Murder, She Barked

I swept Trixie into my arms. “Then stay away from her from now on.” Carrying Trixie, I marched past Ben. “She’s your problem, pal.”

I admit that I quivered a little bit once we sat safely in our golf cart. Kim didn’t scare me, but something smelled wrong. Maybe she had hijacked Ben’s phone. But why had she come here anyway? If her father’s car was stolen, then why did she make an appearance? Couldn’t that be confirmed by phone? Why hadn’t Mortie come instead?

I pulled my purse out and applied lip balm. Was it remotely possible that she was telling the truth and someone else had snatched Trixie?

Leaving my purse on the seat, I walked over to her dad’s golf cart. There were precious few places to hide anything. I stuck my hand into the pocket in front of the seat and felt something crinkle. Aha. The bag from Prissy’s store. Although that might not be evidence of anything, it raised my suspicions even more.

The basket in the back was empty. My gaze ran down to the black vinyl where golf bags were usually stashed. A bit of orange and yellow clung to it. The missing collar. Complete with tags that clearly identified them as Trixie’s. I could only imagine that she tossed the collars into the basket, they slipped through the gaps, the GPS one fell off, and the other went unnoticed.

I returned to Oma’s golf cart, turned it around, and we chugged back the way we had come. Trixie raised her nose in the air, sniffing.

Why would Kim want her? What could possibly prompt her to snatch Trixie? It wouldn’t win her points with Ben. She could probably talk her daddy into buying her just about any dog she wanted. Was it just to hurt me? She hadn’t struck me as being particularly vindictive.

I knew one thing—tonight I would be waiting for her. If she made a little trip out after Ben had dozed off, I would be ready.

Thirty-six

On my return to the inn, I did laundry and asked Oma if I could borrow some things to wear.

As I expected, she was very accommodating, and even seemed happy about it. She thought I needed sweaters and jackets, and I didn’t correct that impression. It was almost right. I needed black clothes that wouldn’t be readily seen in the dark.

I pawed through her closet. In the very back, I discovered a casual black fleece jacket that would do the trick. Looking down at Trixie, I said, “If we only had a dark coat for you.”

Acting casual, I checked out a GPS collar and receiver. A delivery guy arrived with a package. I signed for it and checked the guest’s name so I could take it to the correct room.

Oh no! The rich brown box from Pawsitively Decadent, wrapped beautifully with a white ribbon embossed with gold paw prints, bore my name. My heart sinking, I pulled out the little white envelope and opened it. Truffles for my sweet. Philip.

I grunted aloud. “Huh. Didn’t expect that.” I had to make it clear to him that we weren’t an item.

That evening, I enjoyed a leisurely dinner with Oma, just the two of us, at Chowhound. For two hours, I pushed thoughts of murder and dognapping away and reminisced with my delightful grandmother. Gingersnap and Trixie accompanied us. No amount of money would have been enough to convince me to leave Trixie at the inn. She was staying safely by my side.

We split an appetizer of earthy portobello mushrooms, stuffed with salty cheese and heavenly bacon. Oma ordered grilled salmon over quinoa with mixed berry sauce and a wilted spinach salad.

I was delighted with my pork tenderloin medallions topped with cider-braised onions, so soft I could cut them with a fork.

Gingersnap and Trixie appeared to be equally happy with their pork medallions, served with the same creamy mashed potatoes and red Swiss chard I was enjoying.

“Oma,” I said, trying to sound nonchalant. “What’s with all the meetings with Mr. Luciano?”

She appeared to be surprised. “Just work, liebling.”

“Really? Since when does Rose attend your business meetings?”

Oma laughed so hard that her eyes watered. “Apparently you’re more observant than I thought. Naturally, I comped his room and have been catering to him because he was attacked. It is the least I can do. He is bringing a television crew and ghost hunters to the inn next month. They will almost fill the entire inn. That kind of guest gets special treatment. Rose is chairwoman of special Halloween festivities in Wagtail and is acting as his liaison to the community.”

“That sounds like fun!” If I didn’t have a job, maybe I could return for it.

It was over a dessert of sweet apple tart with vanilla ice cream and caramel sauce that I dared broach the topic of selling the inn.

“I saw your cruise brochures.”

“It would be wonderful, no? Rose and I have talked about it for a long time.”

“When are you going?”

“Maybe never.” She shrugged.

“Because you have to sell the inn first?”

“Ach du lieber Gott!”

I recognized the phrase from my childhood. The German equivalent of “Dear lord!”