Murder, She Barked

Three

My scream nearly drowned out the dog’s high-pitched barks.

I hit the brakes. The car swerved.

I feared we would careen off the mountain. Jerking the steering wheel, I prayed there wasn’t any oncoming traffic. We screeched to a halt on the wrong side of the road.

I threw open the door and jumped out, leaving the engine running, the door open, and the lights on so I could see. My heart hammered in my chest as I dashed to the back of the car, fearing the worst. I didn’t think I had hit him. At least I hadn’t felt a bump or a jolt.

“Are you okay? Hello? Hello?”

But no one was there. Raindrops pattered on leaves, and the engine still purred, but an ominous stillness made me painfully aware of being alone. A shiver shuttled through me, and it wasn’t because of the cold wet night. Something wasn’t right about this. I backed to the side of the car and bent over to look, heaven forbid, underneath it.

In the dark of night, I couldn’t see well, but I didn’t make out any odd shapes.

Renewed barking alarmed me, and I jerked upright. The dog had run out of my range of sight.

I swallowed hard. I’d read about pranks like this. People pretended to be in distress, then attacked the driver or stole the car.

“Here, doggie! Come on girl!”

She continued barking. Very briefly, I weighed my options. I could find her and put her back in the car, or I could take off. Who was I kidding? Leaving her there wasn’t an option.

As relieved as I was that I hadn’t hit the man, I hated that I didn’t know where he went. He could jump out of the pea soup any second. I whistled for the dog, longing to leap into the safety of the car and lock the doors, but I couldn’t bear to strand her there.

Thank goodness she ran back to me. She stood in the glow of the headlights, barking incessantly.

“Come on, sweetie.”

Did she know any commands? “Come!”

I tried not to convey my nervousness to her. With a furtive glance around, I edged toward her, ready to bend and snatch her up.

But the little devil backed up, ever so slowly, until we were in the shroud of dark mist. I could barely make her out. At the edge of the road, she turned and barked like crazy. Even though I couldn’t see the vista, I knew she was yelping out over the valley. There, on the murky roadside, she allowed me to pick her up. She didn’t even squirm.

The man had to be around somewhere. Had he gone over the side? Shivers engulfed me again as I considered how vulnerable we were.

An explosion shattered through the air not too far beneath us. I screamed and staggered backward. Flames roared upward, cutting through the drizzle. Waves of heat pummeled us. I ducked and jerked away, holding the little dog tighter. She pressed against me, her body rigid with tension.

Flames licked skyward. The blaze lit the night. It was bigger than anything I’d ever seen.

Clutching the dog to me, I ran for the car, slid in, checked the backseat to be sure no one was hiding, and locked the doors. The dog hopped into the passenger seat and watched me. My fingers trembled as I dialed 911.

“Hello?” The woman’s voice was sleepy.

Had I misdialed? “I’m sorry. I’m trying to call the police.”

“Yeah, you got ’em. What’s up?”

What kind of police dispatcher spoke like that? “Something just exploded off the side of Wagtail Mountain. It’s burning.”

“Uh-huh.” She sounded bored. “Where are you exactly?”

I hadn’t paid any attention to mile markers. In the mist it wasn’t as though I could make out landmarks, either. “I’m just guessing. Maybe two or three miles outside of town?”

“Near Forrest Road?”

Didn’t ring any bells. “I can’t see much in the fog.” I drew on childhood memories. “Maybe a little down mountain from Buzzard’s Roost.”

A long silence followed. “Who is this?”

For pity’s sake. “Don’t you have caller ID?”

“There’s no need to be snippy. You’re calling from a cell phone, dufus. All it says is Virginia.”

“Sorry. It’s Holly Miller, Liesel’s granddaughter.”

Another silence.

“Hello? Are you still there?” I asked.

“I’ll let him know.” She hung up.

The haze near the edge of the road glowed a faint yellow. In early September, the trees hadn’t turned color yet. I hoped that meant they would be strong against a spreading fire. The rain would surely help, too.

The dog raised her paw and stroked the air in my direction. I reached over and ran my hand down her back. In addition to being wet, her fur felt coarse and unpleasant to the touch.

I decided it would be prudent to move the car to the correct lane. On the steep mountain, there probably wasn’t a good spot to pull over. In fact, if it hadn’t been for the mysterious man I’d seen for a second, I would have thought it safer to wait outside of the car in case someone came along too fast and plowed into it.

I eased the car up mountain, far enough away from the blaze that it wouldn’t be in danger. The emergency lights flashing, I parked and waited with the engine running, wishing I didn’t feel so helpless. There wasn’t anything I could do to control the flames or prevent them from spreading into a wildfire.

A scant ten minutes later, the glow of headlights broke through the night on the opposite side of the road. I breathed easier when I saw the police emblem on the door.

It stopped next to me and the window rolled down. A dark-haired man with a long oval face peered at me. “Did you call about an explosion?”

He’d barely gotten the words out of his mouth when a second blast shook us so hard I felt the tremor in the car.

He leaped out of his vehicle and ran to the edge of the road. I shut the dog in Ben’s car in case she got ideas about running down to the fire. I ran along the edge of the road to the police officer.

He pulled out a radio and spoke into it. When he hung up, he said, “The firefighters are on their way. Did you see a car go over the edge?”

“No. I saw a man in the road. I hit the brakes because he appeared out of nowhere, and I thought I was going to hit him, but he disappeared.”

He frowned at me. “Show me where this happened.”

I gestured to the road. “Right about there. Shouldn’t there be skid marks?”

“Not with the roads this wet. What did he look like?” He flicked a strong beam up and down the road.

“I only saw him for a second. He was wearing a jacket or hoodie—something with a hood. Navy blue or black, maybe.”

“Mustache?”

“I don’t think so, but I couldn’t swear.”

“Could it have been a woman?”

That was an odd question. “I guess. It was a split second, and then he was gone.”

“You sure you didn’t hit him?”

It was fairly obvious that he wasn’t lying in the road. Did he think I’d pitched him over the edge? “I honestly didn’t feel a bump or any impact.” I waved at the pavement. “He’s not here. He must have been able to leave.”

“It’s pretty late. You been drinking?”

“No!” My voice sounded high and testy. “Don’t you believe me? I’ll take a sobriety test. I’m tired but I haven’t had a drink.”

“You’re lucky I know you, Holly Miller.” His stern expression softened a little bit. “Do you remember me? Dave Quinlan?”

“Dave! You were headed for the navy the last I heard.”

He stood a little straighter. “Seems a long time ago now.”

A Jeep pulled up behind Dave’s police car. The glimmer of headlights grew as a fire truck arrived and several more cars lined up on the road.

“Excuse me,” Dave said. “That’ll be the volunteer firefighters.”

He spoke with the driver in the lead car. In less than a minute, six firefighters peered over the edge of the mountain at the blaze. Two of them scrambled down the mountainside to assess the situation.

Dave’s radio crackled. He didn’t seem to have trouble understanding it. All I could make out was “car.”

“You staying at your grandmother’s?” asked Dave.

I nodded.

“Go on then. I know where to find you.”

I headed for Ben’s car.

“Hey, Holly.”

I turned around.

“I’m sorry about your grandmother.”

“What?” But he’d already disappeared into the fog. My heart heavy with worry, I slid into the car and locked the doors.

It was nearing three in the morning when I passed the line of firefighters’ cars and drove toward Wagtail. In an odd way, I felt guilty for leaving. But there wasn’t a thing I could do to help. I could only hope no one was in the car that was burning. Besides, I had to see Oma. A tiny part of me wanted to drive slower, to make the trip last longer. As long as I didn’t know anything for certain, she was still okay.

The rain had finally stopped, but the road no longer seemed familiar. In the past, the road had led directly to the inn, but now a huge parking lot with a guardhouse blocked my way. “What in the world?” I muttered.

This wasn’t right. Could I have taken a wrong turn in the mist?

A new sign for the Sugar Maple Inn pointed to the right. I had to turn left or right, so I went with right and hoped the sign was correct. The road later turned left and led me along the edge of town, with houses to one side and forest on the other. It ended abruptly at the inn, but not where I had expected.

Golden lights burned through the fog as we drove up. I pulled into a small, new porte cochere, with stone pillars supporting the roof. A warm glow shone through large windows, a welcome haven in the night.

I rolled the windows down a crack. “Stay here while I figure out how to smuggle you inside, where it’s warm.”

Disoriented, as though I’d driven into some kind of time portal, I ventured inside unfamiliar doors, which slid open on their own. Oma had built an addition that moved the registration desk from the lobby to the side of the inn. The new addition must be the surprise Oma had mentioned. A large antler chandelier hung in the middle of an intimate and charming reception area. Overhead, a European-style wrought iron railing on a balcony smacked of my grandmother’s taste. I spied a small store, the windows dark.

A young man, not much more than a boy, snoozed fitfully on a loveseat. His legs stuck up in the air over the armrest. One of his arms had fallen off the sofa. A shock of straight chestnut hair hid his forehead, touching the tops of wire-rimmed glasses that had gone askew.

“Hello?” I spoke gently.

He jerked into a sitting position, sending his glasses flying to the floor. He raised his hands, palms outward. “Don’t hurt me!”

“I promise not to.” What a skittish fellow. I picked up his glasses and handed them to him. “That must have been some dream.”

“Oh, gosh. I’m sorry.” He jumped to his feet. “Welcome to the Sugar Maple Inn.” He slid the glasses on, pushing them onto the bridge of his nose with his middle finger.

“Thank you. I’m here to see Liesel Miller.”

His eyebrows lifted. “You’re Holly?”

“Yes.”

He appraised me, his mouth twisting. “We’ve . . . been . . . expecting you.” He extended his hand. “Casey. Your grandmother talks about you all the time.” He gripped my hand and pumped it earnestly.

“Is she”—I paused, afraid of the answer—“okay?”