Pawprints & Predicaments

by Bethany Blake

  “Daphne . . .” Piper’s tone was disapproving, but Moxie was intrigued.

  “What kind of weird stuff?” she asked, setting aside the dress, which was apparently finished. I wished I could’ve said the same for my project. The Iditarod was coming up soon, and I wasn’t sure how I’d create wagon wheels out of cardboard. And the stagecoach was basically still a box, complete with the words “Amana 36 Inch Cubic Side-by-Side.” Not exactly authentic to the Old West. “Daph!” Moxie said, interrupting my thoughts. “What, exactly, is happening?”

  “We don’t need to know,” Piper said. “It’s Detective Doebler’s problem.”

  Socrates agreed. He was whining softly and shaking his head, urging me to drop the subject. Which I did not intend to do.

  “I’m not sure Detective Doebler is on top of things,” I informed everyone. “I spoke with him the other day, and he seemed completely overwhelmed by the investigation.” I set down my mug and cookie so I could start ticking things off on my sticky fingers. “Meanwhile, Bernie’s barrel is still missing. Victor Breard is acting strangely around Joy Doolittle. Who is, in turn, acting strangely around Victor. Mom says somebody else sneaked into Lauren’s apartment. Max Pottinger is hiding a secret. And there’s something mysterious in Victor’s past, too. Not to mention that his bullhorn is broken. And then there’s the whole thing about Joy muttering at the plunge.” I raised my eyes to the ceiling, trying to again jog my memory. “If only I could remember what she’d said . . .”

  “I don’t get any of that, especially the part about Victor’s poor, injured bull,” Moxie interrupted. “I thought he mainly dealt with lions.” She began to pack her sewing supplies into an old hatbox printed with images of the Eiffel Tower. “Although, if there’s something going on with Victor and Joy Doolittle, that might be interesting.”

  By “interesting,” she meant “worthy of sharing at Spa and Paw.”

  “Sorry,” I told her. “I have no details.”

  “And you should stay out of Lauren’s murder,” Piper cautioned me, more firmly than before. “Especially when you have lots of treats to make for the Cardboard Iditarod—and a bakery for pets to open in just three days!”

  I’d been slouching, on chocolate overload—maybe chocolate, like wind chimes, could be overdone—but I sat up straighter. “What? I’ve never set a date. . . .”

  “I know,” Piper agreed, offering me her laptop. “You wouldn’t, so I did. It’s time to stop stalling, Daphne. You’re ready, and you can do this.”

  I glanced at Socrates, who was avoiding my gaze, like he was in on some secret with Piper. Then I accepted the thin computer from my sister and scanned the screen.

  “This . . . this is an advertisement . . . which says I’ll have a grand opening for Flour Power . . . in three days!” I cried, although Piper had already said all that. I read more closely, my jaw dropping. “And I’m giving out free samples at the Iditarod?” I tore my gaze away from the screen to see that Piper was smiling smugly. “I never agreed to that!”

  “Wow, congratulations, Daph,” Moxie chirped, somehow overlooking the fact that all the blood had drained from my face. Lacking a glass, she raised her scissors. “Mazel tov!”

  “Thanks?” I said weakly and uncertainly, staring again at the ad, which was actually quite nice. Piper had used Moxie’s hand-painted flowers as the background. Then I frowned at my sister. “You didn’t already place this . . . ?”

  “You owe me for a full-page ad in the Gazette. And I paid extra to have it posted today on Gabriel’s new online edition,” Piper informed me, gesturing for me to return the laptop. “Although, now that you and the editor in chief are quite obviously an ‘item,’ I suppose you’ll get a discount.”

  Handing over the computer, I sank down on the couch again, my stomach really hurting. I nevertheless reached for another cookie, stress-eating out of habit.

  How was I going to finish a fake stagecoach, bake enough treats to hand out at Winterfest, open a new business—and solve a murder? Because I really felt like I was on to something....

  I was so lost in thought that I didn’t even notice a light touch on my shoulder, until Moxie said, “Oh, that’s so sweet, Daphne! Sebastian wants to share your cookie. I knew you two would be friends!”

  Chapter 46

  I wasn’t the best at prioritizing, but shortly after Piper informed me about the looming grand opening—and the fact that I’d be giving away free pet treats on the last day of Tail Waggin’ Winterfest—I put away my utility knife and hopped into my van, leaving Socrates and Artie with Piper, because I expected to work long into the night at Flour Power.

  “Thanks a lot, Piper,” I complained under my breath, as my old VW, with its new carburetor, rolled into Sylvan Creek on streets that were still icy, although the storm was over. I was aggravated with my bossy sister, but part of me knew that she was, as usual, right. The work crew that Elyse had assembled on my behalf had finished all of the big projects at the bakery, and while the walk-in continued to malfunction, I was used to working around that by bringing fresh eggs and other refrigerated goods from home on the days I baked. Still, I could’ve used a few more days to prepare Flour Power, given that I also had Artie and Bernie’s sled to work on, and some upcoming pet-sitting jobs, too.

  “You could’ve given me until Monday,” I told my sister, who was far out of earshot, no doubt drinking hot chocolate in her warm, snug farmhouse. All at once, I shuddered with more than the cold and, taking one hand off the steering wheel, I absently brushed at my shoulder, because I swore I felt little paws tapping there. It was going to take me a while to get over the fact that Sebastian had crept right up next to my face, without me even knowing it, while I’d eaten my cookie on Piper’s couch. That stealthy move had set our budding friendship back a few steps. Then I used my coat sleeve to wipe at the condensation that always formed on my windshield when the weather dipped below freezing, because the van’s heater was as unreliable as my oversized, frozen crypt of a fridge. My hand scraped ineffectually at the ice that had formed inside the VW, and I shook my head. “Nobody wants to be out tonight!”

  I was convinced that I was correct about the evening being fit for neither man nor beast when suddenly I saw both man and beast walking down Market Street.

  The night was dark, the moon obscured by clouds, and the streetlights cast only a dim glow on the sidewalk, but I was certain that I recognized the trio of human and dogs. The man’s tall frame and bearing were distinctive, and one of canines was so big and bulky that I didn’t exactly need a spotlight trained on him to know who he was.

  Rolling up beside them on the otherwise empty street, I hand-cranked my window as far down as it would go, which wasn’t that far. Then I lifted my chin and asked, “What in the world are you three doing?”

  Chapter 47

  “Are you supposed to cook for humans in a facility that’s licensed—at least, I hope it’s licensed—to serve animals?” Jonathan Black inquired skeptically, as I whipped milk into eggs to make a cheese omelet, using some ingredients I’d picked up at the store on my way into town. Coffee brewed in the machine that Mom, thankfully, hadn’t managed to break, although she’d done her level best. “Isn’t this some kind of code violation?”

  “For your information, I actually know the rules,” I said, stepping over Jonathan’s chocolate Lab and Bernie, who gazed up at me with affection in his brown eyes. I smiled to let him know that I’d missed him, too, although I would’ve been okay with a less enthusiastic reunion on his part. My butt was still wet from hitting the pavement. I rubbed it absently before pouring the egg mixture into a pan that already held sizzling butter. “There’s nothing to prohibit me from giving away food and drink to humans, for free.”

  At least, I thought I’d read that part of the huge code book correctly, before admittedly closing the cover and deciding I’d mainly hope for the best.

  Not surprisingly, Jonathan continued to look doubtful. But I noted that he was nevertheless ta
king off his coat and hanging it on a peg near the back door. His long wool overcoat looked like something he’d wear on duty, but his jeans and gray V-neck sweater over a white tee signaled otherwise.

  I thought the sartorial mixed message was interesting, and perhaps telling.

  “Why are you in town, walking around in such terrible weather?” I asked, layering some mellow Swiss and sharp Wisconsin cheddar cheese onto the omelet, which would be big enough to share. It seemed like a good night for a late, hearty breakfast. I was also toasting up two thick slices of whole grain bread that I was keeping on hand for myself. I anticipated that I’d need to eat during my workdays. “Why aren’t you at home in your gorgeous A-frame chalet, which was built specifically for hunkering down on winter evenings just like this one?”

  I wouldn’t have left Jonathan’s house that night. I would’ve built a fire in the massive stone fireplace, snuggled up under one of the many thick, soft throws that Elyse had artfully placed around the overstuffed, welcoming furniture, and stared out the huge windows overlooking the forest.

  But Jonathan obviously hadn’t been tempted by that scenario.

  “Bernie needs exercise, and I was restless,” he said, helping himself to the coffee, which I knew would suit his taste. I’d need about five glugs of cream to make the inky brew palatable, but Jonathan took a sip straight from one of Flour Power’s new signature mugs, which featured the bakery’s name and logo, a pastel peace sign with a paw in the middle. Pouring me a mug, too—and adding milk—he set both drinks on the butcher block counter, drew up a seat, and smiled. “I’m going a little stir-crazy, to tell you the truth, Daphne.”

  “You can’t stand to be off the case, can you?” I asked, sliding the bright yellow omelet onto a pretty Italian pottery plate that the building’s previous tenant had left behind. Taking the toast out of the oven, I slathered both slices with creamy butter and placed them next to the eggs. Then I set four Off the Leash treats, which I’d brought to stock my glass counter, onto two smaller plates with the same design as the mug, and set those on the floor for Axis and Bernie. Rooting through some drawers, I next found two forks and sat next to Jonathan, offering him one. When he accepted the utensil, I started to dig into the omelet, then hesitated. “I’ve only got one ‘human’ plate. Are you okay with sharing?”

  Jonathan laughed. “Daphne, you’ve helped yourself to food on my plate several times. It’s a little late to ask if I mind sharing.”

  I met his deep blue eyes, which glimmered with amusement. I also noted that his jaw was dark with stubble, indicating that he hadn’t shaved that day, and he hadn’t cut his hair recently, either. It remained a bit on the long side, by his standards. Even the way he sat seemed more relaxed. While he still had a reserved, military bearing, Jonathan wasn’t quite as rigid as he used to be.

  And I was changing, too, in the opposite way. Taking on more responsibility, signing a lease that would keep me in town, considering actually using a calendar . . .

  “You’re staring at me and letting cheese get cold,” Jonathan observed. “Is everything all right?”

  “Yes, yes,” I assured him, although I didn’t stop studying his face.

  The first time I’d seen Jonathan walking through town, I’d been struck by his good looks. And I’d come to admire his intelligence, his sometimes biting wit, and his strength of character, too.

  Or was the still sometimes enigmatic man who sat across from me everything I believed him to be? Because, all at once, I recalled Gabriel’s cryptic question about Jonathan.

  “Are you sure that your Detective Black is ‘principled’ and ‘trustworthy’ . . . ?”

  “Something is definitely wrong.” Jonathan frowned. “Why are you not eating? You’re not having any trouble related to the murder, are you? Is someone following you again?”

  He was referring to how I’d been stalked the last time I’d solved a homicide.

  “Nothing’s wrong,” I assured him. But I broke our gaze and finally dug into the omelet, not wanting him to somehow see that I’d suffered a momentary shadow of doubt regarding his integrity. A shadow that vanished as quickly as it had materialized. Because, while he liked to maintain his privacy, Jonathan was honest and honorable.

  Right?

  “I’m pretty good at reading people,” Jonathan noted matter-of-factly, while I shoveled eggs and cheese into my mouth with a little too much enthusiasm. “If there’s something that you want to talk about . . .”

  I set down my fork and looked up again to see him watching me closely. I could tell that he genuinely wanted to listen. And for a split second, I considered blurting out that I thought he was phenomenally handsome, frequently irritating, still too guarded, and just plain confusing to me at times.

  But something stopped me from speaking my mind, like I usually did. A fear that I’d mess up a relationship that was important to me, in a strange way. Instead, I told him, with a shrug, “I’m just worried about opening my bakery on time, and getting Artie’s sled ready for the Cardboard Iditarod.” I brightened at the thought of the theme. “He’s going to be riding in a stagecoach, dressed as an actress from the old show Bonanza.”

  Jonathan’s eyebrows arched with bemused confusion. “An actress, as opposed to an actor.” He grinned. “I suppose he won’t look any more ridiculous than he did on Halloween, when you dressed him in a clown costume.”

  I thought Artie had looked adorable when Piper and I had dressed him for Sylvan Creek’s Howl-O-Ween Pet Parade.

  Then I thought about the refrigerator box waiting at Piper’s house, and my shoulders slumped. “Well, don’t expect too much. I’m really having trouble making the stagecoach.”

  Jonathan finally cut into the omelet. Not that much was left. I’d managed to cram in quite a few bites. He looked at me over a forkful of eggs. “To be honest, I thought maybe the whole project had gone by the wayside, after seeing the ad for your grand opening on the Weekly Gazette site.”

  “You check that site?” I asked, surprised. I took a sip of coffee. “Why?”

  “I’m part of this community now,” Jonathan reminded me. “I, of all people, need to know what’s going on here.” He hesitated, and I wasn’t sure if he was teasing or serious when he noted, “Such as why you were on an ‘exclusive tour’ of a facility run by a murder suspect, in the company of other murder suspects.”

  I dropped my fork. “Gabriel already wrote—and ran—an article?”

  “Yes.” A glint of amusement returned to his eyes. “There was a picture of you recoiling from a kitten.”

  I knew what Jonathan was talking about. Victor had unexpectedly shoved a six-month-old lynx in my face, and, on instinct, I’d withdrawn. Especially since I’d nearly seen Victor get eaten a few minutes before.

  I hadn’t known that Gabriel had snapped a picture, and I could imagine how I looked.

  “Victor caught me off guard with a wild animal,” I protested. “I think he’s a little too reckless with the cats under his care.” Jonathan continued to smirk, while I suddenly focused on something more important than another terrible photo of me. “And what did you mean by ‘suspects’? Which of the people on the tour are officially ‘suspects’?” All at once, I got worried and pointed to myself. “Am I under investigation? Because Detective Doebler didn’t indicate that when I did go talk to him, as I promised you.” I picked up a piece of the toast and took a big bite. Placing a hand in front of my mouth, so I wouldn’t spray Jonathan with crumbs, I added, “He seems a little overwhelmed.”

  Jonathan shook his head. “Well, there’s nothing I can do.”

  He sounded like he wished that wasn’t true.

  “You know, somebody broke into Lauren’s apartment—”

  “Aside from you?”

  My cheeks got very hot. “I had a key! And how did you know about that . . . ?”

  “I ran into your mother. She asked me if there was a reform school for adults. Needless to say, the story came out.”

  I hu
ng my head. “Oh.” Then I set down the toast and brushed crumbs off my hands. “Anyhow, someone else went there, after me. My mother says the lock was broken.”

  Jonathan looked like he wanted to jump off his seat and go see that lock himself. His fingers flexed restlessly around his fork. But his tone was neutral. “Your mother reported that incident, right?”

  “Yes, I’m pretty sure she did,” I said, trying to recall what Mom had said about the break-in. She’d grown more circumspect after Gabriel had entered the room, but she’d told us both a few details. “Although, Mom didn’t think anything had been taken. Things were just a little disturbed.”

  Jonathan frowned. “Interesting.”

  I fiddled with my coffee mug. “Jonathan?”

  He was distracted. “Hmm?”

  “Is it okay for us to talk about the case? I don’t want to put you in a position where you break any rules. . . .”

  “There are no hard and fast rules.” He set down his fork, pushed away the plate, and stretched out his long legs. “I don’t think I’m prohibited from discussing the murder privately with someone who’s not on the force.”

  I felt better about repeatedly bringing up Lauren’s death, and I risked doing that one more time.

  “Well, from what Gabriel told me, the prevailing theory is that Lauren was hit with a rock that somebody picked up on the spur of the moment.”

  Jonathan nodded. “Yes, that’s what I understand.”

  “But, like I told you on the night of her death, the beach isn’t rocky there,” I reminded him. “I really think it’s unlikely that someone who decided to kill Lauren in a fit of rage or passion could’ve reached down into the dark water and found a suitable weapon.” I wrapped my hands around my mug and shrugged. “It just doesn’t add up.”

  “So you think somebody carried a concealed weapon into the water?” he asked, immediately finding a hole in my theory. “Because most people were in bathing suits. It would’ve been difficult to hide anything.” The corners of his mouth turned up with a barely suppressed smile. “Especially not in the bikini you inexplicably wore to a polar bear plunge.”