Murder, She Barked

“There’s no need to be snippy. You’re calling from a cell phone, dufus. All it says is Virginia.”

“Sorry. It’s Holly Miller, Liesel’s granddaughter.”

Another silence.

“Hello? Are you still there?” I asked.

“I’ll let him know.” She hung up.

The haze near the edge of the road glowed a faint yellow. In early September, the trees hadn’t turned color yet. I hoped that meant they would be strong against a spreading fire. The rain would surely help, too.

The dog raised her paw and stroked the air in my direction. I reached over and ran my hand down her back. In addition to being wet, her fur felt coarse and unpleasant to the touch.

I decided it would be prudent to move the car to the correct lane. On the steep mountain, there probably wasn’t a good spot to pull over. In fact, if it hadn’t been for the mysterious man I’d seen for a second, I would have thought it safer to wait outside of the car in case someone came along too fast and plowed into it.

I eased the car up mountain, far enough away from the blaze that it wouldn’t be in danger. The emergency lights flashing, I parked and waited with the engine running, wishing I didn’t feel so helpless. There wasn’t anything I could do to control the flames or prevent them from spreading into a wildfire.

A scant ten minutes later, the glow of headlights broke through the night on the opposite side of the road. I breathed easier when I saw the police emblem on the door.

It stopped next to me and the window rolled down. A dark-haired man with a long oval face peered at me. “Did you call about an explosion?”

He’d barely gotten the words out of his mouth when a second blast shook us so hard I felt the tremor in the car.

He leaped out of his vehicle and ran to the edge of the road. I shut the dog in Ben’s car in case she got ideas about running down to the fire. I ran along the edge of the road to the police officer.

He pulled out a radio and spoke into it. When he hung up, he said, “The firefighters are on their way. Did you see a car go over the edge?”

“No. I saw a man in the road. I hit the brakes because he appeared out of nowhere, and I thought I was going to hit him, but he disappeared.”

He frowned at me. “Show me where this happened.”

I gestured to the road. “Right about there. Shouldn’t there be skid marks?”

“Not with the roads this wet. What did he look like?” He flicked a strong beam up and down the road.

“I only saw him for a second. He was wearing a jacket or hoodie—something with a hood. Navy blue or black, maybe.”

“Mustache?”

“I don’t think so, but I couldn’t swear.”

“Could it have been a woman?”

That was an odd question. “I guess. It was a split second, and then he was gone.”

“You sure you didn’t hit him?”

It was fairly obvious that he wasn’t lying in the road. Did he think I’d pitched him over the edge? “I honestly didn’t feel a bump or any impact.” I waved at the pavement. “He’s not here. He must have been able to leave.”

“It’s pretty late. You been drinking?”

“No!” My voice sounded high and testy. “Don’t you believe me? I’ll take a sobriety test. I’m tired but I haven’t had a drink.”

“You’re lucky I know you, Holly Miller.” His stern expression softened a little bit. “Do you remember me? Dave Quinlan?”

“Dave! You were headed for the navy the last I heard.”

He stood a little straighter. “Seems a long time ago now.”

A Jeep pulled up behind Dave’s police car. The glimmer of headlights grew as a fire truck arrived and several more cars lined up on the road.

“Excuse me,” Dave said. “That’ll be the volunteer firefighters.”

He spoke with the driver in the lead car. In less than a minute, six firefighters peered over the edge of the mountain at the blaze. Two of them scrambled down the mountainside to assess the situation.

Dave’s radio crackled. He didn’t seem to have trouble understanding it. All I could make out was “car.”

“You staying at your grandmother’s?” asked Dave.

I nodded.

“Go on then. I know where to find you.”

I headed for Ben’s car.

“Hey, Holly.”

I turned around.

“I’m sorry about your grandmother.”

“What?” But he’d already disappeared into the fog. My heart heavy with worry, I slid into the car and locked the doors.

It was nearing three in the morning when I passed the line of firefighters’ cars and drove toward Wagtail. In an odd way, I felt guilty for leaving. But there wasn’t a thing I could do to help. I could only hope no one was in the car that was burning. Besides, I had to see Oma. A tiny part of me wanted to drive slower, to make the trip last longer. As long as I didn’t know anything for certain, she was still okay.

The rain had finally stopped, but the road no longer seemed familiar. In the past, the road had led directly to the inn, but now a huge parking lot with a guardhouse blocked my way. “What in the world?” I muttered.

This wasn’t right. Could I have taken a wrong turn in the mist?