“But it’s a new place!” he whined. “There might be something you need me to find out for you. Or . . .”
Emma sighed. Ever since they had helped solve Victoria Roberts’s murder, Oliver had become very much enamored of the idea of himself as canine sleuth extraordinaire.
“I know you’re disappointed, but that’s the way it’s got to be.” She kissed him on the nose and straightened up. “Don’t worry. You’ll be fine. Josh and Becca are both going to be at the shop today, so you won’t have to be alone. And as soon as I’m done at the grange, I’m taking this afternoon off. We’ll have a walk and we’ll nap and we’ll grab some sandwiches at the co-op and have dinner on the beach.”
“But, Emma . . . !”
There wasn’t time for another argument. Emma straightened up. “Look at it this way: you’ll be keeping an eye on the King’s Rest for me. You don’t want that fox thinking he can just get into the garden anytime he wants, right?” This was something of a low blow. Oliver’s ongoing feud with the local town fox was a very serious matter, by corgi standards.
“Oh, I suppose,” mumbled Oliver. “He’s been back, you know. I can tell. He likes to sneak in around the side where they keep the wheelie bins . . .”
Emma smiled and let the corgi chatter flow over her. She also found the last page of notes inside her portfolio, right where she’d left it. She tucked in the extra pencils, and grabbed her handbag, and suit bag, and her umbrella, because it was probably not done raining out there yet.
“Here we go, Oliver,” she said. “If we can pull this off, we can do anything.”
“You can already do anything,” said Oliver staunchly. “Except about the fox.”
Emma laughed. “That’s why I have you, corgi me lad.”
* * *
* * *
Today, Oliver realized, was going to be a challenge. That was okay. Corgis were noble warrior dogs. His ancestors had sailed with the Vikings and his brother corgis guarded the queen wherever she went. A corgi never turned a challenge down.
The question was, how could he convince Emma that she should not go to this new place alone? Something strange was going on with the Rain Lady—What was her human name? Oliver sneezed and shook his ears. Oh! Marcie!
Something strange was going on with Marcie, and Oliver didn’t like it.
Humans tended to be at certain places at certain times—home, shop, village, beach. New route, and new patterns, well, of course they happened. Everybody strayed sometimes. But there was something about her turning up so suddenly in the rain and the dark that was not right. It made Oliver restless.
It was just getting light outside. Oliver trotted beside Emma as they headed down the hill through the fresh, chilly morning into Trevena. The rain had washed the walks and the cobblestones almost clean of all the smells except for water and mud. He could barely even pick up the traces of the night animals that roamed the streets while the humans slept. A few humans had been out already, and Rosco the Jack Russell terrier had been here, and the annoying cat called Cream Tangerine, but not for long. Cats were fussy about wet feet.
But they weren’t the only ones who had been here.
“Genny’s ahead of us,” Oliver told Emma. “And Josh . . . and Fergus!” Fergus was the big, easygoing Irish setter who lived with the Knowleses.
“There, see?” said Emma around yet another huge yawn. “You’ll have plenty of company.”
Oliver sneezed, and kept his nose to his cobbles. He didn’t need company. He needed to find a way to convince Emma to take him with her.
They always went in the kitchen door first thing in the morning. As soon as Emma pulled the door open, a rush of wonderful smells engulfed Oliver—butter and cheese, tomato, tea, coffee and bacon. Especially bacon. There was a crowd of his favorite people too—Angelique and Pearl, of course. And Genny the Fish Lady! He charged in, barking and sniffing and wagging and listening to everybody laugh, until Emma called him back and told him to calm down.
“My goodness, girl!” exclaimed Angelique to Emma. Angelique was working at the stove, frying up a most delicious-smelling mix of bacon, onion and peppers. “How late were you here last night?”
“I think it had turned into this morning. But that’s okay. I’ll be fine.” Emma climbed on the stool, rested her elbows on the counter and leaned her forehead on her arms. “After a gallon of coffee.”
“You sure?” said Pearl skeptically. She put a big mug of coffee down in front of Emma. “You are not going to be helping the cause by mixing up the sugar and the salt.”
“That’s why we label the bins,” mumbled Emma. “And I’ll be fine.”
“Well, we’ll be right there in case you’re not,” said Genny. “Come on, let’s get loaded up. If I know Emma’s menus we’re going to need every minute to get things done.”
Oliver barked. Emma lifted her head and also drank the coffee. “Are you saying I overplan?”
“It’s possible you might be something of a type A personality, yes,” said Genny. She was one of their best friends. Her son Josh was a fine, young human, and Fergus was an excellent and friendly dog.
And around here somewhere . . . Oliver was sure he caught the distinctive scent of Irish setter in the layers surrounding the kitchen. It was a little muddled this morning. Usually, Genny smelled like fish and hot oil. This morning, she smelled like hot oil and butter and vanilla and spices from all the baking.
The kitchen was warm enough that Oliver was already starting to pant. Maybe it would be better if he went outdoors.
No. I need to stay with Emma.
“I’ll have you know I am perfectly realistic when it comes to my schedules,” Emma was saying.
Pearl and Angelique looked at each other. Angelique patted her hand. “If you say so, dear. Do you have your checklist?”
“How did . . .”
“You always have a checklist, Emma.” Angelique flipped open Emma’s portfolio. “Ah. Here it is.”
“Numbered the bins too,” Genny reported, looking at the stack of tubs on the counter nearest the door. “Very handy.”
Emma sniffed, and drank more coffee. “When we have the entire board of the literary society at our feet, you will no longer mock my organizational skills.”
The door from the great room swung open, bringing with it the scents of a young male human.
Oliver barked and zoomed over to greet him.
“You all right in here, Mum?” asked Josh. “Only I was going to open the counter . . . Hello, Oliver! Good boy!” Josh always smelled of the out-of-doors and fish and seawater and sunshine and dirt. He laughed when Oliver bounced. He also snatched a bit of bacon out of the pan and held it up for Oliver to snap at.
“Hey!” shouted Angelique. But she was already too late.
An excellent human.
“And people think I’m the one who spoils Fergus,” grumbled Genny.
“You can get yourself out of my kitchen, young man.” Angelique waved her spatula at him. “Go do something useful.”
Josh, who could be very obedient for a young human, hurried out, but he also paused to kiss Angelique on her temple. “You know you love me!”
She swiped the spatula toward him, but not seriously. Josh pushed open the door again. Oliver zoomed out ahead of him. It was important to check the great room and make sure nothing was wrong there.
Not only was nothing wrong, Fergus was lounging in front of Emma’s cake counter.
“Oliver!” The big dog heaved himself to his feet.
“Fergus!” Oliver bounced over to greet the Irish setter. He was slow, like big dogs were, but that wasn’t his fault. He was cheerful too and always ready to chase down a trail or investigate new corners. Since Emma and Genny spent a lot of time together, Oliver and Fergus had become good friends.
Fergus dropped down to Oliver’s height so they could sniff and nip an
d get to know each other all over again.
“Okay, you two!” called Genny, bringing out a tray of buns. “Take it outside!” She kicked open the door to the garden as she passed.
“Come on, Oliver!” huffed Fergus, heading for the door.
Oliver felt his bum wriggle, but he also remembered how worried he was about Emma.
“Be right back!” He zoomed into the kitchen.
Emma was still on her stool. Angelique was cracking eggs into a bowl. Oliver trotted over to Emma.
“Right. So,” said Angelique. “Pearl, Becca and I will meet you and Genny at the grange after breakfast service is over, yeah?”
“Yeah,” agreed Emma, but she was not happy. “There’s something you should know, Angelique. Marcie Cochrane showed up last night.”
“Did she? What for?”
“She wanted to give you a personal check for the catering deposit. She said she wanted us to feel confident we would get paid.”
“What did you tell her?” demanded Angelique.
“That I was sure you’d rather wait for an official check from the society account.”
“Well, thank heaven for that!” said Angelique. “What could the woman have been thinking? We can’t take her check for work we’re doing for the literary society.”
Emma rubbed Oliver’s back, but it didn’t make him feel any better. Ears drooping, he headed back out through the great room, out the side door and into the garden. Fergus was nosing around the tables and chairs, probably looking to see if anyone had dropped anything tasty.
But Oliver stretched out on the brick terrace and put his paws over his nose.
“What’s wrong, laddy?” Fergus nosed Oliver’s neck.
“Emma’s leaving,” Oliver grumbled. And she won’t listen!
“Ah, now.” Fergus flopped down beside him. “They always do that. You’re the one as says how they always come back.”
“This is different. She needs me. There’s something wrong. I know there is. She knows there is.”
Fergus waved his tail and huffed and snuffled at Oliver’s ears, to make sure he was serious. Oliver could tell Fergus agreed with him that all this was bad. But what could they do? Out past the gate, he saw Genny’s little white van back up to the kitchen door. They’d gone for rides in it before. It smelled like cod, and haddock, and potatoes.
Emma would be leaving very soon.
“What am I going to do?” Oliver whined.
“Patience.” Fergus nudged him. “You have a very smart human. Not as smart as mine, maybe, but very smart anyway.”
Oliver huffed. He didn’t want to get into an argument about humans now. He wanted a way through that gate and into that van. There was a pretty big gap at the bottom of the gate. He’d tried to get through it before. Maybe if he dug just a little . . .
“Oliver.” Fergus nosed him. “I know what you’re thinking, lad. It’s a bad idea.”
A pair of guests came out from the B&B, with cups in their hands. They smelled like salt water and laundry soap and coffee and breakfast. They were talking to each other and looking at their phones at the same time. They walked through the gate and let it swing shut behind them.
Oliver’s nose and ears shot up. He hadn’t heard the gate latch snap. That happened sometimes, and when it did, that gate was even easier to push open than the swinging door into the kitchen.
“Now then,” cautioned Fergus, “take it easy.”
Oliver laid his chin back down on the ground, but his ears stayed tilted forward. On the other side of the gate, Genny got out of the van. Then Emma opened the kitchen door, and she and Genny started carrying bins and piling them into the back.
Both Emma and Genny went back into the kitchen. The door closed behind them.
They didn’t come out.
The little van’s cargo door was open.
“I’m going,” muttered Oliver.
“All right, if you insist.” Fergus climbed onto all fours.
Oliver trotted toward the gate. He paused and listened. All the human sounds were muted. He bonked his nose against the gate. The gate swung slowly outward.
Oliver ducked through. Fergus slid through after him. Keeping low, Oliver crept past the kitchen door. He could see Emma, Pearl, Angelique and Genny all standing inside, talking, like humans did.
They did not look at him.
Oliver eased over to the van. He stretched up to put his front paws on the step platform. There was a pile of tubs with labels. There was also a plaid blanket, and some cables and other human things.
He backed up and measured the distance with his eyes and all his instincts.
“What,” huffed Fergus, “are you doing?”
“Getting in.”
This was not going to be easy. But a noble warrior corgi did not give up. There might be hidden things in this new place where Emma was going. There might be other dogs, or cats, who could be rude and needed to know they were dealing with his special human.
“Better get on then. They’re moving in there.”
Oliver charged the van and jumped.
He landed in the cargo compartment, yelped, slid and skidded, banging into the bins and toppling sideways.
“Very graceful,” barked Fergus. “Little shaky on the dismount.”
“Like to see you try it.” Oliver pushed himself to his feet, shaking his head.
But Fergus cut him off. “I gotta go! You hide!” Oliver heard the gravel clatter as Fergus took off running.
Oliver shoved his nose under the plaid blanket, sprawled down and paddled and wriggled until he was covered. It was dark and stuffy, but that didn’t bother him. The blanket smelled of dust and grass and assorted humans. He sneezed.
What if Emma saw Fergus and wondered where Oliver was? What if she went looking for him to say goodbye? Oliver flattened himself against the floor of the van. What if she called for him? He’d have to answer, or she’d get worried.
Oliver rubbed his nose. This is for Emma. I’m not being bad. This is for her.
Oliver heard human footsteps. The doors slammed shut. Oliver panted happily. The van had obviously been used to transport fish and he was surrounded by good, interesting smells. Genny and Emma climbed into the front seat. He couldn’t see them from under the blanket of course, but he knew them both by their smells.
He panted, resisting the instinct to bark and let Emma know he was here.
The floor vibrated as the engine started up. He smelled exhaust.
Oliver put his chin on his paws. It’ll be okay, Emma. You’ll see.
8
“So, you want to tell me about it?” said Genny as she shifted the van’s gears.
Emma was lost so far down the tunnel of her own thoughts she actually jumped. “About what?”
“About whatever’s making you make that face, and don’t tell me it’s just because you didn’t get enough sleep last night.”
They’d left the center of Trevena behind and had turned onto the winding road heading up into the hills. The traditional cottages gave way to detached and semidetached houses, and then to thick hedges and old trees that turned the road into a green tunnel.
Genny’s little van was an old Ford Transit, a squared-off machine with shocks long overdue for replacement. Despite the seat belt, Emma kept one hand on the dash to steady herself. The roads out this way alternated between tarmac, gravel and dirt.
Emma lifted her hand to run her fingers through her hair, but at the last minute remembered all the time she’d spent wrestling it into a braid this morning. She was in loose slacks and a casual black blouse because she’d be cooking, but she had her blazer and good flats in her suit bag so she’d look businesslike when it was time to face the board.
“Well, I didn’t get enough sleep last night,” Emma grumbled. As if to prove it, she cracked another
enormous yawn. Angelique made her coffee strong enough to stand a spoon in, but it had barely taken the edge off her exhaustion. “But, no, that’s not the problem.”
“So what is it?” Genny kept both eyes on the road. Their section of Cornwall was still very much the countryside, and the narrow roads were made even more claustrophobic by being hemmed in by hedges and earthen berms.
“I was just thinking how troubled Marcie looked when she tried to give me that check last night,” Emma said. “I don’t know . . . it made me nervous.”
“So it was the check that made you nervous?” Genny eased the van around a turn. “Not the fact that she showed up at the back door well after closing on what can only charitably be called a dark and stormy night?” A fat raindrop smacked against the windscreen. “Speaking of . . .”
“Yeah, there was that too,” admitted Emma. “It’s just . . . I just overreact when something unusual happens and it involves money. Leftover instincts from the bank, I think.”
“Well, after twenty years running a chippery, I can tell you that’s called a survival instinct. You don’t really think Marcie was up to something, do you? Like making off with the society’s funds?”
“If I did, I wouldn’t be here now. But I’ll tell you what, Genny, I’d bet Nana Phyllis’s chocolate cake recipe that Marcie knows what’s really going on and she is not happy about it.”
Genny whistled. “Well, if you’re right, this could be a very interesting board meeting.” They bounced over a pothole. “Did you hear something?”
Emma listened. “What kind of something?”
“I thought I heard an extra squeak.”
* * *
* * *
The rain was falling steadily by the time they turned onto the private road leading through Truscott Park and up to Truscott Grange. Emma looked out at the acres of idyllic, if rain flattened, meadows.
More like heading into a Jane Austen novel than anything by du Maurier.
That impression lasted until they pulled up to the stone wall with its elaborate wrought iron gates. Truscott Grange sprawled against the dark hillside, all dramatic gables and arched windows. The manor house had two long wings stretching out from its main entrance. To Emma, it looked like the house was trying to hold back the looming hills. As they pulled up into the graveled courtyard, Emma found herself expecting a flock of crows, or even a solitary raven, staring down from the roof peaks.
Murder Always Barks Twice Page 5
