by Krista Davis
I arranged the few leftovers in glass storage containers, then rinsed off the platters and popped them into the dishwasher so they would be clean when the cook arrived in the morning. With the dishwasher running, I picked up the leftovers and returned to the lobby. Gingersnap and Trixie waited for me just outside the door. I praised them for being good dogs and crossed to the other kitchen in the Sugar Maple Inn.
Oma had reserved one large room for family use. I had spent many happy hours there as a child. It was an open plan kitchen with enough space for a farmhouse-style dining table, a blue island that verged on turquoise, and a comfy seating area in front of a stone fireplace that was original to the building. The back door led to Oma’s little herb garden.
The dogs could have gone through the pet door but they waited for me. My hands full, I backed into the door to push it open.
Behind me, I heard a little snap. Trixie’s claws scrambled against the hardwood floors. Yelping, she raced through another pet door, located at the bottom of a built-in bookcase.
Gingersnap was on her tail and through the pet door in an instant.
Eyeing the door, I set the food on the island. I had recognized that snap. It was the sound of the bookcase closing. Oma had hidden two secret stairwells in the inn when she renovated. No doubt the result of reading too many mysteries.
This one led up to a second-floor exit and to my apartment on the third floor, opening in my dining room.
Taking a couple of deep breaths, I considered my options. If this were a movie, and I dared to open the door, I would surely find a one-eyed monster with pointy claws for fingers. I listened. Neither Trixie nor Gingersnap was barking. Did they know the person who had concealed himself there as we entered the kitchen?
Most of the employees probably knew about the hidden stairs. Was this a continuation of tricking me for purposes of Murder Most Howl? Would I find a second body or scream loud enough to bring guests running? It would be amusing for them because they would hear the scream but not be able to find me in the secret staircase.
I exhaled noisily. The sensible thing to do would be to fetch assistance. Casey Collins would be here soon for the night shift. But then it would be a big joke, and when Oma returned, everyone would tell her the story about the time I was so scared that I waited for Casey to look behind the bookcase. Oma had run this inn for decades by herself. She would never have waited this long, pondering the situation. She would have opened the bookcase and demanded that the person show himself.
I squared my shoulders, picked up a wine bottle to bash over a head if need be, and opened the bookcase door.
Was that purring I heard? “All right,” I said. “Who’s in here?”
Five
“The living dead.” The Baron von Rottweiler loped down the stairs holding Twinkletoes and his wig in his arms. The two dogs followed him, gazing at him with adoration. They had known who he was all along. I felt pretty silly now that I knew who he really was.
He stopped and whispered, “Any guests with you? Wouldn’t want to spoil the game.”
“Holmes Richardson, why do you always scare me half to death? There’s no one here but us.”
I backed up and set the wine where it belonged.
He ambled through the doorway, grinning. Tall and sandy-haired, Holmes had vivid blue eyes that always made me melt.
After my parents moved away from Wagtail, they sent me back to spend my summers on the mountain with Oma. My cousin Josh came too, and Holmes, the grandson of Oma’s best friend, Rose, rounded out our little trio. Oma set us to work, rarely differentiating between genders. We all made beds, cooked and washed dishes, carried luggage, checked guests in and out, and learned the business from the ground up. Josh, who now traveled the world, had been Holmes’s best friend. And I had never forgotten the first boy who ever kissed me.
Turned out he didn’t look half bad in a big white mustache. Holmes worked as an architect in Chicago and, alas, was engaged to be married. “I can’t believe I didn’t recognize you! What are you doing here?”
Holmes set Twinkletoes on the floor. She wound around his ankles. “Grandma Rose told me about Murder Most Howl when I was here for Christmas. I had no shame—I begged for a part.” He peeled off the mustache. “I missed seeing you over the holidays. Where were you?”
“Hungry?” I asked, showing him the food I was about to stash in the fridge. “I had hopes for an old-fashioned Christmas here at the inn but my parents made such a stink that I wound up driving to Florida to see my dad. Four days in the car—two days there, two days driving back. Hardly worth the trip.”
“Bummer. I spent Christmas Eve with my fiancée and her family, then flew here to be with my family. It was all a big rush.”
“Did she come with you?” I had never met the woman who had captured his heart.
He sucked in air. “No.”
Men. Maybe I was reading something into his response, but it sounded like I had hit a sore spot. I itched to know more but he appeared to be concentrating on red peppers and dip. “I can’t believe you came back to Wagtail just to play the Baron von Rottweiler. Essentially your part is over now, right?”
“I guess it is. But I don’t want to miss out on all the fun. My life in Chicago is pretty mundane.”
“Chicago mundane?” I snorted. “It has everything in the world that anyone could ask for.”
“You lived in Washington, DC. You must know how it is. It’s invigorating in the beginning, but after a few years, you go to work and come home.” Holmes shrugged. “Wagtail is like a vacation for me.” He tossed pieces of broccoli to Trixie and Gingersnap, who caught them in their mouths. “You okay? I was a little hesitant about grabbing you, but your first scream was more like a loud mouse squeak.”
“I’m fine. Just a little miffed about not being in on the plan. Is the power really out at Hair of the Dog?”
“That part was true. Half of Wagtail is out. Luckily it’s the other end of town. I promised Val I’d pitch in tomorrow. She thinks the participants will have questions as they get going.”
“Won’t they wonder why the Baron von Rottweiler is suddenly alive again?”
Holmes laughed. “The old guy’s dead. I’ll be there as myself.”
“So what’s the story with the poor deceased baron?”
“Haven’t you read the information Val gave you?” He tsked at me.
“Hey, I’ve been a little busy.”
“Don’t get testy. The old baron ran a guard dog–training business. He kept a low profile but was quite the ladies’ man with three wives, a bunch of mistresses, and a few illegitimate children, all of whom have descended upon Wagtail. Not to mention his shady business practices, which aggravated locals and visitors alike.”
“Okay, I get it. He was a crumb.”
“Val had to exaggerate to give each of the participants a role in the baron’s life, but the more I thought about it, the more I realized that she wasn’t too far off from the truth about some people.”
“Not you, I hope.”
Holmes wiggled his eyebrows like Groucho Marx. “Thanks for the snack. See you in the morning.” He loped out the door.
Trixie looked up at me, Gingersnap whined, and Twinkletoes stared forlornly at the door as it shut. “He’s engaged,” I reminded them.
I stashed the food in the fridge and returned to the lobby.
Casey had just arrived. He deposited a laptop and two immense books on the desk. Twinkletoes jumped up immediately to inspect them.
“I’m so glad you have power,” he said. “My mom’s house is in the dark.” Casey’s round metal-framed glasses were fogged up, making him look like an eyeless cartoon character. A shock of dark coffee-colored hair hung in his forehead, as usual. It always made me think of young Harry Potter. In addition to working at the inn, Casey was studying at the community college over on Snowball Mountain.
He peeled off his glasses and jacket, rubbed his eyes, and said, “Big history test tomorrow. I’m hop
ing classes will be canceled because of the snow but my mom says I can’t count on that.”
“Sounds like good advice to me.”
He bent to pat Trixie and Gingersnap. “A guy can hope. It better be quiet here tonight so I can get some serious studying time in.”
“I think you’re in luck. We have a full house but it should be fairly calm. I don’t think we have any rabble-rousers among them.”
He seemed relieved and settled in at the desk.
I started my nightly rounds by walking through the library and into the cat wing. I climbed the stairs to the second floor and strode through the hallway past the guest rooms.
Everything was quiet. We headed outside to the puppy potty for Trixie and Gingersnap. The snow had stopped. The cozy scent of smoke from the fireplaces drifted to me. Warm lights shone in some of the inn windows. I imagined guests were sitting by the fireplaces in their rooms going over their rhymes and clues.
A golf cart, better known as a Wagtail taxi thanks to the strict rules against cars, pulled up at the door. A woman stepped off it and rubbed her upper arms.
“Good evening. You must be Robin Jarvis.” I took her bag and led the way inside.
“How did you know?” she asked.
“You’re the only one who did not pick up your information for Murder Most Howl.”
“I hope it’s not too late!”
She sounded panicked.
“Of course not. I’ll bring it up to your room as soon as we get you settled.”
“Brr. I had no idea it would be so cold here.” Robin brushed snow off a fashionable jacket that wouldn’t keep anyone warm.
I guessed Robin to be in her forties. Pleasantly plump, she wore her chestnut brown hair short. Just long enough to tuck behind her ears. While I checked her in, she made a big fuss over Trixie and Gingersnap, who wagged their tails and vied for her attention.
She cooed at them before turning to me. “I had hoped to get some hiking in. Do you think the trails will be open with all the snow?”
“I guess it depends on how much we get tonight. You can probably hike on some of the lower trails.” I eyed the woman, who obviously loved dogs but didn’t bring one with her. “You know, they always need dog walkers at the shelter. If you do hike, maybe you could take a dog with you?”
She looked at me as though I had given her a gift. “I would love that!”
It was almost midnight when we left Robin by the fire in her room clutching her Murder Most Howl bag. We returned to our quarters on the third floor, ready to pack it in for the night. In the latest renovation, Oma had carved out a beautiful apartment with me in mind. It ran from the front of the inn to the back. On the north side, a bedroom balcony overlooked Wagtail. To the south, a terrace off the family room offered a view of the lake and the mountains. Oma had thoughtfully provided a second bedroom for company. A darling dining room doubled as a little library where one of the bookcases pushed open to the stairwell where Holmes had hidden. The pet door on the bottom shelf allowed Trixie and Twinkletoes to roam the inn. I knelt and closed it for the night, so they wouldn’t accidentally sneak out, as they had on occasion.
My TV had once again magically turned itself on. After my move to Wagtail, the remote control had been lost among all the moving boxes. Trixie and Twinkletoes knew where it was and kept turning the TV on by themselves. I had since located it but the little rascals continued to turn on the TV when they felt like it.
I clicked on the gas fireplace. Flames ran along the little starter and flickered into a blaze. Instead of changing into jammies, I kicked off my shoes and hit the kitchen for a snack. After feeding Twinkletoes shrimp and herring aspic concocted at the inn, I made myself a mug of steaming hot hibiscus tea, grabbed two Sugar Maple Inn dog-safe raisin-free oatmeal cookies, and settled in one of the cushy chairs in front of the fireplace. Trixie bounded onto the matching ottoman and crept closer, her tail wagging nervously in anticipation. Gingersnap sat down and politely offered her paw to shake.
I broke off pieces of one cookie and shared it with them. When I awoke an hour later, the remaining cookie was gone, Trixie was next to me on the chair, upside down, all four feet in the air, Twinkletoes sprawled across my lap, keeping me warm, and Gingersnap had curled up on the ottoman with her head on my feet. With great reluctance, I roused them so we could stumble off to bed.
* * *
I woke to wild yelping. It was still dark outside. Trixie ran to the door and back to me. Ugh. That could only mean one thing.
At times like these, I wished I still lived in a small townhouse with a tiny fenced-in backyard where no one would see me letting the dog out. I pulled on warm woolly pants and tucked my nightie into them. I stuffed my feet into boots, and slid my big puffy jacket on. I tried not to clomp down the stairs so I wouldn’t wake the guests. Gingersnap stuck by me, but Trixie sped ahead and waited for us by the door. Someone must have entered during the night because puddles of melting snow lay on the floor. Casey wasn’t at the desk. Maybe he had gone for a mop.
Trixie flew outside when I opened the door. Wildly whirling snow was so dense that I couldn’t see more than a few feet. In less than two seconds, Trixie, whose fur was mostly white, disappeared from view. Gingersnap bounded after her. Fortunately, her reddish fur made her more visible.
Trixie ought to be headed for one of the doggy potty areas. I pulled up my hood and stepped off the porch into the wind. Snow blew everywhere. “Trixie?” I called. Hopefully she would find her way back to me with her powerful dog nose.
I ventured forward a few steps, trying to see Gingersnap. Over the howl of the wind, I thought I heard Trixie bark. I stopped to listen. Bent over against the driving snow, I forged ahead. Even the streetlights of Wagtail fought a losing battle with the heavy snow.
“Trixie!” I yelled.
This time, I heard frantic barking. I rushed forward blindly. Why didn’t I have a black dog who would be easy to see in the snow? “Trixie!”
The barking continued. I thought I was headed in the right direction but even Gingersnap had vanished in the heavy snow. I hurried along the salted sidewalk. Snow had collected in spite of the treatment, and now blew across it, but at least I wasn’t knee deep, trying to trudge through the stuff.
Trixie’s incessant barking grew louder. I began to fear that she had fallen into something or was trapped.
Stinging snow hit my face, eliminating the last vestiges of sleepiness. “Trixie!”
She darted in front of me, nearly tripping me. I bent to pick her up but she barked and backed up. “Trixie,” I growled. “It’s the middle of the night in a blizzard. This is no time to play keep away.”
She backed up more, just out of arm’s reach. I was getting frustrated with her. “Why are you doing this to me? Did you forget that we have a nice warm bed back at the inn?”
And then she sat down. Right next to the leg of a man on a bench.
For the third time in less than twelve hours, I screamed.
Six
The moaning wind drowned my scream but not my horror. I stepped closer. Was he real or a prop?
The streetlamp next to the bench offered precious little light in the swirling snow. But the brightly lit storefront window display of Tall Tails, the local bookstore, helped somewhat. Icy snow covered his knit beanie-style hat and clung to his eyebrows and lashes. His eyes were half open as if he was drowsy. He wore a navy blue jacket. The swirling wind that made it difficult for me to stand didn’t appear to have an impact on him.
Gingersnap inched her nose closer to his body as though she wasn’t quite sure what to make of the snowman.
My breath caught in my throat when I realized a bottle lay in his lap, covered with snow. Had he been too drunk to get up and save himself?
Surely not. I dared to reach forward and dust the surface of the bottle. It was the faux bottle of poison that had allegedly killed the Baron von Rottweiler! One of the weapons for Murder Most Howl. So the guy was a fake. Val must have been up
half the night setting it up.
I looked down at Trixie. “He’s not real, sweetie. Though I agree that he sure looks human.”
No sooner were the words out of my mouth than it occurred to me that dogs used their noses more than their eyes. Even in this blizzard, Trixie should have realized far sooner than me that the man was a plastic prop.
Gingersnap delicately pawed his knee.
I peered at the frozen man’s face again. All the ice crystals on it had to mean he wasn’t a real person. No one could sit there covered in ice and snow like that. He’d freeze to death.
Wait a minute. What a coincidence that he was sitting where tourists would find him. Had Val counted on someone making a fuss and thinking the guy was real?
The face seemed odd, almost like a mask, yet vaguely familiar. I had to call Val to find out for sure. If he was a fake, I would be the butt of a joke that no one would ever let me forget. But I hadn’t bothered to bring my cell phone.
This time, Trixie allowed me to pick her up. Gingersnap and I walked back to the inn. No one sat at the front desk, and the melted snow hadn’t been cleaned. I wondered where Casey was. Maybe he was getting a snack in Oma’s kitchen.
I set Trixie down and used the phone on the desk to call Val. She answered with a sleep-fogged voice. While I felt a little bit bad about waking her, she deserved it if she had left that fake body out there without telling me.
“Val, did you arrange for a second body to be found with the poison bottle?”
“Huh? Who is this?”
“It’s Holly. Is the guy on the bench one of your props?”
“What are you talking about?”
A shiver ran through me. “Are you kidding?”
I heard her moan. “I don’t joke at five thirty in the morning.”
Was it that late? Guests would be rising soon! “I’m going to call Dave. He won’t be happy if you’re lying about this.”
Her words were measured. “Holly, I do not know what you’re talking about. Where is this guy?”
