Murder, She Barked

Dave nodded. In a hushed voice he said, “We found a bunch of socks containing gold items in a basket with laundry on top of them. I guess Brewster believed in hiding things in plain sight. It’s a good bet he’s connected to the thefts on Snowball Mountain. I don’t think he worked alone, though. I hope Brewster talks.”

“An accomplice, you mean?” I glanced toward Prissy, who’d been so snarky about my call to 911. “How about a police insider? Someone who heard about the sting and could warn him?”

Dave’s eyes snapped up to meet mine. “What do you know?”

“Remember the night I spied on Kim and she visited Brewster? I saw Prissy upstairs in Brewster’s house wearing a skimpy negligee.

Dave’s brow furrowed. “You don’t have to like Prissy but that’s really low. What a nasty accusation.”

“I’m sorry, Dave. I’m just telling you what I saw. Maybe I’m the one jumping to conclusions. Maybe she’s not involved with the thefts at all.” I had told him where my suspicions fell. Planted the seed, so to speak. “You’re in charge. I’m sure you know best. I guess the hairs of the toupee that Trixie carried around matched the ones in Jerry’s hand?”

“Perfectly. And Brewster has a couple of identical extras in the house. It’s a lucky thing Trixie grabbed the hairpiece from Jerry and ran with it.”

Holmes ambled over and slung an arm around me. We watched as the police car pulled away and the remaining cops began poking around the yard. Dave shook his head as they turned up more of the socks.

Holmes took a deep breath. “It tears me up that they arrested Tiny for murdering Sven. I’ve known him forever. I thought he was a good guy. But that means I’m free to go. I’ve got a flight out tomorrow morning. How about dinner tonight with Oma and Grandma Rose?”

It sounded like just the ticket to me.

My cell phone buzzed with a text. I pulled it out, surprised to hear anyone texting me. It had to be Ben.

I read the message and howled with glee. “I’ve got my job back! Even better, not my job, but my boss’s job. They canned him and want me to take his position. Yippee!”

Trixie danced on her hind legs. Holmes hugged me, but Rose’s face fell.

“You won’t be staying in Wagtail?” she asked.

The cruise! I’d forgotten all about it. “You and Oma book your cruise, and I’ll wangle vacation time to come take care of the inn while you’re gone. I promise.”

“Grandma,” said Holmes, “you can’t expect Holly to pack in her life and move here just to make you and Oma happy.”

She nodded, but I knew I’d broken her heart. “Dinner tonight, though. Right?”

They promised to set it up with Oma and walked away with Murphy to find him a temporary home.

There was one person in whose nose I wanted to rub my good news. Ben. Ben who said I was persona non grata. Ben who said they wouldn’t want to hire a troublemaker. Hah! I would show him.

I called the landline at Mortie’s cabin. Busy. I tried Ben’s phone. It rolled over to voice mail. “I think this is worth a trip up there, don’t you, Trixie?”

We walked back to the inn. I shared my good news with Zelda, probably a little bit too gleeful about rubbing Ben’s nose in it. Nevertheless, I checked out the golf cart, and headed straight to Mortie’s cabin. I felt a little bit guilty for wanting to prove to Ben that he was wrong. But not guilty enough to turn around.

I thought about Brewster and Tiny as I drove. Brewster had clearly been the one who killed Jerry. The hairs on Jerry’s hand that matched Brewster’s toupee would be hard evidence to overcome.

Had Brewster also been the one who drove the car and hit Sven? Why he would have mailed the keys to Tiny was beyond me. Maybe Tiny knew what Brewster had done? That was the only thing that made sense. But why would Brewster want to kill Oma?

He had no business with her as far as I knew. His pub was far enough away that the noise didn’t disturb the inn guests. Had Oma even mentioned him? I didn’t think so. Oma didn’t have gold coins or expensive items hanging around. What would Brewster gain by knocking her off? Unless he wanted the inn.

But the only person who seemed interested in the inn—chills ran through me, and I hit the brake—was Philip.

No, I was being silly. There wasn’t a shred of anything tying Philip to the car or the murders. Still, it would explain his behavior and his interest in me. He’d swept into the inn as though he was taking over.

No, no, no. That was absurd. Days of stress trying to figure out who wanted to kill Oma had taken a toll on me. I suspected everyone.

Before we reached Mortie’s cabin, Trixie sat up and barked incessantly, like she had the night we saw the man in the road. I shushed her and held her close but half expected someone to leap out of the woods. She stopped barking but whimpered softly.

I turned the golf cart into the driveway.