Murder, She Barked

Thirty-three

A lone figure broke out of the crowd and headed straight for us. A loosely-knit sweater hung on her frail frame. The woman who had pocketed the ballet slippers at the shoe store walked up the steps. “Mrs. Miller?”

“Hazel Mae!” exclaimed Oma. “Did you walk all the way down here?”

“I’m used to it.” She held out her hands, offering Oma the GPS collar. “My kids found this collar in the woods near our house this morning. It says Sugar Maple Inn on it. I figure it belongs to you.”

Oma took the collar. “My goodness! What was it doing all the way up there? Thank you, Hazel Mae. Could I offer you some apple cider or a cup of tea?”

“Oh, no thanks! That’s not necessary.”

“Well, let me give you something for your trouble.” Oma pulled some bills from her pocket and pressed them into Hazel Mae’s hand. “Now, don’t you fight me on this. It would have cost much more to replace that collar. Take it and buy a little treat for your children.”

I thought Hazel Mae might cry. “Thank you, Mrs. Miller.” Her voice cracked with emotion when she spoke. She turned and walked away, her head high.

“I’ll reimburse you,” I whispered.

“Nonsense. I would have found a way to get some money into her hands. This provided an excellent excuse.”

Before we could scatter, Aunt Birdie was upon us. “Well, well. Wouldn’t you think a niece would bring her fiancé by and introduce him to her only aunt?”

Birdie wasn’t my only aunt, and she knew it. Seemed futile to point that out to her. Was it a slight to offend Oma by pretending her daughter wasn’t my aunt as well? I thought it better to overlook it. “Aunt Birdie, I’d like you to meet Ben Hathaway. Ben, this is my aunt, Birdie Dupuy.”

They shook hands. Birdie had the nerve to look him up and down like he was livestock for sale.

I felt obligated to clarify our relationship, especially in light of his recent I-hereby-rescind text, so I continued, “We were never engaged, Aunt Birdie. And actually, we’re now just friends.”

Holmes’s head swiveled so fast that it sent a jolt of hopefulness through me. Wrinkles creased his forehead. I wanted to think he was conveying a silent question. Maybe. But Ben shot me a curious glance, too.

“Hmmpf. Well, I’m glad to hear that—given that he’s shacking up with Mortie’s daughter.”

Ben’s face flushed. Even practicing law hadn’t prepared him for the taunts of someone like my Aunt Birdie.

“It’s not what you think!” he sputtered.

The joys of small town life! So little got by the residents. Rumors flew fast and thick. Yet no one had information about who murdered Sven and Jerry? Impossible. Someone knew something regarding the murders. But why wouldn’t that person step forward and tell Dave what he knew?

Aunt Birdie pinched my arm. “Aren’t you going to invite me in? Have you no manners, Holly? Do you expect me to stand out here on the porch all day?”

I was doomed. “Would you like to have a seat out here? Maybe some hot cider?”

“Still on the porch? What does a person have to do to be invited inside?”

There was no salvaging the situation.

Oma surprised me by stating in a no-nonsense voice, “This isn’t a good time for a visit, Birdie. I’m letting the entire staff go to Sven’s memorial service in about an hour. Holly is the only one who didn’t know him, so I’m counting on her to stay behind and take care of the guests while we’re over in Snowball.”

Sad as I was about Sven, I had to bite my upper lip to suppress a grin. Oma came up with a humdinger. No one, especially Aunt Birdie, who set so much stock in manners and social niceties, could argue with a memorial service.

It worried me that her expression changed from a storm cloud to pleasant, almost gleeful.

“How thoughtless of me. I understand completely.” She took in Oma’s black pantsuit, accessorized with a geometric black and white silk scarf. “If you only have an hour, I’d best be on my way so you can dress appropriately.”

Birdie walked down the stairs like a beauty queen, head high, back erect, as though she floated effortlessly.

The four of us released a collective sigh of relief. We turned and hustled inside, where everyone spoke at once.

“Great excuse, Oma!” I said. “Thanks for getting me off the hook.”

“Are you really related to that . . . that awful woman?” asked Ben.

Holmes shook his head. “Birdie never changes. What did your dad call her? The wicked witch of Wagtail?”

“How dare she suggest I change clothes?” Oma grumbled. “What’s wrong with this outfit?”

We assured her that she looked fine.

“Holly, I’m afraid it’s not just an excuse. I do need you to look after things while we’re gone.”

“Shouldn’t I go with you?”

“Now, don’t start that again. I won’t have you sleeping by my door or pretending to be a bodyguard. Besides, Holmes is driving Rose and me.”

At her reminder, Holmes said good-bye and sprinted down the stairs, heading for his parent’s house to change clothes.

“Could I have a second with you, Holly?” asked Ben.

Oma left us alone, saying to meet her in the office so she could explain a few things.

Ben, Trixie, and I edged over to a quiet corner of the front porch.

“What’s this about just being friends?” he asked. “I know we have issues—like the dog. But I thought we were on track for you to move in with me eventually. Maybe soon if you don’t find a job.”

I gave him my very best you-have-to-be-kidding look.

“I know you’re not excited about moving into my place, but I didn’t think we were over.”

“How can you say that?” How could he not understand what he had done? Although he approached our relationship like a business transaction, and ineptly at that, even a businessman would have been stunned by the retraction. The funny thing was that I didn’t feel heartbroken. A little bit out of sorts, perhaps, because it heralded a major change in my life, in my plans, in my future, but not heartbroken. Maybe Rose had been correct. Maybe Ben wasn’t the right guy for me after all. “‘I hereby rescind’ is pretty final, don’t you think?”

In a rare speechless moment, Ben studied me. “Okay, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Oh, please! Your text. I believe it said, so eloquently and full of emotion and love, ‘I hereby rescind all offers of marriage,’ or something to that effect.”

“I never texted you that.”

“You’re going to deny it? I can show you the text!”

He rubbed his fingertips against each other beneath his chin. “What time was it sent?”

“I don’t know exactly. During the night.” And just like that I knew what he was thinking. “Kim.”

“That’s my guess. Holly, I’m very sorry. That must have been devastating to you, especially after all my offers to have you move in.”

The trouble was that it hadn’t been particularly hurtful. “Ben, I’m not moving in with you. I thought I was fairly pragmatic about love. Realistic and not prone to hearts and lace and romance. Apparently I was wrong. I suppose things could change between us, and I might feel differently in the future, but I do know that I will never marry someone who texts a proposal.”

“I thought that was hip.”

I sighed. He seemed so sincere. “Not hip, not cool, not even amusing.”

“If it’s Kim–”

“Kim has nothing to do with this. I think I need to feel more special to my husband. I don’t want to be with someone just because he pities me.”

Ben nodded and walked away, his head bowed. He looked back at me once, but I hurried inside and down to Oma’s office with Trixie.

She showed me where things were and what to do if someone checked in or out, and ended by saying, “Shelley and Zelda and the whole crew are going, so we’ve set up a light buffet with coffee, tea, and hot cider in urns. Just make sure everything is replenished. Okay?”

“No problem.”

The guests kept the inn lively, milling around the buffet and helping themselves. Trixie roamed inside off her leash, even though she didn’t have any tags. She behaved surprisingly well, sticking close to me.

But not a half hour after Oma and the staff departed, Aunt Birdie flounced through the front door.

What did she want now?

“Holly, darling! How nice. A little afternoon tea.” She sniffed and drew her lips back, gazing around at the floor. “With dogs.”

“Please feel free to help yourself, Aunt Birdie.”

She studied me. “I like the dress. It’s too summery for the season, of course, but it will do. Go upstairs and put on some powder and lipstick.”

“Aunt Birdie, I’m working.” I dashed into the kitchen for another pot of coffee.

When I returned, she was tapping a blood-red fingernail on the buffet table.

“Don’t you ever do what you’re told?”

I poured fresh coffee into the urn. “I’m not eight.”

“I have never understood why you have to be so ornery. Very well, it’s out of my hands if you ruin this for yourself.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I have found you a suitable mate.”

I nearly dropped the coffee pot. Surely I hadn’t heard correctly. “I beg your pardon?”

“Now, Holly, don’t be cranky, I’m doing you a favor. If you play your cards right, and you’re quite old enough to know what I mean—don’t go giving away the milk or he won’t buy the cow—then you could have a very fine husband.”

Who was she kidding? “Excuse me. This is America. We don’t arrange marriages here.”

“You can be so taxing. I’m doing you a huge favor. He’s a fine man, good-looking, and he has a successful business. Now that you don’t have a job, you need to consider those things. You’re not getting any younger. One of these days, you’ll develop the Miller jowls, those perky little breasts will droop, and strange hairs will sprout from your chin.”

“I may not have a job this minute, but I’ll get another one. I’m fully capable of supporting myself. Besides,” I pulled my ace out of the hole, “you’re not married. What makes you think I have to be?”

“Holly. My dear girl. I have my reasons, and they are not pertinent to this conversation. However, since you were sufficiently insensitive to bring it up, I admit, as I approach sixty, I recognize that there are certain benefits to marriage.” She clenched her teeth, and her nostrils flared. “You’re all I have. I don’t want you to be in that position.” She embraced me, not quite as stiffly as usual. “I’m so glad you came home to me.”

Oh dear heaven! What could I say? Of course, she had my mother. I wasn’t her only living relative. But mom lived all the way across the country and wasn’t close with Birdie—for good reason.

“Aunt Birdie, I’m sorry you feel so alone. Maybe you’re the one who should be looking for a husband.”

“Don’t you talk back to me! I expect you to be on your very best behavior.”

Behind her, Philip strode into the front lobby carrying a giant bouquet of red roses and dog cookies in the shapes of bones, mounted on sticks, and iced in white with red frosting piped around the edges.

Aunt Birdie glanced over her shoulder. She turned back to me and hissed, “Now be nice!”

At that very moment, I wanted nothing more than for the floor to open up and swallow me. I couldn’t run screaming from the room. I couldn’t pitch a fit in front of the guests. There was just no option but to be gracious and privately explain to Philip that my Aunt Birdie was an obnoxious busybody and a deranged loon.

I accepted the flowers and thanked him. A bit louder than normal, so Aunt Birdie would hear, I said, “I’m so sorry. This isn’t a good time for me. Maybe we can have a cup of coffee later?”

“No problem,” he said, “I’m happy to pitch in.”

“That’s really not necessary. I have everything under control.” But he walked up to the cider urn and opened it to check the contents. I tried to be polite. “Why don’t you and Aunt Birdie help yourselves to some of these goodies?”

“Aunt Birdie won’t mind.”

She didn’t appear to. She gathered a sampling of sandwiches, scones, and pastries on a plate and sat down at a table. “Philip, would you be a love and bring me some coffee, light?”

I didn’t like this setup. Not one bit. Philip held a coffee cup in his hand. I grasped his wrist. “I can’t let you do this. Really.” I took hold of the coffee cup, but it was a bad move on my part.

He ran his hand over mine. “I was so pleased when Aunt Birdie stopped by to tell me that you and Ben had broken up.”

Why did he keep calling her Aunt Birdie? As far as I knew, we weren’t related, and if we were, then—ewww. I forced a smile. “Won’t you please keep Aunt Birdie company? I know I hate to eat alone in public. She probably feels very awkward.”

He looked into my eyes for a long, excruciatingly uncomfortable moment. “That’s very thoughtful of you. At least let me bring her coffee over to her.”

I nodded and rushed to the kitchen for a moment alone. A huge sigh shuddered out of my mouth. I shook my arms and hands, put off by him. Why did Aunt Birdie have to be so irritating? If she was a stranger, I could just ignore her and make a point of not socializing with her. But she was a relative. I leaned against the cold, stainless steel prep counter and counted to ten.

The door swung open. Philip poked his head in and waved at me. “We need more scones and lemon curd, sweetie.” The door swung shut behind him.

I looked down at my clenched hands. If I didn’t get out there, he would take over. I grabbed a platter of scones and more of the lemon curd and took a deep breath before I returned.

As he had promised, he joined Aunt Birdie, and the two of them had a grand old time, while I did everything I could to keep busy so they wouldn’t call me over to their table.

I bussed other tables, and replenished everything, even when it wasn’t necessary.

Until a scream rattled down the stairwell.