Murder, She Barked

I returned to the last place I had seen my dog, but it was a long shot that she might be there.

Avoiding the store where the evil woman had pinched her, I strolled the walking area, asking shop owners if I could tape my flier to their windows. Every single one of them promised to spread the word and be on the lookout. Except for the evil one, Wagtail had a remarkably friendly population.

For such a small town, Wagtail offered an amazing array of stores, and most appeared to carry higher-end merchandise.

If it had a cat on it, The Cat’s Meow sold it. Everything for feline lovers from cat jewelry, both for cats and their people, to cat lamps, presumably to be used by both cats and their people, and cat handbags far too big for cats to carry but large enough for a cat to ride in.

The residents of Wagtail had embraced their dog and cat friendly theme with gaiety and cleverness. Some of the shop names were a little confusing though. Did Au Bone Pain sell bread for people, bread for dogs, or bones? Bread in the shape of bones?

Dogs played in the grassy middle of the walking zone, catching Frisbees and romping together. Some strolled with their people, tossing only a curious sniff in the direction of other dogs.

Seeing them just deepened my sense of loss. I already thought of her as my dog. I’d spent less than twelve hours with her, and she’d become part of my life. I forged ahead with my fliers, hoping against hope that she might be found. The thought of her, lost and alone, maybe injured, hit by a car, or attacked by a coyote was simply unbearable. I had to push those images out of my mind and do everything I could to find her.

After hanging my last flier, I hurried back to the inn to check on Oma. She was at work in her office and looked up when I peeked in on her.

“Liebling, we have a group arriving at four o’clock. Yappy Hour begins at five, and I’ve arranged dinner with Rose tonight at The Blue Boar. It’s a little bit dressy. If you want to borrow something from my closet, feel free.”

“Maybe I could help you?”

“Ja? You would do that?” Oma lowered her reading glasses to look at me. “Wonderful! That would be such a big help. I’m slow like a turtle with this ankle injury.”

She handed me a ring of keys and a printout on a clipboard. “Please check the rooms on the list to be sure they are ready. Each room should have a special welcome basket for a cat or a dog, as the case may be. It’s all marked on the list. Then double-check with the kitchen to be sure we have their preferred dog or cat food on hand. It should already be there, but I like to be certain nothing slipped though the cracks. And inspect all the bathrooms carefully, please. I’m trying out a new housekeeper.”

Truth be told, I was glad to have something to do. It would take my mind off my missing dog and the murders, at least for a while. Besides, poor Oma couldn’t hobble through the entire inn doing this. It would take her forever. Clutching the list, I headed past the sitting room. Just as I reached the front door, Dave barreled through it, grabbed me by the elbow, and propelled me past the small dining area through a wide curved archway into the new addition on the other side.

Fourteen

A single guest lounged in a cushy chair before an enormous window wall like the one in the great room.

Dave shot a look of daggers at the poor guest, and tugged me past the fireplace. Bookshelves lined the walls from floor to ceiling, with a few comfortable nooks carved out among them that were full of inviting cushions. A built-in seat in a bay window overlooked the plaza in front of the inn.

“Shouldn’t you be dealing with Jerry?” I asked.

His jaw tightened, and pain etched creases in his face. He breathed heavily as though he’d run all the way to the inn. “Yeah, I have to get right back. Tell me exactly where and when you ran into Holmes.”

“This is ridiculous,” I whispered. “You know Holmes didn’t kill him.”

Dave’s nostrils flared. “Jerry’s neighbor saw Holmes running away from Jerry’s house this morning. The neighbor didn’t think much of it at the time, but then he found Chief wandering around in his backyard. The neighbor took the dog home and left him on Jerry’s back porch.”

“If Holmes was there at all, I’m sure he had good reason.”

Dave glared at me.

“Okay, okay. I ran into Holmes outside of Houndstooth, and we walked over to Jerry’s. Simple as that. I don’t know exactly what time it was, maybe twenty or thirty minutes before we discovered Jerry’s body, and I called the cops.”

“Was there anything unusual about him?”

“Like what?”

“Nervous? Sweating? Talking too fast? Not talking at all?”

“Completely normal, I assure you. Look, I know about the conflict between Holmes’s family and Jerry. But they’re not the kind of people who resolve their problems with violence. Surely you realize that.”