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

“I don’t think I’ll ever forget that grisly scene. I’d better get back to the house to tell my folks what’s going on. They’ll worry about me if they hear it from someone else since I left for his place. Guess we’ll be around for a few days, huh? Maybe we can catch a drink at the bar one night.”

“Sounds good.” I trudged back to the inn feeling guilty for being glad that maybe the Sugar Maple Inn wasn’t at the core of the crimes being committed after all. Two murders and the attack on Mr. Luciano in such a short period of time—they had to be related. I didn’t know any of the people involved. I hoped that Dave knew what or who linked them together.

The front porch that ran the length of the inn’s main building had filled with chatty visitors. The smell of coffee wafted to me, and I spied croissants. All the guests had dogs with them, except for one couple that doted on a longhaired white cat that sat between them on a swing in the corner. A Persian, perhaps?

They all seemed so happy, so content, completely unaware that the mayor of Wagtail had been brutally murdered.

I raced past them and took the elevator up to my suite. Setting my bags down, I opened the door, and Twinkletoes ran to me, mewing.

“How did you get in here?”

She rubbed against my ankles, turning in tight circles. I picked her up and cuddled her. “Our dog is gone,” I whispered. “And Jerry is dead.”

She head-butted my chin, no doubt in sympathetic solidarity.

I carried the bags into the bedroom and set them on the floor. Twinkletoes wasted no time jumping into each of them in succession. While I hung up the clothes, she investigated every corner of the walk-in closet. When I closed the door, she returned to the bags, jumping in and out of them and sniffing carefully. I changed into a deep pink sleeveless top with a V-neck and the khakis. As usual, the pants needed to be shortened, but I had no time for that and rolled the bottoms up.

Twinkletoes followed me when I left the room, but she didn’t wait for the elevator. She scampered down the main staircase. I probably should have too, just for the exercise, but the elevator doors opened, and I took the easy route.

Suspecting that Oma’s office must be somewhere in the vicinity of the reception area, I headed that way. No one manned the desk, but I heard voices, so I peered into the room behind it.

Oma and Rose relaxed in cushy chairs covered in a bright floral fabric. The desk and office equipment gave it away as Oma’s office. Floor to ceiling bookshelves lined the wall behind her desk.

The two of them were enjoying lunch at a coffee table in front of French doors, which had been thrown open to enjoy the sunshine glittering on the lake. Twinkletoes had beaten me there and was already stretched out on a semiprivate terrace.

Oma was on the phone when I entered. Rose signaled me to keep quiet by placing a finger over her lips. Oma continued the conversation but waved me in and pointed to the food on the coffee table.

After Jerry’s horrible death, I would have thought food would be the last thing on my mind, but the glistening slices of pineapple and kiwi on the fruit platter with a selection of ripe cantaloupe and juicy watermelon enticed me. The loaf of crusty artisan bread, and the curious cheese with something red rolled into it in a swirl, simply had to be sampled. Unless I missed my guess, that was creamy chicken salad full of green grapes, crunchy celery, and almonds. I had to try it all. Just a taste, I promised myself.

I pulled up a chair and realized that a third, unused mug rested on the table along with a napkin, silverware, and a plate. They had expected me.

“Of course I believe you!” Oma spoke sympathetically. “Never mind him. Children can be so bossy. Mine treat me like I’ve gone daft. I’m not a doddering fool yet. Don’t give it another thought.” Oma hung up the phone. “That was Ellie Pierce, Jerry’s mother.”

I nearly choked on my chicken salad. His poor mother!

Oma sipped her tea. “She’s beside herself about losing Dolce last night. Jerry was quite hard on her.”

Rose poured tea for me and passed me the mug. “Eat slowly, dear, so you won’t choke. I’m telling you, Liesel, Jerry has gotten out of hand. He thinks someone made him the King of Wagtail. He had the nerve to tell me I had too many roses along my fence and that the blooms are not—” Rose changed to a whiny tone meant to mimic Jerry “—allowed to cross the fence line.” She leaned forward. “My prize roses!”

I swallowed and washed the chicken salad down with tea. Clearly they didn’t know about Jerry’s death yet.

Oma roared. “The next thing you know, he’ll be out there with pruning shears, clipping off the roses that dare to peek over the fence. He sent Ellie a notice that she had put out decorative pumpkins too soon—his own mother!”

“He’s dead,” I hacked.

Thirteen

“He may be pompous and imperial, but that’s no reason to kill him.” Oma dabbed her lips with a napkin.

“You don’t understand. Someone did kill him. Holmes found him.”

Now I had their attention.

“This is not funny, Holly.” Oma scolded me like I was a child.

“I’m not being funny. Somebody bashed in the back of his head and strangled him with a dog’s choke collar. It was . . . horrific.”

“No, liebchen. It’s Sven who died. Ellie would never have complained about Jerry the way she did if he was dead. Besides, she would have told me immediately.” Oma leaned toward us. “Ellie thinks someone opened her gate on purpose to steal Dolce.”

I put down my fork. “Ellie probably doesn’t know yet. I just came from there.”

Rose and Oma stared at me. Oma reached for her phone.

“I don’t know how well you know Ellie, but I’d let the police tell her if I were you.” I drained my tea and poured more into the mug.

Oma set her phone down. “No. This is a joke?”

“It’s not a joke. Who jokes about something like that? He was . . .” I debated whether I should tell them the gory details or spare them. Wagtail was tiny, they would hear eventually. “He was sprawled on the stairs, like he was running away from something.”

Rose gasped. “A ghost! I knew that old house was haunted. He laughed it off every time I mentioned it.” She let out a little shriek. “It’s cursed. Now there have been two deaths there.”

I knew Oma and Rose took a different view of the supernatural than I did. More specifically, I just didn’t believe in ghosts. It was all nonsense and hogwash. I knew better than to criticize them for their stand, though. I looked up at the ceiling and took a deep breath, which I hope conveyed skepticism at the very least. “Would he have bled if a ghost attacked him?”

“Of course. The ghosts might not bleed, but we would.” Rose spoke with conviction.

“What is happening here? This is not like my beloved Wagtail. Not at all. Rose,” said Oma, “I don’t think we’re dealing with a ghost this time. Someone killed Sven, and now Jerry. This cannot be a coincidence.”

“Our meeting! I forgot all about it,” exclaimed Rose, looking at the clock on the wall.

“Rose, we’ll call Ellie after the meeting, yes? Holly, would you mind keeping an eye on the desk?” Oma stood up.

“Not at all. Do you mind if I borrow your computer?”

“It’s a deal.” She hobbled toward me and glanced around. “Where’s your dog?”

I told them my tale of woe in abbreviated form.

Oma couldn’t have looked sadder. “Perhaps someone will find her. We will spread the word,” Patting my shoulder, she said, “I’ll be back soon.”

“Where are you going?”

“Just to the terrace.” She scowled at me. “We will be fine, Holly. Don’t look so worried. You can leave as soon as Zelda returns from her lunch break.”