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

by Davis, Krista

  “Precisely. And then his daughter shows up with a lawyer in tow?”

  “They were with me hours away from here when Sven was killed. There’s no way Kim or Mortie could be involved.”

  “Ever hear of murder for hire?”

  “Mortie paid someone to steal his car and commit murder?” It boggled my mind to even contemplate that scenario.

  “Yeah, well, that’s where the whole thing falls apart, isn’t it?”

  The door to the pharmacy slammed open, and I recognized Casey’s shock of dark hair, but he didn’t even bother stepping inside. “Eric! They’re arresting Holmes!”

  Thirty-nine

  I ran out of the store, Trixie bounding along, sensing excitement. We trailed Casey by fifteen feet. He headed for Oak Street.

  A police car was parked in front of Rose’s house. It seemed like the whole town had gathered to see what was going on. Tiny, Brewster, Shelley, Philip, Prissy. I knew many of the faces.

  The door to Rose’s house hung open. Holmes walked out, raised his arm and waved, more like an athlete who’d scored than someone in trouble with the law.

  I dodged everyone to get to him. “Holmes! What’s going on?”

  “Stand back, Holly.” Dave sounded tired.

  I walked along to the car with them.

  Holmes squeezed my shoulder. “Not to worry. I haven’t done anything.”

  He wasn’t in handcuffs. Maybe that was a good sign. “Then why are they arresting you?”

  “I’m not under arrest. I’m going to Snowball voluntarily just to talk.”

  “No! Don’t say anything. Don’t you watch TV shows about crime? Don’t say a word.”

  “Holl, I have nothing to hide. I didn’t do anything.”

  He bent to wedge into the backseat of the police car.

  I whipped around and faced Dave. “I felt sorry for you. But this isn’t right. You’ve got the wrong man.”

  Quietly, almost apologetically, Dave said, “Motive, means, and we have an eyewitness who can place him at the scene and running away.”

  “He was jogging!” My voice rose, not nearly as calm and controlled as Dave’s.

  “How do you know that?” Dave slid into the car and shut the door.

  Even though he couldn’t hear me, I whispered, “Because he told me so.” It wasn’t enough. Even I knew that.

  Compelled to watch the police car leave, I stayed until it disappeared from sight, as though I thought it would help Holmes in some way.

  The crowd dispersed, and Philip approached me.

  “I apologize for coming on so strong, Holly. The prospect of a relationship with someone like you was . . . intoxicating. I think I was a little bit giddy. I hope Ben appreciates you as much as I would.” He touched my shoulder gently. “I’m here for you if it doesn’t work out.”

  I thanked him. At least he had backed off. At the moment, I couldn’t have cared less about Philip or a relationship with Ben. Holmes was in trouble. I dragged home, numb with despair.

  Zelda hugged me when I returned to the inn. “Your grandmother said to tell you that you’re in charge. She drove Rose over to Snowball because Rose is too upset to drive. They’re going to find Holmes a lawyer.”

  A lawyer! I knew a lawyer. “Thanks, Zelda.” I removed Trixie’s leash and ran to Oma’s office to look up the phone number for Mortie’s cabin. When I called, Kim didn’t want to put Ben on the phone. I held my temper in check when I insisted, but my nerves had been stretched to the point of fraying.

  I explained the situation to Ben. “Can you go over there and bail him out?”

  “There’s no bail yet if he’s not under arrest.”

  “Can’t you do something to help him?”

  “Actually, I can’t. There could be a conflict of interest.”

  “Is that another way of saying that you expect Mortie to be charged with murder?”

  “No!”

  “Then where’s the conflict? Why does Mortie need representation anyway?”

  “I can’t discuss that with you.”

  Steaming mad, I said good-bye and hung up the phone.

  Zelda leaned against the doorframe. “Holmes didn’t do it.”

  “I know. Why would someone steal Mortie’s car to use in a homicide?”

  “Because he didn’t want to use his own car.” She let out a little screech and her eyes opened wide. “Because he wanted to frame Mortie!”

  “That,” I pointed at her, “is the first plausible explanation I have heard.”

  Zelda beamed. “But it wouldn’t work unless Mortie was actually here when the murder happened.”

  “Good point. And the car was reported stolen, so that would let Mortie off the hook in any case. Then why would he send Ben up here? Unless . . . unless the car wasn’t actually stolen.”

  “Yes!” Zelda shouted. But her enthusiasm waned quickly. “How exactly would that work?”

  “I don’t know. We should be concentrating on Jerry’s murder anyway. That’s the one they think Holmes committed.”

  Zelda paced to the French doors. “If Brewster hadn’t seen him running away from Jerry’s house that morning—”

  “Brewster?” I sat up straight. Now there was a coincidence. “Brewster is the one who saw Holmes there?”

  Zelda turned around. “Sure. Brewster is Jerry’s neighbor. Makes perfect sense.”

  “And Brewster brought Dolce back to Ellie,” I mused.

  “He loves dogs, especially his Irish setter, Murphy. I’m not surprised that he brought Dolce home. He would have known who Dolce was.” She squinted at me. “Do you find that odd for some reason?”

  I debated telling her about Kim’s nocturnal visit to Brewster but decided against it. As much as I liked Zelda, she would repeat it to the others in the circle of inn employees immediately. I fudged a little. “I think it’s terrific that he was thoughtful enough to bring her home to Ellie. It worried me sick when Trixie was missing.” I smiled at the sight of her sleeping, upside down on the loveseat, all four little legs sticking up in the air.

  No matter what I said to Zelda, Kim’s contact with Brewster last night put him in a different light as far as I was concerned. Maybe he had returned Dolce out of kindness. Or maybe he had let him out of his own yard to begin with. But Kim and Brewster were involved in this mess somehow . . .

  Why didn’t anything fit together? Brewster must have something to do with the car. If he had stolen it, Kim wouldn’t have paid him a midnight visit. I tried to recall their expressions. He hadn’t seemed in the least bit upset. But he’d peered out the window. I would have, too, if my neighbor had been killed in cold blood.

  Zelda watched me, perched on the chair in front of Oma’s desk. “What are you thinking?”

  I scrambled to find something to say. “Do you know anyone with a golf club key ring?”

  “Not me! It sounds cute, though. That oaf I married took every nice thing I owned when he absconded. I never should have told him to get out and then left for work.”

  “I’m so sorry, Zelda.”

  She shrugged. “Onward, right? I can’t dwell on what might have been. Golf club, huh? Sounds like something Mr. Luciano might have. Did you find one or something?”

  “Yes. I don’t know to whom it belongs.”

  “I’m sure the owner will be looking for it. I’ll let you know.” She jumped up to help someone at the front desk.

  For the next few hours, I followed up on inn matters, making sure guest rooms were ready for new guests, taking calls from vendors and a couple of nervous dog owners who couldn’t believe we didn’t have weight restrictions on dog guests.

  Zelda and I were considering eating lunch in Oma’s office together when Dave burst through the doors. Flushed and tense, he demanded, “Where’s the key ring?”

  “Upstairs. We left it where we found it,” I said.

  “Did you touch it?”

  “Yes. Twinkletoes knocked it on the floor. I picked it up.”

  H
e sagged. Zeroing in on Zelda, he said, “Not a word about this. Do you understand? If you breathe even a hint, you’ll mess up my best opportunity to nab Sven’s killer.”

  “What?” Zelda appeared confused.

  “Show me!” Dave demanded.

  I nabbed the key ring off Oma’s desk.

  Acting a lot like Jerry had, Dave shook a finger at Zelda as we headed for the elevator. “Not a word!”

  I scooped up Trixie and stepped inside. “So Holmes is off the hook, then? You let him go?”

  “No.”

  “Dave! You can’t have it both ways.”

  “I’ve got two murders. Doesn’t mean it’s the same killer.”

  I shut up. We stepped off the elevator, and I unlocked the door. Trixie bounded in and jumped on the bed again.

  Dave didn’t touch a thing. “Get the dog out.”

  I picked her up off the bed and held her.

  Dave studied the items next to the bed, licked his lips, and locked his lower lip over the top one. He scanned the room, taking everything in, then focused on the key ring again. After a moment, he said, “It’s him.”

  Forty

  “The killer?” I whispered. “How can you tell?”

  “These are Mortie’s keys,” said Dave. “They match the description given when he reported the car stolen. The odds of them being someone else’s on this kind of circular golf club key ring are crazy slim. Possible, but unlikely.”

  “Think I ruined fingerprints when I picked them up?”

  “Probably. But it would take longer to get the prints back than to wait for this creep to return tonight.”

  I could hardly breathe. The killer had been right under our noses, sleeping in the inn!

  Dave swallowed hard. “You and Liesel have to act completely normal. You understand? You cannot let on that anything is different, or you’ll tip this person off. No talking to anyone about it. Not that boyfriend of yours or employees or guests or anyone. And especially not Holmes or anyone in his family. Got it?”

  “Absolutely. Neither Oma nor I would sleep a wink if we knew a murderer lurked here among us. But, you said person. You don’t think it’s a man?”

  “It would take a pretty macho guy to use a sleeping bag with kittens on it.”

  • • •

  Oma and I shared a quiet dinner with Rose and Holmes in the private kitchen that night. The fire crackled, and candles flickered on the table. Gingersnap, Twinkletoes, and Trixie roamed underfoot. It would have been a wonderful evening but for the nightmare that hung over us all.

  The garlic fettuccine smelled divine but Rose barely touched her food.

  Holmes appeared none the worse for his interrogation that afternoon. He chowed down on the pasta laden with red peppers, caramelized onions, and shrimp. “They asked me if they could take a sample of my hair.” He swept a hand over the side of his head twice.

  “They must think they have a sample of the killer’s hair.” I twisted my fork in the fettuccine.

  “I certainly hope you refused!” Rose clutched the base of her throat.

  “Not a chance. I know I didn’t kill anybody. I wish they’d eliminate me so they could concentrate on other suspects. The hair must have been longer than mine. They kept trying to get me to admit that I had it cut recently—like yesterday!”

  “I hope you gave them the name of your barber in Chicago,” murmured Rose.

  “You bet I did!”

  “You might have to switch barbers. Can you imagine what they’ll think?” I said it in jest, hoping to lighten the mood.

  Oma and Rose didn’t seem to be amused in the slightest.

  “I wouldn’t mind wearing it a little longer again.”

  “So, uh, just how long did they want your hair to be?” I asked.

  “They didn’t say.”

  I studied his hair. More than half an inch, I decided. An inch long, maybe? That included a lot of people.

  “Can they determine gender from a hair?” I asked.

  “If there’s DNA on it,” said Oma.

  “Then they might already know whether it was a man or a woman.”

  Rose spoke in a dull tone. “It was a man.”

  “How do you know that?” asked Oma.

  “Oh, please. You’re the one addicted to Murder, She Wrote, Liesel Fletcher.” Rose toyed with her fork. “Jerry was neither large nor particularly strong. Whoever dropped that choke collar over his head must have overpowered him.”

  “Or Jerry fell down, and the killer slid it over his head. Don’t forget that the murderer bashed him in the head, too,” said Holmes. “Maybe he stumbled and that gave the killer the opportunity to slip the collar over his head.”

  “Do we know what killed him?” I asked.

  Holmes winced. “Given the questions they asked, I gather they think someone had a leash connected to the choke collar. I imagine it cut off his air when he fell on the stairs. Remember that outstretched hand?”

  I would never forget it.

  A knock on the door stilled us, but Trixie barked like a squirrel waited on the other side.

  I rose and opened it, only to find Dave. My little barker wagged her tail and waited to be petted. For the first time during my visit, Dave wasn’t wearing his uniform. I knew why he’d donned black jeans and a black sweatshirt.

  Dave froze at the sight of Holmes.

  Holmes sprang up from his seat. “Dave! Want some fettuccine? There’s plenty.”

  Dave sucked in a big breath. “Thanks, I’ve eaten.”

  “Aw, come on.” Holmes slung an arm around Dave’s shoulders. “We’ve known each other forever. I don’t hold a grudge against you. You’re just doing your job.”

  “Well, I’m madder than I’ve ever been at anybody.” Rose’s voice soared to a shrill pitch. “What the devil do you think you’re doing? Leave Holmes alone! Don’t you tell me you came to arrest him!”

  Dave didn’t rise to her bait. Low and level, he said, “That’s not why I’m here. I apologize for interrupting your dinner. Holly, could I have a word with you?”

  “Sure.” I stepped into the empty dining area. Trixie followed, and I closed the door behind us. “You’re early.”

  “Don’t want to miss him.”

  We walked up the stairs. I spoke in a loud voice in case anyone was listening. “You’ll be amazed by the third-floor suite. I think it would be just the place for your cousin’s honeymoon.”

  A smile twitched on his lips. “She’s very picky.”

  “She’ll love it! We can take some pictures to send her if you like.”

  We reached the third level, and he muttered, “It disturbs me that you’re good at this.”

  “Did Holmes’s hair match the ones you collected at the crime scene?”

  Dave stopped dead. He exhaled and chuckled. “Holmes is no dummy. No, they didn’t match.”

  “What does the hair look like?”

  He paused and assessed me as though weighing how much to tell me. “Weird hair. Most of it has been sent to Richmond for analysis.”

  “Weird? What does that mean? Dog fur or something?”

  “Or something. Maybe a toy. It’s a mixture of human hair and some kind of synthetic hair.”

  I gasped. “Jerry’s extended arm—he must have been holding something the killer wanted. So maybe it was a burglary! But who would kill over a toy?”

  Dave didn’t say another word.

  I pulled a duplicate key to the storage room out of my pocket. “Are you all by yourself? Shouldn’t you have backup?”

  “I’ve got a backup in the parking lot, one on the front porch, and another in the lobby.”

  He strode over to the bed. “No one has been here. Nothing has been moved. Okay, Holl. Thanks.”

  I’d been dismissed. I handed him the duplicate key to the room. “Just in case you need it.” I called to Trixie and locked Dave inside.

  Forty-one

  When I returned to her kitchen, Oma was rinsing the dishes.
/>   “Holmes and Rose left?” I asked.

  “Poor Rose. We told her to take a sleeping pill so she could get some rest. Holmes is everything to her.” Oma smiled tearfully. “Like you are to me. I don’t know what I’d do in her shoes.”

  “I do. You’d try to figure out who really killed Jerry.”

  “It’s not as easy as it is on TV shows.”

  “Oma, what’s the deal with Mortie?”

  She rinsed a dish and slid it into the dishwasher. “What do you mean?”

  “You seem to know him fairly well . . .”

  “Oh, that. Wagtail is such a small place. I had met him a few times. He put up extra guests here occasionally. Then when Kim was fourteen, she ran away from home with a seventeen-year-old boy. Mortie called and asked me to keep a lookout for her. I found them at Mortie’s cabin, sent the boy packing, and kept Kim here for a few hours until her father arrived to pick her up. It wouldn’t have been a big deal, except they discovered later that the boy was a drug dealer. Very bad news.”

  That explained a lot. No wonder Mortie continued to be grateful to Oma even after all these years. “Why did he send Ben to watch over her? She’s an adult now. Mortie still doesn’t trust Kim?”

  Oma turned to me and winced. “I might have had a hand in that. Mortie called to see how I was doing.”

  “Uh-huh.” I waited, certain that wasn’t all.

  “The subject of the Ben might have come up.” She averted her eyes and busied herself sweeping imaginary crumbs off the island. “Mortie and his wife wouldn’t mind seeing him back together with Kim. He’s a stabilizing influence on her.”

  “So you suggested they throw them together?”

  She held up a cautionary forefinger. “That was not my idea. Kim insisted on coming here, and Mortie was worried about her.”

  “As well he should have been. She’s been sneaking out at night. She’s the one who tried to steal Trixie.”

  Oma plopped her fists on her hips. “What a terrible thing to do! I knew she was devious, but not cruel.”

  I couldn’t help being a little bit resentful. The whole thing was a setup. Ben hadn’t come because of me at all.