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

by Davis, Krista

  Thirty-six

  On my return to the inn, I did laundry and asked Oma if I could borrow some things to wear.

  As I expected, she was very accommodating, and even seemed happy about it. She thought I needed sweaters and jackets, and I didn’t correct that impression. It was almost right. I needed black clothes that wouldn’t be readily seen in the dark.

  I pawed through her closet. In the very back, I discovered a casual black fleece jacket that would do the trick. Looking down at Trixie, I said, “If we only had a dark coat for you.”

  Acting casual, I checked out a GPS collar and receiver. A delivery guy arrived with a package. I signed for it and checked the guest’s name so I could take it to the correct room.

  Oh no! The rich brown box from Pawsitively Decadent, wrapped beautifully with a white ribbon embossed with gold paw prints, bore my name. My heart sinking, I pulled out the little white envelope and opened it. Truffles for my sweet. Philip.

  I grunted aloud. “Huh. Didn’t expect that.” I had to make it clear to him that we weren’t an item.

  That evening, I enjoyed a leisurely dinner with Oma, just the two of us, at Chowhound. For two hours, I pushed thoughts of murder and dognapping away and reminisced with my delightful grandmother. Gingersnap and Trixie accompanied us. No amount of money would have been enough to convince me to leave Trixie at the inn. She was staying safely by my side.

  We split an appetizer of earthy portobello mushrooms, stuffed with salty cheese and heavenly bacon. Oma ordered grilled salmon over quinoa with mixed berry sauce and a wilted spinach salad.

  I was delighted with my pork tenderloin medallions topped with cider-braised onions, so soft I could cut them with a fork.

  Gingersnap and Trixie appeared to be equally happy with their pork medallions, served with the same creamy mashed potatoes and red Swiss chard I was enjoying.

  “Oma,” I said, trying to sound nonchalant. “What’s with all the meetings with Mr. Luciano?”

  She appeared to be surprised. “Just work, liebling.”

  “Really? Since when does Rose attend your business meetings?”

  Oma laughed so hard that her eyes watered. “Apparently you’re more observant than I thought. Naturally, I comped his room and have been catering to him because he was attacked. It is the least I can do. He is bringing a television crew and ghost hunters to the inn next month. They will almost fill the entire inn. That kind of guest gets special treatment. Rose is chairwoman of special Halloween festivities in Wagtail and is acting as his liaison to the community.”

  “That sounds like fun!” If I didn’t have a job, maybe I could return for it.

  It was over a dessert of sweet apple tart with vanilla ice cream and caramel sauce that I dared broach the topic of selling the inn.

  “I saw your cruise brochures.”

  “It would be wonderful, no? Rose and I have talked about it for a long time.”

  “When are you going?”

  “Maybe never.” She shrugged.

  “Because you have to sell the inn first?”

  “Ach du lieber Gott!”

  I recognized the phrase from my childhood. The German equivalent of “Dear lord!”

  “No! I will never sell the inn. It is my home. Where would I go?” She swallowed a bite of ice cream and caramel sauce. “Whatever gave you such a strange idea?”

  I couldn’t exactly say she was getting old. “I thought you might want to retire.”

  She didn’t miss a beat. “It would be nice to semiretire.”

  “Because of your health?” I held my breath.

  “Oh, Holly. You worry too much.”

  “Do I? When Rose called me, she sounded so desperate that I thought you were dying.”

  “I apologize for that. She shouldn’t have made you worry so. As you can see, I will survive this twisted ankle.”

  Holding my spoon between my thumb and forefinger, I flipped it back and forth. “What I don’t quite understand,” I said, trying to make it sound as innocent as possible, “is why Rose sounded so urgent when she called me. Don’t get me wrong, I’m glad that she called, but somehow, she gave me the impression that you had something far more serious than a twisted ankle. Maybe she thought you would have trouble dealing with Sven’s murder?”

  Oma froze. Toying with the ice cream, she finally said, “We had to get you to come here.”

  “But, why?”

  Oma heaved a great sigh. “We had to time it when Holmes would be here.” She finally met my eyes. “Liebling, please understand. I couldn’t see you spend your life with the Ben. He’s so dull. He has sucked the joy out of you.” She reached across the table to me. “You used to be fun, but somewhere along the way, you became parched like a desert. You need to find laughter again and the merriment that I know you have inside you.”

  “You terrible woman! You and Rose played matchmaker? You thought if you threw Holmes and me together that we would fall in love?” I snorted. “Well, that didn’t work.”

  “A pity.”

  “So you’re not sick? You never were?”

  “No. Please don’t be angry with us. We did this from the love in our hearts for you and Holmes.”

  “Does Holmes know?”

  “I doubt it. He’s not as pushy as you are.”

  Nothing like a grandmother to tell you that you’re dry as the desert and pushy. Way to boost my self-esteem, Oma. I should have been angry—furious, really. They deceived me and worried me to death. What had Holmes called them? Dotty. They were crazy as loons.

  “Rose doesn’t like Holmes’s fiancé?”

  “Not in the slightest. He’s not happy in the big city. Did you know that I hired Holmes to design the renovation of the inn?”

  “He never said a word.”

  “He loved doing it. It wasn’t fancy architecture, of course, but I could see the change in him. He needs to come back here.”

  “How soon do you think you could book that cruise?”

  She perked up. “I don’t know. Are you saying . . .”

  “I don’t have a job at the moment. If you trust me to take care of things, Trixie and I would be happy to fill in for you.”

  It felt great to clear the air. Silly woman, she should have just told me from the beginning. I imagined it hadn’t been easy for her, though. How can you tell someone that you took desperate measures to matchmake? Still, it was a relief that she wasn’t ill. Plus, if she went on that cruise soon, she’d be out of town and away from the possible harm of the killer. As far as I was concerned, she should leave as soon as possible.

  • • •

  Just before ten o’clock that night, I donned my clean jeans, a dark green turtleneck, and the black jacket I had borrowed from Oma. I dressed Trixie in her halter. She would give me away with her white fur, but I could cover her with the jacket if need be. That would help conceal her a little bit. I filled my pockets with my cell phone, a little cash in case of an emergency, and the GPS collar and receiver.

  When we stepped out into the stairwell, voices drifted up to me. I didn’t dare leave the building by way of the reception area. Casey would see us for sure and pelt me with questions. We hurried down the stairs and out the front door. Pretending we were simply going for a late doggy stroll, we walked over to the Blue Boar and cut down the sidewalk that intersected with the inn parking lot.

  Minutes later, we were back in the golf cart, retracing the route we took earlier in the day. I parked on the side of the road and tiptoed to Kim’s cabin in the dark. They didn’t have a dog, but I worried about triggering motion detectors that might shine a spotlight on us.

  We made it to their golf cart under the cover of darkness. I tucked the GPS collar in the recesses of the dark vinyl bag in front of the seats and crossed my fingers that it would work. We ran back to our own golf cart, Trixie eagerly leading the way.

  Near Hazel Mae’s house, I pulled off the road, angled the golf cart so it was facing town but was partly hidden by trees, an
d turned off the engine. “If Kim comes by, we’ll follow her. Okay?”

  Trixie hopped out and sniffed the ground. She could go fairly far, thanks to the leash. I had a bad feeling that if she hadn’t been tethered, she’d be off running through the woods.

  I turned on the GPS remote receiver. It worked! It showed the GPS collar located behind us. I turned it off to save the battery. If Kim came by on the golf cart, we’d probably notice it.

  I relaxed and strolled around the golf cart so Trixie could investigate scents. The chilly night air held the promise of winter. Stars sparkled in the dark sky. They never seemed so close or vivid at home.

  I couldn’t remember the last time I saw the Milky Way so clearly. We returned to the golf cart. Trixie sat up, alert, her haunches pressed against me. My arm around her, I stroked her chest.

  Time ticked by slower than molasses. I flicked on my phone. No bars. Not a mile away, at Kim’s cabin, they could get a signal, but not here. Weird.

  I began to wonder if I had misjudged her. Maybe she wouldn’t be sneaking around again tonight. It just made no sense whatsoever that she would want Trixie. I clutched Trixie even closer at the thought.

  Kim had to wait until Ben fell asleep, which I suspected would be around midnight. Of course, if they’d rented a movie to watch, it could be later than that.

  I toyed with the notion of looking for a spot where I could get a cell-phone connection. What could I text him that would get her attention? Assuming she went through his phone messages again. What a rat. Being nosy by nature, I understood the desire to peek, but I had enough respect for other people not to pry. Good grief, it was like steaming someone’s mail open. Wasn’t that a felony?

  What if I was wrong about Kim? I couldn’t be totally off because I’d found Trixie’s collar on her golf cart. It would be hard to explain that as a coincidence. If it had been some kind of joke or trick, wouldn’t she have admitted it?

  Trixie turned her head toward the road, concentrating. Very briefly, I switched on the GPS remote. Indeed, the collar moved toward us. I covered Trixie with Oma’s black jacket in case Kim happened to look our way.

  It would have been easy to miss the golf cart rolling along without any lights because the engine was virtually noiseless. I sat perfectly still until she had passed, switched on the GPS, and waited until I thought she was far enough ahead before I pulled out behind her, my lights off, too, which I was fairly sure was illegal.

  As I expected, she headed to town. The GPS allowed me to stay far behind her. Without it, I would have missed her turn onto Oak Street. But then the collar stopped moving.

  I parked in front of Ellie’s house in a rush. Grabbing the dark jacket and Trixie’s leash, I ran along the middle of the street. Too bad Kim wasn’t wearing the GPS collar. We might lose her.

  A few lights remained on in windows, but most were dark. A dog in a yard barked as we sped by. Trixie yapped a couple of times, excited to be on the run.

  “Hush!” I could only hope that barking dogs wouldn’t draw Kim’s attention. After all, dogs and cats ruled in Wagtail. Barking was the norm.

  We discovered her golf cart parked at the very end of the road, where it intersected with the pedestrian zone. She had left it in front of Philip’s 1864 bed-and-breakfast. I paused to collect the GPS collar from the golf cart.

  We ran again. The cold night air burned in my lungs. When we hit the shopping area, we came to a stop. Which way had she gone?

  To my surprise, a few people walked dogs, even at that late hour. I tried to be methodical about scanning the area. Fortunately, I spotted her—mostly because she was running.

  We cut across the green in the middle and followed her to—good heavens! Was she going to Jerry’s house? Didn’t they say the killer returns to the scene of the crime?

  She walked past it and vanished along the side of the house next door to it.

  Thirty-seven

  We casually walked by the house. Lights shone upstairs. Another light turned on and seconds later, the downstairs windows glowed, too.

  I peered at the green mailbox with shamrocks on it, hoping to see a name. No such luck.

  We doubled back and quietly slipped into Jerry’s yard. At least we wouldn’t disturb anyone there.

  Trixie tugged at the leash, sniffing the ground and trying to pull me where she wanted to go. We sneaked along the side of Jerry’s house. From the backyard, I could see inside a brightly lighted window in the back of the neighboring home.

  Tall cabinets mounted on the wall indicated it was the kitchen. I coaxed Trixie deeper into Jerry’s backyard. Bingo! Another window and a much better angle. I could see Kim’s blond hair shining under the lights. She gestured. A plea? I wished she were yelling. I might be able to hear what she was saying.

  A tall man with fluffy reddish hair styled in high waves came into view. Brewster!

  Trixie dug in a flower bed, tossing dirt. “Stop that,” I hissed, using my shoe to push the dirt back into place.

  But when I looked up, a movement in the window upstairs caught my eye. Someone else was in Brewster’s house. She leaned over to close the window. There was no doubt about it. Prissy Clodfelter wore a scant nightie in the middle of the night upstairs in Brewster’s house. Well, well, well. I wouldn’t have expected that matchup. Poor Dave! Did he know about Brewster and Prissy? Probably not.

  I shifted my focus back to Brewster. He seemed calm. He even laughed. Was Kim pulling some kind of stunt on Ben? I might have suspected hanky-panky if I hadn’t spotted Prissy upstairs.

  I watched their expressions, trying to read them. Kim did not appear happy. Was she fearful? More like worried, I decided.

  She left the house, and the door banged shut behind her. I grabbed Trixie and covered her with the black jacket. We huddled in the back corner of the yard, my main concern that Trixie might bark. My heart pounded. And then she yelped, high and shrill.

  I cringed and glanced at the window.

  Brewster peered out, his neck craned. He switched off the light, but the dim glow coming from another room allowed me to see him press his face against the window, his hands cupped around his temples.

  I turned my head so he wouldn’t see my face, and covered Trixie with my body. When I looked back, the downstairs lights had been doused.

  I wasn’t taking any chances. We scurried across the back of Jerry’s yard and around the other side to the street. I hurried Trixie along the sidewalk away from Brewster’s house, just in case he looked out a front window.

  When we reached the shopping area, a bright streetlight revealed that Trixie carried something in her mouth. “Ugh.” I grabbed it from her. A dirty little bag. It had some heft to it. At least it wasn’t a rat this time.

  That had been a strange encounter. Aside from the surprising relationship between Prissy and Brewster, which I didn’t think Dave knew about, two things stood out in my mind. First, Kim felt the need to keep her visit to Brewster secret. She could have simply phoned him or paid him a visit at Hair of the Dog during the day. That meant they didn’t want anyone to know they had a connection, especially Ben. Or they didn’t want anyone to overhear their conversation.

  Second, the only obvious connection between Kim and the murders was her father’s car. It was remotely possible that her midnight visit to Brewster arose out of some other reason, but it seemed more likely that it involved the car. What was it about that car that was so important?

  Trixie raised her head, and her ears pricked. She backed up quickly when two intoxicated men stumbled by, laughing and talking far too loud. We cut across the green and passed the stores on the other side. Just in case Kim was still around, we cut down the next street and walked by Aunt Birdie’s house—a typical white Victorian with a turret and a front porch. I could tell it was immaculate, even in the dark of night. A porch light illuminated wicker chairs and a table that evoked thoughts of lazy summer days. Never at Birdie’s, though. I doubted that anyone had ever dared sit in one of her chairs.
Her house was for show-and-tell. My mother had always hurried me out lest I touch a wall or one of the dolls Aunt Birdie collected.

  Sparkling lights next door caused me to stop on the sidewalk in awe. The tree house that caused Birdie such pain was a fanciful masterpiece. Why on earth did she complain about it? Fairy lights outlined windows and doors with eyebrow arches. An electric candle glowed in one small round window. Sparse fairy lights wound in and out of a railing. The broad pickets had been laboriously cut to resemble the silhouette of a cat. Enchanted, I itched to be invited inside. Tiny’s house, on the other hand, lay dark in the night. Not a single light glimmered anywhere.

  We walked on. In spite of the recent murders, the sleepy streets of Wagtail embraced us with their charm. We arrived at the golf cart all too soon.

  Back at the inn, I didn’t hesitate to enter through the reception area. Now that we were back, mission accomplished, it didn’t matter whether Casey saw us.

  “Where have you been?” he demanded.

  “Out for a walk. I saw Tiny’s tree house. It’s amazing.”

  “He built it with stuff they threw out when they were building Hobbitville. It’s all cast-off stuff.”

  “Then it’s even more incredible. I hope his kids appreciate it.” I gazed up at Oma’s apartment. “Everything okay here?”

  “Very quiet tonight.”

  “Want me to stick around?”

  “Gosh, no!” He puffed out his chest. “I’ve got everything under control.”

  Trixie and I walked past the dark gift shop to the lobby. I double-checked to be sure Casey had remembered to lock the front door. He had.

  Dog-tired, I schlepped up the stairs. Off her leash, Trixie darted around, smelling the floor and, undoubtedly the lingering scents of the other dogs who had walked there during the day. She raced up to the third floor ahead of me.

  When I reached the third floor landing, I found it peculiar that once again, Trixie had turned the wrong way. She snuffled at the base of the door to the storage area and pawed at it.