Murder, She Barked

“Is this where Sven was killed?” asked Holmes.

Fifteen

Oma winced. Holding her head high, she sucked in a deep breath. “The car came from that direction. We were crossing the road right here when it hit him.”

“There’s something I don’t understand,” I said. “When I arrived, I had no trouble driving straight to the inn but it sounds as though no cars are allowed.”

Holmes nodded. “There are two roads that run parallel to the pedestrian zone, six blocks over on each side. The speed limit is twenty-five miles per hour. Most vehicles, like tour buses, stop at the parking lot outside of town. The person who hit Sven must have turned down this road in the dark, parked, and waited.”

“Then it really couldn’t have been an accident. No wonder Dave thought it was intentional.”

We stood there for a moment in silence. “Well,” I said brightly, “I can’t wait to see this beauty—Dolce.”

Holmes clapped me on the shoulder, and the four of us crossed the street.

“Why aren’t there barriers so cars can’t drive down these side streets?” I asked.

Rose sighed. “Residents have an exemption to park in their garages, but there’s almost no traffic anymore. Besides, no one anticipated anything like this. We thought we could save the cost because they wouldn’t be necessary. Most visitors park at the far end and take a Wagtail taxi into town.”

Holmes opened the gate and held it for us. The front door of the white bungalow hung open. Inside, people milled about, murmuring respectfully. Holmes opened the screen door without ringing the bell. Chief and a Great Dane greeted us. He had a fawn coat, golden in color, with a dark muzzle. Triangular ears hung down on the sides of his enormous head.

Gingersnap kissed him, while Oma and Rose made a big fuss over all the dogs.

A tall man, whose reddish-blond hair billowed in waves so high above his head that he seemed even larger, nodded at us and said, “Holmes.”

Holmes introduced us. “Brewster owns Hair of the Dog, the local watering hole.”

I shook his fleshy hand. Freckles dotted ruddy skin on his face and hands. Prominent cheekbones bore a rosy glow that reminded me vaguely of Santa Claus. Flushed and round, they perched over a nicely trimmed mustache and beard that were morphing from strawberry blond to white. His rectangular wire-rimmed glasses only served to enhance the Santa image.

“I’m surprised you could take time off during Yappy Hour,” said Holmes.

“Can’t stay long, but I felt I had to come over and, you know, pay my respects. It’s awful.” Brewster licked his upper lip. “Just awful.”

“Do they have any leads yet?” asked Holmes.

Brewster snorted. “There’s not a person in Wagtail who didn’t have a beef with Jerry.”

“You did, too?” I hoped I didn’t sound too nosy.

He grimaced. “Hair of the Dog has been a bone of contention since it opened. You might say it was a thorn in Jerry’s paw. Half the residents call him daily to complain about noisy drunks walking home.”

“The other half, the people who frequent the place,” said Holmes, “don’t want it to move outside of town because there would be car accidents. They love being able to walk home at night.”

“I guess that’s the kind of thing that happens in every community. There’s no good solution.” I spied Oma waving at me. “Excuse me. I believe I’m being summoned.”

Brewster nodded. “You two come on by for a drink when you ditch the old ladies.”

I suspected they wouldn’t appreciate being called old ladies, but maybe it wasn’t as bad as some things he might have called them. Rose and Oma spoke with a woman whom I would have recognized anywhere as Jerry’s mother. They shared the same body structure, the same eyes, though I thought hers were kinder, and while her face was a softer, more feminine version, he had been the spitting image of his mother.

Ellie clasped her hands to her cheeks. “My goodness, Holly! I remember your mother pushing you in a stroller. You favor your father, though. A Miller through and through.”

She hugged me, and I said, “I’m so very sorry about Jerry.”

She closed her eyes and turned her head away. “If only I hadn’t been so awful to him today. I . . . I told him that I had not lost my mind and that if he persisted in that nonsense then he needn’t bother coming over anymore. And now he won’t!”

Oma turned Ellie toward her, and Ellie wept into Oma’s shoulder.

How perfectly awful. Losing her son was bad enough, but now she had to live with the knowledge that she hadn’t been loving and warm during their last conversation. No one could ever possibly anticipate that. If we tried, there would never be any angry words. And from the sound of it, he had been obnoxious about her carelessness leaving the gate open. That was little consolation to her now that he was gone.

I backed away to give her some privacy. She needed the comfort of her friends, Oma and Rose.