Murder, She Barked

I was still laughing when I left him and returned to Oma’s kitchen with Gingersnap. But in one second, nothing was funny anymore. No Oma, and no sign of Trixie.

Where had they gone? I wandered back to the grand staircase. The front door wasn’t locked. What time did they lock it at night? I peeked out at the rocking chairs on the porch, and scanned the plaza in front of the inn—dead quiet. Not a soul moved.

I returned inside and locked the front door behind me.

“Didn’t find her?”

A little squeal escaped me. I whirled around and found Mr. Luciano in the Dogwood Room. He still wore the black bathrobe, but now he held an old-fashioned glass that contained an amber liquid.

“Scotch?” he asked.

It wasn’t my drink. “No, thanks. Have you seen my grandmother?”

“Not since earlier this evening. She’s a wonderful person, your grandmother. I hope you cherish her.”

“I do.” I smiled at him reassuringly.

He sat down and crossed his legs, displaying surprisingly elegant gold jacquard pajama pants. “My own grandmother came here from Italy. But not the Italy that everybody thinks of—Rome or Sicily. My family came from the mountains in northern Italy. Tyrol, they call it. Have you been there? It’s beautiful. Very relaxing, like it is here.” He stroked Gingersnap’s head.

“It sounds lovely.”

“It is. I love coming to the Sugar Maple Inn, too. But this has been a stressful trip for me.”

A little shudder hammered through me. Was he about to confess to murder? What had he done with Oma? Had she left her suite right after me and run into him in the hallway while I raced around like an idiot looking for Trixie?

“Where is Oma?” My voice came out breathy and nervous. “Where is my dog?”

He didn’t seem to notice my agitation. “You know, when you’re born, your mother and father love you like no other person ever will. Not even your wife.”

Was he delusional? I played along. “You’re married?”

“Not anymore. She left me—” he waggled his head from side to side “—and now she’s not with us.” He sipped his Scotch. “But a dog . . . a dog will love you like your mama. Unconditional, they call it. No matter what you do, a dog will forgive you and defend you.”

“What happened to your wife?” I whispered, almost afraid to hear his answer.

“Oddly, I find I do not care about her any longer. She is not worthy of my devotion or my interest.”

My patience wore thin. Did he know where Oma was? “What about my grandmother? Is she worthy?”

“Oh my, yes. I’m grateful for her kindness and wisdom. She has been most considerate this week.”

I couldn’t help myself, my voice rose to a shrill pitch. “Then where is she?”

He stood up and faced me. “Are you saying she’s missing?”

I blinked at him, unable to discern whether he was lying or being honest. “I can’t find her—or Trixie.”

“It’s the middle of the night. They must be around here somewhere.”

I dearly wanted to get a peek inside his room. The rational side of me hoped I was being melodramatic. Only on a TV show would a guest hide the innkeeper in his room. Still . . . what excuse could I use?

“You don’t suppose Trixie dodged into your room while the door was open?”

“Let’s go look!”

He must not be hiding Oma there or he wouldn’t have been so eager. Nevertheless, I sidestepped to the house phone in the entrance and called Casey. “I’m going upstairs to Heel to see if Trixie sneaked into Mr. Luciano’s room.”

The moment of silence on the other end clued me in—Casey didn’t understand why I was calling him. “Won’t Mr. Luciano be upset if you wake him?”

“He’s right here with me.”

“Oh. Ohhhhh! Gotcha covered!”

Mr. Luciano made small talk about Oma, and we ventured up the stairs with Gingersnap leading the way. As we turned down the hallway, Casey peered around the corner and immediately flipped his back against the wall to hide.

I hoped Mr. Luciano hadn’t seen him.

“That Casey is a funny fellow,” he said.

Whoops. No question that he’d seen Casey.

He unlocked the door to Heel, left it open and called, “Trixie. Trixie, treat! Please—” he swept his arm to the side in a grand gesture “—feel free to look around.”

I checked the bathroom and called out Trixie’s name, hoping that if he’d tied up Oma in a closet, she would hear me and bang against the door. I observed Gingersnap, whose superior nose would surely know if Oma or Trixie was stashed away somewhere. She sniffed around, wagging her tail, evidently unconcerned.

Over the years, I had seen a lot of guest rooms. Mr. Luciano kept his tidy. The only thing that threw me for a loop was the luxurious faux fur bolster dog bed with the name Gina embroidered on it. I hadn’t seen him with a dog. I was afraid to ask about her. He’d spoken with such sentimentality about the love of a dog that I feared he might have lost his Gina before I arrived.

“Thank you, Mr. Luciano. I’m sorry to have troubled you.”

“You did the right thing calling Casey. You’ll be a fine innkeeper one day. Just like your grandmother.”

He closed the door behind Gingersnap and me, and I felt an idiot for having suspected him of anything sinister.