Murder, She Barked

Four

“I think so,” said Casey. “She’s a strong woman, but it shook all of us. Everyone is nervous.”

My knees nearly buckled with relief. “I’ll just peek in on her.” I headed toward the store.

“Um, that’s the wrong way.” Handing me a key, he pointed upward at the elegant rounded balcony. “The last door. I’ll get your luggage.”

He would see the dog! I held up my hand like I was stopping traffic. “No need. I don’t have any.”

He raised an eyebrow, and muttered, “Okay, that’s weird.”

Paying him no heed, I trotted up a short flight of stairs, turned right and walked up more stairs to the balcony, eager to see my grandmother. I knocked on her door and unlocked it. “Oma?” I called.

Her apartment wasn’t like I remembered it, but that made sense since it was clearly part of a new addition. Undoubtedly part of the surprise she had mentioned.

I felt more at home when I recognized an inlaid table and her collection of Hummel figurines in a lighted curio. The drapes hung closed at the far end of the living room. I tiptoed toward what I hoped might be the bedroom. A golden retriever greeted me at the door, wagging her tail. I scratched behind her ears. “Oma?”

“Holly! You came.”

I looked for a light switch.

“No light, please. It’s too hard on my old eyes.”

She sounded terrible. I rushed to the side of her bed and kissed her forehead.

She clasped me with cold hands. “Ach! You’re damp. And in this chilly weather, too. You must take a hot shower or you will catch cold.”

It was just like her to be worried about me when she was the one with a problem. I held her hands, gently rubbing them between mine to warm them. “How do you feel?”

“Much better now that you are here.”

“Are you in pain?”

“Not so much. I took an aspirin.”

“Your hands are getting warmer. Do you need another blanket? Maybe I should turn up the heat.”

“No, no. Don’t trouble yourself. I prefer to sleep in a cold room—you know that.”

“But not when you’re ill.”

“The mountain air is good for my lungs.”

Did she have a respiratory problem? “What’s wrong with you, Oma?”

“We will talk about that in the morning. You need to get out of those clothes. Have Casey warm some goulash. It was always your favorite.”

I didn’t want to press her about her illness if she was tired. “Okay, you get some rest. After I park the car, I’ll come back up and sleep on your sofa. Just call out if you need anything.”

“No, no! I have a special room waiting for you. I’ll see you in the morning.” She patted my hand. “Don’t worry. Now that you are here, I will be fine.”

I resisted. After all, what was the point of coming if I couldn’t help her? “You’re so thoughtful. But I would feel better if I slept nearby.”

A dog yipped outside. I hoped it wasn’t the one in Ben’s car. Oma didn’t seem to notice.

“No! I won’t sleep if I know you’re suffering on the sofa. You go to the room we prepared.”

She might be sick, but she was clearly still as stubborn as ever. I took that as a good sign.

“Okay. Good night.” I kissed her soft cheek. “Call my room if you need me.”

I was already in her living room when she called, “Holly?”

“Yes?”

“Be sure you lock my door, liebling.”

When I tiptoed out, the golden retriever stayed with Oma. As I locked the door behind me, a calico kitten wound around my legs.

Large green eyes assessed me from a mostly white face. The markings on top of her head reminded me of sunglasses with one lens butterscotch and the other dark chocolate. I bent to stroke her.

“Hello, Kitten.” The sweet girl rubbed her little head under my hand, wanting attention. Oma had always kept a cat or two in the inn.

I returned to the registration area.

Casey waved a hand at me. “Ms. Miller! I have your key.”

How could I sneak the dog past this guy? He didn’t seem to miss much. Would I have to linger outside until he fell asleep again? I took a deep breath and walked to the registration desk. What kind of excuse could I make? He must leave the desk sometime. “I’ll sign in first. I suppose it’s too late to grab a bite to eat in town?”

“Mrs. Miller’s granddaughter doesn’t need to sign in, and she asked me to bring a meal up to your room on the third floor.”

I heard the doors behind me slide open, but I didn’t think anything of it until I saw the horror on Casey’s face.

When I turned around, a stocky man staggered in. A rivulet of blood marred his broad forehead. He hunched slightly to his right, rubbing the knuckles on his right hand.

“Mr. Luciano!” Casey scurried to him and helped him to the loveseat.

Mr. Luciano pressed his fingers against his head and saw the blood when he pulled them away. “Could I trouble you for a tissue?” His deep rumbling voice and accent came straight from The Godfather.

I grabbed a box of tissues from the desk and handed them to him. “Casey, bring Mr. Luciano a wet washcloth. Do you need a doctor, Mr. Luciano?”

He eyed me briefly. “No. I’ll be okay. You must be Liesel’s granddaughter. I see her confidence in you is not misplaced.”

His comment surprised me. Did Oma talk about me with everyone? “Thank you.”

“Should I wake Mrs. Miller?” asked Casey.

“I don’t think that’s necessary. Where is Oma’s office? She always had rubbing alcohol and a first-aid kit.”

“She keeps them behind the desk.” Casey disappeared to look for them. “They’re here somewhere,” he said. “I see them all the time. Where did they go?”

I excused myself and took a deep breath as I walked toward the desk. One glance and I had everything in my hands. Casey was clearly distraught.

“The washcloth?” I reminded him.

Casey hurried to a restroom, nearly tripping over his own feet in the process.

Pouring a bit of rubbing alcohol on a piece of gauze, I said, “Hold your breath. This will sting.”

Mr. Luciano smiled. “I can take it.”

I dabbed the wound on his head. He wore his hair slicked straight back. The laceration wasn’t large. More of a significant gouge on the left side of his head, where his hairline had receded.

“How about your hand?” I asked.

He held it out to me. A ginormous nasty bruise had begun to take shape. His knuckles appeared bruised and swollen.

I wiped them with the alcohol anyway, just in case the skin was broken.

“You have your grandmother’s delicate touch.”

Oh? Just how well did Mr. Luciano know Oma? “What happened?”

Casey returned with a hot washcloth and handed it to Mr. Luciano.

“I was restless and couldn’t sleep, so I went for a walk in town. The front door was locked when I returned. I came around to this entrance—and some guy jumped me! In Wagtail! I never expected that.”

“Whoooooa!” Casey turned as pale as a ghost.

“We’d better call Dave.” If I dialed 911, I would get the sassy woman again. “Casey, would you make the call?”

He nodded. “First I’m locking the doors.”

But just as he reached under the desk for the switch, the doors whooshed open.