Murder Most Howl: A Paws & Claws Mystery

by Krista Davis

  “We’re moving to Oma’s kitchen,” I muttered, picking up my mug and taking the basket of rolls from her. “I’ll help you serve.”

  Shelley didn’t miss a beat. She snatched up two mugs and followed us. She leaned toward me and whispered, “Don’t you dare help me serve. I need an excuse to come to the kitchen and hear what’s going on!”

  Holmes grabbed cutlery on his way. When we were in the private kitchen, Holmes asked Shelley, “Any chance you’ve got some grits cooking in the back?”

  Shelley was circling the table, pouring coffee for everyone. “How about cheddar cheese grits with eggs and smoked sausages?”

  “Be still, my heart. Bring it on, Shelley. I never get grits in Chicago.” Holmes struck a match and poked the fire into a warm, comforting blaze.

  If Dave hadn’t insinuated that something was awry, I’d have gladly spent the entire day lounging by the fire in my Oma’s cozy kitchen.

  Dave ordered the same thing as Holmes but I asked for French toast. “How about grits, eggs, and dog sausage for Trixie and Gingersnap, please?” After the time I spent outdoors in the chilly morning before dawn, I figured I deserved French toast with butter and maple syrup. But the dogs should probably have a more fortifying meal.

  Dave seemed distracted. He sat at the farmhouse table, stared at his coffee, and appeared to be deep in thought.

  “What’s wrong?” I asked.

  Dave looked around the table at us. Taking a deep breath, he spoke in a soft tone. “Norm was murdered.”

  Nine

  Holmes, Mr. Huckle, and I jerked back in shock.

  “How could they have done an autopsy so fast?” I asked.

  A worry crease edged between Dave’s eyes. “Norm couldn’t be revived but the emergency room doctor managed to get some fluids to test. He thinks Norm died of hypoglycemia.”

  “Isn’t that low blood sugar? Was Norm diabetic? Maybe it wasn’t murder but a terrible accident.” I held my breath waiting for his response.

  “His wife, Savannah, says he wasn’t.”

  My last ray of hope fizzled.

  “Is taking insulin the only way to get hypoglycemia?” asked Holmes.

  Dave held up a hand to stop him. “Apparently not, but there’s more. Norm had what appears to be an injection site reaction. The doctor described it as a red inflammation around a spot where a substance was injected. Given the low blood sugar, that substance was very likely insulin.”

  Shelley delivered our meals, and we fell into silence while Trixie danced in circles, yelping for her food. As Shelley set my plate in front of me, she whispered, “What’s going on?”

  “Norm was murdered.”

  Shelley gasped. She set breakfast bowls on the floor for Gingersnap and Trixie, then sat down with us.

  Holmes quickly filled her in about Norm.

  “Injection site?” murmured Shelley. “We don’t have much of a drug problem here in Wagtail. You think Norm was into drugs?”

  “It doesn’t appear to have been self-inflicted,” said Dave rather dryly. He left it at that, but I wondered how they could know Norm didn’t give himself the shot.

  Mr. Huckle had been listening quietly. “I believe insulin is only available by prescription. That should make it easy to narrow down the field of potential culprits. Officer Dave, I presume your position entitles you to demand a list of those persons who have bought insulin at the local pharmacy?”

  “Good idea.” Holmes relaxed. “There were a lot of people in Wagtail who didn’t care for Norm. But finding out who buys insulin will narrow down the list. I bet you end up with just a few potential suspects.” He dug into his food. “Mmm, mmm. My best to the cook, Shelley!”

  “I’m headed to the pharmacy after I eat.” Dave swiped a fork through his grits. He still seemed worried.

  “You haven’t told us something,” I said gently.

  Trixie placed her front paws on the edge of my chair and cocked her head adorably. Not to be outdone, Gingersnap, who normally had much better table manners than Trixie, tried to lay her head in my lap.

  “I haven’t had one bite yet,” I hissed at them. “Don’t I get to eat?” They didn’t appear to think so.

  Dave looked me straight in the eyes. “You found him. You were there.”

  I wasn’t following his train of thought. “That doesn’t mean I killed him.”

  “That’s not what I’m saying. The killer left us a message. A clue, to be more precise.”

  Now he had my attention. “Of course! The bottle of poison.”

  “Norm had a bottle of poison with him when you found him?” asked Mr. Huckle.

  “The pretend poison bottle for Murder Most Howl was on his lap.”

  “The one I carved?” asked Holmes.

  “You made it?”

  “I carved all four of the weapons.”

  “They’re amazing!” I stared at Holmes in awe for a moment. I thought I knew him so well, but he continued to surprise me. What other hidden talents did he have?

  I struggled to shift my thoughts away from Holmes and turned to Dave. “You can’t possibly think the presence of the poison bottle had any significance.”

  “It means something all right. I just don’t know what.”

  Holmes swallowed the last bite of his treasured grits. “You think someone who is playing the game left the bottle there to taunt you?” He shuddered. “That would be sick.”

  Dave nodded. “I hope that’s not the case but I can’t ignore the possibility. Or someone from Wagtail might have had a beef with Norm and left the bottle there to throw us off track and make us think an out-of-towner did him in.”

  “Other than killing the poor old Baron von Rottweiler, does the bottle have any symbolic meaning in the game?” asked Holmes.

  I finally cut into my French toast. Fresh blueberries on top had been dusted with powdered sugar but that didn’t stop me from drizzling maple syrup over it, too. “Not that I know of. It was just a tool that gave a player the power to demand information from other players.”

  Mr. Huckle touched the fingertips of his hands together. “I suppose Norm might have found the bottle and just happened to have it with him. Perhaps it’s not related to his death at all.”

  “I’ll say one thing. There was no shortage of folks who loathed Norm.” Shelley’s eyes met mine and widened. She jumped up. “Goodness! I have to get back to work before my boss yells at me.” She patted my shoulder on her way out.

  “I don’t see how his death could have anything to do with the game,” I said. “The bottle in his lap must have been a coincidence.”

  “No matter how you look at it—whether he found it and had it with him when he died or someone left it there on purpose—that poison bottle is going to lead me to information about his death.” Dave seemed to feel relieved to have told us the bad news. He finally ate his breakfast with gusto.

  “Anything we can do to help?” asked Holmes.

  “Keep your ears to the ground. Let me know if you hear anything, no matter how insignificant it might seem.”

  “Did his wife call you last night when he didn’t come home?” I asked.

  Dave took a long swig of his coffee. “Nope. She went to bed at ten and didn’t realize that he never came home until I called her this morning.”

  “So no alibi,” mused Mr. Huckle. “Not that Savannah would need one,” he hastened to add. “She’s very sweet.”

  “Norm was here for the Murder Most Howl introduction last night,” I said. “I didn’t notice anything strange about him. He wasn’t arguing with anyone.”

  “Did you see him leave?” asked Dave.

  “I didn’t. Mr. Huckle, how about you?” I asked.

  “As a matter of fact, I did see him take his leave. No socks, as usual, but I helped him with a navy blue jacket. He departed alone. I’m afraid I did not note the exact time. Probably around nine thirty or so.”

  The door banged open and Val barged in. “There you are! Shelley told me w
hat happened to Norm.” She slid into a chair as though she was exhausted. “Can’t say I’m surprised.”

  “You didn’t like him, did you?” asked Holmes.

  Val ran a hand through her hair and took a deep breath. “I haven’t made a secret of that.” Her shoulders sagged as she exhaled. “Norm was a no-good, miserable worm. Maybe even worse than that. Nevertheless, I’d like to think I’m a big enough person not to find joy in anyone’s demise, especially if it involved murder. But you won’t see me shedding any tears for that vile man. Is that the French toast? Shelley’s bringing me some. Looks good.”

  I glanced over at Dave, who, as I expected, watched Val carefully. Couldn’t she have just said it was a tragedy and left it at that? Eager to change the subject, I asked, “Where did you go?”

  “The shock of seeing Norm frozen this morning made me forget that I still had to put out the dog and cat clues. The dog clues are cookies and the cat clues are filled with catnip, so I thought it best to wait until morning to hide them.”

  “How is a dog cookie a clue?” asked Holmes.

  “Sweet Dog Barkery baked them in special shapes, like a dinner plate, wedding bells, and a book. Of course, if a hungry dog like Trixie should find one and take a bite out of it before a person knew what the shape was, he’d be out of luck.”

  Holmes roared. “So all over town dogs and cats are leading their people to clues but the people might not even realize they’re clues until it’s too late?”

  We all chuckled but in such a pathetic, joyless way that I knew everyone was upset about Norm’s demise.

  Shelley arrived with Val’s breakfast and joined us with a plate of French toast for herself. “The breakfast rush started early this morning. And then Myrtle went and scared half the people away by demanding their secrets. There’s a surefire way to clear out a room.”

  Mr. Huckle rose from his seat. “I shall keep an eye on the remaining diners while you eat, Miss Shelley.” He left the room, and I could hear him greeting someone before the door even closed.

  Val winced. “I hadn’t thought of it that way. Well, live and learn. Myrtle can’t be everywhere. Has anyone else found a weapon?”

  “Someone must have the candlestick because it’s not where I hid it.” Gingersnap bumped my elbow with her nose. “What’s with you today? You’re usually so well behaved.” She gazed at me with sweet brown eyes. She probably missed Oma. I relented and shared a bit of my breakfast with her and Trixie.

  “So, Val,” said Dave. “Did Norm come by your pub a lot?”

  I held my breath. Even though Dave was trying to make it sound like casual conversation, I suspected he was interrogating her.

  Val didn’t blink. She didn’t even look up from her French toast. “Nope.”

  I tried to hide my smile. Val was no dummy. She moved to Wagtail just before I did but she had probably met a lot more people at her pub.

  “Never?” asked Dave.

  Val shrugged. “Everyone comes in now and then.”

  I could see Dave’s jaw tensing. She was being a little bit too cavalier.

  Holmes’s eyes met mine. “I hang out there,” he said. “And she hasn’t knocked me off yet.”

  Val shot him a grateful smile but the look on Dave’s face told me he wasn’t finished with her.

  “Thanks for breakfast, Holly.” Dave rose. “I’m off to the pharmacy.”

  I couldn’t help noticing that he took one last long glance at Val before he left.

  She must have noticed it, too. She closed her eyes for just a couple of seconds, and her body relaxed. “Did either of you see who took the original faux poison bottle last night? It was on the table beside you, Holmes. Did you see who took it?”

  Holmes set his mug on the table. “Not me. Are you kidding? People crowded around me like dogs after a piece of bacon. I had to play dead, remember?”

  Val shifted her gaze to me.

  “The Tredwells asked me to show them out the side door in the dark. I wasn’t even in the room part of the time.”

  Holmes sat back in his chair. “It could have been anyone. In the dark, it would have been easy to pick it up. Besides, it was small and easy to hide in a pocket or a purse.”

  * * *

  After breakfast, I stopped by my apartment to change into something a little more coordinated than the clothes I’d thrown on that morning. Twinkletoes followed me, rubbing my legs and meowing.

  With a gasp, I realized she hadn’t been fed! I swung her up into my arms. “I’m so sorry, sweetie pie. What would you prefer? Liver? Beef? Salmon?”

  She purred nonstop. I eyed the bowls of dry food. They weren’t empty. It made me feel a little bit better about not feeding her. “I’m so sorry, schnookums. Our routine was interrupted.” That wasn’t a good excuse, but it was all I had. I spooned beef au jus into her bowl and set her down. She curled her black tail around her body and ate daintily.

  I retreated to my bedroom, where I changed into a navy and white striped sweater, jeans, and short boots. Pulling my hair back, I pinned it up in a practical makeshift twist, added dangling red earrings, a red scarf, and a white vest. That ought to keep me warm for a bit if I had to go outside again.

  I trotted back downstairs and found that Gingersnap had ventured out to her favorite spot on the porch. She didn’t seem to mind the chilly weather. In fact, she appeared to like it.

  Twinkletoes already lounged in her favorite sunbeam in the Dogwood Room. Through the windows, I could see Shadow carrying wood from the covered pile.

  I walked to the reception area and discovered a stash of wood just inside the door.

  The doors slid open and Shadow deposited more firewood. “Hope this is okay,” he said. “I didn’t want to track snow through the inn. When I’ve got enough, I’ll change into indoor shoes and take wood wherever it’s needed.”

  I was so surprised by his thoughtfulness that I hardly knew what to say. “That would be great! Thank you for being so considerate.” I was going to hire him full time if he would have us.

  Before returning to the office, I found Marisol, the housekeeper, and told her Shadow would be bringing firewood up to the rooms.

  When I settled in the office, Twinkletoes snoozed on one end of the sofa and Trixie slept on the other end with all four paws in the air. I took care of some paperwork and made phone calls. After the busy morning, I ate a turkey sandwich at my desk for lunch. I shared it with Trixie and Twinkletoes, who had what I thought was an odd affinity for a cat—a love of bread!

  Pleased with my progress, I pulled a couple of employee files to see what Oma did when hiring someone new. It didn’t seem too difficult. I was flipping through them when I heard the sliding glass door whoosh open and angry voices.

  Zelda backed into the doorway to the office. Without turning to look at me, she said, “I think we’ve got trouble.”

  Ten

  The very first face I saw belonged to my own Aunt Birdie. The scowling expression of my mother’s older half sister was the norm for her. Aunt Birdie complained about everything. As usual, she had dressed stylishly in a black faux fur coat with a fluffy white collar that did nothing to soften the gaunt lines of skin stretched thin over high cheekbones or the angry blaze in her eyes.

  Peaches Clodfelter followed her. The pompous woman had once been married to the richest man in Wagtail. She had fallen on hard times but she still managed to have her brassy orange hair swept up in a lacquered coif that must have been done by a hairdresser. Lean and angular like Aunt Birdie, her nostrils flared, and she jabbed a stick-thin finger at me. “How dare you?”

  “Have you no shame?” asked a man whom I didn’t know. Sparse black and gray hair stuck out from his very round head. His lips were so thin they were little more than edges for his mouth. He wore his shirt unbuttoned at the neck, making room for a substantial double chin. In spite of the cold weather, he wiped sweat off his forehead.

  Each of them clutched a small folded sheet of paper.

  I for
ced a little smile. “What’s going on?”

  “That’s what we’d like to know!” said Aunt Birdie. “The gall. The unmitigated gall! How could you do this to your own aunt?”

  Zelda and I exchanged a look.

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  The three of them glanced at one another.

  “You first,” said Birdie.

  “No, no. You’re family. You go first,” protested Peaches.

  I reached across the reception desk and each of them sheepishly handed over their slips of paper. With Zelda looking over my shoulder, I unfolded them one at a time. Evidently they hadn’t seen one another’s papers because they all leaned over to read them upside down.

  The first one said:

  Peaches Clodfelter’s daughter is in prison.

  The second one was worse.

  Larry Pierce, chef at Café Chat, is having an affair with Peaches Clodfelter.

  I looked up at the chubby man. “I presume you’re Larry Pierce?”

  “What if my wife hears about this?”

  I could see panic in his eyes. I unfolded the third one.

  Birdie Dupuy stalks Max Hemmerich.

  I bit my lip so I wouldn’t laugh. I couldn’t imagine Max, a sophisticated bookaholic, being interested in staid Aunt Birdie.

  She had turned the color of cooked beets. “That’s just not true! I’ve never been so embarrassed in my life.”

  Peaches guffawed. “Not true? It’s hysterically funny! You follow that man everywhere.”

  “I do not. But I bet your daughter Prissy looks awful in those orange prison jumpsuits.”

  Peaches gasped. “How can you be so cruel? You know that’s the worst thing that ever happened to me.”

  Could they all be true? I read them again. The only one I knew for sure was that Peaches Clodfelter’s daughter was in prison. I eyed Larry and Peaches. An unlikely couple, but didn’t they say opposites attract? And hadn’t Aunt Birdie arrived at the meeting last night on Max’s heels? “I’m sorry about this, but I don’t know why you came here. I didn’t have anything to do with these,” I said.