Murder, She Barked

“A hit-and-run,” said Oma. “Right in front of me. I was crossing the street just a few feet behind Sven when a big car flew at us and hit him. Right before my eyes. We didn’t hear a thing. Suddenly it was upon us.”

“The fog was terribly thick,” I said. “Was it raining? Maybe the driver didn’t see him.”

“Liesel, she needs to know the truth.” Dave wiped his mouth with a napkin. “The car had no lights on. Wagtail has become a golf cart community. There’s limited access for cars. That car had no business being there whatsoever. And Liesel is lucky she got off with a twisted ankle. The car hit them both, but only sideswiped Liesel. She could just as easily have suffered Sven’s fate.”

My fingers felt cold against my cheeks. “Did you see the driver, Oma?”

“I wasn’t looking, though I doubt I would have seen much in the dark. It all happened very fast.” She gestured with her hands as she spoke. “One minute, all I heard was the peaceful pitter-patter of rain. The next thing I knew—” she snapped her fingers “—a car came at us, and suddenly I was laying on the road, and Sven was dead. It was horrible. He was such a lovely young man with everything to live for.” She reached out and curled her fingers around my hand for a moment.

The waitress delivered steaming tea in a tall rounded porcelain mug with a touch of gold on the delicate handle. I stirred in sugar and a splash of milk. “Driving with the lights off is certainly suspicious, especially last night because I could barely see anything with my lights on. But why do you think it was murder? How would anyone know that Sven would happen along? Did he run there regularly or something?”

“The phone call.” said Oma. “Someone called the inn about Ellie needing help because Dolce was running loose. Sven was hanging out at the inn,” she smiled wistfully, “because he has—had—a crush on Chloe, who works for me. He went over to help Ellie find Dolce.”

“Dolce is a dog?” I asked.

“An amazingly beautiful show dog. Ellie and I own him together. Our Scandanavian stud!” A breath escaped Oma’s lips. “Thank goodness he was found.”

“Then it was someone who knew Sven well.” I sipped my tea.

Dave frowned at me. “Why would you say that?”

“The caller knew Sven would be at the inn and that news of a loose dog would bring him running to the rescue.”

A stubby man wearing a preppy argyle V-neck vest over a light blue, button-down shirt marched in with a basset hound, who stuck to his side, doing his level best to match the man’s stride. The basset hound extended his nose toward my Jack Russell. When the man sat down with us, the basset edged toward my dog and polite sniffing ensued.

I put the man somewhere in his fifties, although his grim expression aged him. He exuded restless energy that made me wary.

Ignoring my presence, he lifted his hand, one finger raised. “Shelley, I’ll have coffee, one of these waffles and an order of bacon.” He leaned toward Dave, but turned his head to me and demanded, “Who are you?”

Oma projected an oasis of calm in his presence. “Holly, Jerry Pierce is the mayor of Wagtail. Jerry, this is my granddaughter, Holly.”

“Uh-huh.” Jerry’s mouth puckered in annoyance.

Oma found a treat in her pocket and split it in half. She fed one part to my dog, and the other to Jerry’s. “And this handsome basset hound is Chief.”

The waitress delivered our breakfasts. My gorgeous round waffle was dusted with powdered sugar and topped with a mound of fresh blackberries and a dollop of whipped cream. She left a carafe of maple syrup and another of blackberry syrup next to my plate. It would have been a wonderful decadent breakfast, had Sven’s death not cast a pall over us.

The waitress placed a little dish in a short stand on the floor for my dog. I peered over. Chopped liver mixed with rice rested on a bed of green beans. The dog snarfed her breakfast like it was the best food she had ever eaten. It probably was.

“Holly, wouldn’t you and your little dog rather eat outside on the terrace so I can have a word with Dave and Liesel?” asked Jerry.

This time Oma bristled. Someone who didn’t know her might have missed it, but I knew what it meant when her jaw tightened like that. “It’s fine, Jerry. There is nothing you can’t say in front of Holly.”

He didn’t bother hiding his irritation. “Very well.” Lowering his voice, he aimed his ire at Dave. “What the devil is going on? People are saying that Sven was murdered. Do you know what that will do to tourist business in this town? It will shut us down, that’s what. People will be afraid to come to Wagtail!”

My eyes met Oma’s. He seemed a bombastic type. Surely he was exaggerating.