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

Thanks also to my friends in crime, Janet Bolin, Daryl Wood Gerber, Peg Cochran, Janet Koch, Kaye George, and Marilyn Levinson for always being only an email away. Also to Susan Erba, Amy Wheeler, and Betsy Strickland, for their friendship and for sticking with me through thick and thin. I would be remiss if I did not thank my mother, who remains my biggest fan. She’s not as mischievous as Holly’s Oma, but there’s a little bit of mom in that character.

Trixie and Twinkletoes are based on my own dog and cat whose antics keep me in stitches and provide fodder for their animal characters in Wagtail.

Last, but most certainly not least, I have to thank my readers for their continuing encouragement and support. Without you, I wouldn’t have the best job in the world!

If you pick up a starving dog and make him prosperous he will not bite you. This is the principal difference between a dog and man.

—Mark Twain

Holly’s List

SUGAR MAPLE INN EMPLOYEES

Oma (Liesel Miller)—owner

Sven Berg—front-desk night shift

Casey Collins—front-desk night shift

Shelley Dixon—waitress

Zelda York—front-desk daytime

Chloe Kane—front-desk daytime

Tiny Goodwin—handyman, grounds

RELEVANT GUESTS

Mr. Luciano

WAGTAIL RESIDENTS

Jerry Pierce—mayor

Ellie Pierce—Jerry’s mom, co-owns Dolce with Oma

Rose Richardson—Oma’s best friend

Holmes Richardson—Rose’s grandson, my childhood friend

Dave Quinlan—Wagtail police officer

Thomas Hertzog—chef-owner of the Blue Boar

Prissy Clodfelter—co-owns dog accessory store, part-time police dispatcher

Peaches Clodfelter Wiggins—Prissy’s mom, co-owns dog accessory store

Mr. Wiggins—Peaches’ husband, Oma’s friend

Brewster Byrne—Hair of the Dog pub owner

Eric Dombrowski—pharmacist at HEAL! Drugs and Sundry

Mortie Foster—Ben’s boss, Kim’s dad, has fishing cabin (married to Jacqui)

Kim Foster—Mortie’s daughter

Hazel Mae and Del Izard—live near Mortie’s cabin

Philip Featherstone—1864 Inn bed-and-breakfast owner

Ben Hathaway—my boyfriend

One

It hadn’t been the best day. And now rain fell so hard on the windshield that the wipers whisked back and forth in overtime. If the needle on my gas gauge dipped any closer to E , it would turn into one of my top-ten worst days, and that was saying a lot, considering that I’d recently left my job without any prospects. I should have filled up on gas an hour or two ago, but I’d been in such a hurry that I pressed on. I squinted through the windshield in search of a gas station. I’d forgotten how far apart they were out in the country.

Relief surged through me at the sight of a combination convenience store and gas station. I turned off the road and pulled next to a gas tank, thanking my lucky stars I hadn’t been stuck in the rain miles from nowhere.

A spotlight cut through the downpour to reveal a bedraggled dog watching me. She stood up and offered a tentative wag of her tail.

The little dog huddled near the wall of the gas station, her eyes never wavering from their lock on me. The poor wet baby. Rain hammered sideways, plastering my hair to my head and soaking through my jacket while I filled my tank with gas. I could only imagine how drenched the dog must have been.

Laws probably prevented the owners from allowing their dog inside the gas station store, but they could at least provide a doghouse or some kind of shelter.

I dashed into the shop, biting back my desire to scold them for being so cruel to their dog. A lone hotdog turned in a roller grill on the counter, and I thought about buying it for the dog.

The woman behind the counter glanced my way for a second. “Been in there two months. Trust me, you don’t want it.”

Her hair billowed in an uncontrolled frizz as though she’d been as wet as I was. In her mid-forties, she had a good ten years on me. She returned to the magazine in her lap.

Self-consciously pushing my own hair back, I twisted it into a makeshift knot that I knew wouldn’t hold. There wasn’t much of a selection for dinner. I picked up a bag of nacho cheese Doritos. I’d given them up to lose weight but it was a well-known rule that all diets were off during road trips. Besides, I was about to explode from stress. If they’d had decent doughnuts, I would have bought one—or two or three.

“Coffee’s fresh,” she said. “I just put it on.”

I thanked her and poured half a cup full. “Any point in buying milk?”

“The stuff on that shelf is okay.”

I found little cartons, the kind kids take to school in their lunchboxes, dumped the entire contents of a box into the coffee and added sugar. It hardly resembled the lattes I liked so much, but it was the best I could do. I took my items to the cash register.

She looked up from her magazine and stared at me briefly before hopping off her stool. While she rang up my purchases, she glanced out the window into the night. “Where you headed?”

“Wagtail.”

“Be careful. The fog on the mountain will be so thick you won’t be able to see your own hands.”

I didn’t bother running through the rain to the car. The way things were going, I would surely spill my coffee or fall and land face-first in a puddle. Besides, at this point, I didn’t think I could be any wetter.

I opened the driver-side door, and the dirty little dog vaulted inside. She sat on the leather passenger seat, eyeing me.

Oh no. Not in Ben’s precious car. My boyfriend couldn’t tolerate a wisp of lint on a seat. He would have a fit when I brought his car back wet and muddy.

I leaned toward the dog. “I’m sorry, honey. I know you’re soaked through, but you can’t go with me.” I reached toward her, and she jumped into the backseat. Oh good. Let’s just spread the mud and dirt around a little bit more. Would a good car detailer be able to get mud stains out of the carpet?

Rain pelted me when I opened the rear door. No wonder she wanted to stay in the dry car. “I’m so sorry.” I reached for her, and she scrambled to the front, her slick fur allowing her to slip right through my fingers.

I trudged back to the convenience store. “Excuse me, but your dog is in my car. Maybe you could call her?”

The frazzle-haired woman narrowed her eyes. “So you’re the one she’s been waiting for.”

“What?”

“She picked you, darlin’. Some idiot dumped her out here two weeks ago. Three people have tried to catch her but nothin’ doin’. She’s smart as a whip. The animal control guy even set up a trap out there for her. She’s half starved, but she never went for the meat in the trap. She’s been waiting for you.”

Homeless, starving, and wet. I could relate—in a way. A mere week ago, I had walked away from the security of my fund-raising position over a breach of ethics. Theirs, not mine. It had been stupid to leave a job without another one lined up, but who expected that kind of development in life? I had done the right thing, and I knew it. I still had a home, but without a paycheck coming in, things would start getting tight pretty fast.

The dog’s situation was certainly more dire than mine. In a couple of hours, I would be in my grandmother’s inn, wearing a fluffy white bathrobe and sneaking something delicious from the kitchen.