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

“Liebling, we have a group arriving at four o’clock. Yappy Hour begins at five, and I’ve arranged dinner with Rose tonight at The Blue Boar. It’s a little bit dressy. If you want to borrow something from my closet, feel free.”

“Maybe I could help you?”

“Ja? You would do that?” Oma lowered her reading glasses to look at me. “Wonderful! That would be such a big help. I’m slow like a turtle with this ankle injury.”

She handed me a ring of keys and a printout on a clipboard. “Please check the rooms on the list to be sure they are ready. Each room should have a special welcome basket for a cat or a dog, as the case may be. It’s all marked on the list. Then double-check with the kitchen to be sure we have their preferred dog or cat food on hand. It should already be there, but I like to be certain nothing slipped though the cracks. And inspect all the bathrooms carefully, please. I’m trying out a new housekeeper.”

Truth be told, I was glad to have something to do. It would take my mind off my missing dog and the murders, at least for a while. Besides, poor Oma couldn’t hobble through the entire inn doing this. It would take her forever. Clutching the list, I headed past the sitting room. Just as I reached the front door, Dave barreled through it, grabbed me by the elbow, and propelled me past the small dining area through a wide curved archway into the new addition on the other side.

Fourteen

A single guest lounged in a cushy chair before an enormous window wall like the one in the great room.

Dave shot a look of daggers at the poor guest, and tugged me past the fireplace. Bookshelves lined the walls from floor to ceiling, with a few comfortable nooks carved out among them that were full of inviting cushions. A built-in seat in a bay window overlooked the plaza in front of the inn.

“Shouldn’t you be dealing with Jerry?” I asked.

His jaw tightened, and pain etched creases in his face. He breathed heavily as though he’d run all the way to the inn. “Yeah, I have to get right back. Tell me exactly where and when you ran into Holmes.”

“This is ridiculous,” I whispered. “You know Holmes didn’t kill him.”

Dave’s nostrils flared. “Jerry’s neighbor saw Holmes running away from Jerry’s house this morning. The neighbor didn’t think much of it at the time, but then he found Chief wandering around in his backyard. The neighbor took the dog home and left him on Jerry’s back porch.”

“If Holmes was there at all, I’m sure he had good reason.”

Dave glared at me.

“Okay, okay. I ran into Holmes outside of Houndstooth, and we walked over to Jerry’s. Simple as that. I don’t know exactly what time it was, maybe twenty or thirty minutes before we discovered Jerry’s body, and I called the cops.”

“Was there anything unusual about him?”

“Like what?”

“Nervous? Sweating? Talking too fast? Not talking at all?”

“Completely normal, I assure you. Look, I know about the conflict between Holmes’s family and Jerry. But they’re not the kind of people who resolve their problems with violence. Surely you realize that.”

Dave locked his eyes on mine. “I would have said that about everyone in this town. But somebody killed Jerry, and very possibly Sven, too.” Dave rubbed his face with both of his hands. “I don’t know what’s going on. I thought I had a handle on it. Seemed logical that the person who killed Sven threw the car he used over the cliff to get rid of the evidence.”

That did make sense. A chill shook through me. “You mean I saw Sven’s killer out on the road?”

“Hmm? Yeah, maybe.” He seemed distracted. “But the attack on Mr. Luciano and now Jerry’s death don’t fit into that equation at all. If you pick up on anything, you’ll let me know, won’t you?”

“Dave, I was wondering if Sven’s death could be connected to the gold coin he won.”

Dave’s lips pulled tight. “I thought about that, too. But it hasn’t led anywhere. The men involved in that poker game weren’t here, and they all appear to have alibis. Besides, he won it fair and square. There wasn’t any animosity about it.”

“I’ll let you know if I hear anything. Right away. I promise.”

“Thanks, Holly.” Dave took off in a hurry. From the bay window, I watched him race along Wagtail’s pedestrian zone. I understood where he was coming from. In a small town, you think you know everyone. But he couldn’t afford to make assumptions about any of us. Still, I knew he was wrong about Holmes.

The guest across the room looked up from his book. I smiled at him in what I hoped was a reassuring manner, tapped the clipboard, and ventured into a short corridor that led to The Cat’s Pajamas wing. I inserted a master key in a door labeled Purr .

It opened to a cat paradise. A foot-wide catwalk circled the walls near the ceiling. Stairs and landings offered ease in springing up to it. A tunnel and assorted wider areas provided spaces for lounging.

Sliding doors led to a screened porch. A cat door in the wall allowed access that could be closed to keep the cat inside the room.

I stepped out on the porch and ran my hand over a tree to see if it was real. It was! Very clever. It was installed at a slant, and I couldn’t imagine any cat not wanting to climb it. Their inner tigers could come out.

A bird and squirrel feeding station had been erected in a private clearing just outside the porches. The feeders buzzed with activity, providing live theater for cats. I wondered if Twinkletoes knew what she was missing.

I returned to the room. People comforts hadn’t been overlooked. Two cozy chairs nestled by the fireplace. The bed had been made with a fluffy feather comforter, and over the headboard, written in a beautiful golden script and framed, What greater gift than the love of a cat? ~Charles Dickens .

That reminded me to check the gift basket. Locally crafted cat toys and treats filled a cat bed, which bore the name Sugar Maple Inn . A catnip mouse, three cute, trial-sized containers of different cat snacks, and a ball that crackled accompanied the treats—a bottle of Cat’s Meow cabernet sauvignon and a chocolate mouse—were undoubtedly meant for the person footing the bill. I peered at the name on the list, Mr. Gary Parson, who would be arriving with Tabushkin.

I tore myself away from the amazing cat room to peer at the bathroom. Spotless. The new housekeeper was doing a great job. A disposable eco-friendly litter box was ready for the lucky feline guest, Tabushkin.

The remaining rooms on the list were located in the main section of the inn. I took the grand staircase up to the second floor.

Oma had renamed all the rooms after dog activities. The shabby chic white room with a tall four-poster bed, sparkling chandelier, and whitewashed floors had become Play . Next door, Sniff reflected Oma’s European roots, with painted furniture that looked like it belonged in an Alpine bedroom. The adjoining room, Wag , featured two beds painted blue and nestled in a cozy nook under a semicircular wood ceiling. I recalled sleeping there one summer and pretending I was a princess.

Like the cat baskets, the dog baskets featured toys and treats made in Wagtail. But the cobalt blue bottle of white wine bore the Our Dog Blue label from a Virginia winery. I sniffed the air. Very subtle lavender. No musty dog odors, but my inferior nose couldn’t begin to pick up what a dog could smell. The gleaming hardwood floors left little chance for scents to linger. Not that people would notice anyway, only their dogs, whose powerful olfactory capabilities would make a person a superhero.

I checked off rooms on the clipboard as I visited them. Everything was in order. Only a double-check of the cat and dog food on hand was left to be done.