Murder Most Howl: A Paws & Claws Mystery (9 page)

The tall one pulled out a phone, walked away a few steps, and made a call.

“They’ll take him to the hospital,” said Dave. “I think he’s beyond help but I’m no doctor.”

The EMTs had trouble moving him to the gurney. After a few awkward attempts, they lifted him in a sitting position. Dave stopped them briefly and felt the man’s pockets. He managed to withdraw a wallet and motioned for them to continue.

Dave flipped the leather wallet open and found identification. “Just as I feared. It’s Norm Wilson.”

Seven

The EMTs rolled Norm away on his back, his feet jutting into the air reminiscent of a dead bug. I turned away.

I barely knew the man but the heavy gloom of death hung over me. It was so sudden and unexpected. And now I felt guilty for excluding him from planning Murder Most Howl. It had been Val’s decision, not mine, but he’d seemed so eager to help. It wasn’t important, just unkind of us. We really ought to treat everyone with more kindness. We never knew what might happen.

“Looks like I’ll be paying a visit to Norm’s wife, Savannah.” Dave gestured with a halfhearted wave. “The worst part of my job. See you guys later.”

By the time Val and I returned to the inn, the sun was valiantly trying to peek through gray clouds and the snow had tapered off considerably. Stepping inside the inn was a bit of a shock. The dining area was packed. Cheerful chatter filled the air. At two tables, diners exchanged good-natured banter about the murder of the Baron von Rottweiler.

A cry went up. “Clue! Clue! Give us the clue!” They rapped on the tables like a rowdy crowd in a bar.

“Better go see if the candlestick is still there,” whispered Val. “I’ll try to hold them in check.”

How was I going to pull this off? Surely someone would notice if I kneeled on the floor and moved the books. If that happened, I would simply have to hide the candlestick again. Assuming they didn’t overpower me first in their zeal to nab it.

I sidled into the library and, from a distance, peered at the bottom shelf where I’d left the candlestick. Someone had found it all right. In his or her excitement, that person hadn’t even bothered to clean up. Books lay on the floor in little heaps. I knelt to put them back. Now what? I had promised a clue!

“
Psst.
Holly!”

I looked over my shoulder.

Shelley twisted a dishtowel in her hands. She motioned me over to the window seat. “Do you have a minute now? I need to do something about this before Val finds out.”

I shoved the last book into place and sat down on the window seat next to her. Snow blew past us outside with a ferocious howl.

Val handed me a piece of paper.

Chop chop choppity chop

Cut off the bottoms

Cut off the top

What’s left over we’ll put in the pot

Chop chop choppity chop

—Australian Children’s Rhyme

“What is this?”

Shelley’s face flushed. “The clue for the weapon I’m supposed to hide!”

“For the cleaver? That’s cute. I’ve never heard that rhyme before.”

“Cute?” Shelley hissed. “It’s the worst clue ever! Where am I supposed to hide it? In a pot? No one would ever find it.”

“You haven’t hidden it yet?”

“No! I didn’t know what to do with it. Val’s going to be furious if she finds out.”

“Perfect. Where do you want to hide it? We can make up a clue, and I’ll announce it.”

Shelley looked out the window at the snowy vista. “Can it be somewhere close by?”

“How about the dock? I’ll tell them,
Hickory dickory dock, the mouse went up the clock
.”

“You’re as crazy as Val. They’ll be looking for clocks!”

“Do you have a better idea?”

“No. But I don’t want to go out in that awful weather.” Shelley looked miserable at the mere thought.

“I’ll do it. You might need to distract them, though. The dock is visible from the windows.”

“Would you?” Shelley brightened up considerably.

“Sure, where’s the cleaver? I’ll do it right now.”

“In the kitchen.”

I followed Shelley and slipped the weapon inside my jacket.

Val poked her head into the kitchen. “I’ve been pouring coffee and ran out. Where’s the coffeemaker? What are the two of you hatching in here?”

I whipped past her, leaving Shelley to come up with answers.

Trixie followed me to the office. I grabbed some floral wire to tie the cleaver to a post, and we stepped out into the snow. Even though it had slowed, I couldn’t see the lake. If Trixie hadn’t had black ears and a black spot on her rump, I would have lost sight of her. It was deep enough for her to have to jump like a bunny to cross the pristine lawn. Negotiating the walk down to the lake was tricky. I fell and slid,
which Trixie thought great fun and reason to leap over me. She yapped with delight at our new game.

“You’re not helping.” I reached out to nab her but she darted out of reach, her little tail wagging nonstop.

I made it to the dock and had second thoughts. We really didn’t want people having to slip and slide down the hill to get to the dock, did we? Huffing more than I’d have liked, I called Trixie and made my way back up to the inn. A different nursery rhyme ran through my head. Stomping to shed snow, I returned to the office, peered into what Oma called the emergency closet, and found just what I needed. I seized the broom and tied the mock cleaver onto it with the florist wire. Now where to hide it?

It only seemed fair for one of the other merchants to benefit from it. After all, the candlestick had been found by someone in the inn. I looked down at Trixie. “Ready for another trek out in the snow?”

She gazed up at me and perked her ears. I took that as a yes.

Armed with my broom, I felt a bit like a Halloween witch as we walked out into the white world. The Blue Boar wasn’t open yet, but a young guy was cleaning snow off the restaurant’s deck. He looked to be in his mid-twenties. Most of his hair was hidden under a knit ski hat but I caught a glimpse of friendly brown eyes when he flashed me a smile.

“Hey,” he said.

A common Southern greeting. He was local or from the South. I responded with “Good Morning,” thinking that the owner of The Blue Boar was a savvy guy around Oma’s age. He wouldn’t hire a louse, even to shovel snow.

“Do you work for The Blue Boar?” I asked.

He stopped shoveling and stepped toward me. “Just do odd jobs when they need me. Are you Mrs. Miller’s granddaughter?”

“How did you guess?”

He looked down at Trixie. “Not to slight you any, ma’am, but your dog’s getting a reputation around town.”

Trixie didn’t seem upset by that. She edged closer to
smell his boots. Trixie
had
found a few bodies. I could imagine what local people thought. They probably ran when they saw her coming.

I offered my mittened hand. “Holly Miller.”

He laughed when our gloves were too bulky for a handshake. We tried a mock high five. “Shadow Hobbs. My mom owns The Cat’s Meow.”

“I was just headed to her store. What else do you do for The Blue Boar?”

“Whatever they need. I bring them firewood, and fix dishwashers, and—”

That sparked my interest. “You can fix appliances? Do you mow and do yard work?”

“Sure, but usually not when there’s a foot of snow on the ground.” He grinned at me.

“We could use some help around the inn. Would you be interested in doing some work for us?” I could try him out to see how he did.

“Yeah, I’d like that. I’ll be over when I finish up here.”

I waved at him and hurried toward his mom’s store. The front window of The Cat’s Meow featured an artfully displayed collection of items for cats and the people they owned. One of the resident cats, a long-haired tortoiseshell kitty named Mimi, sat in the middle of an assortment of stuffed toy cats and kittens, watching the snow fall. To her right, I recognized Zelda’s cat, Leo, draped over the perch of a fancy cat tree. Leo certainly got around.

The store wasn’t open yet but I could see Delta Hobbs working inside. I rapped on the window. The bell on the door rang when she opened it. Trixie ran inside, eagerly sniffing everything she could reach. I had been in Delta’s store before but only knew her in a shallow sort of way.

Delta smiled at me, pushing thick dark hair off her shoulder. “You’re an early bird today.”

“I just wanted to leave this broom here. There’s a clue attached for Murder Most Howl.”

“Oh my word!” Delta took the broom and spun it in her hands. “Thank you so much, sweetheart. I was hoping I’d get some clues that would bring them in here.” She paused for a moment, and one eye squinted. “I’ll put it in the store window. What do you bet half of them will walk right by it?”

I thanked her in a bit of a hurry, knowing that they were probably getting anxious about the clue back at the inn. Trixie and I shot out the door.

To my left, I spied Dave draping the area around the bench with crime scene tape.

I hurried over to him. “Does this mean Norm was murdered?”

Dave shook his head. “Nope. He’s dead, though. We’re waiting for autopsy results.”

“Then why the tape?”

Dave shot me a deadpan look. “I don’t know how he died.”

I guessed that made sense from a law enforcement perspective. “Come by the inn for some breakfast when you’re done?”

“Thanks, I’d like that.”

When I walked past the window of The Cat’s Meow, Delta was arranging the broom among the other items on display.

We were halfway back to the inn when a wind blew in, lifting the snow and obscuring everything. I knew where I was but the snow swirled around me so thick and fast that I could have easily lost my way. I called Trixie and bent down to grab her. Clutching her in my arms, I forged ahead, bent over against the stinging ice crystals that flew through the air. Trixie didn’t even squirm. I thought she probably wanted us to reach the inn soon, too.

I breathed with relief when I could make out the front steps. Still carrying Trixie, I staggered up the stairs and into the warmth of the inn.

Mr. Huckle swooped down on me and took Trixie. “Miss Holly! We were worried about you.” He unfastened Trixie’s coat and removed it.

“We’re fine, but it’s a blizzard out there.” I shed my jacket and boots, and hurried to the center of the dining tables.

“I would like to apologize to everyone for taking so long. Trust me when I say you really don’t want to be outside right now anyway. Let’s hope this snow dies down. Here’s the clue you’ve all been waiting for.” I hoped I remember the words of the children’s rhyme correctly.

’Twas a stormy night

When two little kittens began to fight. 


The old woman seized her sweeping broom,



And swept the kittens right out of the room.

—Anonymous (circa 1880)

Participants scribbled the words. A few called out for me to repeat it. I was happy to oblige.

The scent of hearty blueberry buckwheat pancakes and hot sausages laced with sage wafted to me, reminding me that I hadn’t eaten yet. Now that everything was getting under control, I thought I could pause for a moment to eat and savor some much-needed coffee.

But first, I made sure Shelley knew that coffee was on the house for everyone this morning. Oma might not like that much but she probably would have done something similar had she been in my shoes. A number of the tables opened up rather quickly as people donned their coats and jackets and headed outside discussing clues.

“Mr. Huckle, have you eaten breakfast?” I asked.

“It’s been rather busy, Miss Holly.”

I invited him to join me and sat down at an empty table. Mr. Huckle hustled over eagerly, took a seat, and leaned toward me. “Is it true that someone was found frozen?” he whispered.

“News gets around fast.”

“Half the out-of-towners were chattering about it this morning. Anyone we know?”

“I’m afraid it was Norm Wilson.”

“Norm! Well! I’m very sorry to hear that.
Hmmpf
,” he snorted quietly.

“Do you know something about this?”

“Oh my, no! I was just thinking that’s what comes of not wearing socks in the cold of winter.”

I seriously doubted that Norm had succumbed to the frigid temps because of his bare ankles. Socks probably wouldn’t have made much of a difference unless they were extremely thick and warm. “I imagine he had a heart attack, don’t you?”

“He
was
on the portly side. How very odd. I suppose he didn’t have the strength to stand and walk.”

“Dave said they’ll be sending him for an autopsy.”

Mr. Huckle frowned. “He was here last night. He didn’t seem ill to me. I’ve heard of people falling and freezing to death, but I can’t say that I have ever known anyone to sit down on a bench and freeze. Seems a bit peculiar.”