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

I grinned at the thought of his discomfort at having to stay overnight at the vineyard. Ben was a city guy more comfortable in a library than among trees. How many times had I tried to talk him into a long weekend at Wagtail? The dimples always appeared. He would gaze at me briefly, shake his head, and go back to whatever history book he was reading. Nerdy guys weren’t usually the most exciting fellows in the room, but they were as smart and trustworthy as Boy Scouts. If Ben and I didn’t trust each other, we had nothing.

Panic welled up inside me as my thoughts shifted to Oma. Why hadn’t I been to Wagtail in five years? I could have gone without Ben. Had I really been that busy? Too busy for the grandmother who meant the world to me? Ben and I had seen her on vacation in Florida with my dad and his wife only a few months ago. Her eyes had sparkled when she told me she had a surprise for me. I’d pressed her for a hint but she had reveled in her little secret. Dad cringed with embarrassment when Oma said something about us meeting her handsome young Scandinavian stud.

It never occurred to me that she might be ill. It would be just like her to be sick, or even dying, and not tell anyone.

The dog startled me by jumping forward into the passenger seat. She eyed me warily.

“We’re on our way to the Sugar Maple Inn.” I explained. “Here’s the deal. They don’t allow dogs, undoubtedly because you make messes.”

She listened, but didn’t seem particularly ashamed of herself for what she’d done to Ben’s car.

“Oma had a German Shepherd when I was a kid and spent my summers at the inn. She used to go everywhere with me. The summer my parents divorced, I told her all my secrets and troubles. Staying with Oma during school vacations was always the highlight of my year.”

I peered at the dog. “Are you housebroken?”

I had a feeling I would find out soon. “I can try to talk Oma into adopting you, but don’t get your hopes up. I don’t even know if Oma is well enough to care for a dog.”

She curled into a little ball for the final hour of the trip, but every time I looked over at her, she jumped into a sitting position as though prepared to flee to the backseat. “I won’t toss you out into the cold night, sweetie. I promise.”

Thanks to the drizzle and heavy fog, the last leg of the drive, winding up Wagtail Mountain, was treacherous at best. I flicked my lights between the high beam and the low beam, but nothing cut through the white soup more than a few yards. My eyelids were growing heavy in spite of the coffee. I rolled down the window in hopes that the cool night air might refresh me, gripped the steering wheel tighter, and leaned forward in the vain notion that it might help me see better.

The dog sat up and barked at a pitch that sliced through my daze like a knife through butter. She barked wildly, pausing only to paw at my arm.

“Why are you barking? Hush! Someone needs to learn about using an indoor voice.”

She persisted, and I had to hold her back with my right arm, not at all what I wanted to do on the winding mountain road.

I glanced over at her for a split second, wondering how to make her stop barking, and when I looked back at the road, a man stood in the middle of it.

Three

My scream nearly drowned out the dog’s high-pitched barks.

I hit the brakes. The car swerved.

I feared we would careen off the mountain. Jerking the steering wheel, I prayed there wasn’t any oncoming traffic. We screeched to a halt on the wrong side of the road.

I threw open the door and jumped out, leaving the engine running, the door open, and the lights on so I could see. My heart hammered in my chest as I dashed to the back of the car, fearing the worst. I didn’t think I had hit him. At least I hadn’t felt a bump or a jolt.

“Are you okay? Hello? Hello?”

But no one was there. Raindrops pattered on leaves, and the engine still purred, but an ominous stillness made me painfully aware of being alone. A shiver shuttled through me, and it wasn’t because of the cold wet night. Something wasn’t right about this. I backed to the side of the car and bent over to look, heaven forbid, underneath it.

In the dark of night, I couldn’t see well, but I didn’t make out any odd shapes.

Renewed barking alarmed me, and I jerked upright. The dog had run out of my range of sight.

I swallowed hard. I’d read about pranks like this. People pretended to be in distress, then attacked the driver or stole the car.

“Here, doggie! Come on girl!”

She continued barking. Very briefly, I weighed my options. I could find her and put her back in the car, or I could take off. Who was I kidding? Leaving her there wasn’t an option.

As relieved as I was that I hadn’t hit the man, I hated that I didn’t know where he went. He could jump out of the pea soup any second. I whistled for the dog, longing to leap into the safety of the car and lock the doors, but I couldn’t bear to strand her there.

Thank goodness she ran back to me. She stood in the glow of the headlights, barking incessantly.

“Come on, sweetie.”

Did she know any commands? “Come!”

I tried not to convey my nervousness to her. With a furtive glance around, I edged toward her, ready to bend and snatch her up.

But the little devil backed up, ever so slowly, until we were in the shroud of dark mist. I could barely make her out. At the edge of the road, she turned and barked like crazy. Even though I couldn’t see the vista, I knew she was yelping out over the valley. There, on the murky roadside, she allowed me to pick her up. She didn’t even squirm.

The man had to be around somewhere. Had he gone over the side? Shivers engulfed me again as I considered how vulnerable we were.

An explosion shattered through the air not too far beneath us. I screamed and staggered backward. Flames roared upward, cutting through the drizzle. Waves of heat pummeled us. I ducked and jerked away, holding the little dog tighter. She pressed against me, her body rigid with tension.

Flames licked skyward. The blaze lit the night. It was bigger than anything I’d ever seen.

Clutching the dog to me, I ran for the car, slid in, checked the backseat to be sure no one was hiding, and locked the doors. The dog hopped into the passenger seat and watched me. My fingers trembled as I dialed 911.

“Hello?” The woman’s voice was sleepy.

Had I misdialed? “I’m sorry. I’m trying to call the police.”

“Yeah, you got ’em. What’s up?”

What kind of police dispatcher spoke like that? “Something just exploded off the side of Wagtail Mountain. It’s burning.”

“Uh-huh.” She sounded bored. “Where are you exactly?”

I hadn’t paid any attention to mile markers. In the mist it wasn’t as though I could make out landmarks, either. “I’m just guessing. Maybe two or three miles outside of town?”

“Near Forrest Road?”

Didn’t ring any bells. “I can’t see much in the fog.” I drew on childhood memories. “Maybe a little down mountain from Buzzard’s Roost.”

A long silence followed. “Who is this?”

For pity’s sake. “Don’t you have caller ID?”

“There’s no need to be snippy. You’re calling from a cell phone, dufus. All it says is Virginia.”

“Sorry. It’s Holly Miller, Liesel’s granddaughter.”

Another silence.

“Hello? Are you still there?” I asked.

“I’ll let him know.” She hung up.

The haze near the edge of the road glowed a faint yellow. In early September, the trees hadn’t turned color yet. I hoped that meant they would be strong against a spreading fire. The rain would surely help, too.

The dog raised her paw and stroked the air in my direction. I reached over and ran my hand down her back. In addition to being wet, her fur felt coarse and unpleasant to the touch.