Murder, She Barked

I opened the passenger side door and found the glove compartment hung open.

“Did you do that?”

She readily jumped into the car. I slammed the door shut and hurried to the driver’s side. The thick fog prevented me from seeing more than a few feet ahead, but I found a parking space and began to have inviting visions of a cozy bed.

Cold mountain air pierced my damp clothes when I stepped out. The mist swirled around us, thick as a London fog.

The dog strained at the leash. I followed along behind her. Much as she had when we saw the man on the mountain, she barked with crazy excitement. Goose bumps raised on my arms.

Straining to see through the mist, I gazed around but saw nothing. I tugged at her and headed for the inn. She quit barking and stopped to do her business, while I waited impatiently.

Mr. Luciano had planted notions in my head, I told myself. After all, this was Wagtail, not some big city where people were attacked at night. Nevertheless, the second she finished, I ran for the inn. Happily, the dog bounded along ahead of me—blindly into the misty night. High heels were never meant for running. Stumbling, I tried to pick up speed when the lights of the inn became visible. The dog and I raced through the door.

“Now you can lock the doors, Casey.”

I paused to catch my breath.

Casey scrambled to hit a button under the desk. Mr. Luciano rested on the couch clutching a bottle of water in his hand.

“I’ll wait with you for Officer Dave.”

Casey gazed at me with worried puppy dog eyes. I could see the relief in his expression. He shoved his hand up his forehead, lifting the shock of hair that grazed his eyes.

The inn wasn’t very big, but I wondered if he might be too young for so much responsibility. Oma had me pull the night auditor shift when I was a teen, but no one had ever been clobbered right outside the inn. Maybe I should cut him some slack.

I smiled encouragingly. “How long have you been working here, Casey?”

“Since June. I work Mondays and Tuesdays, but this is the first time I’ve worked a weekend. Mrs. Miller asked me to come in, since, well, you know,” he choked up, “since Sven died.”

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.