Murder, She Barked: A Paws & Claws Mystery (A Paws and Claws Mystery)

Twenty-four

“You, Dave, and me,” said Oma. “You will tell Dave, and we will assist him in uncovering the killer.”

“Whoa. This isn’t Murder, She Wrote.” Sometimes I thought Oma fancied herself a Mrs. Fletcher. “This is a flesh and blood, real live killer who put a lot of thought into murdering you. And he came—” I raised my hand with my thumb and forefinger an inch apart “—this close to doing it, too.”

Her mouth twitched to the side. At least she was taking it seriously.

“Please reconsider my offer for you to stay at my place for a while.” I picked up a stack of papers on her desk and tapped them into a neat pile. The color brochure advertised Mystery Weekends at the Sugar Maple Inn.

I waved one at her. “You can’t be serious?”

“People love those weekends. We are always sold out, and when they leave, some people book ahead for the next year. You would enjoy them! Or don’t you like mysteries anymore now that you’re all grown up?”

“I love mysteries, but that doesn’t make me Nancy Drew.”

She shook her head sadly. “You were so much more fun when you were younger. When did you turn into such a dry person? You’re like a piece of zwieback.”

“Excuse me for being concerned about the fact that someone is trying to murder you. It’s not a game! You, yourself, said that he planned it very carefully. You don’t think this person is going to try again? He or she could be on his way at this very moment. Or worse, he or she could already be here, staying in the inn.” I sighed, loudly.

“What do you want from me, Holly? I refuse to run away in fear. Let’s say I take a vacation and go to your house—what happens if the killer isn’t found in a week or two weeks? I never come home to Wagtail? No, this is not a solution.”

“Okay, then tell me who you suspect.” Dave needed leads. People with motives.

Now Oma fidgeted with papers, shuffling them and rearranging them. “I don’t know. I have always been very outspoken, as I’m sure you realize. There were hot tempers about turning Wagtail into a pet friendly town. Many residents were against it, vehemently so. Including your Aunt Birdie.”

“You think Aunt Birdie gunned that car at you?”

“No! I’m simply saying that she was opposed to the plan. And she has never liked me.”

“I suppose the list includes Peaches Clodfelter and her dreadful daughter, Prissy.”

“Nonsense. Peaches and I coexist. She holds a grudge but that goes back many years. I hardly think she would have waited until now to take such dire action. At least we know Jerry can’t be a suspect. We certainly had our differences, but now he has been killed.”

I let her keep talking, but it dawned on me that just because Jerry was dead didn’t mean he hadn’t tried to knock her off. In fact—now that I thought about it—maybe Jerry had tried to kill Oma, and someone had murdered him in revenge.

“I get along with most of the people in Wagtail and consider them dear friends.”

“What about employees?” I whispered.

She slapped a hand against her chest, appalled. “No! I am very good to my employees. No, no, no. It is not possible.”

I took the opportunity to ask the other question that had been weighing on me. “Oma, I want you to be honest with me. Are you ill?”

Her eyes darted to the side.

Rats! She was evading me again. “This shouldn’t be so difficult to answer.”

“Liebling, you worry too much. I want to see you be happy again. Your little Trixie is a good start.”

Trixie! I’d forgotten all about her. I needn’t have worried. She had jumped onto the back of a loveseat and watched us like a ping-pong match, her attention moving back and forth between us as we spoke.

“I blame the Ben for this. He has no zest.”

“Oma, it’s offensive when you call him ‘the Ben.’”

“Yes? It’s my poor English, I’m sure.”

Poor English, my foot. She didn’t like “the Ben” and this was her coy little way of showing it.

Oma limped around her desk to me and grasped my upper arms. “Liebling, don’t worry about my health. As you can see, I am quite fine. This silly ankle will heal soon. Now, you have wasted enough of my time with this useless speculation.”

“It’s not useless. Oma, you really don’t have any clue who might be this angry with you?” I baited her. “That doesn’t seem like you.”

She laughed. “There’s hope for you yet! I will think about this. I promise. In one hour, Betsy Wheeler and her parents will arrive to look at the inn for her wedding. Would you mind showing them around? Then I will meet with them here in my office to discuss details. Yes?”

“Of course. I would be happy to.”

“Then scoot and get a bite of lunch while I prepare for them.”

Zelda’s back was to me when I emerged from Oma’s office. She looked over her shoulder and smiled casually, like she was pretending to be disinterested. Crooking her finger to follow her, she skittered toward the stairs. She held out her hand, full of teeny tiny dog treats. “Here, let Trixie see you putting these in your pocket. She tells me she love treats, so give her one every now and then to reward her for staying close by you.”

“Thanks. That’s a great idea.” I took the treats and made a production of slipping them into the pocket of my trousers.

Trixie observed carefully. She stood on her hind legs to sniff the contents of my pocket.

“I don’t want your grandmother to hear this,” whispered Zelda. “We’re all very worried about her. We’re making a point of watching her. All the employees are taking turns.”

“You’re all looking out for her?” I wondered if Oma knew how highly they thought of her. Did the whole town realize that Oma had been the intended victim?

Zelda craned her head toward me and continued to whisper. “Chloe told us what’s going on. Rest assured that we all love Mrs. Miller, and we won’t let harm come to her.”

So much for Chloe keeping it quiet. “Thank you, Zelda. I appreciate that.”

“Casey says he has trouble with her at night, that sometimes she manages to slip by him.”

“It wouldn’t be hard. I walked up to him dead asleep right there on the loveseat. Maybe I’ll set up camp outside her door after she turns in.”

“Great! Casey’s kind of young and easily spooked.” She glanced around. “For what it’s worth, I think it was Prissy Clodfelter.”

Trixie whined and pressed against my legs.

“See?” said Zelda. “Trixie knows. Prissy is just plain mean. And she would think she could get away with something like this. Dave will never consider her a suspect because he has the hots for her.”

Oma called to Zelda, who patted my shoulder and nodded in a gesture of solidarity before hurrying back to the office.

“Come on, Trixie. Let’s see if we can rustle up some lunch.”

I had every intention of snooping around for leftovers in Oma’s private kitchen, but Shelley snagged me as soon as we reached the dining area.

“We need to talk.” She led me to a table wedged in a private corner. Perched on a chair, she twisted toward me. “I don’t have much time. We always get a good lunch crowd.”

I believed her. Not a single table on the terrace was available.

“Waitresses see a lot and overhear things, you know? Mr. Wiggins, do you know him? The wealthiest man in town? Well, he comes by here every week to see your grandmother. Now, I’m not saying that they’re having an affair or anything, but Peaches used to spy on them. It was kind of funny, because she’d sit out on the porch, or amble through the inn, pretending to be casual. Well, this one day, Mr. Wiggins and your grandmother were eating lunch out on the terrace when Peaches flew in on her broomstick and made a scene that you would not believe. I don’t have to tell you how much Mrs. Miller despises big scenes. From that day forward, they took their lunches down in Mrs. Miller’s private office.”

She excused herself, picked up a coffee pot, and made quick work of visiting all the outdoor tables with a smile and a refill.

Behind me, the chef rolled open a window and set plates on a ledge. “Hi, Holly. Buffalo burgers with caramelized onions are the lunch special today. Can I make you one?”

Could he? My mouth watered at the thought. “Absolutely, if it’s not too much trouble.”

“No trouble at all. Hot tea?”

“Sounds perfect.”

Shelley whipped by me, loaded the plates on her arms like a pro, and hustled them out to the terrace. I would have dropped them all.

When she returned, she placed the tea and a platter in front of me. Trixie stood on her hind legs and pranced, fixated on the second dish Shelley carried. Laughing, she set it on the floor for Trixie. I barely managed a glimpse of her lunch—crumbled buffalo burger mixed with raw shredded carrot and garnished with two home fries—before she gobbled it up.

“Don’t worry,” said Shelley. “No onions in the dog servings.”

I bit into the juicy burger and grabbed for a napkin. The slightly sweet onions blended perfectly with the meat. Crispy, golden brown home fries and a tangy shredded carrot salad accompanied the burger.

Shelley sat down again. “There’s something else I have to get off my chest. I was the last one through Ellie Pierce’s gate, but I know I closed it. I’ve gone over that night again and again in my mind. Someone had to have unlatched that gate and opened it for Dolce—but it wasn’t me, I swear!” She took a deep breath. “What I want to know is, where was Jerry when Sven was killed?”