Murder, She Barked

Thirty-seven

We casually walked by the house. Lights shone upstairs. Another light turned on and seconds later, the downstairs windows glowed, too.

I peered at the green mailbox with shamrocks on it, hoping to see a name. No such luck.

We doubled back and quietly slipped into Jerry’s yard. At least we wouldn’t disturb anyone there.

Trixie tugged at the leash, sniffing the ground and trying to pull me where she wanted to go. We sneaked along the side of Jerry’s house. From the backyard, I could see inside a brightly lighted window in the back of the neighboring home.

Tall cabinets mounted on the wall indicated it was the kitchen. I coaxed Trixie deeper into Jerry’s backyard. Bingo! Another window and a much better angle. I could see Kim’s blond hair shining under the lights. She gestured. A plea? I wished she were yelling. I might be able to hear what she was saying.

A tall man with fluffy reddish hair styled in high waves came into view. Brewster!

Trixie dug in a flower bed, tossing dirt. “Stop that,” I hissed, using my shoe to push the dirt back into place.

But when I looked up, a movement in the window upstairs caught my eye. Someone else was in Brewster’s house. She leaned over to close the window. There was no doubt about it. Prissy Clodfelter wore a scant nightie in the middle of the night upstairs in Brewster’s house. Well, well, well. I wouldn’t have expected that matchup. Poor Dave! Did he know about Brewster and Prissy? Probably not.

I shifted my focus back to Brewster. He seemed calm. He even laughed. Was Kim pulling some kind of stunt on Ben? I might have suspected hanky-panky if I hadn’t spotted Prissy upstairs.

I watched their expressions, trying to read them. Kim did not appear happy. Was she fearful? More like worried, I decided.

She left the house, and the door banged shut behind her. I grabbed Trixie and covered her with the black jacket. We huddled in the back corner of the yard, my main concern that Trixie might bark. My heart pounded. And then she yelped, high and shrill.

I cringed and glanced at the window.

Brewster peered out, his neck craned. He switched off the light, but the dim glow coming from another room allowed me to see him press his face against the window, his hands cupped around his temples.

I turned my head so he wouldn’t see my face, and covered Trixie with my body. When I looked back, the downstairs lights had been doused.

I wasn’t taking any chances. We scurried across the back of Jerry’s yard and around the other side to the street. I hurried Trixie along the sidewalk away from Brewster’s house, just in case he looked out a front window.

When we reached the shopping area, a bright streetlight revealed that Trixie carried something in her mouth. “Ugh.” I grabbed it from her. A dirty little bag. It had some heft to it. At least it wasn’t a rat this time.

That had been a strange encounter. Aside from the surprising relationship between Prissy and Brewster, which I didn’t think Dave knew about, two things stood out in my mind. First, Kim felt the need to keep her visit to Brewster secret. She could have simply phoned him or paid him a visit at Hair of the Dog during the day. That meant they didn’t want anyone to know they had a connection, especially Ben. Or they didn’t want anyone to overhear their conversation.

Second, the only obvious connection between Kim and the murders was her father’s car. It was remotely possible that her midnight visit to Brewster arose out of some other reason, but it seemed more likely that it involved the car. What was it about that car that was so important?

Trixie raised her head, and her ears pricked. She backed up quickly when two intoxicated men stumbled by, laughing and talking far too loud. We cut across the green and passed the stores on the other side. Just in case Kim was still around, we cut down the next street and walked by Aunt Birdie’s house—a typical white Victorian with a turret and a front porch. I could tell it was immaculate, even in the dark of night. A porch light illuminated wicker chairs and a table that evoked thoughts of lazy summer days. Never at Birdie’s, though. I doubted that anyone had ever dared sit in one of her chairs. Her house was for show-and-tell. My mother had always hurried me out lest I touch a wall or one of the dolls Aunt Birdie collected.

Sparkling lights next door caused me to stop on the sidewalk in awe. The tree house that caused Birdie such pain was a fanciful masterpiece. Why on earth did she complain about it? Fairy lights outlined windows and doors with eyebrow arches. An electric candle glowed in one small round window. Sparse fairy lights wound in and out of a railing. The broad pickets had been laboriously cut to resemble the silhouette of a cat. Enchanted, I itched to be invited inside. Tiny’s house, on the other hand, lay dark in the night. Not a single light glimmered anywhere.

We walked on. In spite of the recent murders, the sleepy streets of Wagtail embraced us with their charm. We arrived at the golf cart all too soon.

Back at the inn, I didn’t hesitate to enter through the reception area. Now that we were back, mission accomplished, it didn’t matter whether Casey saw us.

“Where have you been?” he demanded.

“Out for a walk. I saw Tiny’s tree house. It’s amazing.”

“He built it with stuff they threw out when they were building Hobbitville. It’s all cast-off stuff.”

“Then it’s even more incredible. I hope his kids appreciate it.” I gazed up at Oma’s apartment. “Everything okay here?”

“Very quiet tonight.”

“Want me to stick around?”

“Gosh, no!” He puffed out his chest. “I’ve got everything under control.”

Trixie and I walked past the dark gift shop to the lobby. I double-checked to be sure Casey had remembered to lock the front door. He had.

Dog-tired, I schlepped up the stairs. Off her leash, Trixie darted around, smelling the floor and, undoubtedly the lingering scents of the other dogs who had walked there during the day. She raced up to the third floor ahead of me.

When I reached the third floor landing, I found it peculiar that once again, Trixie had turned the wrong way. She snuffled at the base of the door to the storage area and pawed at it.

Oh no! It finally dawned on me why she was showing so much interest. The rat must have siblings. Ugh.

I couldn’t do anything about it at the late hour without waking half the guests. My stomach turned at the thought, but we would have to relocate the rat family the next day. Oma must have traps somewhere.

Hoping none of them would make an appearance that night, I unlocked the door to my quarters and discovered Twinkletoes inside, watching TV in the sitting room. At my very quiet urging, Trixie gave the storage room door one last wistful glance and finally joined me.

I spread paper towels over the kitchen counter. The bag Trixie had carried turned out to be a sock. When I unknotted it and poured out the contents, two gold necklaces and a gold coin tumbled out.

“Did you dig this up in Jerry’s yard?” I asked.

Trixie ignored me and watched TV with Twinkletoes.

The day Jerry died, he’d shown us something similar. Had that been a ruse? Could Jerry have been involved in the thefts at Snowball Mountain? But why would this have been buried in his flower bed?

I stashed the sock and the contents inside an empty cachepot for the night.

I turned off the TV, and the three of us went to bed.

• • •

Morning came too early for those who had been out sleuthing in the night. Twinkletoes woke me. She sat behind my head and tapped my forehead with her paw.

I didn’t need Zelda to translate. Hello? Is anyone in there?

I dragged myself to the kitchen. In the future, I had to remember to leave her a nighttime snack so she wouldn’t be so eager to wake me in the morning. Twinkletoes waited patiently while I spooned tuna mousse into her bowl.

Trixie still lounged in bed, where I wanted to be. A shower went a long way in waking me. Unfortunately, I remembered the rat issue. I pulled on the jeans I’d worn the night before in anticipation of going into the musty storage room. The deep-pink top brightened up the informal jeans. If I stayed much longer, I’d be tempted to buy some warmer clothes.

I called Dave and left a somewhat cryptic message about finding something of interest. How was I going to explain that I had been sneaking around Jerry’s yard? Nevertheless, I had to turn it in. I wrapped the sock in paper towels and jammed it in my pocket.

The nightmare of being unemployed weighed heavily on me. I hadn’t done a thing in the last few days to find a new job. I would have to start that ball rolling soon. Otherwise, I’d find myself in a big bind before I knew it.

“Come on, Trixie,” I called, heading for the door. “Twinkletoes!”

Trixie came running. We waited for Twinkletoes. I called her name again and again. Where had that silly girl gone? I ran a quick check through the rooms. No sign of Twinkletoes. She must have curled up somewhere to sleep after her breakfast. I would check back before the great rat eradication.

Trixie zoomed into the hallway and straight to the door of the storage room. Ugh. Breakfast first. No one should ever tackle a rat problem on an empty stomach.

Trixie had already figured out our routine. She beat me to the dining area. By the time I arrived, she was going from table to table begging for food. No! No, no, no! Why had I left the leash upstairs?

I snagged my little cutie and carried her into Oma’s private kitchen, hoping I might find a string or some twine to use as a temporary leash.

Instead, I found Twinkletoes, comfortably curled up in one of the cushy chairs by the fireplace.

“How did you do that?” She hadn’t slipped by me when I opened the door to my room.

Twinkletoes didn’t seem to care. She lifted her head and regarded us with disinterest. She yawned, displaying pink gums, itty bitty white teeth, and a rosy tongue, then curled up tight for a nap.

Someone else must have had leash issues, because I found a little stash of Sugar Maple leashes in a closet. I snapped one onto Trixie’s collar and returned to the dining area, keeping the leash very short so she would be forced to walk close to me and wouldn’t be able to lunge at the breakfasts of other dogs.

We joined Oma, who ate oatmeal for breakfast. “The temperature is dropping,” she said. “See the mist rising from the water? Won’t be long until the trees turn glorious colors.”

I pulled the wrapped sock out of my pocket. “Remember the gold coins that Jerry showed us? Trixie found this in his yard last night.”

Oma studied the necklaces and the coin. Her forehead furrowed, she dabbed the corners of her mouth with her napkin. “He must have been involved with the thieves in Snowball.”

“That’s what I thought.”

“Or someone put it there to make it appear that way.”

Dave rushed in. He perched on the edge of a chair. “I don’t have a lot of time. What’s up?”

I shoved the sock and contents his way.

Dave stared at them. “Where did you find this?”

I had to tell him the truth, even if put me in a bad light. “Trixie dug it up in Jerry’s flower bed.”

“You should have left it there, untouched.”

“I didn’t realize she found it.”

Dave closed his eyes for a second too long. “And what were you doing there? Snooping?”

“Spying, if you must know.”

Oma coughed. “That’s my girl!”

Dave stared at me with tired eyes. “On whom?”

“On Ben’s girlfriend, Kim.”

“And why was Kim there?”

“To see Brewster.”

“About what?”

“That’s what I’d like to know. She stole Trixie in the middle of the night. I have no idea why.”

Dave’s shoulders sagged forward. “Two murders and you’re worried about a spat over a dog? Or is the dog just a pawn in an argument over Ben?” He stood up, pulled a plastic bag from his pocket, and turned it over his hand, inside out. He grabbed the items, slid the bag over his fingers and sealed the gold inside. “This, however, could be helpful. Thank you.”

He turned to go.

“No breakfast?” asked Oma.”

“Not today, thanks.” He loped out.

That off my mind, I turned to my other immediate problem. I had to bring up the rat issue carefully. A waitress I didn’t recognize came to take our order.

“Could I interest you in caramel banana oatmeal?”

Caramel put a decidedly unhealthy but ever so yummy spin on oatmeal. Who could resist? I ordered one for me and a doggy version for Trixie.

Instead of upsetting Oma by suggesting there could be a rat, or more than one, in the storage room, I told her about Trixie’s behavior.

Oma finished her coffee. “Most peculiar. Do you mind having a look around?” She handed me her key ring. “I’m sure it’s nothing.”

I would have to show her a rat nest before she would believe it. I shuddered at the thought.

The waitress delivered our breakfast and scuttled off to other tables.

“Where’s Shelley?” I asked.

“You like Shelley, too, I see. It’s her day off. I worry about her. She has a lot on her plate taking care of her little boy while her husband is overseas on military duty.”

“You worry too much.”

“Me?” She laughed. “At least Zelda dumped that no-goodnik who was mooching off her. We have to find her someone better.”

“Oma!” I scolded. “Look, I think I was pretty nice about that stunt that you and Rose pulled to throw Holmes and me together. But you have to stop doing things like that. I know you mean well, but you have to butt out of other people’s love lives.”

“Yes. You are quite right, my Holly. I will keep this in mind.” She rose. “You will excuse me, yes? And don’t forget to tell me what you find upstairs.”

She could bet on that.

Caramel turned out to be just about the best thing ever on oatmeal. I savored every bite of the sweet, slightly gooey caramel, which clung to the oatmeal and fresh slices of banana. I noticed that Trixie had no problem polishing off her bowl of oatmeal, sans caramel, either.

I lingered over a second cup of tea to put off the rat excursion as long as possible. It was a bad call.