Murder, She Barked

Casey waited for us where the hallway met the balcony. “You should start carrying a walkie-talkie with you.”

“I didn’t expect to be nosing around in a guest room. Where could they have gone?”

“Mrs. Miller has to be around here somewhere. I never saw her leave.”

“She must have slipped out of her room when I shot down the hallway in search of Trixie. That’s the only reasonable explanation.”

“All I know is that she didn’t leave through the reception door. I would have noticed that.”

“The front door was unlocked. She must have gone out that way.”

His eyes grew wide. “I forgot to lock it tonight!”

“Don’t worry about it. She could have simply unlocked it and left.”

The adrenaline that had pumped through me waned, and the exhaustion of the wee hour of the morning weighed on me. I needed to wake up and keep a clear head to find them. “I’m going to make coffee. Want some?”

“Sure. That would be great. I’m almost done with bills for the guests checking out in the morning.”

I took my time walking back through the quiet inn. I paused and remembered Christmas in the Dogwood Room, with a towering tree full of Oma’s old blown-glass Christmas ornaments from Germany. Did Oma still hold a big Thanksgiving dinner for family and friends in the dining area? Why had I missed out on all that fun? I knew the answer. The divorce. Each of my parents had remarried and started new families, and I had bounced around between them on holidays and vacations like a beach ball. They had made new lives for themselves elsewhere and hadn’t been interested in returning to Wagtail, even for holidays. Even though they were my parents, I’d often felt like the occasional visitor, instead of family. I had spent my holidays trying to make everyone happy. Everyone except me.

Oma had done a wonderful job with the renovation. Now that I suspected she wanted to retire, I knew why she’d updated the inn. It was gorgeous. Mountain chic, as Oma would say. Rustic elegance. My eyes misted at the thought of losing it.

I wiped my eyes. When did I turn into a big softie? It was a business. That was all. Just stone and wood and . . . and—

Shrill yipping tore through the quiet.

Thirty-one

Trixie? Where was she? The pitch of her barks was enough to wake the proverbial dead and most certainly the sleeping guests.

Ginger and I followed her excited yaps to the door. She waited on the front porch, yipping and jumping up to peer through the glass. When I opened the door, she dashed inside, her entire body wriggling with joy. She planted her front paws on my knees, and I bent over to hug her. Her tail whipped back and forth so fast I warned her that it might fly right off.

When I straightened up, she pranced around my feet, never taking those devoted eyes off of me. Mr. Luciano’s words came back to me. Unconditional love.

I crouched to hug her again. She couldn’t get enough affection. But my joy at her return quickly dampened and morphed into horror.

Her new Halloween collar and dog tags were gone. The Sugar Maple Inn collar with GPS was also missing. She wore a simple brown collar attached to a yellow leash.

Someone had taken her.

Trixie might have been able to back out of her collars somehow, but no matter how I tried to rationalize the situation, she could not possibly have put on the brown collar or the unfamiliar leash.

My hands shook when I removed them. Could they be fingerprinted? Even if they could, no one would bother with two murders to be solved. They’d think I was a nut if I asked.

But someone had taken my little Trixie on purpose. Why would anyone want her? “You’re such a good girl to come back. Who took you, sweetie? Did you escape from that horrible person? C’mon.”

She and Gingersnap launched ahead of me down the hallway to the reception area. She pranced with joy at seeing Casey, too.

I slammed the strange collar and leash on the reception desk. “Look at this! Someone took her.”

He stroked her back and stared at her neck. “Where’s the GPS collar?”

“Gone!” I spoke louder than I should have.

His eyebrows dived into a worried V, and he chewed on his upper lip.

A voice with a charming German accent accosted us from above. “What’s going on? What are all these blankets doing here?”

I turned my gaze upward to Oma. Clad in flannel pajamas and a fuzzy white bathrobe, she peered down at us. Gingersnap raced up the stairs to her.

“Did you see her come in?” I whispered to Casey.

“Sure didn’t. And I haven’t left this general area for even a minute.”

There were other doors, of course, and Oma had the keys to all of them. “I think we need to talk.”

“Liebling, it’s so late. Go to bed.” She hastily returned to her room and closed the door.

“I just don’t know what to think.” I pulled out another inn collar with GPS, as well as a leash.

“Is there any reason your grandmother would have, um, taken Trixie?” asked Casey.