Murder, She Barked

Sixteen

Oma turned with alarming speed. “Get rid of that thing,” she hissed.

Rose pointed at a sign mounted near the top of the stairs. Cell Free Zone.

From their horrified expressions, I gathered that didn’t mean it was a free Wi-Fi zone. The Blue Boar appeared to be an upscale restaurant. I didn’t blame them for banning cell phones. It would be nice to dine without ringtones pealing, people talking on their phones, or texting. It was sort of old-fashioned, but it appealed to me.

“I’ll just check to be sure it’s not about my dog.” Calling to Gingersnap, I hurried away with her so I wouldn’t offend anyone.

I swept the phone open. The little message bubble contained the cryptic words, marE me?

It took a second for me to sound it out and realize it meant marry me? I looked up at the restaurant seeking out Holmes. They had already been seated on the deck. He laughed at something Oma said.

Ohhh, that was a very bad sign. I’d looked for Holmes before I gave Ben a single thought. I checked the message again. Of course it was from Ben.

Had he lost his mind? Who would say yes to a proposal like that? We weren’t übercool kids. This was . . . well, positively offensive. He didn’t have to get down on one knee, but it would be nice if he had given it a little bit of consideration. He’d shown more enthusiasm about picking a movie to watch.

It wasn’t as though I had never considered marrying Ben. He was a solid, steady man. Great job, great prospects. We would have a good life together.

Rose’s silly questions from the morning floated back to me. Did he make me laugh? Did he make my toes tingle? Honestly! What was wrong with me? Real life wasn’t like those fairy tales. Fireworks didn’t shoot off. Real people didn’t quiver when their one and only soul mates drew near.

But even if I was being completely sensible—a texted proposal? With a humph loud enough to worry Gingersnap, I turned off my phone and marched up the stairs to join Oma, Rose, and Holmes for dinner.

A dashing gentleman with a broad smile and a heavy dose of salt in his hair held out his arms to Oma and kissed her on both cheeks. “Liesel, I have only just heard about your terrible accident. You should have called me. Should I bring a footrest for you?” He snapped his fingers in the air, and like magic, a footrest appeared.

“I’m fine, Thomas.” She pronounced his name Tow-mas, with emphasis on the first syllable.

He clasped her hand in both of his. “I make you a special dinner tonight.”

Oma introduced me.

I also received the hug and double cheek kisses. “I imagine Liesel looking just like you when she was young. I am so happy you have returned to Wagtail—”

Unless I was mistaken, either Rose or Oma kicked him under the table at that point.

He clapped his hands together. “Special dessert to celebrate? You like chocolate? Of course you do. Everyone does.”

He scooted off, and a waiter descended upon us for drink orders. I stayed with plain old iced tea, not the kind with alcohol. After the long drive last night and my early morning, liquor would surely put me to sleep. Besides, that little kick had served as notice that something was definitely afoot. Tomorrow I would have to confront Oma. She had brought me here for a reason. It was time she told me what.

“I believe Thomas might be sweet on you, Oma.” I watched her carefully. Her cheeks had flushed, she’d taken care with her appearance, and except for the twisted ankle, she didn’t appear to be in any pain. Whatever was going on, I hoped it wasn’t her health.

“Don’t be silly.”

But the twinkle in Rose’s eye and the slight nod of her head told me otherwise.

The waiter arrived and set a small white plate before each of us. Thomas had a flare for presentation. Two scallops gently seared until they bore light caramel-colored tops had been drizzled with a golden sauce and accented with a tiny basil leaf. The robust scent of garlic wafted up to me.

“Thomas is so thoughtful,” said Oma. “He knows this is my favorite appetizer.”

For a moment, we ate in silence, savoring the rich flavors. I thought I detected a hint of lemon.

“Poor Ellie,” said Rose. “I can’t imagine losing a child.” Her hand slid over to rest on top of Holmes’s hand. “Or a grandchild. It would be unbearable.”

“Our Dave has a big problem on his hands. There wasn’t anyone in town who didn’t run up against Jerry sometime,” said Oma.

“Why didn’t you kick him out of office and elect someone else?” I asked.

The waiter removed our empty scallop dishes and replaced them with a salad. Apples and walnuts rested on a bed of red cabbage. I dug in right away. The vinaigrette had been sweetened with honey.

Oma sipped her wine. “It’s complicated. Wagtail would never have been such a success if it weren’t for Jerry. He worked hard at obtaining the grants that enabled us to spruce up the town and improve the pedestrian zone. You have to be tough when everyone in town wants something that will be solely to his or her own benefit.”

“He might be responsible for our economic success but the man was a menace. He treated us all with pompous disdain, like we were servants.” Rose broke a piece off a crusty artisanal roll and slathered it with creamy butter.

“Oma, did you have a conflict with Jerry?” I asked.

Rose nearly choked on her bread. “Do you know anyone more outspoken than Liesel? She stood up for everyone in the community.”

“Come now, Rose. Jerry and I agreed on many things, too. It won’t be easy to find a replacement for him. You have to have a thick skin to be in that sort of position.”

Thomas reappeared with a waiter in tow who set plates before us.

“This is rosemary and Parmesan-encrusted lamb with my special harvest mushrooms in wine sauce, and mashed potatoes.” He patted Oma’s upper arm. “Enjoy, my friends.”

The waiter set a small dish in front of Gingersnap, who didn’t wait for the rest of us to start eating. It appeared that she had also been served lamb and mashed potatoes, but instead of mushrooms in wine, she scarfed cubed sweet potatoes.

“Do I detect an accent when Thomas speaks?” I asked.

“He grew up in Austria and moved to the States as a young man,” said Oma. “But he returned to Switzerland for culinary training.”

Rose murmured with delight. “Mmm. Fantastic, as always.” She whispered, “I think the accent is a bit of an affectation, but he’s an incredible chef. He could work at any five-star restaurant. We’re lucky to have him here in Wagtail.”

“Holly, did you get news about your dog?” asked Holmes.

“No, I wish I had. It was a marriage proposal.”

Oma choked.

Rose dropped her fork.

Holmes raised his eyebrows. “In a text?”

I nodded in the affirmative. “Oma, are you okay?”

She waved a hand in the air and drank water, hacking. “From the Ben?”

She could not have asked with more distaste. I hated it when she called him the Ben, like he was an object.

“Why, why . . . Holmes! Don’t you ever propose that way!” Rose shook her finger at him.

“Don’t think that’s likely, Grandma. I’m already engaged.” Holmes suppressed an amused smile. “Is Ben a techie type?”

“Not techie enough for me to think it was cute or clever. He didn’t even spell it out.”

Oma fixed me in her gaze. “Have you been talking about marriage?”

“Not really. I suppose there’s been an undercurrent of thought there. Sometimes we mention things in the future, and the assumption is that we’ll be together.”

After a moment of rather painful silence, everyone began to eat again, except for Gingersnap, who had finished her dinner and decided that I was the most likely to part with some of my lamb. She focused those big brown eyes on me, and I didn’t need pet psychic Zelda to interpret what Gingersnap was thinking.

The conversation veered to my missing dog and the notion of a community website for local announcements and news. The existing Wagtail website only offered information of interest to visitors and those planning vacations.

Holmes and Rose were enthralled with the idea, and before I knew it, we had polished off heavenly, creamy, decadent chocolate mousse. Gingersnap didn’t have to feel left out. The waiter brought her a special doggy dessert made with pumpkin.

The grandmothers began to eye empty rocking chairs on the inn porch.

“Hair of the Dog?” asked Holmes.

“Sure, but I’m pretty beat. I might not stay long.”

With our grandmothers comfortably ensconced on the porch, and Gingersnap back to kissing all the Sugar Maple Inn guests, Holmes and I strolled down to Hair of the Dog. We passed Jerry’s house on the way. A yellow police tape hung across the front door.

“Is it just me, or does it seem like it was a long time ago that we found Jerry’s body?” asked Holmes.

“So much has happened since I arrived that it feels like time is flying by.”

The pub turned out to be on the same street, but at the very end, next to the road that cars could use. The front yard had been turned into a sprawling patio with tables and umbrellas. It was packed with people and their dogs.

“Where did all these people come from?”

“You’d be surprised how many houses are tucked away in the woods around here. There’s a lot of new construction going on. Plus—” he pointed across the street “—there are new developments. Everyone calls that one Hobbitville.”

Someone had built cute cottages reminiscent of hobbit houses with eyebrow arches over doors, round windows, and little peaked roofs. They were set back off the road a good distance. But not too far to comfortably walk to Hair of the Dog or the pedestrian mall.

Hair of the Dog was located in a bungalow-style house that had been painted cream. Brown beams had been added to give it a quaint and inviting Tudor look reminiscent of English and Irish pubs. Huge windows fronted the street. Lights glowed with warmth inside, reminding me that the days had already grown shorter.

Men greeted Holmes heartily when we entered. The shadows of flames from a large fireplace flickered across the burnished red fur of an Irish setter, who raised his head to observe us. We snagged a table not too far from the bar. The setter strolled over to check us out, carrying a sock in his mouth.

Holmes strode up to the bar to place our order while I played tug with the Irish setter and took in my surroundings. Brewster leaned against the bar listening to a group of animated guys who clustered before him. Tiny sat on a bar stool and engaged Holmes.

And everywhere, under barstools and next to tables, dogs lounged near their people.

“You must be new to Wagtail.”

I changed my focus to a man who had approached our table. He wore snug-fitting jeans with a navy turtleneck and a blue plaid flannel shirt. All very tidy and tucked in. His mustache reminded me of Tom Selleck’s, lush and full but neatly trimmed. His hair had receded just enough to give him a prominent forehead, but he made a very good impression. This was a man who was in control. I bet his house and car sparkled.

“May I?” He gestured to a chair.

“Sure.” What else could I say? Besides Holmes would be back any minute.

He sat down, and crossed an ankle over his knee, evidently comfortable with himself. “Are you staying at the inn?”

“As a matter of fact, I am.”

“Mmm.” He handed me a business card. “Philip.”

“Holly.” I shook his hand.

“What do you think of Wagtail?” He glanced around the table. “No dog?”

“She’s lost,” I said.

“Oh. Those must be your fliers around town. I’ll be on the lookout for her.”

“Thanks.”

“You came in with Holmes, but I don’t think I’m going out on a limb here—you’re not his fiancé?”

“Right again. We’re just friends.”

“You’re from Chicago?”

“Washington, D.C. You sound like you’re from—North Carolina?”

“Good ear!” His hand rested on the table and it curled into a ball, squeezing his thumb. “It was my wife’s dream to have a bed-and-breakfast. It was all she talked about. She pored over photos, planned breakfast menus . . .” He bowed his head. “It was an obsession. We went skiing over at Snowball, and the B and B owner told us about Wagtail. We bought a B and B here, and all was well until my wife realized that she liked staying at B and Bs better than she liked having to work at them. Now I’m single again, with two B and Bs.”

“That’s terrible. What’s your ex-wife doing now?”

“She’s a travel writer.” He glanced at the ceiling, sighed, and shook his head. “You should stay at my place on your next visit.”

“You didn’t go with her.” I observed.

“I made that mistake once. How could I know if she would be any happier with the next thing? I didn’t want to tear up roots and start over again. I’ve done pretty well for myself, and I’m not done yet. Being a hotelier suits me. One of these days, I’ll own a big place like Old Lady Miller.” He flashed a coy look at me. “Would you like to have dinner with me tomorrow night?”

I hadn’t seen that coming. “That sounds really nice, but I’m afraid I’m seeing someone.”

He reached for my left hand. “No ring. Maybe there’s still hope for me?”

I disengaged my hand as politely as I knew how. “If the situation changes, I’ll let you know.”

Holmes brought over an Irish coffee for me. Fluffy cream filled the top of the slender glass mug. He plunked down an amber draft beer for himself.

Tiny ambled over with a bottle of beer in hand.

Perfunctory greetings flew around the table.

Holmes pointed a thumb over his shoulder. “All anybody can talk about is Jerry and Sven. Did you know Sven, Philip?”

Philip ran a hand down his mustache. “Great guy. I took some skiing lessons from him. He used to hang here at Hair of the Dog in the summertime on his days off. Tragic, just tragic. Did you meet him?” He looked at me when he asked.

“No. I didn’t get to town until after his death.”

“Holly saw his killer when she drove up the mountain,” said Holmes.

Philip and Tiny stared at me like I had grown an extra nose.

“It wasn’t like—”

“You? You’re the one who saw the ghost?” asked Tiny.

“No! It wasn’t a ghost. Why does everyone think it was a ghost?”

Philip made a funny face that I couldn’t quite read. “That’s what everyone is saying, but a person must have pushed the car off the cliff.”

Tiny leaned toward me. “You don’t have to be embarrassed. I’ve seen that ghost out on the highway myself.”