Murder, She Barked

The guests kept the inn lively, milling around the buffet and helping themselves. Trixie roamed inside off her leash, even though she didn’t have any tags. She behaved surprisingly well, sticking close to me.

But not a half hour after Oma and the staff departed, Aunt Birdie flounced through the front door.

What did she want now?

“Holly, darling! How nice. A little afternoon tea.” She sniffed and drew her lips back, gazing around at the floor. “With dogs.”

“Please feel free to help yourself, Aunt Birdie.”

She studied me. “I like the dress. It’s too summery for the season, of course, but it will do. Go upstairs and put on some powder and lipstick.”

“Aunt Birdie, I’m working.” I dashed into the kitchen for another pot of coffee.

When I returned, she was tapping a blood-red fingernail on the buffet table.

“Don’t you ever do what you’re told?”

I poured fresh coffee into the urn. “I’m not eight.”

“I have never understood why you have to be so ornery. Very well, it’s out of my hands if you ruin this for yourself.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I have found you a suitable mate.”

I nearly dropped the coffee pot. Surely I hadn’t heard correctly. “I beg your pardon?”

“Now, Holly, don’t be cranky, I’m doing you a favor. If you play your cards right, and you’re quite old enough to know what I mean—don’t go giving away the milk or he won’t buy the cow—then you could have a very fine husband.”

Who was she kidding? “Excuse me. This is America. We don’t arrange marriages here.”

“You can be so taxing. I’m doing you a huge favor. He’s a fine man, good-looking, and he has a successful business. Now that you don’t have a job, you need to consider those things. You’re not getting any younger. One of these days, you’ll develop the Miller jowls, those perky little breasts will droop, and strange hairs will sprout from your chin.”

“I may not have a job this minute, but I’ll get another one. I’m fully capable of supporting myself. Besides,” I pulled my ace out of the hole, “you’re not married. What makes you think I have to be?”

“Holly. My dear girl. I have my reasons, and they are not pertinent to this conversation. However, since you were sufficiently insensitive to bring it up, I admit, as I approach sixty, I recognize that there are certain benefits to marriage.” She clenched her teeth, and her nostrils flared. “You’re all I have. I don’t want you to be in that position.” She embraced me, not quite as stiffly as usual. “I’m so glad you came home to me.”

Oh dear heaven! What could I say? Of course, she had my mother. I wasn’t her only living relative. But mom lived all the way across the country and wasn’t close with Birdie—for good reason.

“Aunt Birdie, I’m sorry you feel so alone. Maybe you’re the one who should be looking for a husband.”

“Don’t you talk back to me! I expect you to be on your very best behavior.”

Behind her, Philip strode into the front lobby carrying a giant bouquet of red roses and dog cookies in the shapes of bones, mounted on sticks, and iced in white with red frosting piped around the edges.

Aunt Birdie glanced over her shoulder. She turned back to me and hissed, “Now be nice!”

At that very moment, I wanted nothing more than for the floor to open up and swallow me. I couldn’t run screaming from the room. I couldn’t pitch a fit in front of the guests. There was just no option but to be gracious and privately explain to Philip that my Aunt Birdie was an obnoxious busybody and a deranged loon.

I accepted the flowers and thanked him. A bit louder than normal, so Aunt Birdie would hear, I said, “I’m so sorry. This isn’t a good time for me. Maybe we can have a cup of coffee later?”

“No problem,” he said, “I’m happy to pitch in.”

“That’s really not necessary. I have everything under control.” But he walked up to the cider urn and opened it to check the contents. I tried to be polite. “Why don’t you and Aunt Birdie help yourselves to some of these goodies?”

“Aunt Birdie won’t mind.”

She didn’t appear to. She gathered a sampling of sandwiches, scones, and pastries on a plate and sat down at a table. “Philip, would you be a love and bring me some coffee, light?”

I didn’t like this setup. Not one bit. Philip held a coffee cup in his hand. I grasped his wrist. “I can’t let you do this. Really.” I took hold of the coffee cup, but it was a bad move on my part.

He ran his hand over mine. “I was so pleased when Aunt Birdie stopped by to tell me that you and Ben had broken up.”

Why did he keep calling her Aunt Birdie? As far as I knew, we weren’t related, and if we were, then—ewww. I forced a smile. “Won’t you please keep Aunt Birdie company? I know I hate to eat alone in public. She probably feels very awkward.”

He looked into my eyes for a long, excruciatingly uncomfortable moment. “That’s very thoughtful of you. At least let me bring her coffee over to her.”