Murder, She Barked

He’d curiously omitted mentioning the attack on Mr. Luciano. I caught Dave’s trick, though. That wasn’t an invitation, it was a taunt. Apparently it went right over Jerry’s head.

Jerry huffed. “Now there’s a good idea. Maybe I can recognize it or read the license plates so we’ll know who died in that car. I swear I have to do everything myself in this town. I’ll change clothes and meet you . . . No. I have a meeting . . . Then I have a luncheon.”

Was that a smirk Dave was hiding behind his coffee mug? “Take it easy, Jerry. No one was in the car.”

Jerry scowled, looking disappointed. “You mean some idiot just threw a perfectly good car over the mountain?”

“Pretty much.”

Jerry shot a disbelieving look at Dave. “You sure about that? I do not want to have egg on my face when it turns out somebody is missing and died in that car.”

Dave kept his cool. “I’m positive.”

Unlike his crabby owner, easy-going Chief had made friends with the Jack Russell. They lay together peacefully, as though they’d been pals for a long time.

I minded my own business, but it didn’t prevent Jerry from sputtering at me. “And I’d appreciate it if you wouldn’t tell folks that you saw a ghost out on the road last night. People around here are ghost crazy. They’ll latch onto that in a heartbeat.”

Ghost? Where did he get that idea? “I never—”

He went on without listening to me. “As if I don’t have enough problems with my own mother. How does she seem to you, Liesel?”

“Fine. Why? Are you worried?” asked Oma.

Jerry shook his head. “I wonder if she’s thinking straight anymore. For pity’s sake, she left the gate open last night, and Dolce got out. I hope this isn’t the first sign of memory lapses.”

“Anyone can make a mistake. Don’t be so hard on Ellie.” Oma tsked at him.

Jerry wiped his mouth as he rose from the table. “I have to get going.” He pointed his forefinger, jabbing the air repeatedly. “Dave, keep me informed. I want to know everything immediately. I hate to be the last one to hear about something. And you—” he pointed the pudgy forefinger at me “—stay out of trouble.”

He left in the same breathless rush with which he had entered, his basset hound struggling to keep pace.

A look passed between Oma and Dave. They laughed, like it was a private joke.

“Did I miss something?” I asked.

“It’s just Jerry,” said Dave. “He’s such a wuss. Did you see how fast he backpedaled on having to climb down the mountain?”

“It’s not nice of us to make fun of Jerry,” said Oma. “But he’s full of hot air. Always talking big. In actuality, he is a very good mayor.”

“I never said anything about a ghost. What’s he talking about?”

Dave seemed a little bit embarrassed. “I don’t know how these things get started. I heard it from two people this morning. I guess something got back to the mayor.”

“You never believed in ghosts.” Oma smiled at me. “Even as a little girl. The summer someone told you about the ghost of Obadiah Bagley, you brushed it off like it was nothing. Your cousin Josh wouldn’t sleep alone for three weeks.”

“It wasn’t a ghost that I saw on the road,” I insisted. What nonsense! “It was a man wearing a hood.” Eager to change the subject, I said, “I noticed that you didn’t mention Mr. Luciano.”

Oma kept her head bowed, but I could see that tension in her jaw again.

Dave, on the other hand, looked directly at her. I sensed they were in disagreement.

“We’re keeping that under our caps at the moment. Well, as long as we can in such a small town.” Dave rested his elbows on the table and intertwined his fingers so tightly he cut off his own circulation. His hands faded white and his fingers turned crimson. He spoke in a hushed voice. “Given Sven’s untimely death and the attack on Mr. Luciano last night, it’s not—” he glanced at Oma “—unreasonable to believe that the two incidents are somehow related to the Sugar Maple Inn.”

Oma shook her head vigorously. “No, no, no. I refuse to believe this. There is nothing,” she hissed, “nothing that could have provoked such vicious behavior.”

Dave’s mouth twisted with skepticism. He locked his eyes on mine as though he was trying to send me an unspoken message.

Maybe Oma’s troubles ran deeper than just her twisted ankle. What if the events were connected to the Sugar Maple Inn? I understood Dave’s logic, much as I didn’t want to think that the inn was involved in any way. An employee and a guest had been targets, though. Oma would have to come to grips with that.

I moved on, hoping to break the tension between them. “What did the doctor say about your leg?” I looked around for crutches but didn’t see any. “Are you allowed to walk on it?”

Dave snorted. “Doctor? There are a couple of bone experts over at Snowball Mountain’s ski area, but would she go to the doctor? Of course not.”

“I’ll be fine. I don’t need a doctor to tell me I twisted my ankle.”

At least Oma wasn’t dying from some horrible illness. Or was she? Rose had spoken with such urgency. “You’re not sick, then?”