by Krista Davis
“You’re the mayor,” spat Peaches. “You have to do something!”
“I am not the mayor. Oma is the mayor, and she’s away. There must be some kind of vice mayor or someone filling in for her.” No sooner were the words out of my mouth than I realized that old Mr. Wiggins was the vice mayor. No wonder Peaches didn’t want to go to him. He was the ex-husband whose money she ran through.
Birdie gasped. “In the first place, we can’t go to him because he’s a horrid gossip. It will be all over Wagtail! And in the second place, this is your fault. You’re totally responsible. These are clues for Murder Most Howl.”
I flipped them over and studied them. Plain paper, probably printed by a computer. “They’re not clues. I hid some myself, and I can assure you they came in cute little red envelopes.”
As though they had practiced it, all three of them raised little red envelopes simultaneously.
I took a deep breath. Val! But why would she do something like this? If the notes were true, and I had a sinking feeling they might be, given the rather desperate reaction of Birdie, Peaches, and Larry, they were unkind if not downright malicious. And even more important, they had nothing to do with the game. There wasn’t any mention of the Baron von Rottweiler, unless one was to presume that the baron knew these things and that’s why someone killed him.
“I’ll take these straight to Val, and I’ll let you know what she says.”
“Val?” screeched Peaches. “I should have known she was behind this. She hears gossip all day long at that scuzzy bar of hers. I heard she was run out of town at the last place she lived.”
I glared at her. That was as unkind as the clues they brought to me. It was absurd, too, like something out of an old movie. People weren’t ejected from towns anymore. Were they?
“What if there are more?” asked Larry, breathing heavily. He wiped his forehead with his palm. “What if they’re all over town?”
“Where did you find these?” I asked.
Birdie mashed her lips together. “A total stranger marched up to me in the middle of Sweet Dog Barkery and asked if I was Birdie Dupuy. I thought he had probably read some of my articles on antiques, but then he asked me if I murdered the Baron von Rottweiler and shoved this clue at me. Can you even imagine my embarrassment? I was so humiliated that I like to have died right then and there.” She raised her chin defiantly.
Larry leaned toward me. “One of my waiters brought me this. A customer asked him about it! Every single one of my employees has probably heard about it by now.”
Peaches slapped a hand just below her throat and moaned. “It will be all over town. I can never show my face in this town again!” I assumed she meant her affair with Larry since Prissy’s incarceration wasn’t a secret.
“I’ll talk to Val right away and find out how many more there are.” I still couldn’t believe she would have done such a thing. I slid on my jacket and dressed Trixie. Bypassing Peaches, Birdie, and Larry, who murmured in a little huddle, we headed for the front door. Gingersnap lounged by the fire in the Dogwood Room. I whistled for her. “Gingersnap? Walkies!”
She scrambled to her feet, walked to the door, and waited for me to open it. I paused for a moment, wondering if Gingersnap wore a coat in the winter. She had typical long golden retriever fur. Probably not.
Gingersnap and Trixie raced outside and down the porch stairs to sniff other dogs being walked. I stayed on the sidewalk, admiring the heavy snow dressing up branches. Even the gazebo looked more glamorous with a pristine snowcap.
I paused briefly at the sight of Geof and Robin chatting on a walking trail near the inn. No sign of Char or Ella Mae. That didn’t mean a thing, I told myself.
Hair of the Dog was on the other end of town, but strolling through a light sprinkling of snowflakes was magical. The dogs romped with joyous abandon, sniffing every tree, and tracking scents.
We turned right and walked to the end of the street, where Hair of the Dog occupied a Tudor-style house. Someone had built a snow couple drinking something with snow whipped cream on top. An unmistakable snow poodle sat with them.
I opened the door, setting off a bell, and both dogs shot inside.
“Sorry!” called Val from the back. “We won’t be open until this afternoon around five.”
She didn’t have much time to get everything ready. “It’s Holly.” I raised my voice so she would hear me.
“I’m glad it’s just you.” Val emerged from the back, wiping her hands on a towel. “We have some locals who might be a little bit too addicted to coming here. Not that I mind. I love the business but they’re very cranky that they can’t lounge around the pub this afternoon.”
I removed Trixie’s coat and my vest before pulling the clues from my pocket. I didn’t really know what to say. I didn’t want to accuse her of anything, so I just handed them to her.
Val read them silently. “Whoa. This is some powerful stuff. Where’d you get these?”
I exhaled with relief, thanking my lucky stars that she wasn’t the one who wrote the scandalous clues. “Aunt Birdie, Peaches, and Larry brought them to me. Some of the Murder Most Howl participants found them in red envelopes.”
Val blinked a few times, a crease forming between her eyes. “Do you think they’re true?”
“I know for a fact that Peaches’s daughter is in the slammer. I don’t know about the others but Larry was pretty worried about his wife hearing about his alleged affair with Peaches.”
Val stared at the slips for a moment. “I know Birdie is your aunt, but I fear she might stalk Max. She never comes in here. It’s not her kind of place. I get that. But every time Max walks through the door, I can guarantee that Birdie will follow a few minutes later.”
That was all I needed—my crazy aunt stalking someone. “I think I’d better have a chat with her about that.”
Val flapped the clues against her hand nervously. “Why would anyone do this? It’s as though someone in town took advantage of Murder Most Howl to expose some very personal secrets.”
“Not to mention messing up the game. The players won’t know which clues pertain to the game.”
Val’s eyes opened wide. “This is a nightmare! Wagtail will get a terrible reputation. I almost invited a reporter to come for the weekend. I’m glad I didn’t do that! But with social media, complaints will be all over the place in no time.”
I paced the room. We had to correct this mess. But how? “What if we make it fun for them?”
“Oh, right.” Val’s voice dripped with sarcasm. “What are we going to do? Tell them the game wasn’t complicated enough so we threw in red herrings that have nothing to do with it?”
“I have an idea. I think we can deal with the guests. The locals whose secrets are being exposed are going to be the big problem.”
“They’ll all blame me.” Val clutched the top of her head. “They’ll hate me!”
“Do you have a list of the clues?” I asked.
“Of course. What good will that do?”
“I don’t know if this will work but it’s worth a try. We set up a clue inspection center at the inn. You, Shelley, Zelda, and I can take turns manning it. Players bring their clues, and we check them against the master list. We keep any that don’t belong. We’ll—” I thought fast as I talked “—set up a bowl with little slips of paper awarding them prizes like a free drink here, or free afternoon tea at the inn, or a free dog cookie or cat treat. The person who presents the most slips for inspection gets a free dinner for two here at Hair of the Dog.”
Val stared at me for a long moment. “That could work. Everyone wins something just for showing us the slips. At least we could take the malicious ones out of circulation.” She bowed her head. “But it only takes care of half the problem. I don’t believe this is happening. What kind of sick person would leave ugly notes like these about the people of Wagtail?”
“It has to be someone local. The people visiting wouldn’t know all those scandalous details. Oh bo
y. If there are more and these are typical, we’re going to have a huge ruckus.”
“Yeah, well, I am not taking the blame. Some twisted creep did this, and believe me, Holly, I will not rest until I find out who it was.” She checked the time. “I can run off little prize certificates but I won’t have time to man the desk. I’ll see if I can find someone to pitch in.”
Gingersnap and Trixie shot out the door when I opened it. Although the walk had been cleared, they romped through the snow, with Trixie jumping through it more like a rabbit than a dog.
I wished I felt their glee. It seemed like problems had piled up since Oma’s departure. I gave myself a little pep talk. It wasn’t so bad. I would hire Shadow as soon as I saw him. We would collect the scandalous clues and get them out of circulation. Guests would be happy with little prizes. That should save the mystery weekend. All we had to do was find the real killer who had done in Norm, and the mean-spirited person who left the outrageous notes clearly intended to cause hostility among the peaceful residents of Wagtail.
Back at the Sugar Maple Inn, fires blazed in the dining area and the Dogwood Room. Gingersnap made a beeline to guests, wagging her tail and expecting their adoration. Trixie found Ella Mae and the two of them frolicked through the lobby. I deposited our coats in the private kitchen and poked around for a bowl. An adorable blue ceramic bowl with white snowflakes painted around the rim was reminiscent of Christmas, but given the weather, I thought it appropriate. Trixie followed me to the desk near the front door. I placed the bowl on it for the prize slips.
Shadow ambled toward me in stocking feet and no shoes. “I think I’m done here unless you need anything else.”
I asked him to accompany me to the office. On the way there, I asked if he knew anything about plumbing.
“Sure. My mom says there’s not much I can’t do with my hands. I built a new bathroom on her house.”
That was all I needed to hear. If he could build a bathroom, he could surely fix a leak! “How would you like to work here as the handyman?”
“For real?” he asked. “You mean like all the time?”
I nodded as we walked into the office. “You would help the housekeeper with things like leaks and replacing lightbulbs that are high. Keep the grounds orderly and clean outdoors. Mow, prune trees, shovel snow, clean up the doggy toilet areas. Haul wood inside like you did today.”
“Yes!” he shouted. Looking a bit abashed by his own enthusiasm, he added, “I’m not much for sitting around in an office and pushing papers. It sounds about perfect.”
I asked him to have a seat and handed him forms to fill out. Meanwhile, I wrote a check for the hours he had worked that day.
Shadow seemed surprised when I handed it to him. “Thanks, Holly. I . . . I don’t know what to say except I really appreciate this. It means a lot to me.”
I wasn’t sure which one of us was more pleased. It was a load off my mind to have someone around who could fix the little things that went haywire. Not to mention keep the grounds clean and safe.
As I walked him out, Zelda’s tabby, Leo, followed the book club guests inside.
Zelda frowned at her cat. “What are you doing here again, big boy?”
Weegie laughed. “He followed us all the way back to the inn. It was just the cutest thing. I thought Puddin’ would bark at him but they acted as though they were old friends. I don’t understand. At home Puddin’ would have barked her fool head off if a cat came near.”
Leo made a beeline for Shadow and wound around his ankles, rubbing his head against Shadow’s legs. Shadow bent over and scratched behind Leo’s ears.
Zelda nodded at Weegie. “It’s the attitude in Wagtail. Visiting animals know it’s not their home, so they don’t feel they have to defend their territory. And the people in Wagtail send out vibes of acceptance. We love dogs and cats. They sense that. It lets them know they can be friends with other animals.”
“You’re the pet psychic, right?” asked Myrtle.
“Yes. Would you like me to tell you what Puddin’ and Leo are thinking right now?”
The group gathered around her, murmuring their agreement.
Zelda took a deep breath and rotated her hand just below her chin. “Leo is happy to see Shadow. They’re old buddies. Puddin’ thinks Leo is a very cool cat and would like to eat one of the treats that Weegie bought in town.”
Sylvie and Myrtle appeared skeptical but Weegie gasped. “There’s no way you could have known about that. I have a peanut butter dog cookie in my bag.” She spoke to Puddin’ in a high voice. “Puddies can has da’ cookie as soon as we go up to our woom.”
Puddin’ wagged her tail as though she understood.
Myrtle laughed. “What a cute parlor trick. I have to remember that for parties at home.”
Shadow glanced at me with big eyes. “This is gonna get ugly. I’ll see you tomorrow?”
I thanked him again, and he hustled out the door as though he feared the group of ladies were about to start a war.
“It’s not a trick,” said Zelda. “I realize some people have difficulty imagining that I know what animals are thinking but—” she shrugged “—I do!”
Sylvie inhaled sharply. “Can you read our minds, too?”
Myrtle scoffed and addressed Zelda. “Not to offend you, dear, but that’s nonsense.” She turned to Sylvie and whispered, loud enough for us to hear, “It’s impossible, Sylvie.”
To her credit, Zelda smiled and spoke in a calm voice. “I can probably guess what most of you are thinking right now, but I can’t read the minds of people.”
Weegie tilted her head thoughtfully. “Wouldn’t it be awful if someone knew what everyone was thinking? Talk about no privacy! We’d all have to hide in our homes.”
Sylvie shook her fingers through her hair, loosening it from hat head. “I’m glad you’re here, Holly. We found some very odd clues today. Maybe you can help us make sense of them?”
“I’m so glad you asked. We’ve instituted a new policy, and you can win prizes for some of those clues.” My words were magic—every single member of the book club started searching pockets and handbags for clues.
Sylvie handed me her two clues first.
The Baron von Rottweiler poisoned his second wife.
I unfolded the next one.
Shadow Hobbs has a criminal record.
Eleven
A chill rattled through me right down to my bones. Why hadn’t I checked around? Why hadn’t I asked people about Shadow? He had been so helpful. Maybe it wasn’t true. Maybe the vicious person who had written these clues had mixed the truth with lies.
Or maybe not.
Gathering myself, I spoke as cheerfully as I could. “One of these is a fake clue. You win a prize! Everyone follow me, and we’ll go through all your clues.”
We trooped to the main lobby where Val was just coming through the door.
“Our first customers, Val,” I said with fake glee, hoping no one would notice my distress.
She dumped the prize slips into the bowl. I mixed them up and held the bowl out to Sylvie while Val made a notation that Sylvie had turned in a clue.
“Good luck!” I said.
“A drink! I get a free drink at Hair of the Dog tonight!”
Her enthusiasm attracted more people, and before I knew it, Val and I were checking clues, making a list of who had turned them in, and telling everyone to spread the word.
Mr. Huckle was fired from his last job.
I knew all about that. It wasn’t because of anything he did. How dare someone malign that sweet old man when it was all the fault of that cranky Peaches that he lost his position?
The Baron von Rottweiler conned his business partners.
That I could believe. But which players were the baron’s business partners and might have wanted to kill him?
The Baron von Rottweiler drank Scotch from his flask every evening.
Zelda York cheated a neighbor out of $1,000.
Uh-oh. I hoped t
hat wasn’t true!
The poison in the Baron von Rottweiler’s flask is an overdose amount of acetaminophen with codeine.
Aha! So that was what the faux bottle of poison contained. That was a significant clue.
One of the women, who had brought a sleek ruddy-colored Abyssinian with her, stopped to ask if cats could find clues. I directed her to the indoor agility center and The Cat’s Meow.
Robin Jarvis stepped up to the desk. She handed me three clues in red envelopes. “Am I doing this right? I don’t recall seeing any mention of fake clues in the handout you gave us.”
Val groaned and answered with a snap in her tone. “They weren’t in the original plan.”
Robin recoiled a little and seemed surprised.
I interceded fast. “It appears that someone in town is playing a little prank on us by adding clues. But the game is still on.” I read her clues quickly, hoping Val wouldn’t rant.
The Baron von Rottweiler left his first wife so destitute that she had to live in her car.
The Baron von Rottweiler accused an innocent man of murder.
Liesel Miller is a busybody who pokes her nose where it does not belong.
Hey! Now I was offended. That was my Oma they were talking about. Okay, I had to admit that Oma had a natural curiosity but it stemmed from her inclination to want to help other people. I feared I leaned that way, too. But that was no reason to call her a busybody!
I handed Robin the two real clues about the baron. “Only one fake clue,” I said with a smile. “Please select your prize.”
Robin chose a piece of paper from the bowl and read it aloud. “Free teatime at the Sugar Maple Inn! That sounds wonderful.”
The second Robin walked away, I turned to Val. “You know, there was an easier way to do this. I haven’t seen one fake clue that mentioned the Baron von Rottweiler.”
Her eyes narrowed. “So it was probably someone who wasn’t fully in the loop when we were planning Murder Most Howl.” Val’s mouth pulled into a bitter line. “All I can say is that the perpetrator is a dead man if I ever figure out who it was.”
