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

I drove back to the inn, pondering the new information. So Brewster had been in possession of the car. That explained why Mortie’s keys had turned up. But it didn’t explain why Tiny had them.

There weren’t too many possibilities. Tiny stole the car from Brewster. Or Brewster gave or lent Tiny the keys to the car. Or, as Tiny claimed, Brewster mailed the keys to him as a threat. If Tiny was telling the truth about that, it meant that Brewster or someone else had dumped the car. Otherwise, how would that person have the keys to send to Tiny?

None of it made sense. Unless . . . unless they were in cahoots and had turned against each other?

I parked, and we hopped out of the golf cart and returned to the reception area, where Zelda worked at the desk.

“How do people let their dogs run and get exercise around here?” I asked, removing the leash from Trixie’s collar. “The little play areas in the green?”

“You can also book one of the private runs.”

“What are those?”

“They’re trails that are entirely fenced in. Quite discreetly, of course. You can’t see the fence unless you wander off the trail.” She typed on her computer keyboard. “They’re all booked for today, though.”

“She did pretty well on the back side of the inn the other day. Maybe I’ll try that again.”

With a cat-that-caught-the-canary grin, Zelda leaned toward me and whispered, “Look what I found.” She held up a cell phone. “I think it’s the one Philip lost. It was over near the play area where I take Dolce. I’m charging it to see if it’s his.”

I shot her a scolding look. “And to see who’s calling him?” Shades of Kim! “Don’t you dare send people messages from him!”

She straightened up. “I would never do that. Maybe. It’s an interesting idea, though, now that you mention it.”

I was sorry I’d put the notion in her head. “I’ll be out back, letting Trixie run.”

Trixie bounded out the door and zoomed to the tree where she had seen a squirrel before. She raced in a zigzag, her nose to the ground, while I walked down to the dock. She barked twice gratuitously at another dog, who walked by on a leash. She lifted her head and gazed around. Had she lost me?

“Trixie!”

She flew to me, her feet barely touching the ground. She stopped abruptly, put her nose down again and followed a scent down to the lake.

Wagging her tail with pure joy, she trotted over to me on the dock and sniffed the water. I dipped my hand in it but withdrew it quickly. The lake that had been refreshing had turned far too cold for comfort.

I would have to locate some dog parks at home. She obviously needed time and room to run. I looked up at the sprawling inn, the patios on multiple levels, the huge windows overlooking the lake and the mountains, the steep roofs and quirky slopes. It dawned on me that the inn was more of a home to me than anyplace I had ever lived. I breathed in the clear, cold air, relieved that Oma had no intention of selling it.

Trixie raced across the grass, chasing a bunny. But she was almost out of view. I hurried up the steps to the inn in search of her.

I spied her digging furiously in Oma’s herb garden just outside the door to the private kitchen.

“No! Trixie, no! Get out of there!”

She paid me no mind at all. Her little rump stuck up in the air while she churned through the soil with fierce determination. Dirt flew under her and to the sides, landing on basil plants.

I ran toward her. She glanced at me, grabbed something, and sped around the side of the inn. That little scamp! I rushed after her, hoping she wouldn’t run along the green in the middle of town. She would be too fast for me.

Happily, I saw guests making way for her as she tore up the front porch stairs. A couple of guests laughed as I lumbered along behind her.

“Looking for a dog with a rat in its mouth?” They pointed inside.

It wasn’t too hard to follow her after that. Tiny flakes of dirt led me to Oma’s private kitchen. Trixie had gone home to our suite.

I took a minute to clean the lobby floor. We didn’t need everyone tracking the soil everywhere. They’d said she was carrying a rat. Ugh. Had she dug up the dead rat?

Forty-four

I trudged upstairs and unlocked the door. Trixie watched me from the hearth with guilty eyes and filthy front paws.

Where had she put the nasty thing? The tip of her tail flapped up hopefully. Once, twice.

I burst into laughter. I had almost called her a bad dog. Maybe Zelda really was a psychic and the poor thing thought her name was Bad Dog. It was a good bet that she’d heard it a lot wherever she came from.

She had returned through the cat door in the dining room. With any luck, she’d left a trail of dirt to follow. I had to remove the decaying rat before it started to stink, which would be almost immediately.

She must have left most of the dirt in the lobby. I didn’t see a speck in the dining room. I knelt to see if she hid it under the buffet again. Yup. There it was. A shudder wriggled through me.

I needed a stick, something long and relatively thin. And gloves. I certainly didn’t plan to touch it. At least I knew it was dead. It wasn’t going anywhere. A visit to the housekeeping closet on the second floor yielded a broom, a trash can with a liner in which to deposit it, and cleaning gloves.

Armed for rat patrol, I sucked up my courage and knelt on the floor by the buffet. Trixie scurried to my side.

“Oh no, you don’t. This time we’re getting rid of that disgusting thing. No more burying it in Oma’s garden.”

Using the straw end of the broom, I scooted it close. Trixie wedged her nose under the buffet as far as it could go, but I beat her to it. I grabbed the awful thing, and flung it into the trash can.

The two of us peered at it. That was no rat. I picked it up gingerly. It was hollow, like a fake pelt. One side was furry, but the other held the fur together with a fine mesh.

Trixie barked and tried to grab it.

“You’re not getting this back. It’s filthy.” She continued to yap at me, and I felt terrible. I hadn’t bought her any toys. Not one!

It didn’t really look like a toy. There weren’t any eyes or other features. It seemed more like a fur hat. A hairpiece! “This is a rug! Where did you get this?”

I might not have Zelda’s psychic powers, but everything clicked into place. Jerry’s outstretched arm, the police asking Holmes for a hair sample. Dave saying the hair was weird.

Dear heaven! Jerry had torn off his assailant’s hairpiece. Trixie must have been there and grabbed it from Jerry’s hand when he fell. That might explain why someone had been tracking Trixie.

I looked at her. “Were you at the scene of Jerry’s murder?” It was possible. It must have happened about the time she was lost. Had she picked up Chief’s scent and tracked him to his house? But how did she get in? “Does Chief have a doggy door?” I asked her. Hadn’t Ellie said something about that?

The killer must have seen Trixie nab the toupee and was afraid she would turn up with it. And now she had. I looked down at my little dog with the earnest eyes. The killer had been shooting at her! She had carried that thing around with her like a beloved toy.

I dropped the hairpiece and hugged her to me.

Even worse, it put Kim’s entire story in doubt. She had stolen Trixie.

Scooping it up and holding it over the trash can, I flicked the hair lightly with my hand to shake off some of the dirt. No wonder the police hadn’t been happy with Holmes’s hair sample. This was much longer and reddish in tone.

Brewster. There wasn’t a doubt in my mind.

I phoned Dave and told him what had happened.