Murder, She Barked

Eighteen

Thud-dump. Thud-dump.

“It’s coming from up there,” Dave said.

We craned our necks to look upward but nothing seemed amiss.

We backed away from the stairs, and Dave actually moved a shoulder in front of me as though he meant to protect me. I couldn’t help feeling a teensy bit satisfied. If he really thought I was guilty of something, he wouldn’t have tried to be protective.

And suddenly it appeared.

Twinkletoes jumped down one stair as a time. She carried a puffy cat toy in her mouth that was attached to a stick that dragged behind her. She made the thud noise on each step and the stick followed with dump as it hit the step.

“What’s she doing?” asked Dave.

“I have no idea.” She reached the main floor and walked off, her head held very high to drag the stick between her legs.

We both laughed, breaking the somber mood.

“Look, Dave, I’d be happy to help you in any way that I can. But I didn’t have anything to do with the weird stuff that’s going on. Not that it’s my place, but wouldn’t it be more important to figure out who killed Jerry and Sven anyway? Is it true that you think Sven was killed by some kids from Snowball?”

“Where’d you hear that?”

“Hair of the Dog.”

“Figures. Don’t believe everything you hear.” He rubbed his head with both hands and yawned. “Mortie’s car has to be the car that killed Sven. It defies logic that it would have gone over the cliff the same night as Sven’s death by coincidence. If I can figure out who stole the car, I’ll have Sven’s killer. We’re not going to get much evidence off that car. It’s a burned-out hulk. You sure you don’t remember anything about the guy you saw?”

He believed me now? “On TV they get all kinds of evidence from burned vehicles.”

“You’re kidding me, right?”

“What do you call those people—crime scene investigators? Haven’t they been here?”

“I call that fiction. We don’t have CSIs. That’s only in big cities.”

“So who investigates?”

“I do.”

“Who takes the pictures?”

“Me.”

“Who secures the crime scene?”

“Again—me. I call the guys over on Snowball for help when I need it, but it all boils down to me. I’m responsible for Wagtail.”

“You collected evidence, right?”

“Not that there was much to collect. More at the scene of Jerry’s murder.”

“He was fleeing someone, wasn’t he?” The image of his outstretched hand had burned itself onto my brain.

Dave’s mouth bunched up. “I really can’t talk about it.”

“Your first murder investigation, I guess?”

“I hope these two are my last.” He yawned again.

“Maybe you should head on home and get some sleep. You look exhausted.”

The thought of my comfy bed upstairs lured me, and I hadn’t been under the stress of solving two murders.

We said good night, and he departed through the front door. To my right, guests still lounged and chatted in the sitting room. Even though I was exhausted, I churned up the two flights of stairs in the hope that Twinkletoes would notice and come with me.

She didn’t.

I unlocked my room, thinking sadly of the dog I had lost. I might never see her again. Was she cold? Afraid? Was she huddling next to another gas station, hoping someone would come along with food? Had—I could hardly bear to think it—had someone shot her?

Voices murmured inside my suite. “Hello? Is someone here?”

Canned laughter cued me in. A TV was on in the sitting room. Twinkletoes lounged comfortably in the middle of a comfy chair watching TV, her odd toy next to her.

“How did you get in here?” I asked. How did you turn on the TV? I gazed around for the remote control. It lay on the coffee table. She must have jumped up and landed on it.

I changed into the Sugar Maple Inn T-shirt, which fell to mid-thigh, and located a pen and a pad of paper. Taking a cue from Twinkletoes, I settled in the other chair. I jotted down the names of the people of Wagtail and their connections to each other. Although I studied it with weary eyes, I couldn’t see a connection. I was an outsider, who didn’t know the currents that existed beneath the obvious.

Pondering the locals and their motives, I headed for bed. The covers had been turned back, and a chocolate rested on the pillow. Twinkletoes must have slipped in when the bed was turned down.

I picked up the chocolate and discovered that it wasn’t chocolate at all. It was a cookie that could be shared with a dog. I set it on the nightstand. Maybe if my dog came back . . . “Did you snarf a kitty treat that was left on the pillow?”

Green-gold eyes observed me, round and innocent. But then she licked the corner of her mouth, which told the whole story.

I slid under the comforter. Twinkletoes walked around me a few times, jumping over my legs as though she wasn’t quite sure what to do. She finally settled about a foot from my head, and I fell asleep to the soothing sound of purring.

• • •

At six-thirty in the morning, I woke to the phone ringing. A man’s voice apologized for calling so early. “This is Eric Dombrowski, the pharmacist. I think I saw your dog this morning on my way to work.”

I sat bolt upright. “Was she okay? Where was she?”

“Out near the zip line. She was carrying a dead animal in her mouth.”

Eww. Poor baby. “Thanks, Eric. I’ll get right out there.”

I hung up and jumped out of bed. I swapped my T-shirt for a fresh cotton top and pulled on jeans. Moving as fast as possible, I jammed my feet into the sandals, grabbed my purse, and glanced to be sure Twinkletoes had dry food in her bowl. She did. My haste must have irritated her. She strolled into the kitchen and stretched. This time, we hurried down the grand staircase together.

Casey still manned the reception area.

I scooted behind the desk to grab a collar and a leash. Helping myself to a handful of dog treats, I asked, “Where’s the zip line?”

He pulled a little map of Wagtail from under the desk and drew a circle on it. “That’s where Eric saw your dog? Why don’t you take one of the inn’s golf carts? That will be faster.”

“Thanks!”

He rushed outside with me and pointed to a cute red cart. “I like that one.”

He showed me how to operate it.

“It’s so quiet. I can barely hear the engine.”

Casey grinned. “Cool, huh? They’re electric. One of these days I’m gonna sneak up on some of my friends and spook them.”

I consulted the map and tore down the road at a whopping ten miles per hour. Minutes later I spotted Bird Dog Zip Adventures.

They were closed up tight.

I cruised by slowly, on the lookout for a flash of white. If the pharmacist had seen her on his way to work, it must have been from the street. I turned around, puttered back, and parked.

I whistled and called out words I hoped she might know, like cookie and treat. Birds twittered in the trees.

Although I knew I was technically trespassing, I climbed over the gate at the ticket booth and trotted up the stairs to the launching area, panting by the time I reached the top.

The morning sun kissed the treetops, and the view down the mountain was nothing short of amazing. A light smattering of yellows and oranges heralded the coming of autumn. In spite of the peaceful quiet and stunning views, my heart sank. A dog, even a white one, would be lost under the canopy of the trees.

And then, like a miracle, she appeared below me, in a trail beneath the zip line. She carried something in her mouth.

“Cookie! Cookie!” I called, hoping she remembered what that meant.

A gunshot rang out. I heard myself scream, “No!”