The Bark of the Town

by Stella St. Claire

  In the first one, her contractor, now boyfriend, had been accused of murder and she had to clear his name. The second had been a poisoning case when the owner of her championship show dog had been implicated. She had felt forced into assisting with those cases. This time she had literally walked into a murder scene, so she could at least look around.

  She tried to be quick because she didn’t want to leave Wednesday alone for too long, but something was bothering her about the crime scene. As she realized before, everything looked neat and orderly. At the same time, there wasn’t a fresh smell of cleaner, so no evidence had been bleached away.

  On the mantle was a picture of Patricia accepting an award for her maid service and there were several pictures of her during her high school days including a prom and homecoming picture. There weren’t many other mementos of her recent life around the room, though the apartment was exquisitely decorated. There was even a bar area with fancy bar stools surrounding it.

  It was a shame that the wine they had purchased together would not be served on the counter and enjoyed.

  “That’s it,” Willow said to herself.

  She took a step closer to the body, trying not to focus on the head wound. Instead, she looked at the woman’s hands. Willow had previously noticed glass by them, but she hadn’t realized what it was that Patricia had been holding. Now, she saw the stems and large curved pieces formed wine glasses. She had been holding two of them.

  Now that was interesting. Two glasses indicated that Patricia had not been drinking alone. Does this mean that she knew her killer? Could she have been planning on sharing a glass of wine with him? Or her? Just not Wednesday.

  Something else was odd and Willow finally placed what it was. Though Patricia was holding wine glasses, there weren’t any bottles of wine to be seen apart from what Willow had just left outside the door.

  From the little Willow knew of the woman from the sampling party, and based on how neat and organized her home was, Patricia was definitely the sort of person who matched the drinks she was serving to the proper glasses – martinis in a martini glass, brandy in a sifter, and wine in wine glasses.

  However, Willow couldn’t see any wine around, not even through the mini bar fridge’s clear door. There simply wasn’t a bottle here. And come to think of it, there was no sign of a corkscrew either. True, not all bottles required a corkscrew. But Patricia seemed too snooty to drink from a bottle with a screw top, and she definitely would have avoided boxed wine.

  Willow knew that this was important somehow and was trying to understand the significance when she heard her sister hyperventilating in the hallway. She hurried out of the apartment to check on her.

  The annoying errand she’d had to complete had just become more awful. It was hard to keep her resolution to focus on the positives in her life with a dead body on the floor and her sister found at the crime scene.

  2

  Willow hurried into the hallway where Wednesday was slumped on the floor. She seemed to be having trouble catching her breath. Willow wasn’t quite sure what to do, but found herself employing the same techniques she would use when approaching an agitated dog that she was going to train. She approached slowly and murmured tranquil words, knowing that the tone of her voice was more important than what she said. Wednesday’s color began to improve and her breath slowly became more regular. Willow was glad that her sister seemed to be calming down, but less pleased that she started recognizing what Willow was saying.

  “Did you just say I was a very pretty girl with soft fur?” Wednesday asked. “Are you treating me like one of your dogs?”

  “I’m sorry,” Willow said, shrugging sheepishly. “I’ve always been better with pooches than people.”

  Normally, Wednesday would have continued to tease her, but today Willow was pulled into a hug. Being the shortest Wells, Willow normally felt that she was towered over when squeezed by her nearly six-foot-tall and always in heels “little” sister. However, right then, she didn’t care. She hugged back and tried to reassure Wednesday that it would be okay.

  “Tell me that this is all a bad dream,” Wednesday pleaded, letting her go so they could look at one another. “I’m going to wake up, laugh about it, and post the anecdote online.”

  “I wish I could do that,” Willow said with a sigh.

  They heard sirens approaching and Willow felt better knowing that the police were on the way. It seemed to have the opposite effect on Wednesday who began shaking again. Willow realized the blaring sounds must be driving home the point that Patricia’s death was indeed real.

  “Come on,” Willow said, leading her sister towards the stairs. “I don’t think it’s good for you to stay here. We’re going to find some place for us to wait out of the way until the police need to talk to us.”

  Wednesday followed on unsteady legs, leaning on Willow and the railing. “I don’t like being on this end of a crime. I like sitting at my nice, safe police secretary desk and observing things at a distance. I don’t like it firsthand.”

  “You’ve helped me with an investigation or two before,” Willow reminded her. She tried to keep the memories light-hearted and brought up how they had to visit a dating coach to determine if he had an alibi.

  “I know,” Wednesday said, not cheering up like Willow had hoped. “But it wasn’t like this… Not like this at all…”

  They reached the street and Willow looked around, still supporting her sister. There had to be a place where they could wait that could help her find a sense of normalcy again. There was a salon in the distance, and a laundromat across the street, and – bingo! There was a coffee shop right next door.

  Willow ushered Wednesday inside the coffee shop and nodded appreciatively. It was the perfect place to wait for the police and provide a distraction for her wilting sister. The smell of coffee was strong and inviting, and the chalkboard menu offered lots of fancy flavors that could be topped with whipped cream that Wednesday would love. Best of all, there were plenty of empty tables with cushioned chairs where they could sit together.

  Willow sent a quick text to her father telling him where they were. This was mostly so he wouldn’t worry, but also so it didn’t look like they were running away from the scene of a crime. She didn’t want it to look any worse for them than it already did. Even if it was ridiculous to consider that one of them could have hurt Patricia.

  They walked up to the counter where a young woman greeted them. Willow was also grateful that they had to place their order by the register and there wouldn’t be a waiter constantly coming by and asking if they were doing all right.

  Willow ordered a regular coffee. Boring by comparison of the other options, but all she wanted was caffeine and to make sure that Wednesday was okay. She told her sister to order whatever she wanted, but Wednesday said she’d just have the same thing as her. Willow bit her lip, but paid for the drinks.

  The woman poured the two coffees quickly and handed them over. She looked over their shoulders towards the window and commented on the police cars accumulating on the street.

  “I wonder what’s going on out there,” she said.

  Willow just shrugged. She didn’t want to explain what was happening or how close they were to the story. Besides, there were still things that she didn’t know about it herself. Obviously, she didn’t know who the killer was. She also didn’t know why Wednesday had been at Patricia’s apartment.

  Willow knew that Wednesday and Patricia had gone to school together, but she didn’t think they were so close that they visited one another. Patricia wasn’t someone Wednesday spoke about as a friend, and Wednesday did speak about a lot of people. Patricia also hadn’t made the connection that Willow was related to Wednesday and Chief Wells at the wine party. “Willow” wasn’t an especially common name in town (though she did love it because she was named after her favorite aunt). Surely, Patricia would have recognized the name if she were inviting her sister over on a regular basis.

  Willow couldn’t
believe that the two knew each other that well. After all, Wednesday was super sweet and lots of fun. She wouldn’t want to spend time with someone who was condescending and snooty.

  Willow grimaced inwardly. She didn’t want to “speak” ill of the dead, especially when she had seen what a terrible death it had been. But she still didn’t understand why Wednesday had been there that evening. She glanced at her sister and wondered if she would start telling her story on her own.

  Wednesday’s hands shook as she sipped her coffee. Willow considered checking in with the barista and seeing if she had anything stronger to add to her sister’s drink.

  She tried to remember if she had ever seen her sister this upset before. Yes, there had been times when Wednesday had been afraid of disappointing their father, and she hadn’t wanted to tell him about her online influencer dreams. There had been the prom dress debacle where her dress had ripped the day before the big event. There had also been a grade school mother-daughter dance that Wednesday had been upset that she didn’t think she could attend since their mother had passed. (Of course, their aunt had volunteered to take her) Wednesday had also been upset when Willow’s now boyfriend, Griffin, had been accused of murder.

  However, Willow had never seen her shake like this before.

  “Wends,” she said, putting an arm around her. “I want to help you.”

  “I know,” Wednesday replied, setting her cup down and looking at her sister with watery eyes. “And I don’t mean to be like this. I just don’t understand what happened. I told you about the door, right? And how it could be left open when she was home? So, I didn’t think anything of it when I went inside.”

  “You knew Patricia well then?” Willow asked, trying to sound casual. “If you knew about her door and apartment.”

  “I knew her from work,” Willow said carefully.

  “At the police station?”

  “She’s helped out before.”

  Willow was confused. “As a volunteer? Do they take volunteers at the station? I guess I was an intern before.”

  “It doesn’t matter,” Wednesday said, shaking her head. “But I did know her. And that’s why this was so surprising. Even if we did have - I guess you’d call it, a complicated relationship.”

  “What were you doing there?” Willow asked, finally voicing the question that had been on her mind since she stumbled onto the scene.

  “Well, you see, I…” Wednesday began playing with her napkin as she spoke. “I went over to her apartment because I needed to talk to her about something. I’ve been there once or twice to pick things up. But I wasn’t there for that then. I just needed to talk to her. There was an issue that needed to be resolved. And I thought if I just talked to her - well, maybe we could come to an understanding.”

  Willow nodded. She kept a reassuring expression on her face, but inside she was getting nervous. She knew that Wednesday couldn’t have killed Patricia, but Willow had a gut feeling that something was still very wrong. Wednesday didn’t want to tell her something. Maybe she did have secrets after all.

  “I didn’t want to hurt anybody. In any way,” Wednesday said sadly. “I just wanted to talk to her.”

  “And that’s all you did, right?” Willow asked. She just needed to hear her sister say out loud that she didn’t commit this crime.

  “I didn’t get the chance,” Wednesday explained. “I saw the door ajar and just barged in. I was ready to resolve our issue right then. But she was dead. She was just lying there. And there was all that blood. I checked for a pulse and realized there was nothing I could do. Then, I guess I just froze. I don’t know how long I was there.”

  “Don’t worry,” Willow said, placing a hand on her arm. “I’m sure they’ll get to the bottom of this soon.”

  Wednesday nodded and then started digging in her purse, taking out her makeup. Willow knew this was a sign that she was on the mend. Her sister was back to wanting her face to look “camera-ready” for posts.

  She might have been on autopilot though because she kept muttering to herself about who could have done this as she touched up her lipstick.

  The door to the coffee shop opened and their dad entered, looking official as always in his police chief uniform. The barista at the counter looked excited by this development, but Willow didn’t care. She was happy to see her father.

  He accepted hugs from both of his girls, but a serious expression remained on his face.

  “Is something wrong?” Willow asked. “I mean, besides the obvious.”

  “I’m afraid you’re both going to have to come to the station to give a statement,” he replied.

  “Of course,” Willow said evenly. “Because we’re witnesses.”

  He just gave a curt nod and then suggested that he drive them. Willow countered and said she would drive Wednesday over with her. Then she would have a car when they were ready to leave. He agreed and they headed to the station.

  Wednesday was quiet the whole ride, and Willow wondered if she was contemplating the same thing that she was. Was giving a statement just a formality? Or was there a chance that someone could think they were involved in the death?

  After they arrived, Willow volunteered to give her statement first. Her father was joined by a young detective named Denton to listen to her account of what happened. Willow recapped everything that had happened and that she had noticed at the scene. She made sure to give special mention of the wine.

  “I want to make sure that it’s written down that the wine in the box was what I brought over to her apartment that evening,” Willow said. “It wasn’t there earlier. And I didn’t see any wine in the house at all.”

  “You believe this is significant?” her father asked.

  She nodded, knowing that he probably already understood her point but liked to let others do the talking – especially in an interrogation room.

  “Patricia would only have used her wine glasses for wine. If a bottle is missing, I think it’s because the killer took it.”

  “Why would he do that?” Detective Denton asked. This time Willow wasn’t sure if the question was asked because the investigator wanted to keep her talking, or if he really didn’t have an idea why.

  “Either the bottle had his prints on it. Or,” Willow said with a pause for emphasis, “it’s what was used as the murder weapon.”

  “That does make sense,’” Detective Denton agreed.

  “The medical examiner obviously would have a better idea of what was used to hit her than I would,” Willow admitted. “But from what I saw of the wound, I think it might be it. I can tell you from experience after carrying the box of wine up the stairs, a bottle can be heavy.”

  “We’ll certainly look into this,” Frank said. She could see pride behind his eyes, which always seemed to appear when she uncovered something clever. However, the look was soon replaced with concern when Detective Denton asked another question.

  “And Wednesday was already there when you came in?”

  “That’s right,” Willow responded as if this were completely normal. “And the door was open when she arrived. She’ll explain this more herself, but apparently the door was tricky, and it only stayed closed when locked. Sometimes Patricia would just leave it ajar.”

  “So, someone could have entered on their own?” Detective Denton said.

  “Yes,” Willow said. “Or Patricia could have invited them in. She was holding two glasses.”

  The officers both nodded. Willow finished giving her statement, making sure it was understood that it was her idea to head to the coffee shop and wait.

  Frank led her out of the room. Before they reached where Wednesday was sitting, he asked, “Did you know that Wednesday knew the victim?”

  Willow shook her head. “But Wednesday didn’t have anything to do with her death. We both know that.”

  “Of course.”

  Willow and Wednesday switched spots. As Willow sat down and watched her sister walk away, she couldn’t help but feel a bit of
worry. Wednesday wasn’t a killer, but did the police know that?

  3

  The next day, despite the tragedy, Wednesday seemed more like old herself again. She was talking and laughing and insisting that Willow join her in getting their nails done.

  Willow winced as the offer was made, glad that she was on her phone so Wednesday couldn’t see her face. It wasn’t that Willow hated having colorful nails, but usually her hands got so dirty working with dogs all day that getting a manicure wasn’t worth it. She also wasn’t a fan of having to make small talk with the other women.

  “I don’t know,” Willow said, hedging. She leaned against the counter in her kitchen, trying to think of alternate plans that they could make.

  “Come on,” Wednesday pressed. “Don’t you have an ad shoot coming up for that dog food?”

  Willow admitted she did. She was pretty excited about it too. Part of the prize that Lady Valkyrie had won at the Field Club Championship was for her and her trainer to be featured in an ad campaign for a prominent dog food brand. This was not only a boost to her ego, but it could also mean an increase in business at her doggie gym when people recognized her.

  “Well, basic grooming is required for an ad shoot, so you’re going to get a manicure with me today,” her sister continued. “And it’s my treat.”

  “You don’t have to do that.”

  “I want to,” Wednesday insisted. “To thank you for helping me when I was basically a braindead zombie.”

  Willow sensed she wasn’t going to win this argument and agreed to accept the gift. Wednesday said she would be over to pick her up shortly, and both sisters hung up.

  Willow tapped her nails on the counter and then looked at them. She decided maybe a nice light shade would be flattering for the photo shoot. She was starting to daydream about the shoot and how Lady Valkyrie’s Irish Setter red fur would end up looking dazzling in the ad, when her favorite dog popped into the room.