Murder Most Howl: A Paws & Claws Mystery (5 page)

Once a grand home, the inn had been expanded and updated over the years. It was situated in a prime location between the end of Wagtail’s pedestrian zone and Dogwood Lake. The original lobby and grand staircase faced a plaza and the green, where people strolled with their dogs and cats.
Each side of the green was lined with sidewalks, where most of the stores and restaurants were located.

Oma had renovated recently, moving the official reception lobby to a new addition on the west side of the inn. We’d discovered, though, that it was wiser to keep an eye on the front door of the old lobby because that was where most people came and went.

At my insistence, we had added an elegant concierge desk, where Mr. Huckle could take a load off his feet when he wasn’t busy elsewhere. At night, we now locked the reception lobby on the side. The night manager worked at the desk in the old lobby. A buzzer at the reception door rang at the concierge desk if someone arrived after dark. So far it was working out fairly well.

I dusted off my jeans and joined Mr. Huckle, Shelley, and the cook in the Dogwood Room, which was open to the old lobby and the grand staircase. Outside the two-story windows, snow gently drifted through the air. A fire blazed and my calico kitten, Twinkletoes, who was getting bigger by the day and was more of an adolescent now, was curled up in front of it, snoozing with her black tail over her pink nose, the cat equivalent of a
Do Not Disturb
sign.

Trixie danced toward her carefully but had the good sense to leave the sleeping cat alone.

“Looks great!” I said.

The cook appraised our work. “I guess we’ll serve some simple appetizers and munchies? Hot chocolate, decaf coffee and tea, and a warm grog?”

I nodded. “Works for me. Thanks for staying late to help out.”

“If I may make a suggestion, Miss Holly, perhaps we should bring out some candles and candelabra, just in case we lose power as well.” Mr. Huckle bestowed a gracious smile on me when I agreed.

On my way to the third-floor attic, where most of the off-season furniture was stashed, I spied Ella Mae on the
second-floor landing. She quickly turned tail and ran back. Char, bundled up for the weather, emerged from their room. She picked up Ella Mae, wrapped her in a shawl, and carried the tiny dog in her arms.

“Ella Mae and I are going shopping!” She peered out the window on the landing. “Do you think the stores will be open?”

“Probably. Most of the owners live in easy walking distance of their shops.”

Char barely listened. She was busy making cooing sounds to Ella Mae. “I fell in love with this little girl the second I saw her.”

“Has your husband warmed up to her yet?”

“Geof! Honestly, he makes me so mad. He has chosen every dog we’ve ever had. They were all huge. The bigger they are, the more he likes them. I loved them all, of course, but this time, I’m making the choice, and he’ll just have to go along with it. See you later!” She walked carefully down the stairs.

Trixie and I ventured up one more flight, where our apartment was on one end of the floor, and the storage attic was on the other. I unlocked the door, and Trixie zoomed inside as though she expected to find something fascinating. The open space was filled with out-of-season decorations and extra furniture. Oma, or maybe an employee, had been inconsistent about labeling boxes. It appeared that Oma kept everything. I guessed that was wise. One never knew what might be needed. I plowed through boxes until I found some full of candles and candleholders.

I made several trips downstairs on the elevator. Oma clearly had anticipated this kind of problem in the past. She had amassed a collection of battery-operated and regular candles. There was even a lantern for each room. Two hours later, with the assistance of Mr. Huckle, candles, lanterns, and matches waited everywhere, and I was beat. No wonder Oma needed a vacation!

Mr. Huckle, Shelley, and I warmed up leftover lasagna from the inn’s lunch menu for a quick bite before everyone
arrived for the initial mystery meeting. Zelda and the cook joined us, along with Twinkletoes, Gingersnap, and Trixie.

Twinkletoes feasted on something the cook called country chicken, which looked like chopped chicken and chicken livers to me. The dogs devoured the inn’s roast turkey with gravy.

We ate by the fire in the dining area. Outside the huge windows, spotlights shone in the night, revealing snow that continued to float lazily down.

The Sugar Maple Inn did not serve dinner to guests. Oma felt breakfast, lunch, and afternoon tea were sufficient, plus she wanted people to go out into Wagtail to the restaurants. Some of them, like The Blue Boar, were only steps from the inn. Consequently, the inn always grew quiet around the dinner hour.

Val was the first to interrupt the tranquility. She stamped her feet outside on the porch, like an omen of what was to come, then burst through the front door, dragging a rolling cart behind her.

She spied us at our table, shed her boots, and walked toward us in pink, purple, and turquoise striped socks. Her dark brown hair flew with static when she whipped off a turquoise knit hat. “What miserable timing. The snow couldn’t wait two days? Two lousy days?”

“How are the sidewalks?” asked Shelley.

Val nodded, unzipping her ski jacket. “Not bad. They scattered that paw-friendly stuff on them so the snow is melting pretty fast. I saw one of the golf carts depositing it on the streets, too.”

“Want a bite to eat?” I asked. “We have plenty.”

“No thanks, I’m good. I spent the afternoon cooking everything in the fridge so it wouldn’t spoil. Didn’t make much money today but I ate well. Lucky I have a gas grill.”

Shelley offered to help Mr. Huckle clean up so Val, the cook, and I could focus on the mystery meeting.

There really wasn’t much to do. I placed urns of hot coffee and tea on a long buffet table next to a crockpot of hot grog. The heady scent of oranges wafted from it. Insulated pitchers
of hot chocolate were lined up next to whipped cream, marshmallows, Kahlúa, and peppermint schnapps, so guests could doctor their own drinks. Bottles of water and soda stood nearby. The cook had done a remarkable job of whipping up a few snacks to nosh on. I carried out beautifully arranged platters. Fresh fruit with a chocolate dip, artichoke and mushroom bruschetta, tangy cocktail meatballs, and a giant assortment of cheeses and other lovely items to nibble on, like olives, and veggies with a spinach dip. He hadn’t forgotten the dogs and cats. A basket of round dog treats with a paw imprint sat next to a smaller basket of fishy-smelling treats in the shapes of little sardines, undoubtedly for cats.

Guests began to drift in along with residents of Wagtail. Mr. Huckle took their coats and hung them on a couple of racks he had discovered in the basement. I gathered they were delighted to find hot beverages waiting for them. They introduced themselves to one another and chatted excitedly.

Charlotte Tredwell still carried Ella Mae in her arms. The little dog now wore a pink dress with a bow just above a double ruffle on her rump. Geof carried two mugs of hot chocolate.

“How are things going?” I asked.

“Char hasn’t set that poor dog down for more than two minutes, except to change her clothes. She’s not a doll,” Geoffrey sniped at her. “Let her play with the other dogs.” He pointed at Trixie. “See the Jack Russell? She’s not wearing a dress.”

Trixie looked up at us and at Ella Mae as if she understood every word.

I had a feeling Geof might not be exaggerating. “Trixie loves to pal up with other dogs.”

Confronted by the two of us, Char reluctantly set Ella Mae on the floor.

Both dogs wagged their tails and commenced with the proper protocol for introducing themselves.

“See? Now that’s more like a dog,” said Geof.

Char glared at him. “Your brother’s here.”

The second he looked away, she bent to pick up Ella Mae.
But it was too late. Trixie and Ella Mae had already scampered away to play.

Char’s right hand flew to the base of her neck. She looked on, distraught.

I didn’t really know what to say. I hoped that Char might loosen up a little bit over the weekend. “Don’t worry about her. She seems to be having fun with the other dogs. Socialization is so important. Maybe this will be an opportunity for Geof to warm up to her.”

“I think he’s jealous of all the attention Ella Mae is getting.” She glanced toward her husband, who had moseyed over to speak with a smaller man. “It’s the story of Geof’s life. Someone else always gets all the attention.”

Geof’s brother was short and slight, but they had the same nose and grayish-blue eyes, leaving little doubt that they were related. He unsnapped the leash on an elegant saluki, who didn’t budge from his side. Long fur flowed over the saluki’s ears. Her gentle eyes appeared wary of the other dogs. The gorgeous, slender cream-colored dog appeared to be shy.

Former supermodel Blanche Wimmer stood beside the saluki, drawing the attention of everyone in the room.

Blanche knew how to make the most of her figure, even though it was no longer model-slim. She wore tight leggings in a shiny bronze fabric. High-heeled ankle boots made her legs look even longer. But she had covered up her midsection and bottom with an oversized black sweater that slid off one bare shoulder. That little bit of flesh drew the eye upward. Her face had filled out and there was no way to hide the roundness under her chin, but Blanche was still startlingly beautiful.

Val called to me, and I excused myself, but as I turned away, Blanche strolled over to Charlotte, and I heard her ask, “Is he here?”

It struck me as odd but wasn’t really any of my business. Still, a little part of me wondered who they were meeting.

Val enlisted my assistance to check in the participants. Not exactly rocket science. I simply ticked off the names on
a list and handed each one a little Murder Most Howl tote bag that included the rules, the rhymes that led to clues, a deep dark secret about the person, a pen, a notebook, and a host of goodies from Wagtail merchants.

I recognized Max Hemmerich from the Tall Tails Bookstore. Snow glistened on his silvery hair and well-trimmed beard. He removed the ever-present reading glasses he wore around his neck on a cord and wiped them clean.

Lillian Elsner stood near him with her precious Yorkshire terrier, GloryB. Svelte and blonde, Lillian had been a guest at the inn. She liked Wagtail so much that she bought a house and opened a dog accessory store in town. After years as a politician’s wife in Washington, DC, Lillian enjoyed the slower pace of life in the mountains.

While most of the other dogs mingled, GloryB watched Lillian carefully. She sat like a perfect angel, and held up one paw. Lillian laughed, reached for a dog cookie, and fed it to her.

The next blast through the door was my own Aunt Birdie. She allowed Mr. Huckle to take her coat as though she thought she were the queen of England. She made a show of parading over to me and kissing the air near both of my ears. “Who is the stunning man with that showy dog?” she whispered.

“Either Geof or Ian Tredwell, and they’re both married.”

“Mmm,” she murmured. “Pity.”

“What are you doing here?”

“Why, sugar—” she raised her voice “—I’m interested in everything my darling niece does. Besides, it’s our family inn. I thought you might need some help.”

What was she up to now? It might be a family inn but not on her side of my lineage. Birdie was my mother’s older half sister, and as near as I could tell, that side of my family had fled Wagtail to get away from her.

Not having attracted the attention she evidently desired, Birdie floated off to the refreshment table, where she struck up a conversation with Max.

Norm Wilson wandered in and wasted no time introducing
himself and shaking hands with visitors. I observed him for a few seconds, impressed by his ability to talk with total strangers as if they were friends. He worked his way through the room like a politician.

I understood Val’s irritation with him, though. I wouldn’t like him, either, if I felt I had overpaid for something because of him. But at the moment, he seemed congenial and friendly. That was the only side of the man I had ever seen. I noticed that he had changed to duck shoes for the snow. Still no socks, though.

When everyone was seated and Val began to speak, one bag remained and one name was missing a checkmark: Robin Jarvis. I rose and stretched, noting that many of the local townspeople and merchants were in attendance.

After welcoming everyone, Val went over the basic rules. “Now don’t forget to visit the stores. There’s a list of participating merchants in your bags. In a small place like Wagtail, rumors fly around town, so don’t be afraid to chat with them and ask questions. They might know the one thing that will help you put it all together. The first person or team to figure out who the killer is, his or her motive, and how he or she committed the murder wins. The first one to figure it out and tell me will be the winner. But don’t worry, we have other prizes, too. To win, though, you must tell
me
.”

While Val explained about the clues, I helped myself to a mug of hot cocoa. I cupped it in my hands, and took a sip, thinking things were going fairly well and that Zelda had been wrong, when a loud thunk was followed instantly by darkness.

The fireplaces still blazed in the dining area and the Dogwood Room, casting long shadows. Everyone seemed a little sinister in the dim rooms.

The sound alarmed several dogs, who jumped to their feet. Trixie took it calmly, but Gingersnap, usually the calm one, shot straight to me and jammed her head between my knees, her entire body trembling. I ran my hands over her shoulders, murmuring soft reassurances.

I couldn’t help thinking of Mr. Huckle’s sound advice. With Gingersnap glued to my side every step of the way, I grabbed a butane lighter from the kitchen and walked around calmly, carefully stepping over dogs, cats, and assorted bags and purses, lighting the candles I had set out earlier.

Most people took it in stride, and I heard a few jokes that questioned whether it was staged for their benefit. But when I passed Blanche, I noticed that she clutched her husband’s hand as though she was frightened. Her saluki didn’t seem to care.