Murder, She Barked

Two

I hung up, feeling lower than I’d thought humanly possible. My grandmother, whom I called Oma, German for grandma, was the Miller matriarch. Our family had scattered to the four corners of the earth. Geographically, I lived the closest. Even so, Wagtail Mountain was a good six-hour drive southwest of Washington, D.C.

Jacqui pointed out that the vineyard lay two hours south of Washington and if I went home to pack, I would lose four hours just in driving time.

There’d been no mistaking Ben’s discomfort, though whether it stemmed from Jacqui’s offer for him to stay overnight or the thought of leaving the vineyard at that moment wasn’t quite clear to me. The coveted invitation to the vineyard for dinner with other partners was a feather in his cap and a major step in his quest to make senior partner at his law firm. But in my mind, Oma came first. Ben would make partner whether I left or not.

Jacqui pressured Ben into staying the night, promising Kim would drive him back to D.C. the next day. That way, I could take his car to Wagtail without wasting time by going home first.

“Don’t tell Mortie, though,” she’d said. “We have a horrid little fishing cabin on Wagtail Mountain. It’s his favorite place in the world. I loathe it. I can’t imagine why your grandmother would want to live in Wagtail. There’s just nothing to do. There’s not even a decent shopping mall! And, quite honestly, the only ducks I want to see are the ones on a platter in a Chinese restaurant.”

Mortie, on the other hand, had viewed me with new interest. “Why didn’t you say you were from Wagtail? Miller?” He peered at me. “Is Liesel your grandmother? You look a lot like her.”

When I said yes, he wrapped his arm around my shoulders as though I was suddenly part of their crowd.

“I had no idea you were a Miller from Wagtail! You must see to Liesel right away. Ben! We should take a few days and drive up together.”

Although I resented the cozy situation with Kim, I would never forgive myself if Oma was ill and needed me and I didn’t go. I had left immediately, but not without noting Jacqui’s wholehearted encouragement to depart. “We’ll take care of Ben,” she’d promised.

I just bet they would.

Given the situation, I didn’t have much choice. Besides, Ben and I had been dating for more than a year. One of the nice things about nerdy guys was that they could be trusted. Not that Ben was without charm. The dimples on either side of his mouth fairly melted me whenever he smiled. He wore his hair short on the sides and just a touch longer on top. It reminded me of the color of coffee beans, a rich dark brown that didn’t quite make it to black. The frames of his glasses were the same color on top but faded to nothing at the bottom.

I grinned at the thought of his discomfort at having to stay overnight at the vineyard. Ben was a city guy more comfortable in a library than among trees. How many times had I tried to talk him into a long weekend at Wagtail? The dimples always appeared. He would gaze at me briefly, shake his head, and go back to whatever history book he was reading. Nerdy guys weren’t usually the most exciting fellows in the room, but they were as smart and trustworthy as Boy Scouts. If Ben and I didn’t trust each other, we had nothing.

Panic welled up inside me as my thoughts shifted to Oma. Why hadn’t I been to Wagtail in five years? I could have gone without Ben. Had I really been that busy? Too busy for the grandmother who meant the world to me? Ben and I had seen her on vacation in Florida with my dad and his wife only a few months ago. Her eyes had sparkled when she told me she had a surprise for me. I’d pressed her for a hint but she had reveled in her little secret. Dad cringed with embarrassment when Oma said something about us meeting her handsome young Scandinavian stud.

It never occurred to me that she might be ill. It would be just like her to be sick, or even dying, and not tell anyone.

The dog startled me by jumping forward into the passenger seat. She eyed me warily.

“We’re on our way to the Sugar Maple Inn.” I explained. “Here’s the deal. They don’t allow dogs, undoubtedly because you make messes.”

She listened, but didn’t seem particularly ashamed of herself for what she’d done to Ben’s car.

“Oma had a German Shepherd when I was a kid and spent my summers at the inn. She used to go everywhere with me. The summer my parents divorced, I told her all my secrets and troubles. Staying with Oma during school vacations was always the highlight of my year.”

I peered at the dog. “Are you housebroken?”

I had a feeling I would find out soon. “I can try to talk Oma into adopting you, but don’t get your hopes up. I don’t even know if Oma is well enough to care for a dog.”

She curled into a little ball for the final hour of the trip, but every time I looked over at her, she jumped into a sitting position as though prepared to flee to the backseat. “I won’t toss you out into the cold night, sweetie. I promise.”

Thanks to the drizzle and heavy fog, the last leg of the drive, winding up Wagtail Mountain, was treacherous at best. I flicked my lights between the high beam and the low beam, but nothing cut through the white soup more than a few yards. My eyelids were growing heavy in spite of the coffee. I rolled down the window in hopes that the cool night air might refresh me, gripped the steering wheel tighter, and leaned forward in the vain notion that it might help me see better.

The dog sat up and barked at a pitch that sliced through my daze like a knife through butter. She barked wildly, pausing only to paw at my arm.

“Why are you barking? Hush! Someone needs to learn about using an indoor voice.”

She persisted, and I had to hold her back with my right arm, not at all what I wanted to do on the winding mountain road.

I glanced over at her for a split second, wondering how to make her stop barking, and when I looked back at the road, a man stood in the middle of it.