Murder, She Barked

Thirty-nine

I ran out of the store, Trixie bounding along, sensing excitement. We trailed Casey by fifteen feet. He headed for Oak Street.

A police car was parked in front of Rose’s house. It seemed like the whole town had gathered to see what was going on. Tiny, Brewster, Shelley, Philip, Prissy. I knew many of the faces.

The door to Rose’s house hung open. Holmes walked out, raised his arm and waved, more like an athlete who’d scored than someone in trouble with the law.

I dodged everyone to get to him. “Holmes! What’s going on?”

“Stand back, Holly.” Dave sounded tired.

I walked along to the car with them.

Holmes squeezed my shoulder. “Not to worry. I haven’t done anything.”

He wasn’t in handcuffs. Maybe that was a good sign. “Then why are they arresting you?”

“I’m not under arrest. I’m going to Snowball voluntarily just to talk.”

“No! Don’t say anything. Don’t you watch TV shows about crime? Don’t say a word.”

“Holl, I have nothing to hide. I didn’t do anything.”

He bent to wedge into the backseat of the police car.

I whipped around and faced Dave. “I felt sorry for you. But this isn’t right. You’ve got the wrong man.”

Quietly, almost apologetically, Dave said, “Motive, means, and we have an eyewitness who can place him at the scene and running away.”

“He was jogging!” My voice rose, not nearly as calm and controlled as Dave’s.

“How do you know that?” Dave slid into the car and shut the door.

Even though he couldn’t hear me, I whispered, “Because he told me so.” It wasn’t enough. Even I knew that.

Compelled to watch the police car leave, I stayed until it disappeared from sight, as though I thought it would help Holmes in some way.

The crowd dispersed, and Philip approached me.

“I apologize for coming on so strong, Holly. The prospect of a relationship with someone like you was . . . intoxicating. I think I was a little bit giddy. I hope Ben appreciates you as much as I would.” He touched my shoulder gently. “I’m here for you if it doesn’t work out.”

I thanked him. At least he had backed off. At the moment, I couldn’t have cared less about Philip or a relationship with Ben. Holmes was in trouble. I dragged home, numb with despair.

Zelda hugged me when I returned to the inn. “Your grandmother said to tell you that you’re in charge. She drove Rose over to Snowball because Rose is too upset to drive. They’re going to find Holmes a lawyer.”

A lawyer! I knew a lawyer. “Thanks, Zelda.” I removed Trixie’s leash and ran to Oma’s office to look up the phone number for Mortie’s cabin. When I called, Kim didn’t want to put Ben on the phone. I held my temper in check when I insisted, but my nerves had been stretched to the point of fraying.

I explained the situation to Ben. “Can you go over there and bail him out?”

“There’s no bail yet if he’s not under arrest.”

“Can’t you do something to help him?”

“Actually, I can’t. There could be a conflict of interest.”

“Is that another way of saying that you expect Mortie to be charged with murder?”

“No!”

“Then where’s the conflict? Why does Mortie need representation anyway?”

“I can’t discuss that with you.”

Steaming mad, I said good-bye and hung up the phone.

Zelda leaned against the doorframe. “Holmes didn’t do it.”

“I know. Why would someone steal Mortie’s car to use in a homicide?”

“Because he didn’t want to use his own car.” She let out a little screech and her eyes opened wide. “Because he wanted to frame Mortie!”

“That,” I pointed at her, “is the first plausible explanation I have heard.”

Zelda beamed. “But it wouldn’t work unless Mortie was actually here when the murder happened.”

“Good point. And the car was reported stolen, so that would let Mortie off the hook in any case. Then why would he send Ben up here? Unless . . . unless the car wasn’t actually stolen.”

“Yes!” Zelda shouted. But her enthusiasm waned quickly. “How exactly would that work?”

“I don’t know. We should be concentrating on Jerry’s murder anyway. That’s the one they think Holmes committed.”

Zelda paced to the French doors. “If Brewster hadn’t seen him running away from Jerry’s house that morning—”

“Brewster?” I sat up straight. Now there was a coincidence. “Brewster is the one who saw Holmes there?”

Zelda turned around. “Sure. Brewster is Jerry’s neighbor. Makes perfect sense.”

“And Brewster brought Dolce back to Ellie,” I mused.

“He loves dogs, especially his Irish setter, Murphy. I’m not surprised that he brought Dolce home. He would have known who Dolce was.” She squinted at me. “Do you find that odd for some reason?”

I debated telling her about Kim’s nocturnal visit to Brewster but decided against it. As much as I liked Zelda, she would repeat it to the others in the circle of inn employees immediately. I fudged a little. “I think it’s terrific that he was thoughtful enough to bring her home to Ellie. It worried me sick when Trixie was missing.” I smiled at the sight of her sleeping, upside down on the loveseat, all four little legs sticking up in the air.

No matter what I said to Zelda, Kim’s contact with Brewster last night put him in a different light as far as I was concerned. Maybe he had returned Dolce out of kindness. Or maybe he had let him out of his own yard to begin with. But Kim and Brewster were involved in this mess somehow . . .

Why didn’t anything fit together? Brewster must have something to do with the car. If he had stolen it, Kim wouldn’t have paid him a midnight visit. I tried to recall their expressions. He hadn’t seemed in the least bit upset. But he’d peered out the window. I would have, too, if my neighbor had been killed in cold blood.

Zelda watched me, perched on the chair in front of Oma’s desk. “What are you thinking?”

I scrambled to find something to say. “Do you know anyone with a golf club key ring?”

“Not me! It sounds cute, though. That oaf I married took every nice thing I owned when he absconded. I never should have told him to get out and then left for work.”

“I’m so sorry, Zelda.”

She shrugged. “Onward, right? I can’t dwell on what might have been. Golf club, huh? Sounds like something Mr. Luciano might have. Did you find one or something?”

“Yes. I don’t know to whom it belongs.”

“I’m sure the owner will be looking for it. I’ll let you know.” She jumped up to help someone at the front desk.

For the next few hours, I followed up on inn matters, making sure guest rooms were ready for new guests, taking calls from vendors and a couple of nervous dog owners who couldn’t believe we didn’t have weight restrictions on dog guests.

Zelda and I were considering eating lunch in Oma’s office together when Dave burst through the doors. Flushed and tense, he demanded, “Where’s the key ring?”

“Upstairs. We left it where we found it,” I said.

“Did you touch it?”

“Yes. Twinkletoes knocked it on the floor. I picked it up.”

He sagged. Zeroing in on Zelda, he said, “Not a word about this. Do you understand? If you breathe even a hint, you’ll mess up my best opportunity to nab Sven’s killer.”

“What?” Zelda appeared confused.

“Show me!” Dave demanded.

I nabbed the key ring off Oma’s desk.

Acting a lot like Jerry had, Dave shook a finger at Zelda as we headed for the elevator. “Not a word!”

I scooped up Trixie and stepped inside. “So Holmes is off the hook, then? You let him go?”

“No.”

“Dave! You can’t have it both ways.”

“I’ve got two murders. Doesn’t mean it’s the same killer.”

I shut up. We stepped off the elevator, and I unlocked the door. Trixie bounded in and jumped on the bed again.

Dave didn’t touch a thing. “Get the dog out.”

I picked her up off the bed and held her.

Dave studied the items next to the bed, licked his lips, and locked his lower lip over the top one. He scanned the room, taking everything in, then focused on the key ring again. After a moment, he said, “It’s him.”