Murder, She Barked

Twenty-seven

I watched Dave hurry away, winding through the crowds in the shopping area. He was right about Oma having secrets. When I was nine, I’d accidentally caught a guest, Mr. Winestock, exiting the room of another guest, a Mrs. Garland, at six in the morning. They’d engaged in a lingering kiss at her door, and Mr. Winestock had carried his trousers over his arm.

The thought of his expression when he turned and saw me still made me giggle. Poor man. He’d called Oma immediately, not to apologize but to demand that I keep my little mouth shut around his wife, who would be arriving in a few hours and, naturally, was not Mrs. Garland.

Oma had sat me down and explained that innkeepers owed a special duty to their guests not to divulge their secrets. That it wasn’t really any of our business if they didn’t sleep in their own beds or eat their vegetables.

I laughed aloud at the memory of torturing Oma all that summer about the intersection of lying, being a tattletale, and keeping the secrets of guests. She must have been glad to see me leave that fall!

We arrived at Puppy Love and were immediately greeted by a shih tzu and a woman with generous curves who wore her thick gray hair cropped close to her head. She threw her hands in the air, clapped them together, and trilled, “You must be little Trixie!”

Trixie waggled all over, and when the woman crouched, Trixie had the nerve to stick her nose into the woman’s pocket.

“I’m so sorry!” I tugged at Trixie.

“It’s okay. She’s darling. She knows I keep goodies in my pocket for sweet little doggies, don’t you, baby?” She pulled out thin treats the size of half my pinkie fingernail and fed them to Trixie and the shih tzu. “I’ve been waiting for you.”

“Are you psychic, too?”

She guffawed. “Goodness, no. Zelda called me and said you were coming. I picked out some of our prettiest collars.” She bent and showed them to Trixie. “With your white fur, you can wear anything. Do you like black Halloween collars with ghosts or candy corn? Or this one with colorful autumn leaves? That would be nice for Gingersnap. Or a pretty girly pink?”

Since Zelda wasn’t there to tell me Trixie’s preference, I took it upon myself to choose. “We’ll take the candy corn for Trixie, and the autumn-leaf collar as a gift for Gingersnap. Do you have a candy-corn collar for a kitten?”

While Trixie played with the shih tzu, I spent the next few minutes punching information into a machine for tags. Given the unreliable nature of cell phones in Wagtail, I decided to use both my cell phone number and the phone number of the inn on the tags.

Trixie tugged at her leash, pulling away from me. “Just a minute, I’m almost done.”

“I know you! You’re that little pest that was chasing my foals.”

Trixie backed away, pulling against her collar as hard as she could. I rushed to pick her up and turned to find a wizened little man staring at Trixie. White hair fluffed around a face that bore deep leathery creases from long hours in the sun, but the blue eyes sparkled with mischief.

His exquisite tweed jacket hadn’t been in style during my lifetime, nor the jaunty tweed ivy-style cap, or plaid bow tie. He peered at me from under bushy eyebrows, his eyes wide.

“Good night, Nelly! You must be a Miller.”

“Mr. Wiggins?” I jostled Trixie to extend a hand. “I’m Holly Miller. I used to play with your daughter.” He had always seemed old to me. I guessed he was only in his seventies now.

“Prissy is not my daughter!” He trembled and spoke with vehemence.

“I meant Clementine.”

“Well, that’s all right then.” He squinted at me and took my hand. “You’re the spittin’ image of your grandmother, child. Does that little troublemaker belong to you?”

“I’m afraid she does. She’s really very sweet.” I scowled at him. “You haven’t been shooting at her, have you?”

His mouth twitched sideways. “I chased her, and did some shouting to scare her.” He waggled a finger at her. “You stay away from my foals from now on.”

A loud bay issued from the beagle on the floor next to him.

“Hah! Baby agrees with me.”

Trixie wriggled. It was getting hard to hold her. I backed up a step and set her on the floor, which prompted Baby to bay again.

“She remembers seeing your dog run through our farm with that rat in her mouth.”

“Rat?” Ugh.

“Might not have been a rat. Some little furry beast. You staying with your grandmother?”

“I am. How’s Clementine?”

“Bossing me around is how she is. I’m surrounded by women, and they all boss me like I’m some kind of weak-minded idiot.”

The store clerk bustled over. “I’ll never do that, Mr. Wiggins.” She handed him a plain brown paper grocery bag. “I think Babylicious will enjoy this.”

“Babylicious?” It slipped out.

Mr. Wiggins stood a little straighter when he proudly said, “Fireside’s Babylicious Boogie. She’s the best beagle to ever come out of Fireside Farms. A real winner, aren’t you, Baby?”

I didn’t know much about beagles, but she was pretty. A beautiful white blaze ran between her gentle eyes. I had a feeling this little beauty lived the good life.

Mr. Wiggins thanked the clerk and told me to give Oma his best.

The clerk chuckled as soon as he left. “Did you see that? He hates Peaches and Prissy so much he won’t even patronize their store.”

“I thought he was married to Peaches.”

She winked at me. “He is! I always give him a plain brown bag so they won’t know what he’s carrying if they see him.”

“Won’t they know once they see what he bought?”

She hooked the dog tag to Trixie’s new collar. “Word is that he kicked Peaches out of his mansion. She and Prissy are back at their old house here in town. About a year ago, he quit subsidizing their store, and Prissy had to get a part-time job over at the police department in Snowball. Heaven knows, no one around here would hire her.”

“Their store isn’t doing well?”

She snickered. “Let’s just say no one shops there twice. You got to be nice to people. I swear Prissy and Peaches think they can just stand around all dressed up with their fancy jewelry and beauty-salon manicures, and the store will run itself. We’ve been expecting to see a Going Out of Business sign any day. There you go!” She handed me the collar.

I fastened the candy-corn collar around Trixie’s neck. “You’re mighty lucky Mr. Wiggins didn’t pick you off, Trixie. He’s a hunter.”

“Aww, he’s an old softy. He’d never shoot a dog. How long will you be in town? I can have a leash embroidered with Trixie’s name for you by tomorrow.”

“Given all the leashes around, that might not be a bad idea.”

She bagged the other collars in a cute red and brown tote bag bearing the store’s name, Puppy Love.

No sooner had I thanked her than I heard, “There you are! I’ve been all over looking for you.”

I knew Holmes’s sultry voice, masculine yet warm and friendly.

“You have?” We walked out the door together. “What’s up?”

“I met Ben. He’s kind of a nervous guy. Um, did you know he’s looking for some girl named Kim?”

“So I’ve heard.” I gazed into his concerned eyes. Did I detect a hint of amusement? “Something’s up, Holmes. I can’t quite figure it out, but it all ties in with Sven’s death.”

“How about I buy you a cup of coffee, and you tell me about it? Maybe I can help.”

“I’d love that, but I should get back to Oma to keep an eye on her.”

He tilted his head. “Since when does she need watching? Besides, I just left Grandma Rose there. I got the feeling they wanted me to leave so they could speak privately. How about an ice cream cone? We can find a bench with a good view of the inn.”

I agreed, and Holmes led the way to Moo La La, a tiny corner place with only a takeout window. A black and white cow with long lashes held a chalkboard out front showing off the store’s latte and ice cream specialties.

Armed with salted caramel-chocolate cones, we settled at a bench on the plaza outside the inn. I was nervous about not checking on Oma first, but I soon spotted her on the porch with Rose. Their heads bent toward each other, they appeared to be deep in a discussion.

I elbowed Holmes. “Check it out. Wonder what they’re up to now?”

“I’m afraid to imagine. On the other hand, I hope we’re as spunky when we’re their age. So what’s going on?”

Trixie jumped up on the bench between us and snuggled under my arm.

“What has Rose told you about the night Sven died?”

“Rose and my parents keep telling me to be careful what I say. That this isn’t Chicago. The tiniest rumor can swell into a big problem if I’m not careful.”

“Surely you’re not really a suspect?”

“Surely, I am—in Jerry’s death.” He licked his ice cream. “Someone says he saw me running away from Jerry’s house that morning.” He grinned. “And you know what? That’s absolutely true.”