I had no idea if Axis understood that command. But he clearly grasped that I was in danger. With a deep growl, he ran at Mr. Peachy, who was already crying out in pain, because a basset hound who was normally given to deep thoughts was deeply sinking his teeth into Mr. Peachy’s calf.
To my relief, he dropped the hammer, which narrowly missed Socrates’s head.
As Axis leaped on Mr. Peachy, setting him off balance, I bent to claim the weapon, and although I was usually a peaceful person, I raised it high, prepared to defend myself and the dogs.
Before I had to do that, though, someone burst into the house and said sharply, “Axis! Off! Daphne! Off!”
Chapter 75
“I can’t believe you used the same command on Axis and me,” I complained to Jonathan as uniformed officers who’d arrived on the scene took Mr. Peachy away in handcuffs. “Really? You couldn’t just say, ‘Hey, Daphne, put down the hammer’?”
“I reacted on instinct,” Jonathan said, moving slightly to let Iago walk past him and join his brothers in the living room. It was very cramped in the cottage, now that we’d let the rottweilers inside. The house was built for two dogs, maximum. “You had a crazy gleam in your eyes.”
His eyes were gleaming, with amusement.
“How did you know I was here?” I asked, opening a box of dog treats I’d found in Mr. Peachy’s pantry. Winding Hill’s caretaker might’ve been a killer, but he obviously had a soft spot for Axis. He’d even broken into Steve’s house to get the Lab’s medicine when the dog had shown symptoms of illness. I began to hand out the snacks, tossing biscuits first to the rottweilers in the living room, then bending to drop some for Socrates, Artie, and Axis, who were in the kitchen with Jonathan and me. I gave Artie an extra treat, since he’d been booted aside by Mr. Peachy. “How did you find me?”
“I wasn’t looking for you,” Jonathan informed me. “Although I wasn’t overly surprised to discover you here, wielding a weapon and surrounded by a pack of furious canines. I half expected to stumble upon some kind of scene—”
“Well, if not me, what brought you here?” I asked, cutting him off.
I got the point. I had a tendency to get in trouble.
I’d also solved a murder. I noticed he hadn’t mentioned that.
“I stopped in at Spa and Paw—I can’t believe I just said that—for a shave.” Jonathan rubbed his jaw. “Moxie does a really great job.”
I made a rolling motion with my hand. “And . . . ?”
“I asked her if she’d noticed anything out of the ordinary the night of Virginia’s murder, and she recalled seeing, in her own words, ‘a really cool old truck, with crazy fenders and wooden slats in the back.’”
“Mr. Peachy’s truck!”
“Yes, although she couldn’t name the owner.”
“Moxie doesn’t go into barns,” I explained. “She’s probably never seen it parked at Winding Hill.”
“Well, she said the truck went past her apartment building, headed out of town, just as you were walking to the park. She noticed it because it was—”
I supplied the word. “Vintage.”
Jonathan nodded. “Yes. And it was the only vehicle on the street at that hour. Meanwhile, I recalled seeing a truck that matched Moxie’s description when I searched your property after Beamus’s murder. So I came to Winding Hill to ask Piper and Mr. Peachy a few questions. Piper wasn’t around, but I saw three rottweilers running loose.”
Mr. Peachy had untied the leashes and had let Macduff, Hamlet, and Iago run off so they wouldn’t make noise when he entered the cottage.
“The dogs led me here,” Jonathan added. “And the rest is history.”
I almost mentioned that he’d teamed up with canines again, if only informally, then thought the better of it. I couldn’t hold my tongue on another subject, though.
“When are you going to admit that I solved the murders?”
“Never,” Jonathan said. “If anything, the dogs solved the case. You said they heard Axis and went running.”
“I do have to share credit with them,” I conceded. “Especially Socrates. He led the way to Axis.”
Jonathan and I both got jostled as the rottweilers tried to crowd into the kitchen with us. Socrates ambled off, but Axis and Artie wagged their tails, happy for the company.
“I guess I’ll be adding Axis to the pack for a while,” I noted, reaching down to stroke the Lab’s silky ears. “Poor, homeless orphan.”
I thought Jonathan was going to ignore my hint and the way I’d stuck out my lower lip to emphasize Axis’s plight. For a long moment, he didn’t say anything.
Then he exhaled loudly. “All right. I will take Axis . . . for a while.”
I could hardly believe my ears. “Really?”
“Yes. But only because you are obviously overwhelmed right now.”
I wasn’t, really, but I said, “Thanks so much. I am stretched to the limit with the rottweilers—and Artie. Who is also technically homeless.”
Jonathan hesitated even longer than before. Then he bent down and picked up Artie, who’d seated himself on Jonathan’s shoe. “Fine. I will take this thing, too—again, temporarily. And only because dogs need a pack, and he seems to get along with Axis.”
I really, really wanted to hug Jonathan, but I restrained myself. I didn’t want to risk messing up Axis’s, and especially Artie’s, adoption.
I didn’t care what Jonathan said. Those dogs were going to live with him permanently. Someday he might even admit that he loved them.
“Come on, you two,” Jonathan said, summoning Axis with just a look. The Lab followed him to the door.
As they left the cottage, Socrates deigned to woof a good-bye to the first canine friend he’d ever made.
Artie squirmed so he could look over Jonathan’s shoulder. The Chihuahua’s big eyes gleamed with happiness, and a string of drool dripped onto Jonathan’s shirt.
I was sure Jonathan would learn to love that, too.
Eventually.
Chapter 76
“Here’s to Daphne solving two crimes,” Moxie said, raising a glass of red wine. “Just like Julie Barnes on The Mod Squad!”
Moxie’s affection for vintage things wasn’t restricted to clothing. She rarely watched TV shows produced after 1975. I was pretty sure I could picture the character she’d just referenced, though. She’d been played by a young, hip, and very bohemian Peggy Lipton.
Finally, someone had aptly compared me to a fictional sleuth, unlike certain men who’d likened me to Nancy Drew and, heaven forbid, Miss Marple.
“Thank you, Moxie,” I said, raising my glass, too. “And don’t forget that Socrates, Artie, and the rottweilers helped, too.”
Piper and my mother, who’d joined us at Franco’s, also lifted their merlots. “To Daphne and the dogs,” they agreed in unison, but without much enthusiasm.
“I’m just glad you didn’t get killed,” Mom said in a tone drier than the wine, which was pretty dry. She lowered her glass. “I still don’t understand why you were wandering around the woods in the rain.”
“It was barely drizzling. . . .” I stopped myself before I got stuck arguing a point that had nothing to do with the larger story. I slid lower in the booth. “Oh, never mind.”
“I know that I keep saying this, but I can’t believe Mr. Peachy could commit murder,” Piper murmured, fidgeting with the stem of her wineglass. “He always seemed like such a nice man. Conscientious, reliable, polite . . .”
“And profoundly lonely, to the point of being desperate and disturbed,” I reminded her, sitting up straighter again. “Mr. Peachy really considered Angela Flinchbaugh—and then you—family, Piper. He honestly believed he was avenging Angela’s death by killing Steve. An eye for an eye. And he hated the way Steve treated you, too. When Mr. Peachy thought Steve was going to string you along again . . .” That was sort of insulting to Piper, and I gave her an apologetic glance before adding, “He snapped.”
“Perhaps th
e first murder was a rash act committed by an unstable individual,” Mom conceded, quickly clarifying, “Not that his actions can be justified or excused!”
For once, I agreed with my mother, who also pointed out, “But your Mr. Peachy calmly and deliberately silenced Virginia Lockhart, and he was fully prepared to do the same to you, Daphne.”
“Yeah, he was rational enough to want to save his own skin,” Moxie agreed, sprinkling Parmesan onto a big plate of lobster ravioli. “He wasn’t acting on impulse when he cornered you in his cottage!”
No, Mr. Peachy hadn’t been swept up in a moment of rage when he’d stood before me with that hammer in his hand and a strange gleam in his eyes....
I shook off the memory and was grateful when the conversation shifted in a slightly different direction.
“Looking back, I also can’t believe what a fool I was about Steve,” Piper grumbled, picking at her pasta. We were both having the night’s special, which was linguini in a basil-infused cream sauce, topped with roasted zucchini and toasted almonds. “That whole relationship—if I can even call it that—was a mistake from the start. And to make matters worse, other people got dragged into the mess.”
“I initially considered Steve a good prospect,” Mom said, sympathizing, as she neatly sliced her fork through the balsamic-glazed salmon she’d ordered from the few light selections on the pasta-heavy menu. “Like you, Steve was a successful professional with a well-respected business. You two seemed like a good match!”
Once again, my mother was talking as if romantic relationships should be built upon compatible accomplishments and property ownership, while I knew that Piper, for once, had followed the whims of her heart. Unfortunately, those whims had dragged her in the wrong direction.
Moxie also understood that my sister had simply lost her oh-so-rational head for a while. “Every girl falls for the wrong guy at some point in her life,” she said, with a wave of her hand. “You shouldn’t beat yourself up!”
Piper didn’t appear comforted. “I also feel partially responsible for Virginia’s death,” she said glumly. “She was on my property.”
“Virginia was just in the wrong place at the wrong time,” I assured my sister. “That is not your fault.”
Piper’s shoulders remained slumped, and my mother, sitting next to her, reached over to squeeze her favorite daughter’s wrist. “Please don’t blame yourself for anything that horrible man did, dear.” Mom withdrew her hand and turned to me, her mouth drawn oh so slightly down at the corners. “I recently tried to warn Daphne about the dangers of hiring drifters with no roots in Sylvan Creek. But she refused to listen.”
First of all, Mr. Peachy wasn’t exactly a “drifter.” He’d been in Sylvan Creek since before Angela Flinchbaugh’s death, which had occurred over a decade ago. And how had his actions become my fault? I hadn’t hired him. Once again, though, there was no sense in arguing. Henceforth, I would be the irresponsible child who’d allowed a murderer to live in our midst.
Still, I couldn’t help reminding Mom, “Remember how this conversation started? With you all toasting me for solving two murders . . . ?”
But my mother was holding up one finger, silencing me, because her cell phone was ringing softly in the Stella McCartney bag that rested on the booth, next to her hip.
As the rest of us ate in silence, she pulled her cell out of the depths of the bag and answered in her firm but pleasant professional voice. “Hello. Maeve Templeton speaking.”
A moment later, my mother actually smiled, earning two puzzled frowns from Piper and me. “Excellent,” Mom said. “I will tell Detective Black right away.” Then she ended the call without a good-bye and slipped the phone back into her bag, still smiling like a cat who’d gorged on canary, although I hadn’t seen her take more than two bites of her salmon.
“What was that about?” Piper inquired, right before I asked the same question.
Moxie, not surprisingly, had latched onto a name that had also caught my attention. She leaned forward, itching for news. “And what do you need to tell Detective Black?”
“I finally sold Jonathan Black a house,” Mom informed us, getting her grin under control before any permanent damage could be done. She slid to the edge of the booth, like she was leaving. “His offer was accepted, and I must go give him the news in person. I am sure he will be happy to know that a search I sometimes found extremely vexing has come to an end.”
I could’ve told Mom that Jonathan had also been “vexed,” but I didn’t want to burst her bubble. Instead, I pushed aside my empty plate, asking, “What house? Where is it?”
Mom lifted her chin so we would all understand that she didn’t exactly approve of the purchase. “He is buying Steve Beamus’s property—although I cautioned against it.” Upon rising, she carefully folded her cloth napkin, set that on the table, then smoothed her dark pencil skirt. “He is a very stubborn man, though!”
I dropped my fork. It clattered against my plate. “Did he tell you that I showed him that house? And convinced him to buy it?”
Mom stopped adjusting her wardrobe to give me a skeptical look. “No, he did not mention that, and I very much doubt that it happened.”
“It did.” Mom clearly didn’t believe me, and I appealed to Piper. “Tell her that I showed Jonathan the house!”
Piper also pushed her half-finished meal to the center of the table. “I told you, I have given up trying to figure out if you’re a pet sitter, Realtor, detective— not to mention friend, foe, or more than either of those things to Jonathan Black. And as for your relationship with Dylan . . .” My sister leaned back in the booth, rolled her eyes, and raised both her hands. “Please, just leave me out of this.”
Piper’s opinions, or lack thereof, didn’t matter. Mom was sliding the strap of her bag up over her shoulder, clearly done with the discussion. And I felt less inclined to claim credit for the sale when she told our server, who’d approached the table, “Please, put this all on my professional tab.”
Moxie wasn’t afraid to risk losing a free meal. “How was this ‘professional’?” she asked Mom. “All we talked about was murder and Piper’s disastrous love life!”
“I took a business call,” my mother explained, somewhat impatiently. She didn’t like to have her sometimes dubious tax-related maneuvers called into question. “Hence, the meal was ‘professional.’”
Then my mother swept off, presumably to celebrate with Jonathan, while I ordered some plain beef tips for the dogs waiting at home. They had earned a special treat for helping to solve the mystery—and trying to save me—and Mom hadn’t said we couldn’t add to the tab. In fact, Moxie set aside her concerns about the legitimacy of the future write-off and ordered tiramisu and a crème brûlée topped with fresh raspberries.
When we were all finished and my doggie bag was in hand, Piper, Moxie, and I walked out into the humid summer night and parted ways on Sylvan Creek’s main street.
Although it was nearly nine o’clock, Piper, not surprisingly, returned to her practice to balance her own books, which I knew would stand up to the closest IRS scrutiny. Moxie, meanwhile, adjusted a pillbox hat on her spiked hair and headed to the restored 1920s Bijoux Theater, where the glowing art deco marquee that jutted out over Market Street advertised a late showing of Moxie’s absolute favorite film, the 1959 Doris Day–Rock Hudson comedy Pillow Talk.
Although Moxie’d invited me to tag along, I’d declined on the grounds that I needed to get the beef tips home, and because she’d forced me to watch that film at least a dozen times. Plus, I was starting to get tired after a day of solving crime—and nearly getting killed.
Hauling open the squeaky driver’s side door of my VW, which was parked just across the street from where Steve Beamus had helped me corral the rotties a few hours before his death, I paused to look around the town, which was peaceful that evening. A soft breeze rustled the leaves on the trees that lined the street; Sylvan Creek’s distinctive streetlamps glowed against a hazy sky
; and cicadas trilled softly, heralding the imminent end of summer. It was hard to believe that anything bad had happened that day, and I finally realized just how fortunate I was to be alive. The reality hadn’t quite sunk in until that moment, when I was alone with time to think.
“I believe that I am done solving crimes,” I said quietly, to no one in particular. “I think I’ve learned my lesson about ‘meddling’ in Detective Black’s, or anyone else’s, cases.”
And yet as I hopped up behind the steering wheel, bouncing on the seat’s sprung springs, I couldn’t help feeling a lingering sense of accomplishment to have helped solve the puzzle of Steve and Virginia’s murders.
Then I stuck the key in the ignition, twisted it, and heard the welcome sound of an old engine sputtering to life.
Backing out of the parking spot and driving toward Winding Hill, I felt fairly confident that two dollars’ worth of gas, and some good karma, would get me home.
Recipes
Making your own meals and treats for your four-legged friends is actually very easy, and it’s a good way to make sure the food you’re giving them is nutritious and healthy. Best of all, dogs are easy to please. They seldom turn up their noses when offered something tasty.
Well, Socrates sometimes turns up his nose. He is especially particular about dairy products and will eat only a locally made Greek yogurt available Wednesdays at Sylvan Creek’s farmers’ market. But he’s the exception.
Bone Appetit Ham-and-Cheese Muffins
These are good for breakfast. Or if you bake them in cute cupcake liners, they are perfect for a favorite furry pal’s birthday party, too. Also, feel free to substitute your pup’s favorite cheese for the cheddar. And add a little more, if you’re inclined. Never enough cheese, right?
Ingredients
12 liners for a muffin tin
2 strips uncooked bacon
5 cups rolled oats
2 slices deli ham, finely chopped
¼ cup (or a bit more!) shredded cheddar cheese
Death by Chocolate Lab (Lucky Paws Petsitting Mystery) Page 23
