Murder, She Barked

A new sign for the Sugar Maple Inn pointed to the right. I had to turn left or right, so I went with right and hoped the sign was correct. The road later turned left and led me along the edge of town, with houses to one side and forest on the other. It ended abruptly at the inn, but not where I had expected.

Golden lights burned through the fog as we drove up. I pulled into a small, new porte cochere, with stone pillars supporting the roof. A warm glow shone through large windows, a welcome haven in the night.

I rolled the windows down a crack. “Stay here while I figure out how to smuggle you inside, where it’s warm.”

Disoriented, as though I’d driven into some kind of time portal, I ventured inside unfamiliar doors, which slid open on their own. Oma had built an addition that moved the registration desk from the lobby to the side of the inn. The new addition must be the surprise Oma had mentioned. A large antler chandelier hung in the middle of an intimate and charming reception area. Overhead, a European-style wrought iron railing on a balcony smacked of my grandmother’s taste. I spied a small store, the windows dark.

A young man, not much more than a boy, snoozed fitfully on a loveseat. His legs stuck up in the air over the armrest. One of his arms had fallen off the sofa. A shock of straight chestnut hair hid his forehead, touching the tops of wire-rimmed glasses that had gone askew.

“Hello?” I spoke gently.

He jerked into a sitting position, sending his glasses flying to the floor. He raised his hands, palms outward. “Don’t hurt me!”

“I promise not to.” What a skittish fellow. I picked up his glasses and handed them to him. “That must have been some dream.”

“Oh, gosh. I’m sorry.” He jumped to his feet. “Welcome to the Sugar Maple Inn.” He slid the glasses on, pushing them onto the bridge of his nose with his middle finger.

“Thank you. I’m here to see Liesel Miller.”

His eyebrows lifted. “You’re Holly?”

“Yes.”

He appraised me, his mouth twisting. “We’ve . . . been . . . expecting you.” He extended his hand. “Casey. Your grandmother talks about you all the time.” He gripped my hand and pumped it earnestly.

“Is she”—I paused, afraid of the answer—“okay?”

Four

“I think so,” said Casey. “She’s a strong woman, but it shook all of us. Everyone is nervous.”

My knees nearly buckled with relief. “I’ll just peek in on her.” I headed toward the store.

“Um, that’s the wrong way.” Handing me a key, he pointed upward at the elegant rounded balcony. “The last door. I’ll get your luggage.”

He would see the dog! I held up my hand like I was stopping traffic. “No need. I don’t have any.”

He raised an eyebrow, and muttered, “Okay, that’s weird.”

Paying him no heed, I trotted up a short flight of stairs, turned right and walked up more stairs to the balcony, eager to see my grandmother. I knocked on her door and unlocked it. “Oma?” I called.

Her apartment wasn’t like I remembered it, but that made sense since it was clearly part of a new addition. Undoubtedly part of the surprise she had mentioned.

I felt more at home when I recognized an inlaid table and her collection of Hummel figurines in a lighted curio. The drapes hung closed at the far end of the living room. I tiptoed toward what I hoped might be the bedroom. A golden retriever greeted me at the door, wagging her tail. I scratched behind her ears. “Oma?”

“Holly! You came.”

I looked for a light switch.

“No light, please. It’s too hard on my old eyes.”

She sounded terrible. I rushed to the side of her bed and kissed her forehead.

She clasped me with cold hands. “Ach! You’re damp. And in this chilly weather, too. You must take a hot shower or you will catch cold.”

It was just like her to be worried about me when she was the one with a problem. I held her hands, gently rubbing them between mine to warm them. “How do you feel?”

“Much better now that you are here.”

“Are you in pain?”

“Not so much. I took an aspirin.”

“Your hands are getting warmer. Do you need another blanket? Maybe I should turn up the heat.”

“No, no. Don’t trouble yourself. I prefer to sleep in a cold room—you know that.”

“But not when you’re ill.”

“The mountain air is good for my lungs.”

Did she have a respiratory problem? “What’s wrong with you, Oma?”

“We will talk about that in the morning. You need to get out of those clothes. Have Casey warm some goulash. It was always your favorite.”

I didn’t want to press her about her illness if she was tired. “Okay, you get some rest. After I park the car, I’ll come back up and sleep on your sofa. Just call out if you need anything.”

“No, no! I have a special room waiting for you. I’ll see you in the morning.” She patted my hand. “Don’t worry. Now that you are here, I will be fine.”

I resisted. After all, what was the point of coming if I couldn’t help her? “You’re so thoughtful. But I would feel better if I slept nearby.”

A dog yipped outside. I hoped it wasn’t the one in Ben’s car. Oma didn’t seem to notice.