Murder, She Barked

I nodded and rushed to the kitchen for a moment alone. A huge sigh shuddered out of my mouth. I shook my arms and hands, put off by him. Why did Aunt Birdie have to be so irritating? If she was a stranger, I could just ignore her and make a point of not socializing with her. But she was a relative. I leaned against the cold, stainless steel prep counter and counted to ten.

The door swung open. Philip poked his head in and waved at me. “We need more scones and lemon curd, sweetie.” The door swung shut behind him.

I looked down at my clenched hands. If I didn’t get out there, he would take over. I grabbed a platter of scones and more of the lemon curd and took a deep breath before I returned.

As he had promised, he joined Aunt Birdie, and the two of them had a grand old time, while I did everything I could to keep busy so they wouldn’t call me over to their table.

I bussed other tables, and replenished everything, even when it wasn’t necessary.

Until a scream rattled down the stairwell.

Thirty-four

I scrambled up the stairs and stopped on the first landing with Philip on my heels. I peered down the hallways on each side but didn’t see or hear anything amiss.

Trixie and Twinkletoes knew where the trouble was. I should have just followed them. They scampered up to the third floor, where I was staying. Philip and I rushed up behind them.

My door stood ajar, and the cleaning cart blocked the entrance. Philip shoved it to the left, and we ran inside.

The housekeeper with the dark ponytail and expressive eyes stood on top of a dining room chair, holding a floor duster with a long handle.

“What’s wrong?” I asked, breathing hard. Everything looked okay to me.

She pointed at the buffet. With a tinge of a British accent, she said, “I hope you have a big hamster. Because if you don’t, there’s a rat hiding under the sideboard.”

Philip dropped to his knees immediately. “Something is down there, for sure. Hand me that duster.”

As much as I didn’t relish the thought of a rat in the inn, mere inches from me, I was not going to let him take over and rescue me like I was some kind of damsel in distress.

I held my hand out for the floor duster and took it from the housekeeper. Summoning courage, I knelt on the floor and peered under the buffet. I flinched at the sight of the furry beast.

“Watch out, Philip,” I warned. I tapped it gently with the floor duster but it didn’t budge. Probably scared.

Trixie sniffed and wedged her nose as far under the buffet as she could. I imagined she wasn’t helping the situation. Even a rat knew when to be terrified and stay where it was safe.

I gave it a gentle push. It moved away from the duster but still didn’t come out. “Sorry about this,” I said to the rat, and whacked it in Philip’s direction.

It flew out of the other end.

Trixie vaulted over Philip and launched herself at it, catching it the second it left the protection of the buffet. She seized it and shot out like a white torpedo. We scrambled to our feet and chased after her. By the time we reached the doorway, we could see a blitz of white blazing down the stairs. We hurried behind her. Why hadn’t I had the presence of mind to close the door? I cringed at what Oma would think about a dog running through her beautiful lobby with a rat in its mouth.

Oh dear heaven! How could this be happening? We weren’t fast enough to catch her before she reached the main floor.

But we were fast enough to witness Mr. Luciano opening the door for her.

“Noooooo,” I screamed.

Seconds later, I stood on the inn porch, and Trixie was nowhere to be seen.

Philip slung an arm around me. Maybe it was a nice gesture, but I was too upset to appreciate it.

Aunt Birdie ambled out. “That was quite a commotion. I hope that’s not a regular event around here. Rats in the inn. How disgusting. Holly, the creamer needs refilling.”

At that moment, I wanted to pour the cream right over Aunt Birdie’s head. Instead, I stared ahead, searching for any sign of Trixie. I weighed my options. Get the receiver for the GPS collar she wore and find her before she got too far away or refill the creamer.

My responsibility to Oma came first. I returned, washed my hands, brought more cream to the buffet, and smiled at everyone as though nothing had happened.

Philip and Aunt Birdie, already back at their table, chuckled about something. I checked everything on the buffet, intending to take a brief break to fetch the GPS receiver. When I passed the front door, high-pitched barking stopped me. Once again, Trixie stood on her hind legs, straining to see through the front door sidelights.

I opened the door for her, and she trotted in like she owned the place, pleased as punch with herself for having rid the inn of a rat. Laughing with relief that she wasn’t missing again, I told her what a wonderful dog she was. The guests in the dining area even broke into applause when we returned.