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

“What about employees?” I whispered.

She slapped a hand against her chest, appalled. “No! I am very good to my employees. No, no, no. It is not possible.”

I took the opportunity to ask the other question that had been weighing on me. “Oma, I want you to be honest with me. Are you ill?”

Her eyes darted to the side.

Rats! She was evading me again. “This shouldn’t be so difficult to answer.”

“Liebling, you worry too much. I want to see you be happy again. Your little Trixie is a good start.”

Trixie! I’d forgotten all about her. I needn’t have worried. She had jumped onto the back of a loveseat and watched us like a ping-pong match, her attention moving back and forth between us as we spoke.

“I blame the Ben for this. He has no zest.”

“Oma, it’s offensive when you call him ‘the Ben.’”

“Yes? It’s my poor English, I’m sure.”

Poor English, my foot. She didn’t like “the Ben” and this was her coy little way of showing it.

Oma limped around her desk to me and grasped my upper arms. “Liebling, don’t worry about my health. As you can see, I am quite fine. This silly ankle will heal soon. Now, you have wasted enough of my time with this useless speculation.”

“It’s not useless. Oma, you really don’t have any clue who might be this angry with you?” I baited her. “That doesn’t seem like you.”

She laughed. “There’s hope for you yet! I will think about this. I promise. In one hour, Betsy Wheeler and her parents will arrive to look at the inn for her wedding. Would you mind showing them around? Then I will meet with them here in my office to discuss details. Yes?”

“Of course. I would be happy to.”

“Then scoot and get a bite of lunch while I prepare for them.”

Zelda’s back was to me when I emerged from Oma’s office. She looked over her shoulder and smiled casually, like she was pretending to be disinterested. Crooking her finger to follow her, she skittered toward the stairs. She held out her hand, full of teeny tiny dog treats. “Here, let Trixie see you putting these in your pocket. She tells me she love treats, so give her one every now and then to reward her for staying close by you.”

“Thanks. That’s a great idea.” I took the treats and made a production of slipping them into the pocket of my trousers.

Trixie observed carefully. She stood on her hind legs to sniff the contents of my pocket.

“I don’t want your grandmother to hear this,” whispered Zelda. “We’re all very worried about her. We’re making a point of watching her. All the employees are taking turns.”

“You’re all looking out for her?” I wondered if Oma knew how highly they thought of her. Did the whole town realize that Oma had been the intended victim?

Zelda craned her head toward me and continued to whisper. “Chloe told us what’s going on. Rest assured that we all love Mrs. Miller, and we won’t let harm come to her.”

So much for Chloe keeping it quiet. “Thank you, Zelda. I appreciate that.”

“Casey says he has trouble with her at night, that sometimes she manages to slip by him.”

“It wouldn’t be hard. I walked up to him dead asleep right there on the loveseat. Maybe I’ll set up camp outside her door after she turns in.”

“Great! Casey’s kind of young and easily spooked.” She glanced around. “For what it’s worth, I think it was Prissy Clodfelter.”

Trixie whined and pressed against my legs.

“See?” said Zelda. “Trixie knows. Prissy is just plain mean. And she would think she could get away with something like this. Dave will never consider her a suspect because he has the hots for her.”

Oma called to Zelda, who patted my shoulder and nodded in a gesture of solidarity before hurrying back to the office.

“Come on, Trixie. Let’s see if we can rustle up some lunch.”

I had every intention of snooping around for leftovers in Oma’s private kitchen, but Shelley snagged me as soon as we reached the dining area.

“We need to talk.” She led me to a table wedged in a private corner. Perched on a chair, she twisted toward me. “I don’t have much time. We always get a good lunch crowd.”

I believed her. Not a single table on the terrace was available.

“Waitresses see a lot and overhear things, you know? Mr. Wiggins, do you know him? The wealthiest man in town? Well, he comes by here every week to see your grandmother. Now, I’m not saying that they’re having an affair or anything, but Peaches used to spy on them. It was kind of funny, because she’d sit out on the porch, or amble through the inn, pretending to be casual. Well, this one day, Mr. Wiggins and your grandmother were eating lunch out on the terrace when Peaches flew in on her broomstick and made a scene that you would not believe. I don’t have to tell you how much Mrs. Miller despises big scenes. From that day forward, they took their lunches down in Mrs. Miller’s private office.”

She excused herself, picked up a coffee pot, and made quick work of visiting all the outdoor tables with a smile and a refill.

Behind me, the chef rolled open a window and set plates on a ledge. “Hi, Holly. Buffalo burgers with caramelized onions are the lunch special today. Can I make you one?”

Could he? My mouth watered at the thought. “Absolutely, if it’s not too much trouble.”

“No trouble at all. Hot tea?”

“Sounds perfect.”

Shelley whipped by me, loaded the plates on her arms like a pro, and hustled them out to the terrace. I would have dropped them all.

When she returned, she placed the tea and a platter in front of me. Trixie stood on her hind legs and pranced, fixated on the second dish Shelley carried. Laughing, she set it on the floor for Trixie. I barely managed a glimpse of her lunch—crumbled buffalo burger mixed with raw shredded carrot and garnished with two home fries—before she gobbled it up.

“Don’t worry,” said Shelley. “No onions in the dog servings.”

I bit into the juicy burger and grabbed for a napkin. The slightly sweet onions blended perfectly with the meat. Crispy, golden brown home fries and a tangy shredded carrot salad accompanied the burger.

Shelley sat down again. “There’s something else I have to get off my chest. I was the last one through Ellie Pierce’s gate, but I know I closed it. I’ve gone over that night again and again in my mind. Someone had to have unlatched that gate and opened it for Dolce—but it wasn’t me, I swear!” She took a deep breath. “What I want to know is, where was Jerry when Sven was killed?”

Twenty-five

I nearly choked. Coughing, I set my burger down.

The kitchen window opened, and a glass of water appeared like magic. I stood up to get it, flapping my hand as though it would help me breathe. I gulped the cold water, certain my face had flushed red.

The chef leaned forward. “Shelley’s right. Listen to her.”

I sat down and drank more water.

“I was there,” said Shelley, “when Jerry called his mom to tell her he would be late for dinner at her house. But nobody knows where he went. I’ve been asking around town, kind of private-like, you know, and nobody saw him.”

“He said something about downed electrical wires up near Del’s place. But that could have been a fabrication. You think Jerry drove the car that killed Sven?”

“Don’t you find it suspicious that he conveniently disappeared at that exact time?”

“Then who killed Jerry?”

“Lord, now there’s a question. Could have been just about anybody. I know Rose and Holmes are friends of yours, but all the Richardsons were just madder than wet cats at Jerry about that land development that he blocked. There are others, too. Brewster was upset with him for trying to move Hair of the Dog out on the highway even though there are other restaurants in town that don’t shut down until late. Jerry’s own mother complained about him!”