Murder, She Barked

“Officer Dave is on his way,” announced Casey.

Officer Dave? That was so cute. Only in a small town!

The sweet dog eyes fixated on me.

“How did you get in here?” I hissed at the dog.

I bent over to pick her up but she backed away. If I kept coming toward her, she might run, and then she’d be on the loose in the inn. She didn’t have a collar, and I didn’t have a leash. What a nightmare. Would she follow me if I simply walked toward the door? I wasn’t eager to go out in the fog, especially after hearing Mr. Luciano’s tale. But I was a tad skeptical about his story. Why would anyone be hanging around at the inn waiting to clobber a guest? Unless that person had been waiting just for Mr. Luciano . . .

“She’s a Jack Russell, isn’t she?” asked Mr. Luciano. “I thought it was traditional to dock their tails.” He tilted his head at me like a dog trying to understand. “You know, cut them so they’re short.”

Casey stretched up and peered over the desk, trying to see her. The cat was out of the bag, so to speak.

The dog wagged her tail tentatively, unsure of herself. The tail wasn’t long, about ten inches or so. It curved upward. A black spot covered part of her rump and extended one-third of the way down her tail. The other half was yellowed white, like her body.

I smiled at Mr. Luciano and said the obvious. “Her tail is intact.” Clutching my room key, I walked toward the exit door, my heart pounding. Would she follow me?

“What’s on her nose?” asked Mr. Luciano.

I couldn’t be rude. This was my grandmother’s inn, and if there was one thing she had pounded into my head it was that I represented the Sugar Maple Inn, and I could never ever be rude to a guest. But I thought I’d gone about as far as I could with evasive responses. “Doritos.”

He chuckled. “You fed her Doritos?”

“She helped herself.”

“What’s her name?” he asked.

“My apologies, Holly,” said Casey. “I had no idea that you brought your dog. She’s not wearing a collar. Did she lose it?”

I trudged back toward them. Might as well be honest about it. I couldn’t sneak her in now anyway. I told them the whole sad story. “I’m very sorry. I’ll try to coax her outside.”

Casey ducked down for a second. When he reappeared, he rounded the front desk and walked toward me slowly, a collar and leash in his hand. “This is a Sugar Maple Inn collar. There’s no leash ring on it, because it’s only for locating dogs, but you could sling this leash under it. Do you think she’ll come to you if you offer a treat?” He handed me a couple of teeny bone-shaped cookies and a sunflower-yellow collar bearing the words Sugar Maple Inn. A plastic box hung on it.

“A Sugar Maple Inn collar?” Since when did inns have collars?

I knelt on the floor and held out the dog cookie. “Treat!”

She studied me.

I broke the cookie in half and pretended to eat part of it. She promptly bolted toward me, snatched the cookie, and retreated before I could grab her. I handed the collar back to Casey. “Maybe you can latch it on her if I catch her?”

I held out the second piece of the cookie, but this time I was ready. When she darted at me, I tackled her, flinging my arms around her.

Casey snapped the collar on and looped the leash through it in spite of her wriggling attempts to be free. He handed me the leash when I stood up. “Well, at least she won’t get away from you again. All Sugar Maple Inn collars have GPS in them. Um, nothing personal, but she reeks. The groomers in town are closed at this hour. I can recommend You Dirty Dog. They’ll be open in the morning.”

I’d been away too long. Since when did Wagtail have enough business to support a dog groomer? When I was growing up, a dog bath in the mountains involved a swim in the lake or a splash through a garden hose in the backyard. “So she can stay?”

“Your grandmother said you hadn’t been here in a while. Didn’t she tell you that the Sugar Maple Inn is now a premier pet resort destination?”

I couldn’t have felt more stupid. “What does that mean? There are boarding facilities for guests’ pets?”

“No, nothing like that.” As though it was a slogan, he proudly stated, “We never board, we pamper. People come here to vacation with their pets. Dogs are our specialty, but we have a building just for cat lovers, too. The Cat’s Pajamas, a wing where no dogs are allowed.”

No wonder Mr. Luciano had been so inquisitive about the dog. He was probably a dog lover. I hadn’t given any thought to her tail. “Thanks, Casey. I’d better park the car.”

The little dog seemed unsure of herself when I walked toward the entrance, pulling gently on the leash. She bolted and stopped. She tested the leash in various directions, clearly confused.

“Looks like she’s never been on a leash before,” said Mr. Luciano.

I was beginning to suspect the same thing. Walking slowly, we headed outside. Just in case Mr. Luciano had told the truth about someone attacking him, I listened carefully. All I heard was crickets. The rain had finally stopped.