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

Wrapped in a towel, I picked up the dog and carried her into the bathroom. She fought me again, her eyes desperate, but I spoke to her in a soothing voice, trying to assure her that everything would be fine. I wished that were true. “We’ll know more about Oma in the morning,” I said, even though I knew that wasn’t why she was scared.

She trembled when I set her in the bathtub. I loosened my grip for one second to turn on the water, and she made a mad scramble to exit. I nabbed her and managed to rub a tiny dab of shampoo into her fur. She stood as still as stone, undoubtedly certain that this was the end of her life.

Unfortunately, that gave me a false sense of security, and I must have loosened my grip a tiny bit. Nicely lathered and full of suds, she sprang from the bathtub and shot out the door. I chased her around the suite. She proved to have an uncanny ability to duck and run, while I lumbered behind her like an elephant. She finally made a poor choice and found herself cornered in the guest bedroom. I carried her back to the bathroom, shut the door this time, and she freaked out. I had never seen an animal quiver so violently.

“Look, I have to rinse that shampoo out of your fur. It won’t hurt—I promise.” I made quick work of rinsing her fur. She shook off the excess water, and once again, I was thoroughly wet. How could one little dog hold so much water in her fur?

I opened the door, and she flew past me. I noticed, though, that she didn’t go far. She returned almost immediately, settling in the hallway where she could watch me.

A hot shower did wonders to relax me. I pulled on the T-shirt and wrapped myself in the inn’s signature fluffy white bathrobe. Oma had had my name embroidered on it in a script with rich forest green thread.

I ventured into the kitchen, my new companion by my side every step of the way. “Are you hungry?”

A tiny bone shape was embossed on the lid covering a small dish. “This must be for you.” It looked like beef and rice with flecks of something green. Spinach? I set it on the floor along with a bowl of water.

Twinkletoes stretched leisurely and strolled to the kitchen. She vaulted onto the counter with ease and promptly sniffed the dishes. The kitten weighed next to nothing when I lifted her. I placed her on the floor with the bowl of salmon.

When the Jack Russell finished her meal, she danced in place, focused on Twinkletoes’s dinner. She hovered impatiently, sneaking closer and backing up again, intent on the salmon, her little forehead wrinkled.

“She’ll smack you if you go for it,” I cautioned the dog.

For no apparent reason, Twinkletoes pawed at the hardwood floor. She scraped it with her paw in a furious rhythm.

I watched for a moment before picking her up. “Are you okay?”

She purred.

I took that as a yes. When I set her on the floor again, she sauntered into the sitting room, lounged by the fire, and washed her face.

In the meantime, the dog polished off the salmon, washing the bowl clean of every last morsel.

A snack of goulash, fruit salad, and a basket of assorted breads and cheeses awaited me on the counter. The refrigerator had been stocked with a selection of waters, beverages, and even a bottle of wine.

I opened a cranberry spritzer and carried it and my bowl of goulash to one of the cozy chairs by the fire. The dog followed me, sat on the ottoman, and watched my every move, no doubt hoping I might abandon the bowl for a split section so she could wolf down the contents.

When I finished, I turned off the fire and found an inn toothbrush in the bathroom.

In minutes, I tumbled into bed, ecstatic to see that Oma still used the luxurious down comforters and featherbeds that I remembered. They fluffed up around me like a comforting cocoon.

When I finally rested my head on the down pillow, the dog crept up onto my chest. I ran my hand along the rough fur on her back, wondering if I would be able to sleep with a dog on top of me.

Seven

Apparently not. As exhausted as I was, I couldn’t sleep. My thoughts kept returning to Oma. I should have pressed her to tell me what was wrong with her. Not knowing might be worse than the truth because I imagined all sorts of terrible things.

And I couldn’t stop thinking about the man I’d seen on the road and the fire. I’d managed to wash the smell out of my hair, but the image of the flames came back to me every time I closed my eyes.

When the first rays of sunshine announced a new day, I stretched and gently moved my doggy friend to the side, even though I’d barely slept. I wrapped the robe around me, and ventured to the balcony.

A wrought iron railing arced around my little vantage point above Wagtail. The area below was just waking up. The mist from the rain had cleared, leaving a blissfully crisp fall morning. I inhaled the clean mountain air.

They say you can never go home again. Except for the first few years of my life, Wagtail hadn’t really been my home, yet I found myself smiling and curiously happy to be back. In the distance, graceful mountain ridges seemed to undulate in green waves. Farther away, the waves turned to blue with wisps of white clouds rising into the sky.

Maybe my contentment sprang from temporarily leaving my job troubles behind.

No, it was more than that. I didn’t hear any traffic. No trash trucks chugged through the streets. No horns blared. Birds twittered in the trees, and even though the town stretched out in front of me, it was blissfully quiet and serene.

The stores were still closed, but a few joggers and brisk walkers exercised, every single one of them accompanied by a dog, or two, or three.

Originally a resort built around crystal clear natural springs, Wagtail’s waters had drawn guests for their healing powers. Stores and hotels had catered to wealthy visitors. Even today, the center of town remained a pedestrian zone, free of cars and exhaust.

Adorable stores and restaurants lined the sides of the walking area. Wide sidewalks provided ample space for pedestrians, benches for the weary, and outdoor tables at restaurants. In the center, a green grassy section stretched away from me. Trees lined the sides, and a charming gazebo graced the center.

Beyond the pedestrian zone, the roofs of quaint houses made for a picturesque scene, with chimneys rising above the rooflines.

Eager to see Oma, I ironed my silk blouse in a hurry. It would never be the same. I doubted that even a talented dry cleaner could remove the stains, and there I was, ironing them so they’d be set in the fabric. Unfortunately, I now knew why my suit was dry-clean only. The wool had shrunk, but the lining hadn’t. The jacket wasn’t fully dry, so I canned that immediately. The lining now draped below the skirt, and caused the material to tug and pucker. I had no makeup except for the lipstick in my purse. My suede shoes had stiffened but I jammed my feet into them because they were all I had. After I checked on Oma, I would have to take a stroll through town and buy a few things to tide me over.

My hair kinked from sleeping on it wet. I brushed it into a ponytail, one of the benefits of long hair on bad hair days. How good could a person look in a stained blouse, no makeup, and a dry-clean-only skirt that had air-dried and shrunk? I looped the leash on the dog’s collar and hurried out to the elevator.

The kitten pranced to the elevator with us and readily boarded it as though she’d been riding elevators her whole life.

The dog hesitated. She didn’t want to enter the elevator again. Silly girl. I picked her up, and she squirmed when the elevator doors shut. At least she hadn’t soiled in the inn. I set her down. Terrified, she froze.

When the doors opened, she shot out.