Murder, She Barked

Twenty-one

Fired? Chloe’s question threw me for a loop. I reached out to her and placed my hand over hers. “Good grief. Of course you’re not fired.” No sooner had the words left my mouth than I realized I didn’t have the power to promise anything of the sort. But I wondered why she thought that. I sat back and hoped she might say more about it.

The cute waiter arrived with our café au laits and croissants. He set a small bowl of water on the concrete floor for Trixie. I assumed the croissant-shaped biscuit on a plate near mine was meant for Trixie, too.

I placed it near her water. At the inn, I had noticed hand wipes in a rectangular container on each table, just like sugar packets. I tore one open and wiped my hands.

Chloe drank half her coffee before I touched mine. “I haven’t eaten much since it happened. I don’t even have the energy to make a cup of coffee.”

She wasn’t going where I wanted. I should have waited, but I asked, “Why would you be fired?”

“I love Mrs. Miller like my own grandmother. I don’t want to offend you, but you’ve probably noticed that she’s pretty precise about things. She’s more punctual than anyone I’ve ever known. I thought if she found out that I left the inn during my shift, well, that would be the end of my job. Is she mad?”

I debated what to say. I shouldn’t have said she wouldn’t be fired. I had no power over that decision. “Honestly, she hasn’t said a thing to me. Where did you go?”

She slumped in her seat and closed her eyes briefly. “To break off my relationship with Philip.” She said it in a dull, lifeless voice.

“Philip? The guy who owns the bed-and-breakfasts?”

“Same one.”

“Isn’t he a lot older than you?” If I had to guess, I’d put Chloe in her mid-twenties. Philip must be closer to my age, late thirties or maybe forty.

“Fifteen years older. It was a mistake.”

“The relationship or the breakup?”

“The relationship. He’s a controlling sort of guy. You know the type? Everything has to be just so. He even irons his jeans. He’s very ambitious. Being so precise and planning everything has made him pretty successful. One of these days, I’m sure he’ll be like your grandmother and own the fanciest place in town. He has the drive to do it. I think he liked me because I was younger, and he thought he could manipulate me and shape me into what he wanted me to be. It wasn’t healthy, but I didn’t realize it until I met Sven. He was incredibly intuitive.”

“So you broke off your relationship with Philip to start a relationship with Sven?”

“It had already started.” She pushed her hair back, out of her face, and turned guilty eyes up at me. “Sven and I had a full-blown romance. We hid it from everyone because of Philip. I’ve never been with anyone as gentle and caring as Sven. People talk about romance all the time, but I thought they were exaggerating—that love wasn’t really like that, except in books and movies. But it is . . . and now I’ve gone and killed the only man I’ll ever love!”

Fortunately, she didn’t sob out loud. She cupped a hand over her mouth and bowed her head. Her slender fingers trembled.

I gave her a moment, saddened by her deep grief yet alarmed by what she’d said. “What do you mean you killed him?”

She blinked back tears. “If I hadn’t told Philip about Sven, he would still be alive.”

I lowered my voice and bent toward her. “You know for a fact that Philip murdered Sven?”

She glanced around. “You can’t tell anyone. Promise? He’ll kill me, too, if he finds out I blabbed.”

“Have you told Dave Quinlan about this?”

She nodded vigorously. “Immediately. As soon as I heard about Sven’s death.”

Yet Philip hadn’t been arrested. “Tell me exactly what happened.” I tore off a piece of croissant and chewed on it.

“I was working the evening shift, and Sven was scheduled to work midnight. He came by the inn early to cover for me while I met with Philip.”

“How did that go?”

“I . . . I tried to keep Sven’s name out of it, but Philip wore me down. He was ugly. He called me a tramp and said he never should have wasted his time on someone uneducated, which isn’t true, and . . . and insignificant. And then he said that I should know beauty really is only skin deep. It doesn’t last long and neither would my relationship with Sven.”

That sounded like it could be incriminating to me. “And you told Dave all of this?”

“I think so. I was in such a state when it happened, you know?”

“And then you returned to the inn?”

“Right. I was helping Mr. Luciano with directions when the phone rang. Sven answered it for me. He said someone had called to let Mrs. Miller know that Dolce was running loose, and Ellie Pierce needed help finding her.”

I interrupted. “Who? Who called?”

Her head turned to the left. I had the feeling she was replaying events in her mind.

“I don’t know,” she wailed. “Sven went to look for Mrs. Miller. She was up in Aerie—where you’re staying. Anyway, when they came downstairs, they left for Mrs. Pierce’s house to help find Dolce.”

Her voice quavered at the end. More tears were on the way.

I sat back, nibbling at the end of my croissant. Trixie fixed me with liquid eyes. Who could resist? I pulled a tiny piece off and fed it to her. After all, she was being surprisingly well behaved.

The phone call could have been a coincidence, but it didn’t seem like it to me. The killer must have made that call expecting his victim to come to Dolce’s rescue. Ellie had insisted that she hadn’t left the gate open. What were the odds that someone would be parked in that very spot at that very moment and tear along the short road with no lights? I gulped cold water from the glass on the table. If I was right, then the target could have been either Sven or Oma.

“Did you tell Philip that Sven was filling in for you at the inn?”

Chloe’s eyes opened wide. Both of her hands rested on the table. Her delicate fingers rotated up and down in a busy wave. “No! I’m sure of it.”

It was the answer I didn’t want to hear. It meant Sven had been in the wrong place at the wrong time. The caller had meant to lure someone else. And I feared that person was Oma. It would be a lot easier to hit an old lady crossing the street than to hit a young, athletic ski instructor. Then again, if the phone call was a setup, the killer had taken a big chance. Oma could have sent someone else to look for Dolce. I suspected everyone in town knew Oma would rush to the rescue of her show dog, though.

Chloe grasped the situation immediately. “It wasn’t Philip! He couldn’t have known Sven would be there.” She took a huge bite out of her croissant. And another, and another like a ravenous vulture. Her mouth full, she said, “Aren’t there phone records? Can’t they trace the call to find out who made it?”

“I think so.” Dave had probably already set that request in motion.

Her cheeks stuffed with food like a chipmunk, she stopped her hungry chewing. “Mrs. Miller.” She swallowed hard. “He intended to kill Mrs. Miller!”

Chloe had verbalized my fear. She was a sharp cookie to have realized what it meant. I spoke softly. “Let’s keep this between us for now, okay? I’d like to talk to Dave about those phone records.”

She nodded vigorously, her mouth full of croissant again.

Mindful of the fact that she might blab to other inn employees, I asked casually, “Is there anyone who is angry with my grandmother?”

She dabbed her mouth daintily with a napkin. “Most people admire her.” She gasped. “That Mr. Luciano gives me the creeps, though. He’s too Godfather, if you know what I mean.”

“Are you aware that someone attacked him outside of the inn?”

“The Mafia has arrived in Wagtail! That’s what he wants with Mrs. Miller. I bet he’s shaking her down!”

Chloe had watched too many movies. “Let me know if you think of anything else that could be important.” I paid the check. “When will you be coming back to work?”

“Tomorrow, after the memorial service. I can help you keep an eye on Mrs. Miller then. Are you sure I shouldn’t spread the word among the other employees?”

“What if it was one of them?”

Her eyes widened. “I see what you mean. Mum’s the word.”

Poor kid. I felt terrible for her. Though if the longing glances from our waiter were any indication, Chloe wouldn’t be alone for long.

Trixie and I took a roundabout route back to the inn, taking care to walk by Ellie Pierce’s house. I caught a lucky break. Ellie sat on a bale of hay in her yard, listlessly staring at the grass. She wore gardening gloves and held clippers in her hand.

Trixie yelped and pulled at the leash.

Dolce stayed close to Ellie, but Jerry’s dog, Chief, perked up and trotted to the fence to see his pal, Trixie. They sniffed each other through the pickets, their tails wagging.

“Good morning, Mrs. Pierce.” I called out to her softly.

“Holly!” The glimmer of a smile crossed her lips. “It’s so nice to see you around town. I bet Liesel loves having you here.”

“I wish it were under better circumstances. How are you holding up?”

She stood and crossed to the fence. “Chief’s having a tough time adjusting to life without a doggy door. And I . . . I still can’t believe Jerry’s gone. I think of all the times I was blazing mad with him, and I wish I could have those precious minutes back. But life doesn’t give you a do-over. Once they’re gone, you can’t go back and spend more time with them or be kind or patient. I . . .” She plucked at a rough fence picket. “I think the worst will be Saturday nights when he always came to dinner. It wasn’t much, nothing exciting really, but I’ll miss that.” She gazed at me and waggled her forefinger in my direction. “Enjoy the company of your grandmother while you can!”

Did she know something about Oma’s health? “How is Oma?”

“She’s been such a dear friend. I was concerned about going into business together to buy and show Dolce.” At the sound of his name, the tall dog came over to us and reached his head out to me to stroke. “But it has worked out just fine. Liesel wasn’t upset with me about the gate, only Jerry.” Her mouth twitched into a scowl.

“Is this the gate in question?” I asked.

“Yes.” She demonstrated the latch as she spoke.

I peered at it. “There’s a hole for a padlock.”

“I’ve never used a padlock. Never had to. You have to pull up this part and scoot it back to release the gate. I chose this lock because it’s simple but unlikely to be opened by dog paws.” She scratched the back of her left hand. “In thirty years of living in this house, no dog has ever opened it. It’s not impossible, I guess, but it seems unlikely. Even if a dog pawed at it, that locking mechanism would move downward, latching it closed.”

I chose my words carefully so I wouldn’t put ideas in her head. “What do you think happened?”

“Oh, I can tell you what happened!” she said angrily. “Someone opened the gate!”