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

I decided it would be prudent to move the car to the correct lane. On the steep mountain, there probably wasn’t a good spot to pull over. In fact, if it hadn’t been for the mysterious man I’d seen for a second, I would have thought it safer to wait outside of the car in case someone came along too fast and plowed into it.

I eased the car up mountain, far enough away from the blaze that it wouldn’t be in danger. The emergency lights flashing, I parked and waited with the engine running, wishing I didn’t feel so helpless. There wasn’t anything I could do to control the flames or prevent them from spreading into a wildfire.

A scant ten minutes later, the glow of headlights broke through the night on the opposite side of the road. I breathed easier when I saw the police emblem on the door.

It stopped next to me and the window rolled down. A dark-haired man with a long oval face peered at me. “Did you call about an explosion?”

He’d barely gotten the words out of his mouth when a second blast shook us so hard I felt the tremor in the car.

He leaped out of his vehicle and ran to the edge of the road. I shut the dog in Ben’s car in case she got ideas about running down to the fire. I ran along the edge of the road to the police officer.

He pulled out a radio and spoke into it. When he hung up, he said, “The firefighters are on their way. Did you see a car go over the edge?”

“No. I saw a man in the road. I hit the brakes because he appeared out of nowhere, and I thought I was going to hit him, but he disappeared.”

He frowned at me. “Show me where this happened.”

I gestured to the road. “Right about there. Shouldn’t there be skid marks?”

“Not with the roads this wet. What did he look like?” He flicked a strong beam up and down the road.

“I only saw him for a second. He was wearing a jacket or hoodie—something with a hood. Navy blue or black, maybe.”

“Mustache?”

“I don’t think so, but I couldn’t swear.”

“Could it have been a woman?”

That was an odd question. “I guess. It was a split second, and then he was gone.”

“You sure you didn’t hit him?”

It was fairly obvious that he wasn’t lying in the road. Did he think I’d pitched him over the edge? “I honestly didn’t feel a bump or any impact.” I waved at the pavement. “He’s not here. He must have been able to leave.”

“It’s pretty late. You been drinking?”

“No!” My voice sounded high and testy. “Don’t you believe me? I’ll take a sobriety test. I’m tired but I haven’t had a drink.”

“You’re lucky I know you, Holly Miller.” His stern expression softened a little bit. “Do you remember me? Dave Quinlan?”

“Dave! You were headed for the navy the last I heard.”

He stood a little straighter. “Seems a long time ago now.”

A Jeep pulled up behind Dave’s police car. The glimmer of headlights grew as a fire truck arrived and several more cars lined up on the road.

“Excuse me,” Dave said. “That’ll be the volunteer firefighters.”

He spoke with the driver in the lead car. In less than a minute, six firefighters peered over the edge of the mountain at the blaze. Two of them scrambled down the mountainside to assess the situation.

Dave’s radio crackled. He didn’t seem to have trouble understanding it. All I could make out was “car.”

“You staying at your grandmother’s?” asked Dave.

I nodded.

“Go on then. I know where to find you.”

I headed for Ben’s car.

“Hey, Holly.”

I turned around.

“I’m sorry about your grandmother.”

“What?” But he’d already disappeared into the fog. My heart heavy with worry, I slid into the car and locked the doors.

It was nearing three in the morning when I passed the line of firefighters’ cars and drove toward Wagtail. In an odd way, I felt guilty for leaving. But there wasn’t a thing I could do to help. I could only hope no one was in the car that was burning. Besides, I had to see Oma. A tiny part of me wanted to drive slower, to make the trip last longer. As long as I didn’t know anything for certain, she was still okay.

The rain had finally stopped, but the road no longer seemed familiar. In the past, the road had led directly to the inn, but now a huge parking lot with a guardhouse blocked my way. “What in the world?” I muttered.

This wasn’t right. Could I have taken a wrong turn in the mist?

A new sign for the Sugar Maple Inn pointed to the right. I had to turn left or right, so I went with right and hoped the sign was correct. The road later turned left and led me along the edge of town, with houses to one side and forest on the other. It ended abruptly at the inn, but not where I had expected.

Golden lights burned through the fog as we drove up. I pulled into a small, new porte cochere, with stone pillars supporting the roof. A warm glow shone through large windows, a welcome haven in the night.

I rolled the windows down a crack. “Stay here while I figure out how to smuggle you inside, where it’s warm.”

Disoriented, as though I’d driven into some kind of time portal, I ventured inside unfamiliar doors, which slid open on their own. Oma had built an addition that moved the registration desk from the lobby to the side of the inn. The new addition must be the surprise Oma had mentioned. A large antler chandelier hung in the middle of an intimate and charming reception area. Overhead, a European-style wrought iron railing on a balcony smacked of my grandmother’s taste. I spied a small store, the windows dark.

A young man, not much more than a boy, snoozed fitfully on a loveseat. His legs stuck up in the air over the armrest. One of his arms had fallen off the sofa. A shock of straight chestnut hair hid his forehead, touching the tops of wire-rimmed glasses that had gone askew.

“Hello?” I spoke gently.

He jerked into a sitting position, sending his glasses flying to the floor. He raised his hands, palms outward. “Don’t hurt me!”

“I promise not to.” What a skittish fellow. I picked up his glasses and handed them to him. “That must have been some dream.”

“Oh, gosh. I’m sorry.” He jumped to his feet. “Welcome to the Sugar Maple Inn.” He slid the glasses on, pushing them onto the bridge of his nose with his middle finger.

“Thank you. I’m here to see Liesel Miller.”

His eyebrows lifted. “ You’re Holly?”

“Yes.”

He appraised me, his mouth twisting. “We’ve . . . been . . . expecting you.” He extended his hand. “Casey. Your grandmother talks about you all the time.” He gripped my hand and pumped it earnestly.

“Is she”—I paused, afraid of the answer—“okay?”

Four

“I think so,” said Casey. “She’s a strong woman, but it shook all of us. Everyone is nervous.”

My knees nearly buckled with relief. “I’ll just peek in on her.” I headed toward the store.

“Um, that’s the wrong way.” Handing me a key, he pointed upward at the elegant rounded balcony. “The last door. I’ll get your luggage.”

He would see the dog! I held up my hand like I was stopping traffic. “No need. I don’t have any.”

He raised an eyebrow, and muttered, “Okay, that’s weird.”

Paying him no heed, I trotted up a short flight of stairs, turned right and walked up more stairs to the balcony, eager to see my grandmother. I knocked on her door and unlocked it. “Oma?” I called.

Her apartment wasn’t like I remembered it, but that made sense since it was clearly part of a new addition. Undoubtedly part of the surprise she had mentioned.

I felt more at home when I recognized an inlaid table and her collection of Hummel figurines in a lighted curio. The drapes hung closed at the far end of the living room. I tiptoed toward what I hoped might be the bedroom. A golden retriever greeted me at the door, wagging her tail. I scratched behind her ears. “Oma?”