Murder, She Barked

Twenty-six

Six cats waited on the other side. Trixie yelped at them, then pulled at the leash, her feet scrambling like a cartoon character.

The cats scattered, except for a big gray one with yellow eyes, who stared Trixie down.

“You don’t lock your doors?” I asked.

Zelda snorted. “This is Wagtail. Nothing horrible ever happens here. Well, not until recently.”

We lifted the box and carried it inside the house. The front room served as foyer and living room. Ancient hardwood floors moaned as we walked on them.

Zelda had already made room for the new chair and did a little dance of delight when it was out of the box and in place. She curled up on her big new chair and a half by the fireplace. A longhaired cat with tufts on its ears leaped onto her lap. “All I need now is hot apple cider and a book. Maybe a little snow.”

“This is quite a house.”

“I don’t know what’s going to happen now that Jerry is dead. It belongs to him. I’m just renting it.” She raised her eyebrows and frowned, tilting her head to the side. “Jerry gave me a really great deal on the house because I solved a problem for Chief. He had an obsessive digging problem. When I talked to Chief, he told me he wasn’t getting enough exercise. Jerry took him places, but never gave him time to play or just sniff around—which is very important to hounds. Once Jerry made time for Chief to be a dog, he was much better behaved. That, and clicker training. Jerry had tried using a choke collar to train Chief, but he responded better to clicker training.”

She pointed at Trixie. “She will, too. They’re both food motivated. Anyway, Jerry was so happy that he rented me this house for a steal. I’d love to buy it, but there’s no way after what my ex did to our credit. I love it here, though.” She clutched the cat to her tightly. “I don’t want to leave!”

“Wouldn’t his mother have inherited his rental properties?”

“I don’t know. I haven’t asked yet because it’s too soon to broach that with her. It would be insensitive.”

That was true. It would have been thoughtless of her to ask Ellie right away. “I guess you’ll find out soon.”

Trixie watched the cat with way too much interest. I tightened my grip on the leash.

“Zelda, this morning I ran into the weirdest guy in the woods. Tall with glasses—”

Her eyes went wide. “The Runemaster! You really saw him?”

“Runemaster?”

“That’s what we call him. He’s a recluse. Hardly ever comes into town. Just turns up in the woods when people least expect it, like he’s spying on people. He’s very scary.”

I was glad I hadn’t known that. “He did show up suddenly and then he disappeared, but he wasn’t that scary.”

She shivered. “No, thanks. He creeps me out.”

She walked me to the door, thanking me profusely for my help.

“Anytime.”

By my calculations, we were one block over from the street where Sven had been mowed down. For no good reason, when I left Zelda’s, I crossed the street, ambled down a block, and wound up in front of Ellie’s house again.

Trixie sniffed the sidewalk. “I wish you could tell me who opened that gate.”

She inspected the base of the gate eagerly. Not that it would mean anything. Half the town had gone through the gate to convey their condolences since Jerry died. We strolled toward the shopping area, but an angry voice caught my attention. Trixie pulled at the leash again, her ears perked up.

Rose stood inside the doorway of her quaint cottage, speaking in an elevated voice. Not yelling, it was tempered, but as angry as I’d ever heard Rose.

“Lord a’mercy! I’ve a mind to call your mother about this. She would be plumb ashamed of you. Imagine coming over here and insinuating I’ve been running around killing people. Now you get on out of my house and don’t you come back until you’re ready to mind your manners. You used to be such a nice boy!”

Dave exited, murmuring something I couldn’t hear. Apologies, perhaps?

I timed my walking speed to accidentally intersect with him at her gate. “Dave!” I lowered my voice. “What was that all about?”

Rose shook her finger at him. “And don’t you go mixing Holly or Holmes into this mess. Do you understand me, young man?”

His cheeks and ears blazed plum red. He shook his head and fell in step with me. “How am I supposed to investigate a murder if everyone treats me like a fourteen-year-old Boy Scout? Your grandmother won’t tell me anything, and Rose is offended that I dare ask her questions.”

“Maybe one of the cops from Snowball should take over the investigation.”

He gasped. “No! This is the biggest break I’ve ever had.” He clapped a hand to his forehead. “Will you listen to me? That’s not what I meant. Not at all. You must think I’m a terrible person.”

“I know what you mean. After years of returning lost purses and giving directions, there’s finally a big case in Wagtail.”

“That’s it exactly. This is my town. These are my people. It’s my jurisdiction, and by George, I’m going to get to the bottom of this. Thanks for understanding, Holly. I didn’t intend to sound happy about the deaths of two terrific people. Did you get anything out of your grandmother?”

“Nothing helpful. Unless you think . . .” I stopped midsentence. I couldn’t offend Prissy Clodfelter again if he was interested in her.

He stopped walking. “What? What did she say?”

“It’s just that stupid old animosity between the Clodfelters and the Millers. But Oma said it’s been going on so long she hardly thinks they’d have waited this long to do something rash.”

“What’s the deal there? Why don’t the Clodfelters like your family?”

“I honestly don’t know. Must have happened ages ago. I’m sorry I said something awful about Prissy yesterday. I didn’t know you two were an item.”

“That’s nice of you to say. I appreciate it, Holly.”

“Hey, I’ve been wondering—did you track down the source of the phone call to the inn that night? Wouldn’t that lead us straight to the killer?”

“You’d think so, wouldn’t you?” He clammed up. His mouth pulled into a taut line, and he looked me straight in the eyes, assessing me. “It came from the public phone at Hair of the Dog.”

Surprised that he’d shared confidential information, I said, “Thanks.”

“Don’t go thinking I’m telling you anything secret. I’ve been asking questions about who was there around that time. Half the town was watching when that phone was fingerprinted.”

“Was Jerry there?” I held my breath.

“You’re not the first person to suggest that Jerry drove the car that hit Sven.”

“Dave, do you think Oma was the intended victim that night?”

Dave shuffled his feet, then scratched the side of his face, clearly uncomfortable. “You figured that out, huh?” He sucked in a deep breath of air. “I can’t imagine Jerry killing Liesel. I always thought they managed their opposing views well and that they shared a mutual respect. But maybe something pushed him over the edge. Only Liesel could tell us that, but she takes great pride in keeping her secrets. To answer your question, nobody has mentioned seeing Jerry at Hair of the Dog that day.”

“So it’s possible that Jerry killed Sven but meant to murder Oma. If that’s the case, he certainly was a cool customer the next day at breakfast.”

Dave rubbed his ear. “I’m not supposed to be talking to you about this.”

He needed all the help he could get, but I understood his concern. “Okay. I don’t want to get you in trouble.”

“You’re the only person in town who’s being nice to me. Everybody else expects me to spill everything I know. If you ask me, there are too many secrets in this town. A lot of people are hiding something.”