Davis, Krista - Murder, She Barked - A Paws & Claws Mystery (A Paws and Claws Mystery)

The building featured two main levels with a dormered third floor attic—where I was now staying. The roof had been raised in the center of the attic level to accommodate my suite. The addition of the circular balcony with a wrought iron railing on the suite added a stunning architectural element. A somewhat smaller addition had been built on the left side, presumably the cat wing.

Family lore had it that my grandfather had won the inn in a heated poker game. His family had already owned one-thousand acres of mountain property, but nothing as chic or elegant as the mansion. I’d never quite believed the story about the poker game, but that was the tale I’d always been told.

As I studied the inn, Mr. Luciano bolted out the front door and down the steps. He certainly wasn’t dressed for jogging in those laced-up leather shoes, but he sprinted away from the inn, his expression decidedly more distressed than it was last night.

Ten

He ran along the other side of the walking zone. I didn’t think he saw me. I watched him until he disappeared around a corner.

In the heavenly fall air with the sun beaming down on us, and the mountains crisply defined in the distance, the problems of the previous day evaporated. It was impossible to imagine that Sven’s death had been anything but an accident.

The joy of Wagtail was contagious. Dogs romped with puppyish exuberance. Their people smiled and laughed. With the sole exception of Mr. Luciano, no one hurried anywhere like they did in the city. People relaxed at outdoor tables, enjoying breakfast. The scent of bacon wafted to me, and to my dog, too, if her twitching nose was any indication.

Could it be because everyone had come here on vacation? Were they unwinding and letting the stress go? I strolled along, taking in the fenced dog play areas in the grassy median. The Jack Russell tugged toward them. “You can run and play with them once we get you a collar with a tag.”

An old-fashioned drugstore on the corner of a side street was already open for business. The sign above the door read HEAL! Drugs and Sundry . I held the door ajar and called out, “Hello? Is my dog allowed inside?”

“By all means.” A pharmacist in a white coat beckoned to me. In his mid-thirties, he teased an older woman who flirted with him. Either his tan hid his blush, or he was used to that sort of attention. She had the audacity to reach up and touch his neatly cropped hair, almost the same shade as my own milk chocolate brown tresses.

I wandered through the store, passing an old-fashioned penny candy display. Rows of large glass jars showed off hard candies, toffees, and gumballs as well as assorted dog treats in the shapes of bones, mailmen, and drumsticks, and dried fish treats for cats.

Next to it was a soda fountain. I had vague memories of a shabby old lunch counter in Wagtail, but this modern version was adorable. A polished wood countertop shone under the store lights. No one sat on the chrome stools with seats of bright red Naugahyde yet, but a coffeepot rested on the counter next to paper cups, sugar, cream, and a Help Yourself sign. On the wall, a chalkboard listed ice cream flavors, along with floats, banana splits, and sundaes, and an additional list of frosty treats and drinks just for dogs and cats. I looked down at the dog. “You’d like a doggy ice cream cone, wouldn’t you?”

Fascinated by a scent on the floor, she ignored me until I opened the treat jar with the drumsticks and took one.

She twirled around and pranced on her hind legs. I couldn’t resist that cute tail and those hopeful eyes. “We have to pay for this before you can eat it. Okay?”

As though she feared I might eat it myself, she kept her nose aimed at the cookie in my hand as we wandered on and found the makeup section. I didn’t need too much. I’d had a brush in my purse. Shampoo and conditioner had been provided in my bathroom at the inn. Mostly I needed eyeliner, mascara, and blush.

When I brought my purchases to the checkout counter, the pharmacist said, “Welcome to Wagtail. Are you on vacation?”

Painfully aware of my messy outfit, I explained that I was visiting my grandmother.

“Liesel! She’s crazy for our pecan praline ice cream. Not that I can blame her—I can barely control myself around pecan praline turtles made with a little bourbon and covered with chocolate. My idea of heaven!”

“Are you from Wagtail?” I asked.

“No. My parents came up here on vacation and fell in love with the place. Dad had this crazy idea to open an old-timey pharmacy, and Mom had always wanted to breed ocicats, so instead of planning for retirement, they moved to Wagtail to do what they love.” He placed my purchases in a bag. Like Ben, he was medium height, but he seemed happier, more relaxed than Ben. He smiled as he spoke, drawing me in with his warmth. “I didn’t have any intention of moving here, but when I came to visit last Christmas, I didn’t want to leave. And here I am! There’s something addictive about Wagtail.”

The man behind me seemed a little pressured. After I paid, I paused to feed the dog her treat.

The pharmacist greeted the man like an old friend. “I’ve got your son’s asthma inhaler right here, Del.”

Del dumped a jar of loose change on the counter. “I don’t know that I’ve got quite enough.”

“Close enough for me.” The pharmacist didn’t bother to count the money. He handed him the bag with a smile. “Give Hazel Mae my best.”

I left the store, impressed by the pharmacist’s generosity.

Across the way, a woman rolled a rack of dog coats out of a store called Putting On the Dog. I headed for the store, hoping she carried more mundane items like collars and leashes. As we approached it, my dog came to a complete halt. She refused to walk one more step.

Thinking she might need a doggy bathroom, I looked for one along the grassy strip, and sure enough, there were areas marked for that purpose. I led her over to one. She sniffed but showed no signs of needing to relieve herself.

“We’re going back to that store because you deserve a real collar with your name on it.” The inn collar was fine, although it clearly wasn’t meant to replace a regular collar. But she didn’t have a name yet. “What was your old name? Spot? Snowflake? Spunky? Maggie? Lulu? Zola?” She listened to me very politely but didn’t react to any of them. “We’ll get you a collar, and add your name later on. For now, we’ll just make sure my name and number are on the tag, in case you get lost. Okay?”

I took her wagging tail to mean she was in agreement. But when we neared the store, she balked and planted her feet firmly.

I tugged gently, “Come on, sweetie.”

Nothing doing. I picked her up and carried her into the store. Collars and leashes in every imaginable color lined a wall. Perfect. “A white dog can wear any color. What do you think?” I shifted her so I could reach the collars with my right hand. “Something pink and girlie? A bold red? Or would you prefer sky blue with daisies on it?”

She didn’t wriggle or move. In fact, she seemed scared, like she had in the bathtub the night before. I set her on the floor and stroked her head. “It’s all right, sweetie pie.”

A pair of truly large feet clad in silver sequined sneakers came to a halt at the dog’s nose. I stood up, but still had to look up to the woman’s face. She towered over me. I was used to everyone being taller than me, but this woman had to be well over six feet tall.

She’d pulled her light brown hair into a ponytail and wore no makeup at all. Large eyes and a voluptuous mouth filled her broad face. She was stunning.

My dog didn’t seem to like her, though. She backed away.