Murder, She Barked

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.