Murder, She Barked

I asked if she knew the location of Café Shot.

She pointed across the walking zone. “Outsiders never get it. It’s cute, but not obvious.”

Across the way, tables clustered before an arched double door with large windows on both sides. Over the top of the entrance were the words Café Chat. Sleek, stylized cats curved to create the capital Cs. I stared at it for a minute, thinking the woman had misunderstood me. And then it dawned on me. Chat was pronounced something like “shot” and meant “cat” in French—a bilingual double entendre.

I thanked the woman and hastened over. As I approached, I scanned people at the tables for a young woman sitting alone and spotted her right away. Chloe had curly strawberry blonde hair that bushed out around her shoulders. Pale and so thin she seemed fragile, she fidgeted, twisting a ring on her middle finger and glancing about nervously. When I introduced myself, I realized that carefully applied makeup had hidden dark circles under her eyes, but nothing could conceal the red rims, no doubt from crying.

A handsome waiter scurried over to our table. He could hardly take his eyes off her. We ordered café au laits and croissants. I was going to have to embark on a major diet when I went home. Much to my surprise, Trixie sat quietly next to my chair, taking everything in.

“I’m so sorry for your loss.”

She nodded and dabbed at her eyes with a crumpled tissue. “Am I fired? Please don’t fire me. I love working at the Sugar Maple Inn.”

Twenty-one

Fired? Chloe’s question threw me for a loop. I reached out to her and placed my hand over hers. “Good grief. Of course you’re not fired.” No sooner had the words left my mouth than I realized I didn’t have the power to promise anything of the sort. But I wondered why she thought that. I sat back and hoped she might say more about it.

The cute waiter arrived with our café au laits and croissants. He set a small bowl of water on the concrete floor for Trixie. I assumed the croissant-shaped biscuit on a plate near mine was meant for Trixie, too.

I placed it near her water. At the inn, I had noticed hand wipes in a rectangular container on each table, just like sugar packets. I tore one open and wiped my hands.

Chloe drank half her coffee before I touched mine. “I haven’t eaten much since it happened. I don’t even have the energy to make a cup of coffee.”

She wasn’t going where I wanted. I should have waited, but I asked, “Why would you be fired?”

“I love Mrs. Miller like my own grandmother. I don’t want to offend you, but you’ve probably noticed that she’s pretty precise about things. She’s more punctual than anyone I’ve ever known. I thought if she found out that I left the inn during my shift, well, that would be the end of my job. Is she mad?”

I debated what to say. I shouldn’t have said she wouldn’t be fired. I had no power over that decision. “Honestly, she hasn’t said a thing to me. Where did you go?”

She slumped in her seat and closed her eyes briefly. “To break off my relationship with Philip.” She said it in a dull, lifeless voice.

“Philip? The guy who owns the bed-and-breakfasts?”

“Same one.”

“Isn’t he a lot older than you?” If I had to guess, I’d put Chloe in her mid-twenties. Philip must be closer to my age, late thirties or maybe forty.

“Fifteen years older. It was a mistake.”

“The relationship or the breakup?”

“The relationship. He’s a controlling sort of guy. You know the type? Everything has to be just so. He even irons his jeans. He’s very ambitious. Being so precise and planning everything has made him pretty successful. One of these days, I’m sure he’ll be like your grandmother and own the fanciest place in town. He has the drive to do it. I think he liked me because I was younger, and he thought he could manipulate me and shape me into what he wanted me to be. It wasn’t healthy, but I didn’t realize it until I met Sven. He was incredibly intuitive.”

“So you broke off your relationship with Philip to start a relationship with Sven?”

“It had already started.” She pushed her hair back, out of her face, and turned guilty eyes up at me. “Sven and I had a full-blown romance. We hid it from everyone because of Philip. I’ve never been with anyone as gentle and caring as Sven. People talk about romance all the time, but I thought they were exaggerating—that love wasn’t really like that, except in books and movies. But it is . . . and now I’ve gone and killed the only man I’ll ever love!”

Fortunately, she didn’t sob out loud. She cupped a hand over her mouth and bowed her head. Her slender fingers trembled.

I gave her a moment, saddened by her deep grief yet alarmed by what she’d said. “What do you mean you killed him?”

She blinked back tears. “If I hadn’t told Philip about Sven, he would still be alive.”

I lowered my voice and bent toward her. “You know for a fact that Philip murdered Sven?”

She glanced around. “You can’t tell anyone. Promise? He’ll kill me, too, if he finds out I blabbed.”