Murder, She Barked

Seventeen

“It wasn’t a ghost!” For heaven’s sake, what was wrong with these people? It was one thing to tell a fun ghost story, but they were adults. “I’m the one who was there. Come on, you guys don’t believe in ghosts, do you?”

Silence. Once again I’d put my foot in my mouth and chomped down hard.

Philip flicked a finger on the table. “I didn’t believe in them until I moved to Wagtail.” He leaned in toward us and whispered, “There’s one in Brewster’s house. I’ve seen her at night in the tiny window upstairs.”

Tiny nodded vigorously. “Wagtail is loaded with them. You should know that, Holly.”

“Come on! You’re all big boys. You can’t be serious. I never believed in ghosts.” I looked to Holmes for help.

“Haven’t you ever experienced something that couldn’t be explained?” he asked.

He was on their side! Oh no. Not Holmes! “Everything has a rational explanation,” I said calmly.

The three of them smiled like Mona Lisa. Like they thought they knew something I didn’t. I sipped my Irish coffee, tasted the cream, and felt the warmth as it went down.

Philip looked at Tiny and asked, “So what’s the scuttlebutt on Jerry’s killer? Do the cops have any leads?”

Tiny slugged back his beer and wiped his mouth with his wrist. “Not that I know about.”

“Really? You’re usually on top of local gossip,” said Philip.

“I get around and keep an ear to the ground.” Tiny grinned, evidently pleased to be acknowledged as an expert on local matters. “Ole Jerry liked to act above his raisin’ and pretend he was better’n the rest of us. There’s more’n one person had an axe to grind with him.”

“How about Sven?” I asked.

Tiny clutched his beer bottle between his fleshy hands. “They’re sayin’ it was somebody from Snowball. Probably kids that got drunk.”

That didn’t seem right. Kids who got drunk, killed someone, and then threw the car off the mountain? Now that I considered it, maybe it did make sense. They probably panicked. Was it a kid that I saw that night? I thought better of mentioning it again, given their belief that it had been a ghost.

Philip raised an eyebrow. “I heard from a very reliable source that Old Lady Miller knows who the killer is. They’re keeping it quiet so the killer won’t find out.”

I nearly blurted out that Oma most certainly did not know the identity of the killer but stopped myself and drank my Irish coffee. Was that why she had been acting so odd? Did she know who killed Sven?

“Gentlemen, I hate to break up this party, but I rolled into town pretty late last night.” I dug some bills out of my purse and shoved them toward Holmes. “If any of you see my little white dog, you’ll call me at the inn?”

They assured me they would. I rose to leave, and Holmes stood up as well.

“I’ll walk you back.”

I debated briefly. I was in the pedestrian zone, and it wasn’t terribly late, so there should be plenty of people milling around. “You stay and have a good time. I’ll be fine.”

He tilted his head. “With everything that has happened—”

Tiny looked up at us. “She’ll be okay. Ain’t nobody got a beef with her.”

I didn’t think anyone had issues with Sven, either. Nevertheless, I pulled out my cell phone and said, “No problem. I can call for help in a snap.”

That set the three of them into hysterics.

“What did I miss?” I asked.

Philip grinned. “Cell phones get very spotty reception up here in the mountains. There’s only one carrier that works with any regularity. It drives my guests crazy. Their cell phones never receive a signal inside my B and Bs. But my cell phone is like a beacon in the tower room of my house. I get five bars every time.”

“I guess I have the right carrier then. I called 911 last night out on the road,” I said smugly.

“A lucky break. Sometimes when I can’t get a signal, I walk twenty feet away, and suddenly my cell phone works fine. You’ll do best close to some of the cafés that offer free Wi-Fi.”

“With that reassuring news, I bid you all a good night.” I slid the phone into my purse and left.

The outdoor tables still teemed with people having a great time. The walk became darker as I headed toward the main part of the car-free zone, but I didn’t feel in the least bit afraid. Lights shone in the windows of lovely homes, and I encountered several people out walking their dogs.

I turned onto the shopping area, surprised to find that it still buzzed with business. Stores were open and chatter came from restaurants.

The night had grown too chilly for my sleeveless dress, though. I hurried back to the inn, gorgeous and romantic at the end of the plaza, its lights glowing a warm welcome.

Twinkletoes sat on the front stairs of the porch. She mewed and mewed like she was crying and ran to me.

I swept her up and nuzzled her. But instead of purring, she fidgeted and mewed complaints.

When I set her on the ground, she circled my ankles, winding in and out, making it nearly impossible to walk.

“What is with you?” I lifted her again and trotted up the steps.

When I opened the front door, she leaped from my arms and hissed at the man sitting on the grand staircase. She danced backward like a Halloween cat, then turned and ran so fast she was gone in the blink of an eye.

“Crazy cat,” said Dave.

He looked worse than ever. He blinked at me wearily as though he could barely keep his eyes open.

“You need some sleep.”

“I’d like some sleep. If you’d come clean and give me some answers, maybe I could go home to bed.”

“Aha. So whatever brought you here is my fault?”

“Who is Ben Hathaway?”

Ben? He couldn’t have startled me more. “My boyfriend.”

“Uh-huh.” He consulted his notebook. “And he just happens to work for Mortie Foster’s law firm. Is that right?”

“Yes.” I wasn’t following him at all.

Dave rested his elbows on his knees, letting his hands hang down between his legs. He stared at me as though he was annoyed.

“Am I supposed to think it’s only coincidence that the car you pushed over the cliff belonged to one Mortie Foster?”

“Mortie? Are you kidding?” I leaned against the banister and tried to piece together any likely scenario but had no success. How could it have been Mortie’s car?

His tricky little mention of me pushing the car over the mountainside hadn’t escaped me though.

“In the first place, I didn’t push anything over the cliff. And in the second place, how would I know anything about that car at all? I never saw it. All I saw were flames.”

I glared at him, irritated by the very notion that I might have staged the car situation myself. “And what does Ben have to do with any of this?”

“Good question. Thank you. That’s what I’d like to know.” Dave snorted a derisive little laugh. “Most people drive their own cars to Wagtail, yet you are in possession of Ben Hathaway’s car. I presume you know Mortie Foster?”

“We’ve met. And you know perfectly well that I left so fast that I didn’t even bring a change of clothes with me.” I whispered so Oma wouldn’t overhear if she happened to be somewhere close by. “I thought Oma was dying.”

Dave hung on like a dog on a meaty bone. “That car was stolen a few weeks ago. So I’ve got a stolen hybrid SUV that belonged to your boyfriend’s boss and mysteriously turned up in a blaze on the very night that you arrived in your boyfriend’s car.”

I shrugged. “So?”

“So? Are you kidding me? There has to be a connection to you.”

“Oh, gosh, you’re right. You figured it out. I stole the car and hid it, then returned to push it over the cliff.”

Dave shot a look of daggers at me.

“How do you know all about Ben, anyway?”

“I’m a cop. Not that many people around here respect that. I go where leads take me, Holly. I don’t much like that they keep bringing me back to you.”

Our conversation came to an abrupt halt. Upstairs, something knocked lightly. Thud-dump. Thud-dump. It grew closer. Thud-dump. Thud-dump. Thud-dump.

Dave sprang to a standing position and rushed next to me. “What the devil is that?”