I hoped Mr. Luciano hadn’t seen him.
“That Casey is a funny fellow,” he said.
Whoops. No question that he’d seen Casey.
He unlocked the door to Heel, left it open and called, “Trixie. Trixie, treat! Please—” he swept his arm to the side in a grand gesture “—feel free to look around.”
I checked the bathroom and called out Trixie’s name, hoping that if he’d tied up Oma in a closet, she would hear me and bang against the door. I observed Gingersnap, whose superior nose would surely know if Oma or Trixie was stashed away somewhere. She sniffed around, wagging her tail, evidently unconcerned.
Over the years, I had seen a lot of guest rooms. Mr. Luciano kept his tidy. The only thing that threw me for a loop was the luxurious faux fur bolster dog bed with the name Gina embroidered on it. I hadn’t seen him with a dog. I was afraid to ask about her. He’d spoken with such sentimentality about the love of a dog that I feared he might have lost his Gina before I arrived.
“Thank you, Mr. Luciano. I’m sorry to have troubled you.”
“You did the right thing calling Casey. You’ll be a fine innkeeper one day. Just like your grandmother.”
He closed the door behind Gingersnap and me, and I felt an idiot for having suspected him of anything sinister.
Casey waited for us where the hallway met the balcony. “You should start carrying a walkie-talkie with you.”
“I didn’t expect to be nosing around in a guest room. Where could they have gone?”
“Mrs. Miller has to be around here somewhere. I never saw her leave.”
“She must have slipped out of her room when I shot down the hallway in search of Trixie. That’s the only reasonable explanation.”
“All I know is that she didn’t leave through the reception door. I would have noticed that.”
“The front door was unlocked. She must have gone out that way.”
His eyes grew wide. “I forgot to lock it tonight!”
“Don’t worry about it. She could have simply unlocked it and left.”
The adrenaline that had pumped through me waned, and the exhaustion of the wee hour of the morning weighed on me. I needed to wake up and keep a clear head to find them. “I’m going to make coffee. Want some?”
“Sure. That would be great. I’m almost done with bills for the guests checking out in the morning.”
I took my time walking back through the quiet inn. I paused and remembered Christmas in the Dogwood Room, with a towering tree full of Oma’s old blown-glass Christmas ornaments from Germany. Did Oma still hold a big Thanksgiving dinner for family and friends in the dining area? Why had I missed out on all that fun? I knew the answer. The divorce. Each of my parents had remarried and started new families, and I had bounced around between them on holidays and vacations like a beach ball. They had made new lives for themselves elsewhere and hadn’t been interested in returning to Wagtail, even for holidays. Even though they were my parents, I’d often felt like the occasional visitor, instead of family. I had spent my holidays trying to make everyone happy. Everyone except me.
Oma had done a wonderful job with the renovation. Now that I suspected she wanted to retire, I knew why she’d updated the inn. It was gorgeous. Mountain chic, as Oma would say. Rustic elegance. My eyes misted at the thought of losing it.
I wiped my eyes. When did I turn into a big softie? It was a business. That was all. Just stone and wood and . . . and—
Shrill yipping tore through the quiet.
Thirty-one
Trixie? Where was she? The pitch of her barks was enough to wake the proverbial dead and most certainly the sleeping guests.
Ginger and I followed her excited yaps to the door. She waited on the front porch, yipping and jumping up to peer through the glass. When I opened the door, she dashed inside, her entire body wriggling with joy. She planted her front paws on my knees, and I bent over to hug her. Her tail whipped back and forth so fast I warned her that it might fly right off.
When I straightened up, she pranced around my feet, never taking those devoted eyes off of me. Mr. Luciano’s words came back to me. Unconditional love.
I crouched to hug her again. She couldn’t get enough affection. But my joy at her return quickly dampened and morphed into horror.
Her new Halloween collar and dog tags were gone. The Sugar Maple Inn collar with GPS was also missing. She wore a simple brown collar attached to a yellow leash.
Someone had taken her.
Trixie might have been able to back out of her collars somehow, but no matter how I tried to rationalize the situation, she could not possibly have put on the brown collar or the unfamiliar leash.
My hands shook when I removed them. Could they be fingerprinted? Even if they could, no one would bother with two murders to be solved. They’d think I was a nut if I asked.
But someone had taken my little Trixie on purpose. Why would anyone want her? “You’re such a good girl to come back. Who took you, sweetie? Did you escape from that horrible person? C’mon.”
She and Gingersnap launched ahead of me down the hallway to the reception area. She pranced with joy at seeing Casey, too.
I slammed the strange collar and leash on the reception desk. “Look at this! Someone took her.”
He stroked her back and stared at her neck. “Where’s the GPS collar?”
“Gone!” I spoke louder than I should have.
His eyebrows dived into a worried V, and he chewed on his upper lip.
A voice with a charming German accent accosted us from above. “What’s going on? What are all these blankets doing here?”
I turned my gaze upward to Oma. Clad in flannel pajamas and a fuzzy white bathrobe, she peered down at us. Gingersnap raced up the stairs to her.
“Did you see her come in?” I whispered to Casey.
“Sure didn’t. And I haven’t left this general area for even a minute.”
There were other doors, of course, and Oma had the keys to all of them. “I think we need to talk.”
“Liebling, it’s so late. Go to bed.” She hastily returned to her room and closed the door.
“I just don’t know what to think.” I pulled out another inn collar with GPS, as well as a leash.
“Is there any reason your grandmother would have, um, taken Trixie?” asked Casey.
I wanted to scream no! But the same thought had crossed my mind. The timing was too coincidental. “Not that I know of. Now that she’s back, I guess I’ll skip the coffee and curl up outside her door. Is that okay with you?”
“Yeah. You might as well go up to bed, though. She managed to leave and come back without either one of us seeing her.”
“To tell you the truth, I’m more worried about someone getting into her apartment.”
Maybe he had a point. I was so exhausted that someone could probably step on me without waking me. I said good night, and with the leash firmly around my wrist, I collected the pillow and blankets. We walked along the hallway to the stairs. I thought I heard a cat cry. “Twinkletoes?”
Tired as I was, I headed downstairs again to be sure she was all right. We discovered her in the darkened library, on the window seat facing the plaza. She sat hunched, ready to pounce, peering out into the night, emitting an occasional complaining yowl.
We hopped up on the window seat with her. “What do you see?” I whispered. “A bunny? A raccoon?”
If she did, I didn’t notice, because my attention went straight to the lone figure in the shadows just to the side of the plaza. I couldn’t make out anything about him or her, but I knew that person was watching the inn.
I dropped the blankets and rushed to the phone in the entrance. I dialed Dave’s home number. After I told him the situation, he said, “Holly, it’s not illegal to stand on the plaza, even at this ungodly hour.”
“Are you kidding me? With all that has happened, you’re not going to check to see who it is?”
Silence. “Okay, yeah.”
&nb
sp; I hung up and returned to the window seat. The person had left.
I collected the blankets again, stopped by the phone to call Dave and tell him to go back to bed, and then headed straight back to Oma’s apartment, where I slept by her door until she opened it and said, “Ja, what is this?”
My sleep-deprived brain convinced me to imagine Oma would be fine. Shelley and the cook had arrived. Early-bird guests were stirring, and Casey was awake. I dragged upstairs, with poor Trixie on a leash so she couldn’t make any mad dashes. Twinkletoes scurried along in front of us. When we reached the top, Trixie sniffed the floor and turned to the left. “Wrong way, cutie!”
She faced me, wagging her tail but not budging, as though she expected me to let her into the storage area.
“This way, silly!” I was too tired to think clearly. I’d look in there later, after some sleep.
We fell into bed. I remembered to take off Trixie’s GPS collar since we were safely inside, and the three of us slept in.
• • •
I woke at eleven, mainly because Twinkletoes was sitting on my chest, touching my face with a soft paw. Either she wanted food or she was trying to figure out if I was still alive. The former, I decided. When I rose and staggered into the kitchen to serve her shredded chicken in gravy with minced egg for cats, Trixie stayed behind in bed, upside down with all four paws in the air.
After showering, I realized that the only garments that didn’t need washing were the dresses. I chose the least dressy one. Made of cotton, it had a white background printed with occasional peach, pink, and yellow flowers that increased over the length of the dress until they ended in a colorful pile at the hemline. Sort of like fall leaves, only for summer. I liked the square neckline, but it might be getting too late in the year for sleeveless garments.
Starved, I roused Trixie and put the GPS collar back on her. The second I opened the door, she ran to the storage area door. She pawed and tried to wedge her nose underneath it.
“What do you want in there?” Twinkletoes and I started down the main stairs. “Come on, Trixie.” She gave up on the storage room and raced ahead of me with the kind of energy I wished I had.
Oma happened to see us and came to the bottom of the stairs. She held out her arms and hugged me. “Casey told me what happened last night.” She placed one hand on my shoulder. “I cannot believe that you would sleep on the floor to protect your Oma.”
“I’m worried about you.”
She held my hand between both of hers. “We will make it through this together. You and me, Holly. Now, go have some brunch. You’re going to freeze in that dress.”
She bustled off, and I turned to the dining area. And who had the nerve to wave me over to his table? Ben. Mister I-hereby-rescind.
Thirty-two
Oh, joy. What could I do? I searched around, desperate for a reason to sit at another table. The place was packed.
“Holly!” Ben nearly jumped up. He acted like the kid in school who was always absurdly eager to have the teacher call on him.
I squared my shoulders. There was no reason we couldn’t be friends. “Come on, Trixie.”
I sat down. “Good morning. Where’s your girlfriend?” Okay, so maybe that wasn’t the nicest way to start, but it was how I felt.
“She’s sleeping in. Dave knows he’s not allowed to speak to her unless I’m present. I have the golf cart, and I really don’t see her walking all the way down here. So, to my way of thinking, I’ve got all my bases covered. Man, I slept better last night than I have in years. Must be the fresh mountain air.”
He grinned at me brightly, but I suspected his perfect night’s sleep was the result of a certain romantic interlude, and I thought it downright rude to rub my nose in it.
Shelley poured me a cup of tea, winked at me, and left the pot on the table. “What can I get you this morning?”
Swell. Casey had already blabbed to everyone about the rescinded proposal.
“I’ll have what Holly had yesterday, with the home fries and the toast and the works!” Ben beamed.
I’d never seen him so happy. Why did I want to blow a raspberry at him?
“What’s the special today?” I asked.
“Eggs Benedict. Your choice of smoked salmon or Canadian bacon.”
“Does that come with the home fries?” asked Ben.
“If you want it to.”
“I’ll change to that, please, with the salmon.”
“I’ll have the same, with fruit salad instead of the home fries.”
“Same for you, Trixie?” asked Shelley.
“Salmon for dogs?” asked Ben.
“They love it! But we use baked salmon for the dogs, not smoked, because it’s so salty.” Shelley rested her hand over top of mine briefly. “How you doin’, hon?”
I did my best to seem on top of the world. “Great!”
But I caught her tilting her head and grinning at someone. When I turned to look, Holmes ambled up to our table. Easygoing with that natural smile of his, he slid into one of the chairs at our table. “Mornin’ all.”
Without having to ask, Shelley poured coffee into his mug. “Eggs Benedict?”
“My favorite!”
She tittered like he’d flirted with her and scooted away to another table.
“Heard you had a rough night here,” said Holmes.
When I was about ten, Holmes, my cousin Josh, and I had gone through a stage where we formed a fist with a knuckle sticking out, and punched one another in the upper arm. I reached over and pretended to punch him.
“What’s that for?”
“For being so annoyingly right. Rose told you about the cruise, didn’t she? You knew all along.”
He held up his palms. “I swear she never said a word about it. So Oma confirmed it?”
“No. I found brochures in her room last night.”
“What’s wrong with her taking a cruise?” asked Ben. “Sounds like a good idea.”
I flashed a warning at Holmes that I hoped he understood. I didn’t want to talk about the inn being sold where guests might hear. “Nothing. She could use a vacation.”
Ben’s gaze flickered between Holmes and me. He knew something was up. He played along, though. “So what happened last night?”
Again, I skipped the part about Oma. There was no point in guests overhearing and thinking she was out wandering through town in the middle of the night. “Someone stole Trixie.”
She perked up at the sound of her name.
I told them the whole story, ending with the curious change of collars. Shelley served tables near us, but she listened in as I talked.
“Why would anyone want her?” asked Ben.
I forgave him for the callous way it sounded. I knew what he meant. I shrugged.
Shelley placed a platter on the table in front of me. A beautiful yellow sauce covered an egg. Bright orange salmon peeked out from underneath it.
Trixie danced on her hind legs.
“Yours is comin’, darlin’.” Shelley served Ben and Holmes, then bent down to place Trixie’s dish on the floor. Trixie’s nose was in it so fast I barely caught a glimpse of egg and salmon.
“Not that it’s any of my business,” said Shelley, “but you could track the GPS on the collar. Now, if the dog thief has any sense at all, he would have tossed that collar out in the woods somewhere so it wouldn’t be connected to him. But it’s worth a try.”
Another patron signaled her, and she rushed off.
“That’s brilliant!” I exclaimed. “Why didn’t I think of that? Those collars must be expensive, so at the very least, we ought to recover it.”
“I think we’d better come with you,” said Holmes. “You don’t know where it might take you.”
“Yeah!” Ben speared a home fry. “What if it’s in somebody’s house? You don’t want to come face-to-face with the dog burglar.” Gazing at his plate, he added, “These are so good they don’t need catsup.”
The rich hollandaise sau
ce complemented the flavor of the salty salmon. We finished our delicious, if indulgent, breakfast quickly. I reminded myself that it wouldn’t be long before I was back in my own home, eating dry toast or boiled eggs for breakfast. I might as well enjoy the inn while I could. If Oma sold it, this might be the last time I would come here, a thought that depressed me to the core of my being.
We hurried over our second mugs of coffee and, in my case, tea.
Unfortunately, now that Trixie knew the drill, she kept pulling at the leash, wanting to eat other dogs’ food. We were going to have to learn some table manners.
I carried her out of the dining room, far easier than tugging her away from the dog dining bowls on the floor. She scampered along happily, though, to the registration desk. Oma gave us a questioning look when we trooped in.
“How do you track a GPS collar?” I asked.
“Aha. Very clever of you.”
I gave Shelley due credit for the idea.
Oma went to the computer and looked up the number of the collar, which made me feel very guilty because I had simply grabbed another one last night without logging it in. We corrected that immediately.
She handed us a small black box similar in size to a TV remote control. A screen filled one side, and a tiny antenna stood on the end. “This will show you the direction of the collar. This number shows how far away it is.”
As we watched, the number flickered and reduced by one, then by two.
“It’s moving,” said Holmes.
“Maybe the thief is carrying it,” I suggested. “Or put it on his own dog.”
“It’s toward the front of the inn,” said Oma.
Trixie leading the way, Holmes, Ben, and I rushed to the front porch.
“This is like a treasure hunt,” said Ben.
If I hadn’t been so upset about the theft of Trixie, I would have thought it fun, too.
I held the transmitter in my outstretched hand so they could see it. “It’s still moving, but toward our left a little.” Like a unified military unit, we all changed our position.
I looked out over the plaza in front of the inn. It could be anyone. Brewster, wearing a Hair of the Dog T-shirt, walked toward us with his Irish setter, Murphy. Philip, the B and B owner, juggled a couple of bakery boxes not too far behind him. To their left, Peaches Clodfelter argued with Tiny.
Murder, She Barked: A Paws & Claws Mystery (A Paws and Claws Mystery) Page 19