Murder, She Barked

Fifteen

Oma winced. Holding her head high, she sucked in a deep breath. “The car came from that direction. We were crossing the road right here when it hit him.”

“There’s something I don’t understand,” I said. “When I arrived, I had no trouble driving straight to the inn but it sounds as though no cars are allowed.”

Holmes nodded. “There are two roads that run parallel to the pedestrian zone, six blocks over on each side. The speed limit is twenty-five miles per hour. Most vehicles, like tour buses, stop at the parking lot outside of town. The person who hit Sven must have turned down this road in the dark, parked, and waited.”

“Then it really couldn’t have been an accident. No wonder Dave thought it was intentional.”

We stood there for a moment in silence. “Well,” I said brightly, “I can’t wait to see this beauty—Dolce.”

Holmes clapped me on the shoulder, and the four of us crossed the street.

“Why aren’t there barriers so cars can’t drive down these side streets?” I asked.

Rose sighed. “Residents have an exemption to park in their garages, but there’s almost no traffic anymore. Besides, no one anticipated anything like this. We thought we could save the cost because they wouldn’t be necessary. Most visitors park at the far end and take a Wagtail taxi into town.”

Holmes opened the gate and held it for us. The front door of the white bungalow hung open. Inside, people milled about, murmuring respectfully. Holmes opened the screen door without ringing the bell. Chief and a Great Dane greeted us. He had a fawn coat, golden in color, with a dark muzzle. Triangular ears hung down on the sides of his enormous head.

Gingersnap kissed him, while Oma and Rose made a big fuss over all the dogs.

A tall man, whose reddish-blond hair billowed in waves so high above his head that he seemed even larger, nodded at us and said, “Holmes.”

Holmes introduced us. “Brewster owns Hair of the Dog, the local watering hole.”

I shook his fleshy hand. Freckles dotted ruddy skin on his face and hands. Prominent cheekbones bore a rosy glow that reminded me vaguely of Santa Claus. Flushed and round, they perched over a nicely trimmed mustache and beard that were morphing from strawberry blond to white. His rectangular wire-rimmed glasses only served to enhance the Santa image.

“I’m surprised you could take time off during Yappy Hour,” said Holmes.

“Can’t stay long, but I felt I had to come over and, you know, pay my respects. It’s awful.” Brewster licked his upper lip. “Just awful.”

“Do they have any leads yet?” asked Holmes.

Brewster snorted. “There’s not a person in Wagtail who didn’t have a beef with Jerry.”

“You did, too?” I hoped I didn’t sound too nosy.

He grimaced. “Hair of the Dog has been a bone of contention since it opened. You might say it was a thorn in Jerry’s paw. Half the residents call him daily to complain about noisy drunks walking home.”

“The other half, the people who frequent the place,” said Holmes, “don’t want it to move outside of town because there would be car accidents. They love being able to walk home at night.”

“I guess that’s the kind of thing that happens in every community. There’s no good solution.” I spied Oma waving at me. “Excuse me. I believe I’m being summoned.”

Brewster nodded. “You two come on by for a drink when you ditch the old ladies.”

I suspected they wouldn’t appreciate being called old ladies, but maybe it wasn’t as bad as some things he might have called them. Rose and Oma spoke with a woman whom I would have recognized anywhere as Jerry’s mother. They shared the same body structure, the same eyes, though I thought hers were kinder, and while her face was a softer, more feminine version, he had been the spitting image of his mother.

Ellie clasped her hands to her cheeks. “My goodness, Holly! I remember your mother pushing you in a stroller. You favor your father, though. A Miller through and through.”

She hugged me, and I said, “I’m so very sorry about Jerry.”

She closed her eyes and turned her head away. “If only I hadn’t been so awful to him today. I . . . I told him that I had not lost my mind and that if he persisted in that nonsense then he needn’t bother coming over anymore. And now he won’t!”

Oma turned Ellie toward her, and Ellie wept into Oma’s shoulder.

How perfectly awful. Losing her son was bad enough, but now she had to live with the knowledge that she hadn’t been loving and warm during their last conversation. No one could ever possibly anticipate that. If we tried, there would never be any angry words. And from the sound of it, he had been obnoxious about her carelessness leaving the gate open. That was little consolation to her now that he was gone.

I backed away to give her some privacy. She needed the comfort of her friends, Oma and Rose.

Across the room, a woman scrutinized me. She had an angular body and a face with sharp eyes that didn’t observe me kindly. She made her way over. Golden bangles jangled on her wrists. She wore giant pearl earrings that stood out against hair set so tightly that it didn’t move. She was about the age of my mother, so I guessed that the brassy orange hair wasn’t her original color.

“If it isn’t Holly Miller.” She didn’t extend her arms for a hug or a hand to shake. “I’d heard you were in town.”

Her voice jogged memories. I had a vague notion of running away from her and not being as fast as Josh and Holmes.

I forced a smile and said, “How nice to see you.” Why didn’t I have a better memory for names and people? It was too embarrassing. Hoping she might mention her own name, I said nothing more. The ball was in her court.

She tsked at me. “I spent the better part of the afternoon removing your fliers.” She lifted her chin as though she thought she was superior. “We don’t litter in Wagtail.”

“That wasn’t littering. Some idiot woman at Putting On the Dog removed my dog’s collar and pinched her behind. Who does something like that? Now she’s lost. I need those fliers to let people know to be on the lookout for her.”

“Well, I never! You’re as rude and horrible as your grandmother. I see your mother didn’t bother teaching you any social graces.”

She turned abruptly and stalked away, holding her head so high that it tilted backward.

Holmes ambled toward me. “What did you do to upset Peaches?”

Now there was a name I recognized. “That’s Peaches Clodfelter?” She had certainly changed in appearance, though she had always possessed that haughty demeanor. “Wow. She’s aged!”

“Technically, I guess she’s Peaches Clodfelter Wiggins now.”

“She married Old Man Wiggins?”

“That she did. Her fourth husband. Makes a person wonder what kind of magic she wields over men.”

“How do you know all this stuff? I don’t remember most of these people.”

“I went to school here. Plus, I come back more often because my whole family lives in Wagtail.” He paused for a moment, his eyes on the floor. “I’ve spent quite some time here over the last couple of years because my dad was sick. I flew back and forth from Wagtail to Chicago for a while, then finally took a leave of absence and stuck around here until things settled down. He’s fine now, though.” Holmes’s face brightened, and he smirked. “You need to catch up so you won’t keep offending people when you talk about Prissy.”

It came to me in a flash. My face burned, and I slapped a hand over my mouth. “The tall woman who pinched my dog—that was Prissy Clodfelter!”

He bobbed his head. “And she’s dating Dave.”

I wanted to shrink into a little ball, roll across the floor, and fall into a hole. I had been ugly about her to Dave and to her mother.

“It’s not surprising that you didn’t recognize Prissy. Who’d have thought a kid would change so much? But she’s just like her mother—thinks she’s Wagtail royalty.”

“Now that they’re officially Wigginses, it’s no wonder that they think that. They could buy and sell just about everyone in this town.”

“They complain a lot about being kept on a tight budget, but he set them up in that store, and it couldn’t have been cheap.”

“But Prissy answered my 911 call.”

“Dave got her that job at the headquarters over on Snowball. She only works there on weekends.”

Rose edged up to us. “We’re shooing everyone out for a bit. Ellie needs some rest.”

Oma and Rose managed to empty the house in minutes.

Holmes and I stepped outside with Gingersnap and waited for them. Across the street, a sturdy fellow raked grass clippings.

Holmes waved at him. “Remember Tiny Goodwin?”

He might have been Tiny once, but he’d caught up. “He played football, right?”

“Star of the team. He was a celebrated guy around here in those days.”

We crossed the street. “I guess you heard about Jerry,” said Holmes.

Tiny gripped his rake with both hands. “Aw, man, it’s terrible. I’ll go ’round and pay my respects to his mom tomorrow.”

His eyes squeezed to slits. “Holly Miller? I heard you were in town.”

“Hi, Tiny. Just visiting my grandmother. I hear you’ve got a tree house that’s upsetting Aunt Birdie.”

He snorted. “I built it for my kids. My wife has custody so I don’t see ’em much. I knew they’d get a kick out of it.”

“The fancy one with blue doors and the balcony with cutout pickets that look like cat silhouettes?” asked Holmes.

“That’s the one. I think it came out right pretty. But you know Birdie. She says it’s too close to her property because we’re not s’posed to build anything within fifteen feet of the neighbor’s lot. The base of the tree is seventeen feet from her line, but up high, she says the tree house encroaches in the fifteen-foot zone. Now, you tell me–how’d she get up there to measure it in the air? It’s not on her property no matter what she says.”

He glanced at the house behind him. “I better get busy before Miss Foyle catches me taking a breather. You two stop in at Hair of the Dog while you’re here, and we’ll catch up.” He pointed at Holmes. “You owe me a basketball rematch. I’ll get you this time.”

Oma and Rose joined us, and after a polite exchange of greetings, we finally walked to The Blue Boar.

Oma walked up the stairs slowly, with Holmes’s help. I hung back with Gingersnap so she wouldn’t trip Oma. My phone played the jingling notes that always made me think of a fairy waving her wand so that magical sparkles appear. A text! It had to be about my dog.