Murder, She Barked

If I had walked past the house by myself, I would have guessed Zelda belonged there. Instead of a white picket fence, a rough two-foot high, stacked stone fence meandered along the edge of the front yard. The bottom half of the house had to date back a hundred years or more. Built of stone, it supported a wood-clad second story with a steep roof. Dormer windows jutted out of the roof. The diamond-shaped panes in the glass added to the charm but imparted a slight witchy-gingerbread-house touch. Ivy climbed the walls of the house. Tall pines and overgrown shrubs provided privacy from the neighbors. A lantern hung from a wood post by the front walk, along with a hand-painted sign that stated Animal Psychic, by Appointment along with a telephone number. But a huge box blocked the red front door at the end of the stone walk.

“Isn’t this awful? I ordered a new chair and got a great deal on it, but it turns out that when they say curbside delivery, that’s as far as they take it. I managed to shove the box this far, but I can’t carry it inside by myself.”

“No problem. I’ll lift this side, you get the other one. And you,” I said to Trixie, “please don’t get underfoot.”

With that, Zelda swung the door open wide.

Twenty-six

Six cats waited on the other side. Trixie yelped at them, then pulled at the leash, her feet scrambling like a cartoon character.

The cats scattered, except for a big gray one with yellow eyes, who stared Trixie down.

“You don’t lock your doors?” I asked.

Zelda snorted. “This is Wagtail. Nothing horrible ever happens here. Well, not until recently.”

We lifted the box and carried it inside the house. The front room served as foyer and living room. Ancient hardwood floors moaned as we walked on them.

Zelda had already made room for the new chair and did a little dance of delight when it was out of the box and in place. She curled up on her big new chair and a half by the fireplace. A longhaired cat with tufts on its ears leaped onto her lap. “All I need now is hot apple cider and a book. Maybe a little snow.”

“This is quite a house.”

“I don’t know what’s going to happen now that Jerry is dead. It belongs to him. I’m just renting it.” She raised her eyebrows and frowned, tilting her head to the side. “Jerry gave me a really great deal on the house because I solved a problem for Chief. He had an obsessive digging problem. When I talked to Chief, he told me he wasn’t getting enough exercise. Jerry took him places, but never gave him time to play or just sniff around—which is very important to hounds. Once Jerry made time for Chief to be a dog, he was much better behaved. That, and clicker training. Jerry had tried using a choke collar to train Chief, but he responded better to clicker training.”

She pointed at Trixie. “She will, too. They’re both food motivated. Anyway, Jerry was so happy that he rented me this house for a steal. I’d love to buy it, but there’s no way after what my ex did to our credit. I love it here, though.” She clutched the cat to her tightly. “I don’t want to leave!”

“Wouldn’t his mother have inherited his rental properties?”

“I don’t know. I haven’t asked yet because it’s too soon to broach that with her. It would be insensitive.”

That was true. It would have been thoughtless of her to ask Ellie right away. “I guess you’ll find out soon.”

Trixie watched the cat with way too much interest. I tightened my grip on the leash.

“Zelda, this morning I ran into the weirdest guy in the woods. Tall with glasses—”

Her eyes went wide. “The Runemaster! You really saw him?”

“Runemaster?”

“That’s what we call him. He’s a recluse. Hardly ever comes into town. Just turns up in the woods when people least expect it, like he’s spying on people. He’s very scary.”

I was glad I hadn’t known that. “He did show up suddenly and then he disappeared, but he wasn’t that scary.”

She shivered. “No, thanks. He creeps me out.”

She walked me to the door, thanking me profusely for my help.

“Anytime.”

By my calculations, we were one block over from the street where Sven had been mowed down. For no good reason, when I left Zelda’s, I crossed the street, ambled down a block, and wound up in front of Ellie’s house again.

Trixie sniffed the sidewalk. “I wish you could tell me who opened that gate.”

She inspected the base of the gate eagerly. Not that it would mean anything. Half the town had gone through the gate to convey their condolences since Jerry died. We strolled toward the shopping area, but an angry voice caught my attention. Trixie pulled at the leash again, her ears perked up.

Rose stood inside the doorway of her quaint cottage, speaking in an elevated voice. Not yelling, it was tempered, but as angry as I’d ever heard Rose.