Murder, She Barked

Not too far away, in the cabin’s backyard, I could see Philip striding toward the lake with his back to me. In front of him, Kim and Ben walked slowly into the cold water. Kim was sobbing and pleading for her life. Philip had to have a weapon to make them do something so stupid. The water must have been frigid.

Doing my best to keep Trixie from barking, I dismissed the idea of calling 911. It would take them too long to arrive. Philip would turn and see me soon—and then there would be three of us walking into the water.

Praying that we wouldn’t hit anything noisy on the driveway, I drove the golf cart downhill toward them. Every snap under the tires as they rolled over pebbles and twigs sounded amplified to me. But Philip must have been concentrating on Ben and Kim, because he hadn’t heard us creeping closer behind him. Kim’s wailing probably helped drown out the sounds we made, as well. At the end of the pavement, a mere twenty feet from Philip, I accelerated, fearing that Philip would finally notice us any second. The golf cart sped up, much faster than I’d anticipated, and catapulted downhill with alarming speed.

Kim, glanced back toward Philip, saw me, and screamed even more loudly. Now in waist-deep water, Ben turned around, grabbed Kim’s arm, and struggled to move out of the path of the golf cart.

Philip looked over his shoulder and finally saw me hurtling toward him. His eyes widened in shock. But it was too late.

I grabbed Trixie and leaped off just as the cart hit him full force. Philip rolled over the front and fell backward into the passenger seat.

Forty-five

I rolled on the ground, clutching Trixie underneath me to protect her. Philip’s gun flew through the air in a big arc. Happily, it didn’t fire when it landed.

I darted over and picked it up.

The golf cart had plummeted into the chilly lake.

“Help!” cried Philip. “I can’t move. I can’t feel my legs. I’ll drown.”

Kim screamed, “I hope you do!” She fled the water as fast as she could and ran for the cabin.

The golf cart sank at a worrisome speed.

“Ben! Maybe we should get him out of there,” I yelled.

“Not a chance.” He signaled me with a thumbs-up.

Huh? I called 911 but heard a siren before anyone answered. I turned around to see Dave pull into the driveway.

I inched closer to the golf cart. No wonder Ben wasn’t worried. The wheels in the back had hit bottom. It wouldn’t sink further.

“He’s injured,” yelled Ben to Dave. “I don’t think he can get out.”

“You’d better go inside to warm up and change into dry clothes,” I said to Ben.

Now that Dave had arrived, I wasn’t afraid. Okay, I was shaking. It wasn’t every day that I ran a golf cart into someone.

Dave radioed for an ambulance, and I handed him the gun.

“How did you know we were here?” I asked.

“Thank Zelda. She stuck a GPS collar into this golf cart because she was so worried about you. Then, when she charged Philip’s phone, she heard a rather interesting message.”

Philip groaned.

“You wanted the inn,” I baited him. “You drove the car that hit Sven. It wasn’t Tiny after all. You’re the one who let Dolce out and called the inn hoping Oma would come so you could plow her down.”

His jaw tightened.

“Oh my gosh.” I rambled on, speculating. “But then you decided that you didn’t have to kill Oma because you thought you would weasel your way into ownership of the inn through me!”

Dave tsked. “Lucky for your grandmother that Philip determined it would be cheaper and easier to inherit an inn than to buy it after her death.”

Ugh! He probably would have killed Oma and me eventually. I felt like the blood had drained out of me. “It was so easy for you because you live on the same street as Ellie. But why did you steal the car from Brewster?”

Philip grunted.

“And why would you be up here trying to murder Kim and Ben? They had nothing to do with . . .” Suddenly I felt like pushing him farther into the water. “You thought Ben stood in your way of conning me into a relationship.” I held the top of my head between my hands. I’d been so stupid using Ben as an excuse not to date Philip. I’d caused this nightmare by telling Philip that Ben and I were engaged. “I hope you and Brewster end up in the same place. You’re two of a kind.”

“I’ve got more guts than Brewster.”

Dave poked Philip’s leg, but he didn’t respond.

A spinal injury?

“Philip,” said Dave, “I’m going to wait for the med techs to move you.”

“I don’t get it,” I said. “If Philip killed Sven, then why did Tiny throw the car over the cliff?”

“He confessed once we brought up Brewster’s name,” said Dave. “As near as I can make out, Brewster hired Tiny to kill Jerry by hitting him with Mortie’s car. But this schlub, Philip, got wind of their plan, and thought he would change the victim so he could get rid of your grandmother. Pretty sneaky, actually. If Philip’s plan had worked, Tiny would have unwittingly killed Oma, and no one would be the wiser about Philip’s involvement.”