by Krista Davis
We walked up the stairs and through the second-floor hallway to the grand staircase. One more floor and we were at my door. I unlocked it and fled to my closet.
The jacket had to be there somewhere. It had to! I wished I were a more organized person who kept everything in very precise order. I wasn’t a mess, but I did toss clothes on chairs sometimes. And I didn’t always run up to my apartment to put away a jacket. It wasn’t at all unusual for me to leave it in the private kitchen or the lobby.
Before I opened my walk-in closet door, I paused. What was I so afraid of? If I didn’t find the jacket, it didn’t mean I had killed Hank. It only meant I couldn’t put my hands on my jacket. Nothing more.
“Got it?” Dave yelled.
Anxiety ratcheted up inside me again. I opened the door and surveyed the contents for anything white. White shirts and blouses, white sneakers, white purse, white tops. No sign of a white jacket. This wasn’t working. I started at one end and was flipping through hangers when Dave spoke behind me.
“Holly, what’s this?”
I looked over my shoulder. He held the blue scarf adorned with paw prints that the cats had shredded. “It’s a scarf. Twinkletoes and another cat were playing with it one night. It must belong to a guest.”
He held out the new one.
“I bought a replacement. No one has claimed the scarf yet, but someone will notice it missing when they’re packing to check out. They’re very popular. I was lucky to get the last one the store had.”
“I gather you bought it at Petunia, since their logo is on this bag?”
“Yes. Why all the questions? It’s just a scarf.”
Dave ran a rough hand over his eyes before he answered. “The coroner found tiny blue and white fibers on Randall’s neck.”
Thirty-seven
The implication hit home right away. “I didn’t see any fibers on his neck!”
“They’re microscopic. No one would have noticed with the bare eye.”
“Am I correct in deducing that you now think I strangled Randall because I happen to have these scarves?”
“Holly—”
I stepped toward him. “Don’t you Holly me. You know me, Dave! You know me. I didn’t murder anyone. This is ridiculous.”
“I don’t like this any better than you do.”
“Then find the real killers. For starters, there are probably half a dozen women in this town who own that scarf. In fact . . .” I stopped talking.
“What? Tell me!”
“The owner of Petunia said that Randall Donovan bought the exact same scarf.”
Dave’s jaw tensed. “I need to get these to the lab.”
My hopes crashed.
It must have shown in my expression, because Dave said angrily, “Find the doggone jacket, will you? I don’t want to have to arrest you when Hank’s blood turns up on this one.”
He left, and I locked the door behind him, hurried to the bathroom, and stripped off my wet clothes. When I stepped out of the shower, I reflected on my situation. I had washed enough clothes to know how hard it was to get blood out. The lake water had been cold, but I feared that the lab would still be able to identify the stains on it as Hank’s blood.
I returned to my closet, pulled on a skort and a sleeveless top, and then searched the entire closet methodically from end to end but found no sign of my jacket. There were no other choices. I had to figure out who’d killed Randall and Hank. If that was my jacket in Dave’s possession, and they found Hank’s DNA on it, along with mine or with my fingerprints, then they would lock me up for sure.
The thought drained me. How could I feel so unenergetic just when I needed to be on my toes and thinking? I needed to focus. A hot drink wouldn’t hurt either.
But I didn’t want to run into a bunch of people and have to explain myself. At that moment, I was immensely grateful that Oma had installed the secret stairway from my apartment to the kitchen. Trixie and I hurried down the stairs.
I found Oma and Zelda seated at the table, picking at a lemon meringue pie still in the pie plate.
Oma handed me a fork. “We have put on tea. Zelda thought we could all use something to calm our nerves.”
I poured myself a mug and stirred in sugar and milk. I settled at the table with them and sipped the hot tea. Surprisingly, it did make me calmer.
I told them about the jacket and the scarf. “I’m scared to death that the jacket is going to turn out to be mine.”
“Does it look like yours?” asked Zelda.
“Unfortunately, yes. But don’t all denim jackets look a lot alike?”
They agreed so fast that I suspected they were trying to console me. “We have to identify the killer before the lab connects me to the murders.” I tried to keep my voice level. In spite of my efforts, I squeaked a bit.
Zelda gazed at me with pity. “I’ve been over and over this with anyone who would listen. All we’ve got is a bunch of people who disliked Hank and Randall. There’s nothing concrete tying anyone to the murders.”
“Gee, thanks. No wonder Dave is so excited about the scarf and jacket.”
“Let us consider this from a different angle,” suggested Oma. “Who would have had the opportunity to take your jacket?”
“Anyone,” I groaned. “I was wearing it when John and I found Randall. We came straight back here. I could have left it here in the kitchen, or outside on the patio, or I could have taken it upstairs with me and hung it in my closet.”
“Aha! It blew from the patio into the lake. You wait and see. It will be yours, but it will not tie you to Hank’s murder.” Oma smiled at me.
“Then what were those brownish stains on it?”
Oma ignored my question. “The cats were playing with the scarf? This would indicate it belongs to one of our guests.”
“That was my assumption.”
“Then we can narrow down the suspects, no?”
“Assuming they didn’t drag it in from outside or that the killer didn’t happen to drop it while having lunch here.”
Zelda gasped. Waving her fork in the air, she said, “Or plant it here so Holly would be the suspect. Think about it! It’s the perfect setup. The killer has lunch here and accidentally drops the scarf he used to strangle Randall. He looks for it but can’t find it because the cats have made off with it. So he steals someone’s jacket—in this case it happens to be Holly’s—and then after he kills Hank, he throws it off the dock in the middle of the night. That way, the police find both items in or near the inn and think the killer is staying here, but really, it’s—“
“Paige!” I pointed my fork toward Zelda. “She had one of those scarves. You’re so right. Someone could have planted both of those items.”
Oma shook her head. “But I have seen our darling stinker Twinkletoes in guest rooms pulling items out of their luggage.”
“And out of drawers,” I added.
“So we’re back at square one,” Zelda griped.
“We’re going at this all wrong.” I sat back with the warm mug in my hands. “We have to start with Randall. He came here looking for someone who was participating in Animal Attraction.”
“Probably a woman,” said Oma.
“Nessie has said all along that a married man at Animal Attraction was up to no good. So maybe he had a girlfriend?” I suggested.
“Now we have something.” Oma sipped her tea. “Because she used his gift to strangle him.”
“What would have made her that angry?” asked Zelda.
“He wanted to break off their relationship?” I got up and poured more tea for all of us.
“Why come to Wagtail to do that?” asked Zelda. “If she was here looking for a guy, then problem solved.”
“Macon keeps talking about people who misrepresent themselves. Maybe he was going to give her away for who she re
ally is. Maybe he was going to ruin her plans?” I brought the sugar and milk to the table.
“One of his patients, perhaps?” Oma asked. “Maybe he wanted to prevent a patient from doing harm to someone else?”
I shook my head and sat down. “Now we’re getting into speculation again. I do think the killer was a woman, though. Not many men would have used the scarf to strangle him.”
“Then we can eliminate Macon and Bob. Where’s the bag?” asked Zelda. “Wouldn’t he have carried it in a bag?”
“Great point!” We toasted with our mugs.
I took a bite of the lemon meringue pie and started to feel better. Maybe we could figure this out.
“Paige!” I almost shouted her name. “She said someone gave her the scarf as a gift.”
“Eww. And she was wearing it after strangling him? That’s just gross.” Zelda grimaced.
“The thing is,” I said, “I really don’t see how Paige or Sky could have had the time to kill him. They didn’t plan on Sky picking up Duchess.”
“Perhaps the murder was not planned,” said Oma. “It could have been spontaneous. One of them ran into him, he gave her the scarf, they had words about some issue between them, and he was strangled. It could have taken less than fifteen minutes.”
“She took his wallet but didn’t keep the money,” I pointed out.
“Ja!” Oma exclaimed. “This is significant. Why? If I had killed someone, I would have disposed of the wallet.”
“That’s where it all falls apart. Why murder Hank? Why place the money on him and make it obvious that there’s a connection to Randall?”
“To mislead.” Oma gave Zelda a sad look. “Your Hank was not an honest man. Perhaps he entered into a shady deal with her. She wanted to make it appear that Hank had murdered Randall.”
“Hank’s killer was very angry with him.” Zelda gulped hard. “Like the people who stab someone one hundred fifty times. I think she kept hitting him and hitting him.”
“Then why didn’t your stalker see her?” I asked.
“Maybe he did. We don’t know who he is,” Zelda whined.
“Or maybe,” I said, “she was the person we thought was Hank.”
“I have a woman stalker?” Zelda said.
I sat up straight. “She was waiting for Hank to show up!”
Thirty-eight
Oma and Zelda gazed at me like I had lost my mind.
“Don’t you see? I thought the person lurking around didn’t follow me because he wasn’t Hank. But what if that person was waiting for Hank?”
Oma said, “Sky and Nessie were at Tequila Mockingbird, ja? And if it was a woman, then we can count out Macon and Bob. Who does that leave?”
Zelda and I spoke simultaneously. “Paige.”
“I will call Dave to inform him,” said Oma.
“Ben!” I shouted his name.
“Ach. The Ben. What can he do?” asked Oma.
“He’s with Paige.” I beat Oma to the phone and dialed his number. It rolled over to voice mail.
Reluctantly, I handed her the phone. “We have to warn Ben.”
“Do you know where they went?” asked Oma.
“I bet they’re at Hair of the Dog.” Zelda jumped to her feet. “Grab a jacket and let’s go.”
Oma held out her hand. “Just a moment. It is not wise for the two of you to confront Paige. She has killed two men already.”
“We won’t do that. We’ll make an excuse to get Ben away from her. We’ll fabricate an emergency. Meanwhile, you will have reached Dave, and he’ll show up and everything will be fine.” I dashed up the hidden stairs to my quarters for a lightweight jacket.
An odd sound distracted me. What was that? I gazed around. No sign of Zelda’s cats. I peeked in the guest room. Ben had left clothes in a mess on the bed. Zelda’s kitties had stretched out on them and barely acknowledged my presence. It looked like a cat opium den.
The odd sound came from his duffel bag. It wiggled and shook. I used one finger to pull it open a bit. Twinkletoes gazed up at me with big eyes and a guilty look.
“Get out of there!” I picked her up. “What’s this?” I looked more closely at the tiny flakes on her fur. Setting her on the floor, I took a better look inside of Ben’s duffel bag. The smell was undeniable. Catnip.
That’s why all the cats were attracted to Ben all of a sudden. He was wearing catnip-scented clothes! It was all so clear to me. No wonder Marmalade and Twinkletoes had shredded his T-shirt. There had probably been a kitty fight going on about it while I’d slept.
“Everyone out!”
Not a single cat moved. I carried each of them out of the guest room and closed the door. “No more catnip for you.”
Trixie and I left the catnip-intoxicated cats and met Zelda in the lobby. “You won’t believe what Ben did.”
I told her how Ben had morphed into a cat whisperer.
Zelda laughed aloud. “You have to admit that it was a sweet gesture.”
“I guess he was tired of Twinkletoes hissing at him.”
“He can’t fool her with catnip. Twinkletoes and Trixie knew Ben wanted you to give them up. Animals are very perceptive about these things. People are far easier to fool.”
As we walked along the sidewalk, Zelda said, “I will be so relieved once Paige is arrested. The only downside to going home is no tea in my jammies first thing in the morning unless I get up and make it myself. What do you think Mr. Huckle would charge to bring tea and chocolate croissants to my house every morning?”
“That sounds like a great business. I wonder why no one does that? You should suggest it to one of the bakeries in town.”
I took great comfort in the fact that the streets teemed with visitors. The outdoor dining tables were packed. Couples gazed into each other’s eyes.
“I hope Axel is still speaking to me,” Zelda said. “I’m pretty jealous of all these budding relationships.”
“Focus, Zelda. What kind of excuse are we going to make for dragging Ben away?”
“That’s easy. Preliminary results on the jacket indicate that it’s yours and it has Hank’s blood on it. Dave is on his way to arrest you, so you need Ben’s help.”
“No way! Everyone will think I’m guilty. Besides, he can’t represent both of us,” I said.
“She probably doesn’t know that. It’s a small price to pay for rescuing Ben, don’t you think?”
When she put it that way . . .
“Besides, it will feed into her plan. Don’t you see? She’ll feel safe knowing that her plan to make you look guilty succeeded.”
I didn’t like it, but it made sense to me. We approached Hair of the Dog. Music blared, even outside. Spotlights shone, illuminating the crowd. People mingled with drinks in hand all the way out to the sidewalk.
“Do you see them?” I asked.
“They’re probably inside.”
Afraid she might be stepped on, I picked up Trixie and carried her through the crowd. Someone sang karaoke off-key. I made my way to the bar, where I recognized the owner.
“Have you seen Ben tonight?” I shouted to her.
“Not tonight,” she yelled.
Zelda came up behind me.
I spoke directly into her ear. “He hasn’t been here.”
“Should we try the Alley Cat?”
I motioned to her to follow me outside.
“Zelda! Zelda!” Axel broke through the crowd.
I hurried outside and waited for her.
Zelda towed Axel toward me and explained where we were going. “If I had wanted a romantic dinner, I would have gone to the Alley Cat,” said Zelda.
I didn’t relish the idea of going over there in the dark. But all the other options were on the west side of town. “Let’s get this over with.”
Dave had said they w
ere putting out undercover officers around the Shire. I hoped they were still patrolling.
We crossed the street and picked up lanterns.
“You’d think they would have increased the lighting after Randall’s death,” said Zelda.
“I have a feeling Oma will hear about it at the next town meeting.” I watched as Trixie trotted ahead, her nose to the ground, the moonlight shining on her white fur.
Zelda filled in Axel about Paige as we walked. He held her hand and listened.
“I’m sorry about Hank,” he said.
“Don’t be. I was the fool who married him.”
“Macon said he might have actually loved you.” I thought that might make her feel better.
“Then he had a funny way of showing it. The sad thing is that he could be really nice and fun to be with. But he had that sleazy side that drove me nuts.”
We passed the spot where we had turned off to find Randall’s body. I slowed and gazed in that direction. We heard voices and giggling, which was a little incongruous.
A sense of relief washed over me when Axel opened one of the double doors at the entrance of the Alley Cat. No one was dead. We hadn’t encountered anything creepy. Under other circumstances, it would have been a lovely, calm evening walk.
I picked up Trixie again because there was such a huge crowd. But I did notice the expression of concern on the bartender’s face when he spied Trixie in my arms.
Axel leaned over and shouted in my ear, “It’s noisy in here. Is there a patio outside?”
I motioned for them to follow me. We wedged through the jolly crowd of flirters and out the back way onto the large patio.
“Much better,” said Axel. “I feel like I can breathe out here.”
I had to agree.
Zelda tugged at my arm and whispered, “There they are!”
Ben and Paige had snagged a table at the far end. A candle flickered between them as they ate.
Like in the rest of the Shire, the lighting on the terrace was discreet. Oma would have thought it too dark, but it was soothing and sort of magical. The partiers on the stone patio were much quieter. We heard occasional laughter, but overall, it was a very different crowd from the gang inside. Beyond the patio, fields and hills lay silent in the dark. I had been there before during the day, so I knew a walking path wound around the Alley Cat far back in the distance. A few pasture fences were visible in daylight, but beyond those fields were woods with hiking trails.
