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

I swear she lifted her lip at him, showing him tiny front teeth. “She’s mine. She still needs a name, though.”

“Trouble,” muttered Ben.

Kim laughed, but I dug into my breakfast. Now that she was back, I had every intention of keeping her. The subject was not open to discussion or negotiation.

Happily, the conversation moved to the subject of Kim’s father, Mortie. Oma knew him fairly well and gave the impression of liking him.

“So, Kim, what do you do that you’re able to take time off to come up here?” I asked in between bites of salted, slightly spicy potatoes, crispy on the outside but soft and warm inside.

She held her coffee mug in both hands and rested her elbows on the table. “I work for myself. I’m a day trader.”

“Apparently, a pretty good one,” said Ben. “She’s given Mortie some great tips.”

She waved him off, like she was embarrassed, but she moistened her lip with her tongue and tossed her hair back.

Shelley brought me a fresh pot of hot water, leaned over, and whispered, “Chloe will meet you at Café Shot at eleven.”

I could hardly wait. For some reason that I didn’t understand, I felt the need to be rid of Ben and Kim for that event. It didn’t make sense to me that I should feel that way. I chalked it up to instinct.

After breakfast, I rushed Kim and Ben out to the front porch, where Gingersnap made a beeline for them. Kim rubbed her head and told her what a pretty girl she was.

Ben grabbed my hand. “Holl, we need to talk.”

People never had anything good or happy to say when they broke it to you like that. He would undoubtedly pressure me to give away the adorable dog. No way.

“Maybe later. Excuse me.” I hurried to the reception desk to call Dave.

“So this is your scamp!” Zelda rubbed the dog behind her ears while I left a message for Dave. “What about naming her Scamp? She’s certainly been up to tricks.”

Her ears perked up.

“Or Scampi? She’s a little shrimp,” said Zelda.

I hung up the phone and tried it out. “Scampi? Is that your name?”

“Scampi!” called Oma, bending and holding her hand out to her.

But the scamp didn’t budge. She just stood there, wagging her tail. Not that I blamed her. I’d been called a shrimp plenty of times and had never particularly liked it.

Zelda circled her hand under her chin again. “She’s thrilled to be home.”

You didn’t have to be a psychic to figure that out. Zelda struck me as a lovely person, but I found it hard to believe that people paid her for that kind of insight.

“She says her name is Bad Dog . ”

Oma turned away quickly to hide a smile.

“I’m not naming a dog Bad Dog !” Talk about a self-fulfilling prophecy. “What else did you say a minute ago?” I asked. “She liked something.”

“Hmm. I said she’d been up to tricks.”

And just like that, she ran to Zelda.

“Trixie. That’s her name.” I knelt and called out, “Trixie, come!”

Clearly thrilled by the attention, she dashed to me, her tail wagging so hard that I didn’t need Zelda to interpret her thoughts.

I reached down to pat her. “No more Bad Dog. You’re Trixie now.” She cocked her head to the side and held up her right paw. I shook it. We had a deal.

Oma laughed and retreated to her office.

I whispered to Zelda. “Keep an eye on Oma for me? I have an appointment.”

“Eleven at Café Shot.”

“How could you possibly have known that?”

She shrugged and said, “I’m psychic.”

I narrowed an eye and gave her a skeptical look.

She bounced up on her toes and then down again. “Okay. Chloe called me. She wanted to know about you.”

Of course. The people who worked at the inn were hardwired into each other’s lives. “What did you tell her?”

“That you are exactly like your grandmother.”

People had said worse things about me. “Can I take Trixie into Café Shot?”

“Honey, there isn’t anywhere in Wagtail that you can’t take Trixie. That’s what we’re all about.”

I waved and left through the reception door to avoid walking by Kim and Ben on the front porch. They’d see me strolling up the shopping area if they were paying attention. There wasn’t much I could do about that.

A lovely, wide brick walkway lined on both sides by manicured shrubs led us to The Blue Boar. We dodged around the front of the restaurant and walked as fast as I could go. There wasn’t much doubt in my mind that Trixie would have dashed ahead if she weren’t on a leash. How would she ever get enough exercise if I couldn’t take her off the leash? This baby needed to run. Dog school was definitely in order.

I passed cafés and restaurants with outdoor tables. Why hadn’t I asked Zelda for the exact location of Café Shot?

A woman browsed at books on rolling shelves outside of Tall Tails Bookstore.

I asked if she knew the location of Café Shot.

She pointed across the walking zone. “Outsiders never get it. It’s cute, but not obvious.”

Across the way, tables clustered before an arched double door with large windows on both sides. Over the top of the entrance were the words Café Chat . Sleek, stylized cats curved to create the capital C s. I stared at it for a minute, thinking the woman had misunderstood me. And then it dawned on me. Chat was pronounced something like “shot” and meant “cat” in French—a bilingual double entendre.

I thanked the woman and hastened over. As I approached, I scanned people at the tables for a young woman sitting alone and spotted her right away. Chloe had curly strawberry blonde hair that bushed out around her shoulders. Pale and so thin she seemed fragile, she fidgeted, twisting a ring on her middle finger and glancing about nervously. When I introduced myself, I realized that carefully applied makeup had hidden dark circles under her eyes, but nothing could conceal the red rims, no doubt from crying.

A handsome waiter scurried over to our table. He could hardly take his eyes off her. We ordered café au laits and croissants. I was going to have to embark on a major diet when I went home. Much to my surprise, Trixie sat quietly next to my chair, taking everything in.

“I’m so sorry for your loss.”

She nodded and dabbed at her eyes with a crumpled tissue. “Am I fired? Please don’t fire me. I love working at the Sugar Maple Inn.”

Twenty-one

Fired? Chloe’s question threw me for a loop. I reached out to her and placed my hand over hers. “Good grief. Of course you’re not fired.” No sooner had the words left my mouth than I realized I didn’t have the power to promise anything of the sort. But I wondered why she thought that. I sat back and hoped she might say more about it.

The cute waiter arrived with our café au laits and croissants. He set a small bowl of water on the concrete floor for Trixie. I assumed the croissant-shaped biscuit on a plate near mine was meant for Trixie, too.

I placed it near her water. At the inn, I had noticed hand wipes in a rectangular container on each table, just like sugar packets. I tore one open and wiped my hands.

Chloe drank half her coffee before I touched mine. “I haven’t eaten much since it happened. I don’t even have the energy to make a cup of coffee.”

She wasn’t going where I wanted. I should have waited, but I asked, “Why would you be fired?”

“I love Mrs. Miller like my own grandmother. I don’t want to offend you, but you’ve probably noticed that she’s pretty precise about things. She’s more punctual than anyone I’ve ever known. I thought if she found out that I left the inn during my shift, well, that would be the end of my job. Is she mad?”