Murder, She Barked

Six

“Sven?” I had no idea who he meant. “Sven was Oma’s regular night auditor and he died?”

Casey nodded, holding back tears. “He was such a great guy. He taught me to ski.” Casey rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands. “He was hit by a car several hours ago.”

“That’s awful. I’m so sorry.” I couldn’t help wondering if there was a connection with the burning car. After all, Wagtail wasn’t very big. Two car accidents in one day?

But the name, Sven, also made me wonder about something else. Could it be that Oma hadn’t been joking about the young Scandinavian stud she mentioned when she was on vacation with my parents and me?

“How long did Sven work here?”

“I don’t know.” Casey sniffled. “A few years? I skied with him for about seven years.”

Headlights outside heralded Officer Dave’s arrival. Casey unlocked the door, and Dave strode in. He wasn’t the biggest guy, but his presence brought a reassuring air in spite of the overwhelming odor of smoke that clung to his blue uniform.

Comfortable that Mr. Luciano was in good hands, I dared to leave them alone. If nothing else, I could wash my face and freshen up a little.

I glanced at the key Casey had given me. The word Aerie was etched on it. “Aerie?”

Casey smiled. “It means a nest on a mountaintop. Third floor.”

Not counting the basement, the inn was only two stories high. Not the attic. Ugh. I’d spent hours up there as a child, playing among the dusty furniture and creepy pieces of out-of-season decor. They must have carved out some rooms when they renovated.

The dog sniffed happily along the corridor as we ventured into a more familiar part of the inn. I located the elevator and pressed the up button. When the doors opened, my new friend backed away as far as the leash would allow. The collar threatened to pull off over her head.

I had no choice but to pick her up. She wriggled and fought like I was taking her to her death. I held her close and hit the third floor button with my elbow.

The door shut quietly, causing the dog to fight me even harder. Oy. Wasn’t my day of misery over yet?

The elevator opened to a quaint landing. A simple bench upholstered in a provincial-style fabric of purple thistles on a yellow background stood against the wall. The calico kitten sat in the center of it, alert, as though she had been waiting for us. To my left, an Employees Only sign hung on a door. On the right, a staircase offered an alternative route down, and a single door bore a plate that read Aerie.

Daring to place the dog on the floor, I unlocked the door and swung it open. She stretched her neck and sniffed the air but didn’t budge. She pinned her ears back and watched me with frightened eyes.

The kitten sauntered past us into the room.

Soft lights beckoned me inside. I lifted the scared dog, walked inside, and closed the door behind me with my shoulder.

Yellow and burnt orange chrysanthemums spiked with cattails filled a vase on a half round table. A mirror behind them doubled the impressiveness of the arrangement. I caught a glimpse of my face and set the dog down in a hurry.

Another look in the mirror and my hands flew up over my mouth in shock. The rain had smeared my mascara and eyeliner into frightening black circles around my eyes. It looked like horror movie makeup. A zombie would have been proud. My hair was plastered to my head, except for little wisps that kinked in odd directions. No wonder Casey had reacted so peculiarly toward me. I looked over at the dog. “Thanks for telling me.”

She wagged her tail and ran to the right, into a comfortable sitting room. A stone fireplace dominated one wall. If I hadn’t known I was on the third floor of an inn, I would have thought I was in a cozy mountain cabin. A plush red sofa and deep chairs clad in red and white toile with red ottomans begged me to put up my feet and read a mystery by the fire. Apparently, they also appealed to the dog, because she already sat in one, looking quite at home.

Long red, yellow, and green plaid curtains hung open, revealing two sets of French doors topped by a semicircular window. I opened a door and breathed in the frigid night air. A spacious deck offered a table and chairs as well as two chaise longues.

Soft lights shimmered beneath the fog in a wing to my left, probably the new Cat’s Pajamas wing Casey had mentioned. Although I couldn’t see it, I was certain the view from the deck would be of Dogwood Lake and the mountains beyond. The dog trotted out, raised her nose, and scrutinized the air.

“Anything interesting?”

She wagged her tail again. Did that mean she liked it when I spoke with her? She followed me inside.

A small but complete kitchen adjoined the sitting room, divided by a counter. To my complete surprise, a cozy dining room opened off the kitchen. Or was it a library? Red roses swelled over the edges of a bowl in the middle of a round table. Sunlight would surely spill in through the windows on both sides of the little room. The far wall featured bookshelves, and a plump country French buffet sat under a window to the left.

As I wandered through the suite, I realized that it spanned the depth of the inn. Oma had decorated it in what she liked to call European-American country. A master bedroom, also with a fireplace, featured identical French doors with a semicircular window over top of them. They opened to a balcony but fog blocked the view.

After checking out a second bedroom with its own private bath, I returned to the kitchen feeling guilty for using what was no doubt the swankiest digs in the entire inn. I’d have been happy to collapse on a bed in one of the standard rooms.

The dog’s ears perked, and she barked excitedly.

She might not be much protection, but she could wake anyone with those high-pitched yaps. “Shh. People are sleeping!”

Someone knocked on the door, prompting her to bark more.

I looked out the peephole. Casey waited in the hallway.

When I opened the door, he scooted past me with a room service cart. I closed the door and trailed after him.

He made his way into the kitchen and unloaded several covered dishes on the counter. He handed me a T-shirt. “My sisters like large Tshirts to sleep in, so I brought you one from the store.”

I held it up. Artistic logos said Sugar Maple Inn on one side and Wagtail on the other. “That’s so thoughtful of you. Thanks!”

He spotted the kitten curled up on an ottoman. “Your grandmother calls her Twinkletoes. She’s the nosiest cat I ever saw. I hope you don’t mind her in here. She took up residence in this suite on her own—like she chose it.” He shook his head. “I think that’s very peculiar, but your grandmother accepted it as though it was perfectly normal.”

“I don’t mind. Is there a litter box?”

“It’s in the bathroom. You’ll see. It looks like a little cabinet with a cutout door in it. This salmon is for her, and there’s more cat food in the fridge if she gets hungry.”

“Are you sure I’m supposed to be in this suite? It’s huge!”

He nodded and smiled at me. “No luggage? Really?”

“I left in a hurry when Rose called me. I didn’t take the time to go home and pack anything because I was so worried about Oma.” I gasped. I’d been so enamored of the suite that I forgot to wash off the dreadful smeared makeup. Using my fingertips, I wiped underneath my eyes.

Relief swept over his face. “Ah, that makes sense. I should have realized. Everything happened very fast. We’re all a little spooked. Things like that don’t happen in Wagtail. I can’t believe someone jumped Mr. Luciano. Perhaps you’d like the fireplace on while you eat.” He picked up a remote control, pressed a button, and flames flickered.

I debated asking him about Oma’s health, but as worried as I was, I knew it would be wrong to discuss anything so personal with one of her employees. Her staff might not know what ailed her, and asking him could fuel rumors.

No one at the inn had ever served me in a room before. I wondered if I should tip him. “Just a minute, please.” I retrieved my purse from the console in the foyer.

Casey balked. “No, no! I’m just doing what your grandmother asked of me. I should get back to the desk, especially since the doors are locked. Enjoy your dinner.”

“Casey, would you like for me to come down and,” I chose my words carefully so he wouldn’t think I meant to babysit him, “work with you tonight?”

Casey swallowed but raised his chin. “No. I’ll lock the doors when Officer Dave leaves. It’ll be dawn soon anyway. My mom says everything looks better in sunshine.”

“Call me if you want company.”

“Thank you, Miss Miller. I appreciate that.”

I hung out the Do Not Disturb sign and headed for the shower. I’d never been so glad to remove clothes. I didn’t have anything else to wear, though, so I dutifully washed out my blouse and unmentionables and hung them to air dry. My wool suit might be rescued by dry cleaning, but I didn’t dare wash it. I hoped it would just air out and dry.

Wrapped in a towel, I picked up the dog and carried her into the bathroom. She fought me again, her eyes desperate, but I spoke to her in a soothing voice, trying to assure her that everything would be fine. I wished that were true. “We’ll know more about Oma in the morning,” I said, even though I knew that wasn’t why she was scared.

She trembled when I set her in the bathtub. I loosened my grip for one second to turn on the water, and she made a mad scramble to exit. I nabbed her and managed to rub a tiny dab of shampoo into her fur. She stood as still as stone, undoubtedly certain that this was the end of her life.

Unfortunately, that gave me a false sense of security, and I must have loosened my grip a tiny bit. Nicely lathered and full of suds, she sprang from the bathtub and shot out the door. I chased her around the suite. She proved to have an uncanny ability to duck and run, while I lumbered behind her like an elephant. She finally made a poor choice and found herself cornered in the guest bedroom. I carried her back to the bathroom, shut the door this time, and she freaked out. I had never seen an animal quiver so violently.

“Look, I have to rinse that shampoo out of your fur. It won’t hurt—I promise.” I made quick work of rinsing her fur. She shook off the excess water, and once again, I was thoroughly wet. How could one little dog hold so much water in her fur?

I opened the door, and she flew past me. I noticed, though, that she didn’t go far. She returned almost immediately, settling in the hallway where she could watch me.

A hot shower did wonders to relax me. I pulled on the T-shirt and wrapped myself in the inn’s signature fluffy white bathrobe. Oma had had my name embroidered on it in a script with rich forest green thread.

I ventured into the kitchen, my new companion by my side every step of the way. “Are you hungry?”

A tiny bone shape was embossed on the lid covering a small dish. “This must be for you.” It looked like beef and rice with flecks of something green. Spinach? I set it on the floor along with a bowl of water.

Twinkletoes stretched leisurely and strolled to the kitchen. She vaulted onto the counter with ease and promptly sniffed the dishes. The kitten weighed next to nothing when I lifted her. I placed her on the floor with the bowl of salmon.

When the Jack Russell finished her meal, she danced in place, focused on Twinkletoes’s dinner. She hovered impatiently, sneaking closer and backing up again, intent on the salmon, her little forehead wrinkled.

“She’ll smack you if you go for it,” I cautioned the dog.

For no apparent reason, Twinkletoes pawed at the hardwood floor. She scraped it with her paw in a furious rhythm.

I watched for a moment before picking her up. “Are you okay?”

She purred.

I took that as a yes. When I set her on the floor again, she sauntered into the sitting room, lounged by the fire, and washed her face.

In the meantime, the dog polished off the salmon, washing the bowl clean of every last morsel.

A snack of goulash, fruit salad, and a basket of assorted breads and cheeses awaited me on the counter. The refrigerator had been stocked with a selection of waters, beverages, and even a bottle of wine.

I opened a cranberry spritzer and carried it and my bowl of goulash to one of the cozy chairs by the fire. The dog followed me, sat on the ottoman, and watched my every move, no doubt hoping I might abandon the bowl for a split section so she could wolf down the contents.

When I finished, I turned off the fire and found an inn toothbrush in the bathroom.

In minutes, I tumbled into bed, ecstatic to see that Oma still used the luxurious down comforters and featherbeds that I remembered. They fluffed up around me like a comforting cocoon.

When I finally rested my head on the down pillow, the dog crept up onto my chest. I ran my hand along the rough fur on her back, wondering if I would be able to sleep with a dog on top of me.