  I laughed aloud at the memory of torturing Oma all that summer about the intersection of lying, being a tattletale, and keeping the secrets of guests. She must have been glad to see me leave that fall!

  We arrived at Puppy Love and were immediately greeted by a shih tzu and a woman with generous curves who wore her thick gray hair cropped close to her head. She threw her hands in the air, clapped them together, and trilled, “You must be little Trixie!”

  Trixie waggled all over, and when the woman crouched, Trixie had the nerve to stick her nose into the woman’s pocket.

  “I’m so sorry!” I tugged at Trixie.

  “It’s okay. She’s darling. She knows I keep goodies in my pocket for sweet little doggies, don’t you, baby?” She pulled out thin treats the size of half my pinkie fingernail and fed them to Trixie and the shih tzu. “I’ve been waiting for you.”

  “Are you psychic, too?”

  She guffawed. “Goodness, no. Zelda called me and said you were coming. I picked out some of our prettiest collars.” She bent and showed them to Trixie. “With your white fur, you can wear anything. Do you like black Halloween collars with ghosts or candy corn? Or this one with colorful autumn leaves? That would be nice for Gingersnap. Or a pretty girly pink?”

  Since Zelda wasn’t there to tell me Trixie’s preference, I took it upon myself to choose. “We’ll take the candy corn for Trixie, and the autumn-leaf collar as a gift for Gingersnap. Do you have a candy-corn collar for a kitten?”

  While Trixie played with the shih tzu, I spent the next few minutes punching information into a machine for tags. Given the unreliable nature of cell phones in Wagtail, I decided to use both my cell phone number and the phone number of the inn on the tags.

  Trixie tugged at her leash, pulling away from me. “Just a minute, I’m almost done.”

  “I know you! You’re that little pest that was chasing my foals.”

  Trixie backed away, pulling against her collar as hard as she could. I rushed to pick her up and turned to find a wizened little man staring at Trixie. White hair fluffed around a face that bore deep leathery creases from long hours in the sun, but the blue eyes sparkled
with mischief.

  His exquisite tweed jacket hadn’t been in style during my lifetime, nor the jaunty tweed ivy-style cap, or plaid bow tie. He peered at me from under bushy eyebrows, his eyes wide.

  “Good night, Nelly! You must be a Miller.”

  “Mr. Wiggins?” I jostled Trixie to extend a hand. “I’m Holly Miller. I used to play with your daughter.” He had always seemed old to me. I guessed he was only in his seventies now.

  “Prissy is not my daughter!” He trembled and spoke with vehemence.

  “I meant Clementine.”

  “Well, that’s all right then.” He squinted at me and took my hand. “You’re the spittin’ image of your grandmother, child. Does that little troublemaker belong to you?”

  “I’m afraid she does. She’s really very sweet.” I scowled at him. “You haven’t been shooting at her, have you?”

  His mouth twitched sideways. “I chased her, and did some shouting to scare her.” He waggled a finger at her. “You stay away from my foals from now on.”

  A loud bay issued from the beagle on the floor next to him.

  “Hah! Baby agrees with me.”

  Trixie wriggled. It was getting hard to hold her. I backed up a step and set her on the floor, which prompted Baby to bay again.

  “She remembers seeing your dog run through our farm with that rat in her mouth.”

  “Rat?” Ugh.

  “Might not have been a rat. Some little furry beast. You staying with your grandmother?”

  “I am. How’s Clementine?”

  “Bossing me around is how she is. I’m surrounded by women, and they all boss me like I’m some kind of weak-minded idiot.”

  The store clerk bustled over. “I’ll never do that, Mr. Wiggins.” She handed him a plain brown paper grocery bag. “I think Babylicious will enjoy this.”

  “Babylicious?” It slipped out.

  Mr. Wiggins stood a little straighter when he proudly said, “Fireside’s Babylicious Boogie. She’s the best beagle to ever come out of Fireside Farms. A real winner, aren’t you, Baby?”