Murder, She Barked

Thirty

No Oma. Except for the wrinkles Gingersnap had probably caused, I didn’t think her bed had been slept in.

I looked around in case she had fallen. Although I found no sign of Oma, there, on her dresser, in plain sight, lay cruise brochures. Hong Kong, Singapore, Japan. I flapped them down with irritation. Either she was planning a vacation or Holmes knew all along that Oma was ready to let the inn go. Rose had probably confided in him. Why hadn’t Oma come right out and told me? It seemed so obvious to me now. She was ready to retire and sell the inn.

Where was she, though? I had seen her go into her apartment and heard her lock the door. There was no way she could have left, unless she escaped through a window and rappelled down the outside of the building.

I had to be losing my grip. First Trixie vanished, and now Oma. Aha. Of course. Oma must have departed while I was out looking for Trixie.

Releasing a huge sigh, I left, taking Gingersnap with me so she wouldn’t start barking again. I locked Oma’s door and returned the keys to Casey, suddenly feeling very, very tired.

“Do you know where my grandmother went?”

Casey’s eyes rounded, wide with fright. “I haven’t seen her.”

“She must be here somewhere. Maybe she’s making hot milk so she can sleep.”

“Where’s your dog?”

“I don’t know. With Oma, maybe? I’m so tired. Just watch, I’ll head over to the kitchen and will find the two of them having a grand old time eating a midnight snack.”

“I saw the blankets. Why are you sleeping up there?”

“To keep an eye on her.”

“That didn’t turn out very well.”

Little smarty-pants! “Thank you. Now I feel so much better,” I said sarcastically.

He handed me my phone, which he must have rescued after Trixie kicked it over the balcony. “You’re lucky the phone didn’t break. But you’re going to feel worse. I’m sorry. I read the message.”

I flicked it on. I hereby rescind all prior proposals of marriage.

I laughed too loud and clapped a hand over my mouth, hoping I hadn’t woken anyone.

“It’s funny?” Casey repositioned his glasses.

My entire body shook with laughter. In fact, I couldn’t stop laughing. It was too weird. I’d been offended by the original proposal, and now I had been electronically dumped!

Casey looked at me like I had lost my mind.

I was still laughing when I left him and returned to Oma’s kitchen with Gingersnap. But in one second, nothing was funny anymore. No Oma, and no sign of Trixie.

Where had they gone? I wandered back to the grand staircase. The front door wasn’t locked. What time did they lock it at night? I peeked out at the rocking chairs on the porch, and scanned the plaza in front of the inn—dead quiet. Not a soul moved.

I returned inside and locked the front door behind me.

“Didn’t find her?”

A little squeal escaped me. I whirled around and found Mr. Luciano in the Dogwood Room. He still wore the black bathrobe, but now he held an old-fashioned glass that contained an amber liquid.

“Scotch?” he asked.

It wasn’t my drink. “No, thanks. Have you seen my grandmother?”

“Not since earlier this evening. She’s a wonderful person, your grandmother. I hope you cherish her.”

“I do.” I smiled at him reassuringly.

He sat down and crossed his legs, displaying surprisingly elegant gold jacquard pajama pants. “My own grandmother came here from Italy. But not the Italy that everybody thinks of—Rome or Sicily. My family came from the mountains in northern Italy. Tyrol, they call it. Have you been there? It’s beautiful. Very relaxing, like it is here.” He stroked Gingersnap’s head.

“It sounds lovely.”

“It is. I love coming to the Sugar Maple Inn, too. But this has been a stressful trip for me.”

A little shudder hammered through me. Was he about to confess to murder? What had he done with Oma? Had she left her suite right after me and run into him in the hallway while I raced around like an idiot looking for Trixie?

“Where is Oma?” My voice came out breathy and nervous. “Where is my dog?”

He didn’t seem to notice my agitation. “You know, when you’re born, your mother and father love you like no other person ever will. Not even your wife.”

Was he delusional? I played along. “You’re married?”

“Not anymore. She left me—” he waggled his head from side to side “—and now she’s not with us.” He sipped his Scotch. “But a dog . . . a dog will love you like your mama. Unconditional, they call it. No matter what you do, a dog will forgive you and defend you.”

“What happened to your wife?” I whispered, almost afraid to hear his answer.

“Oddly, I find I do not care about her any longer. She is not worthy of my devotion or my interest.”

My patience wore thin. Did he know where Oma was? “What about my grandmother? Is she worthy?”

“Oh my, yes. I’m grateful for her kindness and wisdom. She has been most considerate this week.”

I couldn’t help myself, my voice rose to a shrill pitch. “Then where is she?”

He stood up and faced me. “Are you saying she’s missing?”

I blinked at him, unable to discern whether he was lying or being honest. “I can’t find her—or Trixie.”

“It’s the middle of the night. They must be around here somewhere.”

I dearly wanted to get a peek inside his room. The rational side of me hoped I was being melodramatic. Only on a TV show would a guest hide the innkeeper in his room. Still . . . what excuse could I use?

“You don’t suppose Trixie dodged into your room while the door was open?”

“Let’s go look!”

He must not be hiding Oma there or he wouldn’t have been so eager. Nevertheless, I sidestepped to the house phone in the entrance and called Casey. “I’m going upstairs to Heel to see if Trixie sneaked into Mr. Luciano’s room.”

The moment of silence on the other end clued me in—Casey didn’t understand why I was calling him. “Won’t Mr. Luciano be upset if you wake him?”

“He’s right here with me.”

“Oh. Ohhhhh! Gotcha covered!”

Mr. Luciano made small talk about Oma, and we ventured up the stairs with Gingersnap leading the way. As we turned down the hallway, Casey peered around the corner and immediately flipped his back against the wall to hide.

I hoped Mr. Luciano hadn’t seen him.

“That Casey is a funny fellow,” he said.

Whoops. No question that he’d seen Casey.

He unlocked the door to Heel, left it open and called, “Trixie. Trixie, treat! Please—” he swept his arm to the side in a grand gesture “—feel free to look around.”

I checked the bathroom and called out Trixie’s name, hoping that if he’d tied up Oma in a closet, she would hear me and bang against the door. I observed Gingersnap, whose superior nose would surely know if Oma or Trixie was stashed away somewhere. She sniffed around, wagging her tail, evidently unconcerned.

Over the years, I had seen a lot of guest rooms. Mr. Luciano kept his tidy. The only thing that threw me for a loop was the luxurious faux fur bolster dog bed with the name Gina embroidered on it. I hadn’t seen him with a dog. I was afraid to ask about her. He’d spoken with such sentimentality about the love of a dog that I feared he might have lost his Gina before I arrived.

“Thank you, Mr. Luciano. I’m sorry to have troubled you.”

“You did the right thing calling Casey. You’ll be a fine innkeeper one day. Just like your grandmother.”

He closed the door behind Gingersnap and me, and I felt an idiot for having suspected him of anything sinister.

Casey waited for us where the hallway met the balcony. “You should start carrying a walkie-talkie with you.”

“I didn’t expect to be nosing around in a guest room. Where could they have gone?”

“Mrs. Miller has to be around here somewhere. I never saw her leave.”

“She must have slipped out of her room when I shot down the hallway in search of Trixie. That’s the only reasonable explanation.”

“All I know is that she didn’t leave through the reception door. I would have noticed that.”

“The front door was unlocked. She must have gone out that way.”

His eyes grew wide. “I forgot to lock it tonight!”

“Don’t worry about it. She could have simply unlocked it and left.”

The adrenaline that had pumped through me waned, and the exhaustion of the wee hour of the morning weighed on me. I needed to wake up and keep a clear head to find them. “I’m going to make coffee. Want some?”

“Sure. That would be great. I’m almost done with bills for the guests checking out in the morning.”

I took my time walking back through the quiet inn. I paused and remembered Christmas in the Dogwood Room, with a towering tree full of Oma’s old blown-glass Christmas ornaments from Germany. Did Oma still hold a big Thanksgiving dinner for family and friends in the dining area? Why had I missed out on all that fun? I knew the answer. The divorce. Each of my parents had remarried and started new families, and I had bounced around between them on holidays and vacations like a beach ball. They had made new lives for themselves elsewhere and hadn’t been interested in returning to Wagtail, even for holidays. Even though they were my parents, I’d often felt like the occasional visitor, instead of family. I had spent my holidays trying to make everyone happy. Everyone except me.

Oma had done a wonderful job with the renovation. Now that I suspected she wanted to retire, I knew why she’d updated the inn. It was gorgeous. Mountain chic, as Oma would say. Rustic elegance. My eyes misted at the thought of losing it.

I wiped my eyes. When did I turn into a big softie? It was a business. That was all. Just stone and wood and . . . and—

Shrill yipping tore through the quiet.