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

“I know what you mean. After years of returning lost purses and giving directions, there’s finally a big case in Wagtail.”

“That’s it exactly. This is my town. These are my people. It’s my jurisdiction, and by George, I’m going to get to the bottom of this. Thanks for understanding, Holly. I didn’t intend to sound happy about the deaths of two terrific people. Did you get anything out of your grandmother?”

“Nothing helpful. Unless you think . . .” I stopped midsentence. I couldn’t offend Prissy Clodfelter again if he was interested in her.

He stopped walking. “What? What did she say?”

“It’s just that stupid old animosity between the Clodfelters and the Millers. But Oma said it’s been going on so long she hardly thinks they’d have waited this long to do something rash.”

“What’s the deal there? Why don’t the Clodfelters like your family?”

“I honestly don’t know. Must have happened ages ago. I’m sorry I said something awful about Prissy yesterday. I didn’t know you two were an item.”

“That’s nice of you to say. I appreciate it, Holly.”

“Hey, I’ve been wondering—did you track down the source of the phone call to the inn that night? Wouldn’t that lead us straight to the killer?”

“You’d think so, wouldn’t you?” He clammed up. His mouth pulled into a taut line, and he looked me straight in the eyes, assessing me. “It came from the public phone at Hair of the Dog.”

Surprised that he’d shared confidential information, I said, “Thanks.”

“Don’t go thinking I’m telling you anything secret. I’ve been asking questions about who was there around that time. Half the town was watching when that phone was fingerprinted.”

“Was Jerry there?” I held my breath.

“You’re not the first person to suggest that Jerry drove the car that hit Sven.”

“Dave, do you think Oma was the intended victim that night?”

Dave shuffled his feet, then scratched the side of his face, clearly uncomfortable. “You figured that out, huh?” He sucked in a deep breath of air. “I can’t imagine Jerry killing Liesel. I always thought they managed their opposing views well and that they shared a mutual respect. But maybe something pushed him over the edge. Only Liesel could tell us that, but she takes great pride in keeping her secrets. To answer your question, nobody has mentioned seeing Jerry at Hair of the Dog that day.”

“So it’s possible that Jerry killed Sven but meant to murder Oma. If that’s the case, he certainly was a cool customer the next day at breakfast.”

Dave rubbed his ear. “I’m not supposed to be talking to you about this.”

He needed all the help he could get, but I understood his concern. “Okay. I don’t want to get you in trouble.”

“You’re the only person in town who’s being nice to me. Everybody else expects me to spill everything I know. If you ask me, there are too many secrets in this town. A lot of people are hiding something.”

Twenty-seven

I watched Dave hurry away, winding through the crowds in the shopping area. He was right about Oma having secrets. When I was nine, I’d accidentally caught a guest, Mr. Winestock, exiting the room of another guest, a Mrs. Garland, at six in the morning. They’d engaged in a lingering kiss at her door, and Mr. Winestock had carried his trousers over his arm.

The thought of his expression when he turned and saw me still made me giggle. Poor man. He’d called Oma immediately, not to apologize but to demand that I keep my little mouth shut around his wife, who would be arriving in a few hours and, naturally, was not Mrs. Garland.

Oma had sat me down and explained that innkeepers owed a special duty to their guests not to divulge their secrets. That it wasn’t really any of our business if they didn’t sleep in their own beds or eat their vegetables.

I laughed aloud at the memory of torturing Oma all that summer about the intersection of lying, being a tattletale, and keeping the secrets of guests. She must have been glad to see me leave that fall!

We arrived at Puppy Love and were immediately greeted by a shih tzu and a woman with generous curves who wore her thick gray hair cropped close to her head. She threw her hands in the air, clapped them together, and trilled, “You must be little Trixie!”

Trixie waggled all over, and when the woman crouched, Trixie had the nerve to stick her nose into the woman’s pocket.

“I’m so sorry!” I tugged at Trixie.

“It’s okay. She’s darling. She knows I keep goodies in my pocket for sweet little doggies, don’t you, baby?” She pulled out thin treats the size of half my pinkie fingernail and fed them to Trixie and the shih tzu. “I’ve been waiting for you.”

“Are you psychic, too?”

She guffawed. “Goodness, no. Zelda called me and said you were coming. I picked out some of our prettiest collars.” She bent and showed them to Trixie. “With your white fur, you can wear anything. Do you like black Halloween collars with ghosts or candy corn? Or this one with colorful autumn leaves? That would be nice for Gingersnap. Or a pretty girly pink?”

Since Zelda wasn’t there to tell me Trixie’s preference, I took it upon myself to choose. “We’ll take the candy corn for Trixie, and the autumn-leaf collar as a gift for Gingersnap. Do you have a candy-corn collar for a kitten?”

While Trixie played with the shih tzu, I spent the next few minutes punching information into a machine for tags. Given the unreliable nature of cell phones in Wagtail, I decided to use both my cell phone number and the phone number of the inn on the tags.

Trixie tugged at her leash, pulling away from me. “Just a minute, I’m almost done.”

“I know you! You’re that little pest that was chasing my foals.”

Trixie backed away, pulling against her collar as hard as she could. I rushed to pick her up and turned to find a wizened little man staring at Trixie. White hair fluffed around a face that bore deep leathery creases from long hours in the sun, but the blue eyes sparkled with mischief.

His exquisite tweed jacket hadn’t been in style during my lifetime, nor the jaunty tweed ivy-style cap, or plaid bow tie. He peered at me from under bushy eyebrows, his eyes wide.

“Good night, Nelly! You must be a Miller.”

“Mr. Wiggins?” I jostled Trixie to extend a hand. “I’m Holly Miller. I used to play with your daughter.” He had always seemed old to me. I guessed he was only in his seventies now.

“Prissy is not my daughter!” He trembled and spoke with vehemence.

“I meant Clementine.”

“Well, that’s all right then.” He squinted at me and took my hand. “You’re the spittin’ image of your grandmother, child. Does that little troublemaker belong to you?”

“I’m afraid she does. She’s really very sweet.” I scowled at him. “You haven’t been shooting at her, have you?”

His mouth twitched sideways. “I chased her, and did some shouting to scare her.” He waggled a finger at her. “You stay away from my foals from now on.”

A loud bay issued from the beagle on the floor next to him.

“Hah! Baby agrees with me.”

Trixie wriggled. It was getting hard to hold her. I backed up a step and set her on the floor, which prompted Baby to bay again.

“She remembers seeing your dog run through our farm with that rat in her mouth.”

“Rat?” Ugh .

“Might not have been a rat. Some little furry beast. You staying with your grandmother?”

“I am. How’s Clementine?”

“Bossing me around is how she is. I’m surrounded by women, and they all boss me like I’m some kind of weak-minded idiot.”