Murder, She Barked

Thirty-eight

If I had only stopped at one cup of tea and gone off to hunt rats, I wouldn’t have been there when Philip waltzed in.

I was trapped. Even if I made a beeline for Oma’s private kitchen, it would be too late. He would have seen me. It was time to straighten him out.

He had the nerve to peck me on the cheek. Pulling a chair too close to me, he held onto the back of my chair, like he was staking a claim.

“Thank you for the chocolates.”

“My pleasure. I can’t stay long. I just had to stop by to say good morning.”

“Look, Philip. I’m sure you’re a wonderful guy, but I just . . .” Aha! I could tell him the truth, sort of, without hurting him. “Well, something happened, and now I’m not sure that Ben and I are over after all. You understand.”

His face fell. “Aunt Birdie won’t like this.”

Who cared what Aunt Birdie thought? I tried another tack. “Maybe you don’t realize that Zelda is crazy about you. I would never want to hurt her.”

“Zelda? The psychic? She is crazy! No, Holly. We’re meant to be together. It’s our destiny. We belong together.”

“Philip,” I said gently, “we hardly know each other.”

“There’s chemistry between us.”

I was beginning to feel chemistry all right—noxious chemistry. It was time to make my exit. Dire circumstances called for extreme measures. “I’m sorry, Philip. You’re going way too fast here. It’s not public knowledge yet, but Ben and I have set the date. We’re getting married.” Okay, that was a big, fat honking lie, but this guy needed to back off! I rose, clutching Trixie’s leash and hauled out of there as fast as I could without attracting more attention. We climbed the stairs quickly, and in case he followed us, I headed straight to the storage room, preferring to deal with the rodents.

I unlocked the door and let it swing open.

Trixie strained at the leash. I shuddered to think what she smelled. My puny human nose didn’t register anything—it wasn’t even very musty. What did rats smell like?

Fearing Philip might follow us, I quickly closed the door behind us. Not that I particularly wanted to be trapped there with a rodent.

Dormer windows on both sides were cracked open, allowing a breeze to blow through. That explained the lack of odor. The space was huge, much bigger than I remembered, and not as scary as I had expected. Desks, dressers, and chairs filled the middle. Headboards leaned against walls. A few armoires blocked my view. Extra dining tables, Christmas decorations—a rat paradise. They could hide anywhere.

Reluctantly, I unsnapped Trixie’s leash. She would find the pesky little creatures faster than me.

Her nails clicked across the wood floor as she raced through the room, her nose leading her. She yipped a couple of times. Ugh. Did that mean she found them?

Weighing Philip versus a furry rat, I cracked the door, so I could make a hasty exit if necessary. I peeked out, relieved that he wasn’t hanging around outside the door to my quarters.

I followed Trixie slowly, stepping cautiously and hoping a rat wouldn’t run across my thong sandals. The mere thought sent shivers through me. Clearly not the best footwear for this kind of work.

Consoling myself with the notion that maybe one lonely rat hid from us, scared out of its mind, I peered ahead but couldn’t see much for all the bulky furniture. Maybe the rat Trixie dispatched left behind a nest of tiny babies that could be easily removed?

I made my way to the far corner, where Trixie wriggled upside-down on a bed. Someone had put together an entire bed. Footboard, headboard, and all. On top of the mattress lay a pink sleeping bag with fluffy white kittens and silver crowns printed on it. A nearby table held a flashlight, an empty soda can, two peanut butter and chocolate candy bars, and a set of keys. The keys drew me closer. They hung on an open ring with a golf ball on one end and a golf club on the other. Sterling silver if I had to guess.

A flurry of fur zoomed by me. I shrieked and scooted back.

Twinkletoes landed on the bed briefly. Uninterested, she sprang to the table and swatted the keys onto the floor. They jingled as they fell. In an instant she pounced on them and played kitty hockey with them, sending them flying across the floor.

I let out a great breath of air. No rats. At least it didn’t look like it. Someone had fixed a little nest up here, but it appeared to be a larger, human rat. I had to tell Oma.

Leaving the door open for Twinkletoes, I headed for the elevator. Trixie followed me until she saw I planned to step into the scary little room that moved. She balked. I called to her from inside the elevator. She ran forward, then backed up again. I picked her up and carried her into the elevator.

“You’ll be happy to know that there are no elevators in my house. Of course, no one will cook meals for you, either. You’ll have to eat kibble like other dogs.”

She didn’t seem too worried about that. I exited the elevator and set her down. She raced along to Oma’s office as though she knew where we were going.

I arrived just in time to see her collect a treat from Zelda and zoom into Oma’s office to beg for another one. Good thing the dog cookies were tiny!

Easing into a chair, I said, “We have a little problem. Someone is sleeping in the storage room.”

Oma’s hands flew up in shock. “Who?”

“I don’t know. A bed is set up with a sleeping bag and a few personal items.”

Oma’s forehead wrinkled. “Ja? Who would do such a thing?”

I sighed. It would probably be better if she figured out the worst part of it herself. “Oma, I had to unlock the door to get in.”

She blinked at me. “You are saying it must be an employee. One who has access to house keys.”

“Seems that way, doesn’t it?”

“This makes no sense. Zelda, Shelley, Tiny, Casey, the new housekeeper—all my employees have homes.”

“Maybe someone had to move out and had nowhere to go? Although, honestly, I didn’t see clothes or dishes or much personal stuff.”

She rose and accompanied me to the elevator. I scooped Trixie up before she could do her dance of fear.

Minutes later, Oma and I searched the storage room for clues to the identity of the mysterious, as she called it, “attic guest.”

We were stumped. Barring fingerprints or DNA tests of some sort, the person hadn’t left anything special behind, except for the keys. After crawling around on my knees, I finally spotted them under a dresser and fished them out with a broom.

Oma shook her head upon seeing them. “I do not know these keys.”

“You probably don’t ever see the keys of your employees.”

“This is true,” she conceded.

“What now?”

Oma held the keys in her hand. Her head didn’t move, but she looked me in the eyes, her lips pursed with displeasure. “Golf? Sounds more like a guest than an employee.”

“I’d think it might be Prissy or Peaches, but I can’t imagine how they could have gotten in here.”

“Come, my dear. We have work to do.”

I collected Twinkletoes, and Trixie followed us out.

Oma locked the door and tested the knob. “Tonight we will wait to see who comes. Yes?”

“You’re such a sneak.”

She laughed. “I love a good mystery, and this certainly qualifies.”

I stopped her before she stepped into the elevator. “Maybe we should tell Dave.”

“No. If it is an employee with problems, I would rather be of help, not cause legal difficulties, too.”

“Someone tried to kill you. Under the circumstances . . .”

She massaged her forehead. “Perhaps you are correct. Could you track down Dave and let him know?”

“Absolutely.” I hurried back to my suite and placed a call to Dave. He didn’t answer his home phone or his cell phone. I left messages for him, telling him we’d discovered that someone with a golf club key ring was camping out in the attic of the inn. Given the circumstances, we thought he should be with us when we confronted the unofficial guest.

• • •

Not an hour later, I browsed through Pawsitively Decadent in search of turtles. Jackpot! Exactly what I wanted. Pecan turtles made fresh on the premises with bourbon and dipped in chocolate. I bought a box, which the saleswoman very kindly gussied up with the store ribbon of gold paw prints on a white satin background.

Too bad I couldn’t teach Trixie to carry it, since the gift really came from both of us. I had a sneaking suspicion she would rip it open and eat the contents given half a chance.

She accompanied me to HEAL!, where I sought out Eric, the pharmacist, and presented the turtles to him. “We wanted to thank you for helping us. I can’t tell you how grateful I am that you called when you saw Trixie.”

He knelt and ruffled her fur. “It’s reward enough that she’s home safe and sound. We’ve had too much trouble in Wagtail this week. I’m glad there was good news, too.”

He must hear a lot of gossip. “Any word on whether they’re making progress on identifying the killer?”

“Everyone has a theory. The only thing we know for sure is that Mortie’s car was stolen from Northern Virginia. Not from Wagtail. So that means either the thief went up there to get it, or someone stole it from the thief.”

“How do you know that?”

“Police reports and gossip. The Snowball newspaper runs the police reports every week. It wasn’t reported stolen up here. I believe in coincidences, but I have trouble imagining that Mortie’s stolen car just happened to turn up here, you know?”

So did I. No wonder Mortie sent Ben to Wagtail. Someone from Wagtail had gone to a lot of trouble to steal Mortie’s car. I had to wonder if that person had known all along that he would use it to commit a murder. “Have they established that Mortie’s car is the one that hit Sven?”

“Everyone is assuming that’s the case.”

“Why Mortie’s car? Why not use another car that was more readily available?”

“Precisely. And then his daughter shows up with a lawyer in tow?”

“They were with me hours away from here when Sven was killed. There’s no way Kim or Mortie could be involved.”

“Ever hear of murder for hire?”

“Mortie paid someone to steal his car and commit murder?” It boggled my mind to even contemplate that scenario.

“Yeah, well, that’s where the whole thing falls apart, isn’t it?”

The door to the pharmacy slammed open, and I recognized Casey’s shock of dark hair, but he didn’t even bother stepping inside. “Eric! They’re arresting Holmes!”