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

“You need a collar?” She plucked a hideously ugly gray and black one off the wall. “Let’s try this on for size.”

Scooping the dog up in her arms, she walked over to the open door, set the dog down, removed the inn collar and pinched the dog’s behind!

The dog and I yelped simultaneously. My dog took off running as fast as she could.

“Whoops!” The woman turned to me with a smile that put dimples into her cheeks. “Sorry.” She shrugged.

I dashed out of the store after the dog. Ack ! She didn’t have a name. “Doggie! Little one. Here, sweetie!”

The man who had bought medicine for his child spied me. “Looking for a Jack Russell?”

“Yes!”

“She went thataway.” He pointed down the side street.

My heels weren’t made for running. I would never catch up to her. Taking a chance with rocks and heaven knows what, I removed my shoes and ran down the street, calling, “Sweetie! Puppy!” Six blocks later, I was forced to acknowledge that she could be anywhere—behind a fence, in a garden, under a bush, or still running like the wind to get away.

I’d spent less than twenty-four hours with her, yet I felt her loss like a death. The last couple of weeks had been nothing but a slew of problems—first the nightmare at work, then Kim chasing Ben, now Oma and her mysterious illness, and the attack on Mr. Luciano—but this was the catalyst that made me want to melt down and cry. My poor little dog, lost and alone again.

Across the road, in a farm field, a young rabbit watched me without moving. She folded her ears flat against her back. Did that mean a wild little dog had zoomed by her recently or that she was afraid of me? Beyond the farmhouse in the distance, the woods held dark secrets. If my dog had run that way, she could be lost forever.

Sucking it up and trying hard to hold myself together, I trudged back to the pedestrian area of town reminding myself that I had to be upbeat for Oma. She had enough problems without me moping around. But it wouldn’t be the same without that sweet little girl.

I blamed myself. She hadn’t wanted to go into that particular store but I didn’t pay attention. Why had I forced her? Why didn’t I see that something bad would happen? The rational part of me knew I couldn’t have predicted that from her behavior. There had probably been a scent she didn’t like. Maybe there was a big dog in the back that scared her or . . . or maybe she was just being ornery.

Anger welled in me, fighting my heartbreak. What was wrong with that woman? You’d think a person who owned a store that sold dog gear would like dogs.

I returned to the scary store, fuming. Oma’s lessons did battle within me. Never burn bridges. The way you call into the woods is the way it will come back to you. I knew I shouldn’t confront the evil woman, but . . . but I wanted to!

The tall woman leered at me. “What now?”

She had her nerve. She ought to be contrite. Apologetic, at least. “The Sugar Maple Inn collar, please.”

“I threw it out.”

“What?” Why would anyone do that? I tried to keep my irritation out of my tone. “I feel I’m safe in guessing that no one picked up your trash in the few minutes I’ve been gone.”

The dimples made an appearance even though the corners of her mouth turned down. She held out a trash can to me, and I plucked the collar out of it. “Thank you.”

I walked toward the door, doing my level best to get out of there before I said something I would regret.

“You have your nerve coming in here.”

Clearly I had missed something. I turned around. “Excuse me?”

“Oh, puleeze! Don’t pretend like you don’t know who I am.”

Eleven

I didn’t have to pretend. I truly didn’t have the first clue who she was. The woman obviously didn’t like me for some reason. If I said I didn’t know her she would surely perceive it as an insult, and her ire would escalate. She’d already wounded me in the worst possible way, though, by causing me to lose my darling dog.

And who would have a reason to be angry with me?

Not a single wrinkle or errant gray hair marred her appearance. Late twenties? Large rings encrusted with stones sparkled on her fingers but I didn’t see a wedding band. I sighed. I was at a complete loss. Of course, if I had known her when I was fifteen and she was eight or ten, I probably wouldn’t have paid much attention to her. Even one or two years made such a big difference at that age.

“Don’t you have caller ID ?” She said it in a prissy, flippant way.

Aha . She had to be the woman who’d answered my call about the explosion and fire the night before. Perhaps I had offended her when she asked for my phone number and I impatiently asked if she had caller ID.

“I didn’t mean anything by that. The situation put me on edge.” But as soon as I said it, I wondered why I was apologizing to this horrible woman who intentionally caused my cute dog to run away and hadn’t been in the least bit remorseful other than an amused sorry . “You did that on purpose! You took her to the door and pinched her so she would run out. What is wrong with you?”

She leveled a torturous gaze at me. “They run away when they don’t love you.”

The nerve! This woman had some serious issues. I didn’t need that kind of nonsense. I left the store in a huff. My adorable dog was lost because of her. I couldn’t even put the dog’s picture on a flier because I didn’t have any photos of her.

Still barefoot, I hobbled over to a shoe store.

A painfully thin woman about my age admired a pair of pink ballet slippers. Her clothes hung on her, a couple of sizes too large.

I browsed in the sale section of the store and found a pair of black leather thong sandals on sale.

When I bent over to try one on, I saw the thin woman deftly slip a ballet slipper into a deep pocket on each side of her voluminous skirt.

I looked around for the sales clerk. A portly woman pushed back graying hair. She caught my glance, frowned, and shook her head horizontally ever so slightly. The thief paused on her way out of the store and gazed longingly at a pair of four-inch heels with a leopard pattern before moseying out.

The much more sedate and boring sandals I had found fit me perfectly. It was too late in the season for them, which was undoubtedly the reason they’d been marked down so much, but I wanted to go back to the road where my dog had last been seen before more time passed. They were practical and inexpensive.

I took them to the cash register. “What was that with the ballet slippers?”

“Hazel Mae? She and her husband, Del, have a passel of kids. I’d have given them to her for free but she’s too proud to ask.”

Somehow I didn’t think allowing her to steal was sending the right message. There must be a better way. Leaving the ballet slippers on their doorstep during the night? But what did I know?

When I left the store, I watched Hazel Mae amble along, window-shopping. Carrying my bag from the drugstore, I ventured back to Oak Street, hoping against all reason or logic that the dog might show up. She didn’t. The rabbit had left, too.

I whistled and called until every dog in the neighborhood barked. Did I hear high-pitched yapping? Somewhere, one howled, long and sad.

I listened, not daring to breathe. Dogs barked all around me. It was probably wishful thinking to imagine I had heard my dog. I had to pull myself together. Okay, so I didn’t have a photo of her. I could still put up lost fliers. Maybe Wagtail had a community website or a little newspaper where I could place an ad.

My teeth clenched, I tried to focus. Buy clothes, work up fliers, find out about newspapers and web communications, and, in between all that, trick Oma into revealing what was wrong with her.